by Lesley Crewe
“Who’s there?”
“It’s Bruce Samuels, from up the road.”
Not that I want him to see me, but at least he’s not a murderer. I let him in.
“Well now, how’s she goin’? I didn’t know you were coming home for a visit. Nice time of year to come though. The colours are vivid on the trees this year. The house is just fine. When I smelled the smoke from your chimney, I said to Patricia, I better make sure that no one’s broken in. You’re not paying me to look after the house and me not do my duty. No sirree. I’ve kept a good eye on the place.”
“Thank you, Bruce.”
For the first time he really looks at me and I see concern in his eyes. “Are you all right, Grace? Anything I can do to help?”
My face crumbles. “My husband was killed and my father-in-law won’t let me have my son.”
Now this he wasn’t expecting. I bawl. He’s about as comfortable as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as Aunt Mae used to say. He has no choice but to pat my back because I’m clinging to his flannel jacket, but he’s over his head and we both know it.
“Let me go get the wife. I’ll be right back.”
And when he and the wife do get back, I’m right where he left me, still sobbing. Patricia Samuels is a bit standoffish in general, but faced with my breakdown she becomes Mother Teresa. “Bruce, go up and get Erna and bring her back here. This is a two-woman job.”
So off poor Bruce goes and comes back fifteen minutes later with Erna, who has sweets in one hand and a hot water bottle in the other.
Now that there are two women taking care of the situation, Bruce says he’ll walk home and leave Patricia the car. She shoos him out the door.
They’re on a mission. They put thick socks on my feet and make tea and feed me the squares Erna brought. The hot water bottle is against my chest, and I somehow have on my pyjamas and robe, though I don’t remember changing. They prop me up in front of the fire again and sit on either side of me, and gently ask me what happened.
I must be spilling my guts, given the gasps and declarations of mercy coming from the two of them. I have to turn my head to look at them one at a time. It’s like a tennis match.
“You can’t tell anyone about this. If my father-in-law finds out you know, he’ll have you killed.”
“Oh my land!” Erna makes a sign of the cross. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’d like to see him try!” Patricia yells. “Blasted foreigners. They have no business up in this neck of the woods. If you see him coming, you call me and Bruce will be down here with his rifle. Let your father-in-law put that in his pipe and smoke it!”
Eventually I drift off and they bundle me up so I can snore by the fire. They leave a note saying they’ll be down for breakfast. When I find it in the morning, I’m horrified. I refuse to be the village’s charity case, and I know these two. They’ll have told every female from here to Whycocomagh by now, so I call Erna and tell her to tell Patricia that I’m very grateful for their help, but I need to be alone today and I hope they understand.
“Oh, certainly, child. Just call if you need anything.”
I find two casseroles in my front porch, but no one bothers me.
I spend my time alone. People know I’m here and Bruce comes down and plows the snow from the driveway when we have a storm. I talk to people in town, just chit-chat while I buy groceries or go to the drug store. By now my story is old news and people are back to being preoccupied with their own lives.
Patricia and Erna suggest I join their rug hooking guild but I decline. My days are monotonous and I fill them writing letters to Jonathan so that one day he might read them and know that I think about him every day. I still write to agencies in my search for my sister, but nothing ever comes of my inquiries. It’s lonely work.
When spring arrives it’s clear I need to get a job if I want to continue to eat. The bulk of Aunt Pearl’s money is still safe, but I don’t want to use it, because if I do, then she’s really gone. I’m qualified for nothing with my high school education, but I manage to get a job as a waitress at Wong’s, the only Chinese food restaurant in Baddeck. They are kind and the locals have a habit of giving me hefty tips. They feel badly for me, and I accept their generosity because I need the money. The owners also let me take leftover food home for my meals, but after a year I’m heartily sick of chowmein and chicken balls.
The only downside to working there is seeing the families with kids come in and enjoy their dinner. Normal moms and dads who get to be with their children. Do they know how lucky they are? A young man comes in one night with his family and he reminds me so much of Jonathan, it’s all I can do not to stare at him. I go home that night and cry until dawn. No mother should suffer the loss of her child. Sometimes I dream of killing Oliver Willingdon.
That fall on my way to work, my car makes a strange noise and sputters to a stop by the side of the highway. This is the first time it’s acted up; I’ve been lucky so far with this car. If I have to buy a new one, I’ll be in financial straits.
It’s not too long before someone comes by and sees me standing by the side of the road. A guy with a ball cap on swerves over and shouts out his window. “Need help?”
“My car won’t start.”
“Do you want a lift?”
“Sure.” I scramble into the cab of the truck. “I’m going to be late for work.”
As we drive to the restaurant, he says, “You should ask Fletcher Parsons what’s up with your engine. If anyone knows, it’ll be him.”
That’s right. I wonder if he still has my car. I give him a call.
“Not sure if you remember me. I’m the one who parked my Pontiac in your barn and forgot to come and get it.”
“Amazing Grace Fairchild. Your car is fine, so no worries.”
“My new car is a Toyota Camry and it’s on the side of the road near the Red Barn. It died on me. Do you know if there’s a towing company around that can take it to your place? Maybe you’ll be able to figure it out.”
“No problem. I’ll see to it.”
A co-worker drops me off at Fletcher’s place after work. He’s under the hood when I arrive.
“Hello again.”
He straightens up when he sees me. “Hi, Grace. The bearing went in the idler pulley on the serpentine belt.”
“Good grief, that sounds serious. I can’t afford a new car.”
“It’s not serious. I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow.”
“What a relief. Thank you. How much do I owe you for the tow?”
“Nothing. I got it myself.”
“Then what do I owe you?”
“It’s on the house.”
“How do you make a living if you keep offering things for free?”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
He drives me home and says he’ll bring me the car when it’s ready. He looks around at the house. “I remember my grandmother coming here. She was friends with Pearl.”
“I miss Aunt Pearl.”
“I thought she was sort of scary.”
“Only if you didn’t know her. Would you like some tea?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
We sit at the kitchen table and drink our tea.
“I only have store-bought cookies.” I pass him over a plate of digestives.
He takes a couple. “Thanks. My grandmother told me the Fairchild sisters were known for their beauty, back in the day. Strange that only one of them got married.”
“Do only beautiful people get married?”
“Must be. I’m single.” He has a great belly-laugh.
“Is your grandmother still alive?”
“Yes, she lives in Baddeck. Still spry and bossy. Everyone calls her Nan.”
“You mean the small lady with blue hair who walks with a cane? That Nan?
”
“Yeah, you know her?”
“She used to visit my aunts. She seemed like quite the character. You’re very lucky.”
“I am. She raised me. Where were you brought up?”
“Guelph, Ontario. I pretty much raised myself until my aunts found me.”
“Your parents?”
“Don’t know where they are. Listen, do you think your grandmother would talk to me about Aunt Pearl?”
“She loves company and she’ll talk your ear off. I’ll ask her.”
Fletcher arrives the next day with the car as promised and I drive him back to work. Once again I try to give him money, but he declines. “I make lots of money. Don’t need yours. My Nan says to come by today at two. She’ll have the kettle on. Her trailer is on the right, halfway up Buchanan St.
“Trailers seem to run in your family.”
“I bought it for her when her place became too rundown. She loves it. It’s surprisingly cozy.”
Once again this gentle giant has come to my rescue.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you.”
“No worries.”
I knock on her door at two. This tiny woman, who Fletcher could pick up with one hand, comes shuffling to the door. “Oh dearie, come in, come in. You must be Grace, all grown up.”
“Yes, and you’re Nan.”
“My word, you Fairchilds all have the same nose.”
She motions me to an old plaid couch, but takes the tabloids off it first and shoves the television tray with her half-done puzzle to the side. The radio is blaring from the kitchen.
“I’ll go turn that off. Milk in your tea?”
“Yes, please.”
While she’s gone I look around. This place is surprisingly cozy. Mind you, I’d never have three cuckoo clocks in a row or a hundred thimbles on a shelf, but I can see it suits Nan just fine.
She’s back with our mugs and sits on the rocking chair by the couch. “Fletcher tells me that you want to know about your Aunt Pearl.”
“Yes, I wondered—”
“She and I were good friends, and she didn’t have many of those. Pearl never could tolerate nonsense and she wasn’t shy about telling you. Oh my, the boys loved her, always trying to get her attention, but when her mother died she sacrificed herself and became the woman of the house. I was so mad at her. She deserved her own family, but she never complained. Her father wasn’t the same after his wife died. Started drinking, although Pearl always denied it.”
Nan leans forward. “I saw him drinking when I was over there once, but I never said anything to Pearl. She had enough to contend with, what with her two batty sisters.”
“Her sisters were a handful?”
Nan rocks a little harder. “Handful? Does a bear shit in the woods? I mean, they were lovely girls, but not a brain between them. Rose was swept away by a handsome stranger. A year later she was dumped back on her own doorstep with a baby in her arms. Now I ask you!”
“Trixie was my mother.”
She nods. “Yes, a sweet little thing when she was small. Rose always dressed her like a china doll, but oh my, was she stubborn. I remember the day Rose and Pearl were in the grocery store and Trixie wanted a treat. She had a tantrum right in the aisle, crying and kicking her feet. Poor Rose tried everything she could think of to get her to stop. Pearl heard the ruckus in the next aisle and came marching over. She took one look at Trixie, reached down and hauled her to her feet. ‘You behave yourself. You’re acting like a spoiled brat!’ And Trixie spit on her! Pearl put her over her knee and gave her two good swats on the bum, which is what her mama should have done in the first place but some people are weak. And Trixie played on that when she got older.”
“Oh?”
Nan touches my knee. “Rose and Mae were the dithering type, so Trixie would run to them and cry about how mean Aunt Pearl was, and Rose resented Pearl for trying to discipline Trixie. It was a mess. I hate to say it, my dear, but your mother broke your grandmother’s heart.”
“She broke mine too.”
“Oh dear. That’s not good. Whatever became of her?”
“I wish I knew.”
Nan tsks and shakes her head. “Imagine. Not knowing what happened to your own mother. That’s a sin, child. A real sin.”
I take a slug of my tea.
“I heard rumours when you came back home, but I’m one to mind my own business. I’ll just say I’m sorry for your troubles.”
“Thank you.”
“And I’ll tell you this, young lady. Your Aunt Pearl thought the world of you.”
I look up from my mug. “She did?”
“Never stopped telling me what a smart little thing you were. And she loved your spunk. She’d say, “That girl will make something of herself, you just watch. She’s like the daughter I never had.”
At first I can’t speak, and then I clear my throat. “Thank you. I’m so glad I found you.”
“You come by here anytime. I like company. More tea?”
The days go by and I visit Aunt Pearl and Aunt Mae in the cemetery, bringing them flowers to leave at their graves. It helps a great deal to know that Aunt Pearl believed in me. What would she want me to do now? Can she feel my spirit draining away?
When I get back from the cemetery, I check the mail, only to find another lead in the search for my sister has come to nothing. This Maria Fairchild lives in Texas and has no siblings.
I have no family here, not my darling Jonathan, not my crazy aunts. There’s only one thing to do at this point. I have to go back to Guelph. My best chance at finding my family is to physically be there, in case leads do come up. I’m wasting time here. I need to look people in the eye. Surely someone knows where they are. I close up the house once more and give the keys to Bruce. After that I drive up to the garage to say goodbye to Fletch.
“Are you sure you should be driving by yourself all the way to Ontario?”
“I’m not a weak little woman, as you know.”
“The world’s changed. It’s not as safe as it used to be. Don’t pick up hitchhikers.”
“I promise I won’t.”
“Do you know when you’ll be back?”
“I can’t say, Fletch. But I will miss you.” I reach over and give him a hug. He pats my back.
“Take care, Grace. I’ll keep an eye on the house.”
“Bruce is looking after—”
“And I’ll make sure he’s doing his job.”
“Thank you for everything, Fletcher. You’re the best friend a girl could have.”
I hurry to my car and wave goodbye before I start sobbing. There he is in the rear-view mirror, waving back. My gentle giant.
The compound was on the outskirts of the city, farm country, but I forget exactly where. Just driving here makes my upper lip sweat. My mission is to find my relatives; I didn’t think I’d go back to the camp. And yet here I am, driving up and down these country roads, trying to see something that looks familiar. Why would it? I never went off the property until my drive in the police car, which I only remember in bits and pieces.
For three days straight I search, each night going back to the motel defeated. It’s not like I have any idea what I’m going to do if I find it, but I have this pull I can’t explain. There’s a diner near the motel where I go to eat. One of the older waitresses is friendly, or more likely nosy, but I’m so lonesome I talk to her anyway.
“I’ve worked here forever.” She wipes the counter as I sit on a stool eating my ham and cheese sandwich and glass of milk.
“Did you work here in the mid-sixties?”
“Yep. Told ya…forever.”
“Do you remember a fire in 1965 that burnt down the buildings in a commune around here?”
“Sounds familiar.” She looks at an old fella at the end of the coun
ter. “George, do you remember a fire here around 1965? Some sort of commune?”
“Yeah, the old Wainwright property. Weirdo religious hippie freaks burned the place to the ground. They almost burned the neighbouring farms too. People around here were glad to see them leave. Strange goings-on up there.”
“Where did they go?”
“Who knows? Who cares?” George goes back to his coffee.
The waitress frowns. “He’s a bit of a crank.”
“Can you tell me where this Wainwright place is?”
The directions take me further afield than I realized, almost fifteen miles to the north. The closer I get, the more I tremble, but I need to see it. It’s the last place I saw Mom and Maria, so it’s almost like a homecoming, but in a terrifying way. I have a tiny, tiny hope that I may find something that leads me to them.
As I approach the property, I have a flash of recognition about the landscape. Something seems familiar and yet strange, but then I never lingered outside the gate, only looked at it from the inside.
I pull the car into an overgrown dirt driveway, but stay near enough to the highway that I can see it. When I get out of the car, I lock it and put my purse strap across my shoulder. My camera is in my hand. I’m still not sure if I’m going to use it.
The walk down the driveway seems long, but that’s because I take baby steps, as if creeping up to surprise someone. Before I’m totally prepared, the compound comes into view. All the buildings are gone, but you can tell something used to be here, and the barn’s foundation is peeking through the tall grass.
It’s so much smaller than I remember. What I thought was a field is only a large backyard next to the woods. I walk around in a daze, trying to remember exactly where our bedroom was, the dining hall, the classroom. All the people are gone now, but did they take their memories with them? Do they live with them still? This place is quiet but the air is thick with the cruel things that happened in this space.
How could our mother bring us here? Why did she run towards something so dark? I’m so angry with her. I’m now the age she was then. Would I take Jonathan to a place like this? Would I let my son suffer like my sister and I did?
The barn is like an open wound. I don’t go near it, but I feel it follow me everywhere. I remember the tree house and walk towards the woods, but it looks like it was burnt to the ground as well. My eye catches a glint of something in the dirt. I brush it away with my hands and find a spoon covered with muck. Helen and I used to take things so we could pretend the tree house was our home. I wipe it with my bottom of my jacket and put it in my purse.
