by Vicki Delany
“Yes. I have to get back to work.”
“Then we should have a family dinner on Friday night. Shirley and Al, Liz and Jackie and the kids. Jim and Aileen.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll call them all this morning.”
Dad finished his breakfast and tottered out to the shed. He was so old.
After doing up the dishes I made the duty phone calls. Al answered the phone instead of Shirley, who, he said, had already left for work, sparing me from having to deal with my prickly sister. He accepted the invitation, with pleasure. I mentioned that Maggie had been hired as housekeeper, and asked him to tell Shirley that we could talk about the details tomorrow. No one was home at Liz’s house, so I left a message. Jackie responded with enthusiasm. “That’ll be great, Aunt Rebecca. I was going to phone you later anyway. Tomorrow’s a day off school for Jason. I’ve taken the time off work to be at home with him, and made myself an appointment at the dentist in North Ridge as well. Now Jason’s sulking about having to hang around at the dentist’s office, so I was going to ask Grandpa if Jason could come over for a few hours. He likes helping out with the woodworking, and Grandpa loves teaching him. Will you ask him for me?”
“Sure. But if it isn’t fine with Dad, I’ll be happy to look after Jason.”
“I’ll bring him by around noon, okay?”
“We’ll be here.”
Another family dinner to prepare. My minuscule repertoire was exhausted. Imagine the reaction if I phoned Hope River’s only restaurant and asked them to deliver dinner for thirteen tomorrow night. Thirteen! I wasn’t worried about the traditionally unlucky number, merely the frightening quantity of people to feed.
I needed to make another trip into town. I popped out to the woodshed to tell Dad that I was going out.
He was sitting in a chair beside Mom’s sewing table, twisting a scrap of blue fabric in his hand. His eyes were dark and sad.
I knelt beside him and touched the cloth: a pale cobalt background with a pattern of cheerful yellow flowers. “That’s pretty. Mom did good work.”
“She was a good woman, your mother. She deserved more than I could give her, Becky.”
He released the fabric and I ran it through my fingers. Tiny magenta butterflies fluttered above the flowers.
“The day she and your sister got off the train from Toronto was the happiest day of my entire life. Even better than our wedding and honeymoon. We spent the night in Toronto at the house of an army buddy of mine. His family was well off and they were real kind to us. They had a woman come in specially to look after the baby, so Janet and I could have some time alone. Wasn’t that nice?”
“It was.”
“I was so happy, and so proud. My wife and my daughter were with me at last, at the start of our life together.”
“It must have been wonderful.”
“The next morning we took the train north. I was bringing my family home. I loved Janet so much, and I was so proud.”
I wanted to excuse myself and escape back to the kitchen. And then drive as far as the rented SUV could go. I knew how the story ended, but of course it was impossible to say so.
“The feeling lasted most of the way. The baby was excited, looking out the window, watching the world go by. But then we got close to Hope River and this terrible feeling of dread came over me, like a fist clutching my heart. Worse than anything I’d felt before, even when we were under fire in France. Because I saw Hope River through Janet’s eyes. And I was afraid. She’d loved the big house in Toronto, with a fancy car out front and a nanny for the baby. For the first time, I realized that she was expecting me to give her all of that. Instead I brought her here. And I simply couldn’t bear the thought of the disappointment I’d become to her. She should have stayed in England.”
“Don’t, Dad. Don’t torment yourself.” Of course she hated it. She would have run back to England if not for her pride and the fact that there was no one to run back to. “Every war bride probably thought she was marrying a rich Canadian with an enormous cattle ranch. Like people today think they’re going to win the lottery. But when they don’t, they get on with it. And Mom did too. Besides, it couldn’t have been so bad.” I touched his cheek, the scrap of fabric still in my hand. The contrast between his aged, bleached, agonized face and the brilliant flowers and butterflies was heartbreaking. “She stayed.”
“Yes, that’s true.” He clasped my hand in his own. The skin was rough from a lifetime of hard work followed by a retirement spent woodworking.
“Jackie wants to drop Jason over tomorrow afternoon. She said he likes helping you in the workshop.”
Dad hadn’t cried, but his eyes were moist. They brightened at the thought of his great-grandson and their shared interest in bringing life and movement out of wood.
“I’m teaching him to work in the shed. Toys and small things first. When he’s older and more experienced, I’ll start him on furniture.”
I stood up. “I’m going into town to get things for dinner tomorrow. Everyone’s coming. Do you want anything special?”
“A roast would be nice. Janet always did a great roast.”
That was an idea. How hard could a roast be?
Dad happy again, I called Sampson and headed into town. One thing I now knew for certain: There was no way I could ever let Dad read the diaries.
Entering the store, I glanced over the racks of newspapers Nothing about Jennifer Taylor today.
Following Dad’s suggestion, I bought a roast of beef, some lovely new red potatoes and two bunches of asparagus. I’d pull something out of Mom’s freezer for dessert. I remembered a nice appetizer Ray made for friends once: avocado filled with shrimp. That would be easy to make. The asparagus and the avocado cost approximately as much as if they were stuffed with gold, and not knowing anything about cuts of meat, I decided that the most expensive was probably the best. An image of the shock on my mother’s face at the expense had me grinning all the way up the aisle.
Kimmy Wright stood behind the checkout. “I’m so glad you’ve come in, Becky. I was thinking about you last night and wondering when you’re going back to Vancouver.”
“Saturday.”
“So soon.” She looked disappointed. “We’ve hardly had any time to visit. Are you free tomorrow night, maybe we could do something fun? A girls’ night out?”
“My family are all coming for dinner. Sorry.”
“Oh.” Her podgy face collapsed into lines of disappointment. Her foundation had been applied badly, so that it pooled in the wrinkles on her skin and the crevices around her prominent nose. About an inch of black and gray roots showed at her scalp. My conscience pricked.
“How about lunch tomorrow then? At my place? I’ll be busy getting ready for my company, but I can stop to make us lunch.”
Her smile took twenty years off her face. “That would be great. I usually only get half an hour for lunch, but I’m sure I could get an hour off, seeing as it’s such a special occasion. I take lunch at one.”
“See you tomorrow then.” On the way back to the car, I gave my feelings a thorough analysis. To my surprise, I wasn’t all too annoyed at the idea of having Kimmy Wright to lunch. Maybe it would be fun to talk about the old days.
Dad left for the Legion after lunch, and I settled in to spend the afternoon on the computer, either dialed into work or searching for instructions on how to prepare roast beef and vegetables.
Dad’s car pulled up as night began to wind itself through the woods. I stretched and got up to switch on the outdoor lights. My brother-in-law, Al, climbed out of the driver’s seat and went around to the passenger door. With great care, he helped Dad out.
I opened the door, not yet alarmed, assuming that he had had too much to drink on a pleasant afternoon and evening with the “boys.”
Then I saw my father’s face.
Chapter 43
The Diary of Janet McKenzie. August 5, 1973
The most wonderful thing has happened. Well not wonderf
ul, I mustn’t be TOO happy. But my Aunt Joan, Dad and Aunt Betty’s sister, has died. And left a rather substantial amount to me that the letter from her lawyer says was Aunt Betty’s originally, what she put into their holiday home and left to Aunt Joan when she died. Good thing that Mrs. M.’s hip is bothering her this morning so she wasn’t down at the letterbox the minute the mailman arrived, as she usually is. Instead I went down and there it was. A lovely official-looking envelope all the way from England. As soon as I read it I opened my mouth to tell Mrs. M. But I shut it again, pretty quick. What business is it of theirs that I have come into a bit of money? None at all.
August 6, 1973
I lay awake practically the whole night. While Bob snored on in the bed beside mine. Wondering what to do with my money. Oh, that it were twenty years ago, and I could go back to England in style. Leave this horrid place forever. But then I wouldn’t have my pride and joy, my Rebecca.
Regardless, it is not 1953. And there is nothing in England for me. Not even Aunt Joan. So after a long and restless night I have decided to be practical and careful and spend the money wisely.But first, I will take a tiny bit of it for myself. It would be nice to have a real sewing room again, like I had before Rebecca was born and Jim needed his own room. I can buy some new equipment and the best of fabrics. My quilts don’t make any money, I sell them for nothing more than the cost of the material; it’s the making of them that gives me such pleasure. If Bob and his father ask me how I can afford such things (like they would denigrate themselves to notice a woman’s sewing) I can tell them that I have made a bit of money from the quilts.
But most of it I will put away for Rebecca’s education. She is doing so well at school. The teachers tell me that she should go on to university. Until yesterday I worried that we could not afford it. But now we—I—can.
Chapter 44
“Al, what’s happened? Is he okay?”
Al half-carried Dad into the house and over to the couch.
“What’s happened? Is it his heart? Should I call a doctor?”
Dad’s mouth twisted in pain and he was actually crying. Silent tears ran unchecked through the hills and valleys of his wrinkled face, as rumpled as an unmade bed.
“Do you want Becky to call the doctor, Bob?” Al asked. No response. He repeated the question, louder.
“Of course I’m calling the doctor, Al. I’ll call an ambulance. He needs to get to the hospital.”
“No,” Dad whispered. “I’ll be okay.”
“I hardly think so,” I said, moving to the phone.
Al grabbed my arm. “It’s not his heart, Becky. Something happened.”
“What? Tell me for heaven’s sake.”
Al still held my arm. “Let’s make Bob some tea. We’ll be right back, Bob. You wait there.” He pulled me into the kitchen.
I wrenched my arm free and whirled around to face him. “What on earth is going on here?”
“He was,” Al stumbled for the word, “accosted. In town.”
“What! You mean he was mugged? Call the police then.”
“Listen to me, Rebecca, please. He wasn’t mugged. Some men in the bar started saying things about Jim. About him killing that Taylor girl.”
“Oh, no.” I sunk into a chair. “What was he doing in that bar anyway? He told me he was going to the Legion.”
Al filled the kettle. “Apparently one of the old guys from the Legion suggested they all move on to the bar. They had a few drinks and some men came in, recognized Bob as Jim’s father and started tearing into him. I wasn’t there, Becky. I don’t really know how it all happened. Fortunately a friend of mine, Lance DeLong, was behind the bar. He called me and said I’d better come over. Fast. So I did.”
“Poor Dad.”
“A couple of Bob’s old buddies tried to throw a few punches.”
“Good God.”
“Gutsy old men. All set to fight for their friend against guys fifty years younger and a whole lot meaner than them.”
The kettle whistled. Al poured sugar straight from the dispenser into a mug. No counting out teaspoons.
“Where’s the tea?”
I pointed to the appropriate canister. “Did Lance say who these troublemakers were?”
“Yeah. I know them. Everyone knows them.”
“Jack Jackson and his pal Pete, I assume.”
“No. Not this time. We’d better not leave Bob alone any longer. I’ll take the tea out. Can you find a blanket or something?”
“What’s the matter with him? Did he get hit?”
“No, Becky. He’s in shock. The old guys told me some of what was said before Lance stopped it. Mean stuff.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“That Jim’s a child killer. Rapist. What the men of this town plan to do if they get their hands on him. We can talk more later. Get the blanket, eh?”
We returned to the living room. Dad huddled on the couch, scratching Sampson’s head. Al handed him the mug of tea.
He looked up and smiled weakly. The agony was gone from his face. “Any more of that cake, Janet?”
“No. It’s finished,” I said.
“It was good. Like your mother used to make back in England, I’ll bet.”
“Yes.” I looked at Al. His face was almost as pained as Dad’s had been moments earlier.
“When Little Jim comes in we need to have a talk with him.” Dad sipped his tea. “That McCarran fellow came around today, yelling at me to keep Jim away from his Judy. Girl’s no better than she should be, anyone can tell that just by looking at her. But there’s no need for Jim to get mixed up with trash like that, is there?”
“No.”
“Would you like to go for a lie down, Bob?” Al asked.
Dad frowned, his eyes flashed with anger, extinguished so fast I might have imagined it. “I’ll fix it when I have the time. I said I would. I’ve had a hard day at work. I’ll do it on Saturday.” He looked at Al very strangely, and tried to hunch his shoulders around himself. He rubbed his hands together.
“Oh, God,” I said. “He thinks you’re his father.”
“Time for bed, Bob.” Al took the mug from Dad’s hand and helped him to his feet.
“But we haven’t had dinner yet. Janet? Is dinner ready?”
“Nap first.” My stomach churned like a washing machine set to agitate. I swallowed and thought about not throwing up.
Al looked at me, his eyes pleading. I took my father’s arm and led him down the hall to his bedroom. Sampson wanted to follow, but I pushed her back with my foot. Dad sat on the edge of the bed and allowed me to pull off his shoes and socks. His toenails were cracked, yellow and badly overgrown, curling around the front edge of the toes. Without prompting he lay flat on the bed, and I pulled the blanket up from where it lay crumpled on the floor and tucked it around him.
“Comfy?”
“I don’t feel too well, Janet. I’d like a nap before dinner.”
“You do that.”
“If Dad asks again, tell him I’ll fix the fence on Saturday.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“You have to have a talk with that boy of yours. He can’t keep making trouble. People are starting to talk.”
I switched off the light and left the door open a crack. Only then did I register what he’d said. That boy of yours. Did that mean anything? Or was it merely something to say, the way parents joke that it’s “your child” when the little one acts up?
Al was in the kitchen, tossing back a beer.
“Thanks, Al.”
“No thanks necessary. What sort of loudmouthed jerks go after an old man and his war buddies?”
“It’s good you were there.”
“Think I should tell Shirley?”
“Probably not. Nothing she can do, except get upset.”
“You’re right. And it wouldn’t be a great idea to say anything to Jim. He’d be out looking for those guys before I turned around.”
I got myself a beer. I rarely
drink beer, but right now I needed something stronger than tea. “I’m supposed to go home on Saturday. I’ve already stayed longer than I planned. But I don’t know how I can.”
“You can’t stay here forever. Who knows how long this thing will go on. Maybe they’ll never catch the bastard who killed Jennifer, and Jim’ll have to live the rest of his life under suspicion.” He finished his beer in one quick swallow. “We’re going to Lizzie’s for supper and Shirley will be wondering what’s going on if I’m late.”
I walked him to the door. “You’re still coming for dinner tomorrow?”
“Sure. Look, don’t worry too much about your dad. It won’t happen again. I’m guessing those guys got a real surprise when Bob’s friends stood up to them and then Lance sent them packing. Bullies need to think they’re impressing people. Now they’ll know folks won’t put up with it.”
I smiled, not believing a word. The next time, they would make sure that no one else was around, that’s all. “You’re right. Good night, Al.”
“Night, Becky. See you tomorrow.”
Dad slept the night through, not waking for dinner. I abandoned my two a.m. surveillance, worried that Dad would wake up, confused and disoriented. I couldn’t be everywhere, watching everyone. And by the day after tomorrow I would be watching no one.
I simply didn’t know what to do. My job was not in peril if I stayed on a bit longer. I worked for a good company, with progressive ideas about family responsibility. But there was a limit; not even my bank would keep me on the payroll forever. And Al was right—it might well be forever before this mess was resolved.
I let Sampson out the back and stood in the doorway listening to her crashing about in the undergrowth.
***
Dad got up early Friday morning. The banging of cupboard drawers and slamming of the fridge woke me. Sampson bounded out to greet him, and I stumbled after, having done nothing more to get ready for the day than drag a comb through my hair and pull on a tracksuit. Out the kitchen window, facing east, the horizon was beginning to lighten in vicious streaks of pink and purple. Red skies in morning, sailors take warning. Does pink count as red?
