Nancy drove down the hill to the house and shut off the ignition. She rolled up the window and stepped from the car. She could hear cattle and smell the pungent mixture of hay and manure. She guessed that Walter Blackwater, Cole’s older brother, would soon trail the cattle into the high country west of Highway 22 on the family’s grazing lease. She stood a moment in the yard, letting the smells and sounds of the ranch waft over her. She exhaled and felt herself relax a little after the dusty, bumpy road.
Nancy walked toward the house, casting her eyes at the barn. She longed to walk straight into its darkened spaces and begin to pry at the secrets there, but decorum dictated a visit with Cole’s mother was in order first.
From the back porch a border collie bounded toward her, wagging its tail. Nancy bent to pat the dog on the head, scratching behind its ears. She took the steps to the porch, opened the screen door, and knocked on the heavy wood-panelled door beyond. In a moment it opened, and she was greeted by a small, grey-haired woman in a flower-print dress who was wiping her hands on her apron.
“You must be Nancy Webber. Come in, come in. I’m Dorothy Blackwater,” she said, extending a hand. Nancy shook it. It was warm and firm.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Blackwater.”
She stepped into the house, and the smell of dinner cooking on the stove and something baking in oven welcomed her. “Wow, does it ever smell good in here.”
“When you called I put a pie in the oven and made us a little dinner. I’m so glad that you came by.” She turned and made her way out of the mud room into the kitchen. Nancy kicked off her shoes and followed. The kitchen was large and bright and warm. Windows opened onto the backyard, facing the sheds, barn, and garden.
“Would you like tea, dear?”
“That would be nice.”
“Black tea or something herbal?”
“Black would be fine, thanks.”
Dorothy Blackwater set a kettle on the stove and took a teapot from the sideboard, pouring hot water from the tap into it. She sloshed it around before emptying it again.
“Do you take milk or sugar?”
“Both.”
Dorothy found a pitcher of milk in the fridge, took a bowl of sugar from the sideboard, and set them on the kitchen table. When the kettle boiled, she put three teabags in the pot and poured the hot water over them. She let them steep, then took them out and dumped them in a bowl filled with vegetable cuttings. “Come, let’s sit at the table.”
They sat at the kitchen table, Dorothy on the end and Nancy sitting close to her on the side. Dorothy poured tea and produced tea biscuits and homemade Saskatoon berry jam. Nancy sipped her tea and ate the buttery biscuit as they chatted.
“How do you know Cole?”
“He and I met in Ottawa. We met up again when he was in Oracle last year.”
“Oh, that was a nasty piece of business, wasn’t it?”
“Which?”
“Oh, both, I guess,” Dorothy Blackwater said, looking out the window. “But that business in Oracle, my goodness, Cole was a mess after that. I do hope he’s more careful now. Do you see him at all?”
“I saw him a few months ago in Vancouver. We had dinner.”
“How was he?”
“He seemed just fine,” she lied.
“That’s good. Have you met Sarah?”
“I haven’t.”
“She is such a darling, that girl. Just loves horses. She was out at the ranch last spring, and she and Cole rode every day. Wore him out! But she could just go and go and go.”
“Cole thinks the world of her,” said Nancy.
“As he should. I do hope he’s getting on all right.”
Nancy sipped her tea.
“So, Cole doesn’t talk much about his family, Mrs. Blackwater. I’m really curious to know more about you.”
“There’s not much to know. I’ve been here on this ranch most of my life. Raised the boys, always made sure they had good food to eat and that they did their homework. Those boys sure had fun when they were little. They had the run of the place. I’d open the door after breakfast and they’d be off like a shot, running up into those aspens, and I’d have to yell for them at lunch or they’d have starved out there. They’d be gone again after lunch and the same thing after dinner. It just drove Henry crazy, but, my goodness, those boys had a spirit to them.”
“It must have been a wonderful place to grow up.”
“Well, it wasn’t without its hard times. We never had much money. The ranch only just paid its way. We lost money many years when the price for cattle was low, but we got by. I did some work in town, and Henry did odd jobs around the area on other farms. We got by. The boys had to work some. Cole not so much as Walter. Him being older, he got the heavy jobs. But both boys worked. Henry saw to that.”
“Cole mentioned boxing.”
“I think those boys spent as much time in that blasted boxing ring as they did in school. Every night when they were of age Henry’d have them out there. Poor Cole, he was always getting his nose bloodied. I didn’t have the heart to watch. Not once. Never stepped foot in that place.” She pointed toward the barn. “Walter being older, I think, got the better of Cole most often, but Cole went on to do well for himself. At least until he went off to college.”
Nancy put down her cup of tea. “I’d love to have a look around the place in the daylight,” she said.
Dorothy Blackwater stood up, putting her teacup and plate on the counter next to the sink. “Let’s go and have a stroll around, and then I’ll put the finishing touches on dinner.”
The late afternoon was cool and bright. The ground was bare and the earth beneath it hard, full of frozen moisture and frost. Dorothy pointed at the two rusting automobiles. “Walter’s been trying to get rid of all the junk that was collected when Henry was alive,” she said. “Can’t stand to have all those old cars around. Every few months he finds someone to take a few of them away. That used to drive Cole crazy, all those cars that his father bought and stripped and just left there to rust. He said it was fouling up our water. Never seemed to make much difference to me, but Walt says it’s better to be rid of them, so …”
They walked toward the drive shed. “This was built in 1919, when Henry’s dad bought his first truck. He’d just come back from Europe and used his soldier pay to buy a Ford automobile. One of the first men in the area to have one.” Nancy looked around the shed. A newish Ford Focus was parked there now. They looked in on the chickens and the pigs, Nancy enjoying the sounds and scents of the working farm. They made their way toward the barn. “Over there is a trail that leads up through the aspens to the crest of the hills. From there you can see clear over to the Livingstone Ridge and beyond to the Continental Divide. Cole and Sarah rode up there every day they were here last spring.”
“Are they going to come back for a visit this year?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Cole loves being here, but it’s so hard for him.”
“Why is that, Mrs. Blackwater?”
“Oh, goodness, I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it much. I think the business with his father really gets to him. I didn’t see him for three years after, well, we really don’t talk too much about it.”
Nancy bit her lip. “Talk about what, Mrs. Blackwater?”
“Here we are. Let’s have a look inside the barn.” Dorothy led Nancy to the back and showed her where half a dozen cows drank from a trough, and where a few more came and went from the darkened basement of the barn. “I have a boy come from the next ranch over to put some hay out for the herd here every day. Walter comes most weekends to see to some of the heavier work. The cattle get most of what they need to eat on the hills in the summer, but in the winter, well, they need a little help. Walter always says that the open range only exists in the movies, and that our cows would starve or freeze to death if we didn’t put up enough hay. I suppose he’s right.”
They made their way around the barn toward the front doors. “This is w
here Cole and Walter used to box. Henry built them a ring and strung some lights, and those boys would be out here nearly every night after dinner. They’d come in and I’d have a tub ready for them to clean up in before they went to bed. Henry worked those boys pretty hard.” She opened the broad doors. Nancy felt her heart beating with anticipation. The light slipped between the weathered boards as the door squeaked open and fell across the inside of the barn.
“You see, there’s nothing left now,” said Dorothy.
And indeed, she was right. The barn was stacked with hay and, in the centre of it, where Nancy imagined seeing the boxing ring with its stories and evidence of Henry Blackwater’s end, was parked a riding lawnmower. Nancy stepped inside.
“Walter and Cole took down the old ring last spring when Cole was here. Said it was just taking up space that could otherwise be used for the ranch equipment. They burned most of the wood and even the canvas floor out back. We had a big fire going one day. It was quite the sight.”
I bet it was, thought Nancy.
— They sat at the dinner table and finished their meals. “That was really very good, Mrs. Blackwater,” said Nancy.
“Please, call me Dorothy.”
“Thanks again for dinner, Dorothy.” Nancy smiled.
“Would you like coffee?”
“I think that would be nice. I’ll need a little jolt for the drive back to Claresholm.”
“You are very welcome to stay here, there’s plenty of room.”
“I don’t know if I can do that, Dorothy.”
“I insist,” she said, patting Nancy’s hand as she stood to clear the table.
“Only if you let me do the dishes,” said Nancy.
“That’s a deal.”
“I don’t know if I ever said how sorry I was for your loss,” said Nancy, rising to clear the plates away.
Dorothy Blackwater poured water into a drip coffee maker. “Thank you, dear,” she said.
“It must have been a terrible blow.”
“It really was.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking about it.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I’m really just worried about Cole is all,” said Nancy.
“Is there something wrong with Cole? He does take things very hard, doesn’t he?”
“He does. I suppose I’m just worried that maybe he’s suffering.”
Dorothy took out cups, sugar, and cream and placed them on the table. “How do you mean?”
“He seems to have taken his father’s death very hard. I feel that it’s changed him.”
Dorothy busied herself in the kitchen, piling up the supper things next to the sink and cleaning the stovetop. Nancy stood next to the sink and watched her.
“Can you tell me anything about Cole’s relationship with his father that might help me help Cole?”
“I don’t really know what I can say,” said Dorothy. “They were father and son. Like most, they had good days and bad. There’s really nothing more I can say than that.”
“Did they, well, get along?”
“They got on okay. Cole and Henry had their differences of opinions. They didn’t see eye to eye on how the ranch ought to be run. But Cole knew that Henry ran the show around here. I think much of what came between them was the arrogance of youth. After Cole left for college, he didn’t come back very often. We hardly saw him at all until Sarah was born.”
Nancy began washing the dishes. She looked out the window over the sink at the hills beyond the barn, aspens moving as the breeze slipped down the hillsides and pooled in the low places for the night.
“Did Mr. Blackwater do most of Cole’s training?”
“In boxing? Most of it, yes. When he was seventeen, Cole went to live in Calgary for a year to train in a professional gym. That’s when he went to the provincial championships.”
“Mr. Blackwater must have been very proud.”
“I dare say he was.”
“Do you remember if Mr. Blackwater went to see Cole fight?”
Dorothy stopped and looked at nothing. “I believe he must have,” she said, smiling. “He was very proud of his boys. He was always talking about what good boxers they were. I think Henry figured Walter would be the one to go on and box for a championship, but when Cole did, Henry was just as proud of him as he was of Walt.”
“Mrs. Blackwater, I wonder if you would be able to tell me anything about the time when Cole was here four years ago. When he was heading out to Vancouver.”
“I don’t know what I can say….”
Nancy piled up the clean dishes and started in on the roasting pan. “It’s just that, well, Cole really seemed to change after that. He seemed to, well, get pretty dark after that visit. Can you tell me anything that might help me understand Cole a little better, just so I can help him out?”
“There isn’t really anything to tell. It was a very difficult time for us all, Cole and Walter being here and that business with Henry. I really can’t say much more.” She turned to finish cleaning the counter.
Nancy rinsed the last of the pots and searched the soapy water for any final items that needed cleaning. Then she emptied and cleaned the sink.
“Was Cole here when his father died, Mrs. Blackwater?”
“Oh, Nancy, I just can’t talk about that. It was horrible.” Dorothy composed herself and then said, “Come, let’s sit in the living room and have our coffee. I’ll show you some pictures of the boys when they were little.” She collected the coffee service and headed for the living room, leaving Nancy to dry her hands and follow behind.
They were seated on the sofa, leafing through a thick album of black-and-white photos, a few colour images toward the end of the book, when Nancy heard a car door slam. For a moment, her heart leaped to her throat. She held her coffee and tried not to stare toward the back entrance, her fingers trembling a little.
“Oh, that must be Walter. He said he might come by this evening.” Nancy sipped her coffee and tried to breathe, but found her chest tightening.
“Hey, Mom,” came a voice from the mud room.
“I’m in the living room, Walt.”
“Whose car is that, Mom?”
“We’ve got company. A friend of Cole’s.”
Nancy heard a man walk into the kitchen.
“Come and have a cup of coffee, Walter, dear.”
The sound of heavy feet neared the living room, and at the kitchen doorway a broad man, thick in the chest and arms, appeared. He was wearing the tan shirt and green pants of a park warden and wore a clean Stetson on his head, the brim rolled neatly on either side, his polished badge held fast with a thick brown band of leather. The man removed his hat when he stepped into the room. He reached a large hand toward Nancy. She stood up.
“I’m Walter Blackwater,” he said.
She took his hand, which eclipsed her own. “Nancy Webber.”
Walter smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
14
The wind blew through Cole Blackwater’s curls as he stood on the flying bridge of Jacob Ravenwing’s boat, the Salmon Pride, powering across the mouth of Blackfish Sound toward Cormorant Island and Alert Bay. Jacob owned a 1972 thirty-two-foot Grand Banks cruiser that had seen better days but still maintained some semblance of its original glory. When they had boarded the boat that morning in Port Lostcoast, Jacob told Cole that he had bought it at auction five years ago in Seattle after selling his commercial trawler. Now he lived on the boat, most often moored in Alert Bay, and took tourists fishing for halibut and salmon when it was necessary to earn a little money.
Above, dark clouds scudded on the western horizon, tripping over the low mountains at the north end of Vancouver Island. By the end of the day, Cole guessed, it would be raining again. Cole Blackwater was ready for spring. Or maybe this is what passed for spring in this neck of the woods.
Beside Cole was Darren First Moon, and below, next to Jacob at the wheel, was Grace Ravenwing. The four of them
had agreed earlier that morning to go have a look at the Inlet Dancer in Alert Bay. If it was seaworthy, and the Coast Guard and RCMP were through with it, then Darren would pilot it back to Lostcoast.
The two men stood in silence for much of the trip, the wind pushing at them. Cole felt chilled right through to his bones, even with one of Darren’s old slickers worn over a heavy fleece coat. Cole had a black wool longshoreman’s cap pulled down over his ears, but a few errant curls escaped. He wore heavy woolen gloves on his hands, and still he shivered.
“Why don’t you go down below?” shouted Darren.
“I don’t get to do this very often,” said Cole.
The truth was, he was embarrassed and didn’t want to face Grace Ravenwing. After he had come in from the bar, drunk and bruised, she had given him a frosty reception. When she had asked about the fight, he had been evasive, not wanting the ugly undercurrent of racism that had provoked the bout to further impinge on her already troubled week.
They made the turn at Pearse Island by noon, then entered Broughton Strait, making for the docks at the north end of Alert Bay. Jacob slowed as they passed the Fisheries and Oceans pier, and the foursome strained to see the Inlet Dancer. Grace Ravenwing climbed the ladder to the flying bridge and stood between Darren and Cole. They peered toward the dock, eyes roving over the shapes of the boats for the Inlet Dancer. They spotted it next to the Cape Sutil, a Canadian Coast Guard search-and-rescue boat from Port Hardy. They motored on beyond the government docks and entered the sheltered waters where Jacob Ravenwing’s berth overlooked the cultural centre and museum and the houses of the reserve beyond. Jacob piloted the boat while Darren climbed down to the deck to help guide the Salmon Pride into the slip.
“It looks to be all in one piece,” said Cole.
Grace nodded. He could see tears in the corners of her eyes. He slipped an arm around her small, solid shoulders and she let herself be pulled into him.
The Darkening Archipelago Page 13
