Jenna gave her a sideways look. “I came in from Ontario. And we fix fish around here.”
“Fish?”
“There’s a natal stream for sockeye running through this valley. We farm the eggs for the big hatcheries in Bella Coola, and keep a pink channel.”
“A pink channel?” Isabelle had no idea what that was.
“It’s a man-made river with flow control. We use it to raise salmon fry. Ask Ren, she’ll maybe take you down and show you. It’s more conservation than commercial.”
“It sounds fantastic. Baby salmon.” Isabelle wanted to go and see the pink channel now, but her stomach groaned again and food took precedence. It had to be the fresh mountain air giving her the appetite of a bear.
The cookhouse sat opposite the bunkhouse. Isabelle noticed there was no woodsmoke hanging over its shingled roof; the stove must be stone cold with breakfast over for the morning. Still, she would soon have Ren’s old burner lit up for cooking. The thought cheered her up. She needed routine in her life. She needed function and structure.
Jenna stepped up onto a wide porch that ran the entire length of the building. It was furnished with an assortment of chairs and bench tables. Isabelle guessed this was the gathering place on balmy summer evenings when cool breezes wafted down the mountainside. It offered a fantastic view of the valley and its perpetual crown of snowcaps. It had to be a wonderful place to sit and eat outdoors, no matter what time of year.
She noticed Jenna was a little breathless after the walk. She pushed open the door to the cookhouse without a glance at the majesty around them, too busy concentrating on her breathing. Isabelle followed, entering a huge, modern kitchen. It was not at all what she expected. No primitive wood stoves burned here. This room was fitted out to a very high standard with professional kitchen equipment.
Well-scrubbed wooden countertops wrapped around two walls of the room. Two large refrigerators stood shoulder to shoulder near the entrance, and a huge propane range in gleaming stainless steel sat against the far wall. A double drainer sink stacked with drying dishes was tucked in under a large picture window opposite the door. Whoever did the cleaning could dream the chore away looking out at the distant mountains.
The windowsill was lined with more of the hand-painted pots and plants Isabelle had seen in Ren’s bathroom window. Sunshine poured through the glass and bounced off the shiny surfaces, bathing the room with warmth. The range pulsed out heat, along with the mouth-watering smell of baking bread.
The center of the room was dominated by a long pine table with bench seats. Paperbacks and magazines on all manner of interests lay scattered over it. Some were for a younger age group, and Isabelle imagined these were for Mouse. It was obvious this was the real home hub, not the barren bunkhouse. The butter yellow walls resonated with goodwill and homeliness, and Isabelle could see by the way Jenna bustled around the kitchen that she was its heartbeat. This was her space, her domain.
“What a beautiful kitchen,” Isabelle said in genuine admiration. Her words won a look of approval from Jenna.
“Do you cook?” she asked Isabelle. A little uncertainty crept into her voice. “Will you be taking over?”
Isabelle was surprised. Taking it over? She shook her head.
“Why would I do that? This is a wonderful kitchen and I bet you’re the one who made it like this.” She couldn’t see Ren or any of the others managing to organize it. If Ren’s kitchen was anything to go by, this place would be filled with bunches of dried herbs, bubbling unguents, and Lord knew what else. This was a cook’s kitchen, not an apothecary’s.
“I used to work in catering.” Jenna looked around her. “When I first came here it was full of cobwebs, with a wonky table and that old wood stove you saw over in the bunkhouse.” Jenna ran her hand over the countertop with pride. “I got Ren and the boys to build me these cupboards and a new table with seats to match. And I was adamant about getting a proper stove and the biggest fridge Ren could find. In the end, she got me two.” There was no mistaking the pride in Jenna’s voice.
“How long did that take to build?” Isabelle grabbed at Jenna’s enthusiasm. “It looks gorgeous, all the wood tones. Did you plan it all on your own?” It was shameless the way she exploited them all for an extra snippet of information, but it was justified, especially as Ren was being so recalcitrant.
“About three weeks. They went full at it. I planned it all out, and Ren told me what wood was available. It’s my dream kitchen for my big family.” Jenna abruptly turned away, a sudden discomfort in the conversation showing, as if she were embarrassed she had revealed too much.
“I love these.” Desperate to keep Jenna with her, Isabelle reached for one of the brightly painted pots on the windowsill. “I saw some in Ren’s bathroom.”
“I buy the plain clay pots and Mouse paints them and plants them up.” She seemed happier that she wasn’t the subject of conversation any longer. “She can’t sit still. It’s hard to keep her focused on anything for long, but tell her it’s for Ren and she tries harder. Given her own way, she’d be out running these woods ragged night and day.”
“Doesn’t she go to school?” Isabelle asked. Another question popped into her head, one she’d asked Mouse earlier. “Where are her parents?”
“She lost her parents. Ren looks after her now and she gets schooled here.” A defensive edge had crept into Jenna’s voice. She was protective of Mouse.
“Then she’s a lucky girl,” Isabelle said. “What a fantastic place to grow up. How long have you all been here?”
“I’ll get you some food. What do you need? Milk, eggs, steak?” Jenna moved to the fridge ignoring the question. The conversation about the farm and the people living on it was over. “I baked bread earlier.” Jenna choked back another cough.
“Are you okay? That’s a nasty cough.”
“I’m fine.” The reply was curt, and Isabelle understood Jenna did not want to talk about her health either.
“The bread smells fantastic.” Isabelle changed the subject back to food. She moved around the kitchen noting the little details, she paused to look at Mouse’s artwork tacked to the walls and on the door of the fridge.
“Got any greens?” she asked hopefully. She was coming to realize just how clever the kitchen layout was. Jenna had planned the entire space to function effortlessly for the cook. Isabelle was pleased she recognized the fact. It seemed she was a homebody, and she itched to cook in this kitchen. It would be a pleasure.
“Greens?” Jenna looked over.
“Yes. Whatever vegetables you have in. Can you spare any?”
Jenna gave a short bark of laughter. “It’s clear you’re new.” She went back to her foraging. “There might be some carrots. Joey likes to crunch on them from time to time, like a big rabbit. But then he’s hopping about like a big rabbit anyways.”
Isabelle was surprised. It didn’t seem an unreasonable request. Fruit and vegetables were an important part of a healthy diet. How could Jenna have worked in catering and not keep greens? She came to a side door next to the big stove. It was the equivalent of the bathroom in the bunkhouse. The door stood ajar and frigid air wafted through. Expecting another bathroom or maybe a larder, Isabelle gave the door a gentle push; it swung open to reveal the room beyond. She froze.
It was indeed a larder of sorts. A meat locker. Tiled throughout, like the washroom, in basic white tiles from floor to ceiling, and with similar drainage holes in the floor. But instead of baths and basins, this room was empty, barring several huge hooks driven into the ceiling. From each hook hung the headless carcass of an adult deer. The freshest still dripped blood onto the floor where it pooled in huge coagulating puddles around the drain holes. Her stomach heaved and she swallowed a surge of bile.
“Fresh game.” Jenna’s voice came from behind her. “Needs to hang.” She reached over and closed the door with a firm click.
“Why are bits missing from the carcass?”
“Huh?”
�
�The legs. They have their forelegs missing.”
“No meat worth having on the foreleg. Here’s your stuff,” Jenna said gruffly. She pressed a cotton shopping bag into Isabelle’s hands. It was clear the visit was over and it was time for Isabelle to head home. Jenna clearly had a day of chores on her mind, and entertaining Ren’s guest was not one of them.
“Thank you.” Isabelle hefted the heavy bag in her hands. “I promise to replace everything as soon as I can get to a store. Where’s the nearest one, by the way?”
Jenna looked at her peculiarly before turning away and heading for the door.
“Get Ren to take you there.” She side-stepped the question. “I better go and untangle Mouse’s hair.” She sighed. “Get ready for some squealing.”
Isabelle followed her out. She didn’t want to go back to Ren’s cold cabin just yet. She wanted to stay and help bathe Mouse and chat with Jenna. She liked her company and knew that under all that brusqueness beat a heart of gold.
These young people were interesting and fun and just what she needed to pull her out of her own maudlin melodramas. It also helped her form a picture of Ren’s home life. Jenna and Joey were in their late teens, Patrick in his early twenties. How long had they been here, and how had they arrived? What did they do? Did they all work for Ren and the fisheries?
“You come along for dinner tonight. The boys are going down to the station this afternoon and I’m planning dinner for about six thirty. That okay with you?” Jenna asked just before they parted.
“I’d love to,” Isabelle said. Her heart gave a happy little flip. This was a welcome gesture and she greatly appreciated Jenna’s overture.
She watched Jenna head back to the bunkhouse, her stride full of strength and purpose. Although she had been politely welcomed and generously provided for, Isabelle knew she had also been kept at arm’s length. Trust was a big thing here. She had seen it in Mouse’s corralling of Joey’s loose tongue, and Jenna’s wariness, and even, to some extent, in Patrick’s bossiness. They were all careful around her.
Full of thought, she trudged up the track to the crescent of trees that hid the cabin from the buildings below. She had just entered the canopy of fir when she heard Ren. Her voice was low and held barely contained anger. Isabelle stopped dead in her tracks.
“We don’t even need this meat.” Ren’s voice was hard. “It’s a stupid, needless kill.”
Isabelle dipped her head and slunk to a crouch. From under the lowermost branches, she could just make out a small group of people standing several yards away. She could see Joey balancing on his crutch, looking very shamefaced. Beside him Patrick slouched, red-faced and sullen. A tall young man Isabelle had not seen before stood next to him. He was slight and dark skinned, and looked younger than Patrick but older than Joey. He stood square to Ren, taking the force of her anger unflinchingly. He held a red fox by its tail, and Isabelle’s heart constricted with compassion for the dead animal. Flame-furred and full-bodied in its winter coat, it dripped blood on the snow from a large tear in its throat.
“I’m sorry, Ren,” the new boy said, his voice passionate with apology. “It was such an easy kill, and I never thought—”
“It’s lactating,” Ren interrupted him, waving a dismissive hand. “So you’ve killed its kits, too,” she said with disgust, then walked away leaving the three young men standing.
There was a moment of silence before Joey wobbled over and gave the boy a pat on the back.
“Don’t worry, Noah. She’s been cranky since the fuckup last week,” he said.
So this was Noah, Isabelle thought. Now all Ren’s group was accounted for.
“Guess I better get it skinned for Jenna,” Noah mumbled.
“Way to go. She’ll be so impressed with a fox fur. Maybe next time you can kill a mink,” Patrick said.
“Oh, shut up, prick,” Noah snapped. Joey gave a sharp snort of laughter that was quickly quelled. They began to move away.
“You’re the prick for getting Ren mad,” Patrick bit back.
“If Ren’s mad at anyone it’s you. You destroyed the books,” Noah said.
“I told you. It was an accident.” Patrick said. He was huffing. “I got confused.”
“You always fuck up.” Then Noah relented and took the sting out of the brewing argument. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Ren’s moody all the time since that woman arrived.”
“I met her. She’s nice,” Joey said. “I showed her my scars.”
Noah’s and Patrick’s guffaws drifted back up the slope. They were out of sight now but their voices carried clear.
“Did she admire her handiwork?” Patrick said before they moved out of hearing range.
Isabelle emerged from the trees and stared after them in shock. By her boot a sad trail of scarlet drips showed the path the boys had taken. Blood on snow. And Joey’s mashed-up injuries. Blood on snow.
It came back in a flurry, her fear and panic. The thump of her car hitting flesh and bone. The jerk of the seat belt across her chest, the engine almost stalling. She remembered an agonized roar as a ball of fur and fury slammed against her windshield cracking the glass. What the hell had she done?
She’d hit an animal with her car. She’d crashed and injured herself. But what did Noah and Patrick mean about her handiwork? She had not hit Joey; he’d had a hunting accident. Hadn’t he told her so himself?
Was this the secret of why she couldn’t go home? Why she felt like a bad person when she looked in the mirror? Because she’d driven into the boy?
Isabelle felt sick to her guts. She walked back up the slope and thought through this most recent flashback. It was bloody and nauseous. She was certain that it was an animal she’d crashed into—some huge, unrecognizable, bearlike creature. Not Joey. She realized with relief she had not run Joey down, but she had certainly hit some sort of animal.
Chapter Nine
Ren checked the nest hole. No Mouse.
“Don’t tell me she did what she was told for once.”
She strode over to the bunkhouse. With each step her temper cooled and she felt ashamed for shouting at Noah. She had to stop these knee-jerk reactions every time something went shit side up. He’d been hunting; it’s what she’d taught him to do. Now she would have to teach him about seasonal selection. In fact, she’d better teach them all that. And not just about killing, but the gestation cycle of every goddamned mammal in the forest.
Mouse’s singing greeted her as she entered the bunkhouse and she couldn’t help smiling. Her trilling echoed in the bathhouse acoustics.
“I thought you hated bath time?” She stuck her head around the door just as Jenna applied the final rinse to Mouse’s hair.
“I do. I hate smelling clean.” Mouse surged out of the tub, ignoring Jenna’s scolding. Water sloshed everywhere.
“Come here, water rat. Let’s mop you up.” Ren grabbed a big white towel and wrapped it around Mouse, then scooped up her squealing bundle and took her back to her bunk, where Jenna had already left out clean clothes.
“Stop wriggling, you little varmint.” She began to dry Mouse with a flurry of brisk rubs and tickles. Jenna leaned against the bathroom doorjamb and watched as the bath water gurgled away.
“Isabelle called down and collected some groceries. I think you’ll be eating at your own place for a while,” she said, watching Ren with inquisitive eyes. Ren hesitated, and Mouse took the opportunity to wriggle out from the towel and pull on clean clothes.
“She did?” Ren was surprised Isabelle was out and about so soon and anxious that she was meeting the pack without Ren to make introductions. “Good.” She was unsure how to react.
“I saw her, too,” Mouse piped up, not to be outdone.
“Do you like her?” Ren asked, sliding home the zipper on Mouse’s top.
“Yes. She told Patrick off for shouting at me and Joey.”
“Did she, now? And what did you and Joey do for Patrick to be shouting at you?”
“I saw her s
melling your stuff,” Mouse said, slyly changing the subject. “She held up your socks and went pooooooo.”
“She what!” Ren cried in mock anger. She grabbed Mouse and swung her upside down holding her by her heels.
“She did. She did.” Mouse placed her hands on top of Ren’s feet and they walked around the room like that, Ren taking giant steps with Mouse doing a handstand on her boots.
“I’m gonna bite your knees.” Mouse laughed uncontrollably.
“And I’m gonna bite your butt.” Ren smacked her on it instead. “Were you snooping around my cabin last night, young lady?”
“A little.”
“A little?”
“I saw her pawing at your clothes.” Mouse was adroit at turning attention away from her own misdoings. “She was chewing on them. Don’t you feed her?”
Ren righted Mouse and set her on the ground. “Enough, your hair is too long for this. I’ll end up stepping on it. Mouse, keep clear of my cabin, all right? I want Isabelle to take her time settling in. No surprises, okay?”
“Okay.” Mouse straightened her clothes. “I like her,” she announced, as if that was all there was to it.
Ren growled. “Haven’t you got a math assignment to hand in today? Better get to it.”
Jenna shooed Mouse to the door. “On you go. Your books are on the kitchen table. I’ll be over in a minute and we’ll bake cookies after you finish, okay?”
When Mouse had scooted off she turned to Ren. “Isabelle looked a little lost this morning. Asked lots of questions and needs even more answers.”
“The answers are the hard part, Jenna.”
“Her memory will come back when the shock starts leaving her system. It’s best she hears it from you than figures it out for herself. That would be mean.” Jenna’s voice was soft, but her eyes held worry and a little admonition.
Ren bristled at the subtle warning. They both knew how mean it could be. “I won’t hurt her.”
“The hurting’s already been done, Ren. Your job is to make it better.”
“How’s the cough?” Ren asked her.
Indigo Moon Page 8
