Uncharted

by Graeme Connell

  “No worries,” he says. He is about to add something more, but Irene continues.

  “Hope I didn’t cause you any stress, and that you didn’t wait too long in the lobby.”

  “No worries,” he repeats. “I guessed you must have got held up somewhere. I did the same thing: ordered in pizza and read a book.”

  He finds it easy to talk with this happy woman sitting opposite him, but he soon runs out of things to say, gets a bit tongue-tied and leaves the conversation to her. He’s happy to respond. He watches her butter her toast, load on marmalade and slice the piece into quarters. Precise, just like an engineer.

  “More coffee?” he says, getting up. “I think I just spotted a fellow putting out fresh.”

  He takes his time wondering if he should again invite her to dinner tonight. Is that what people do? This is new territory for him, and it’s something he hasn’t done since he first invited Melanie to coffee all those years ago. Melanie. What will she think of him now, finding company with another woman?

  Irene looks up at him, smiles, thanks him and shatters his nervous tension with plans for the day.

  “I have to go to the office for a bit this morning to finish off yesterday’s inspection. I’ve got my car, and if you don’t have anything planned, I could show you what I know about this remarkable town.”

  Brewster is flummoxed. How should I react? And why so jittery? “Um. Sounds good,” he says. “Um. So, right. I’m not doing anything except ambling around.”

  He looks at Irene and sees the light fade from her brilliant brown-black eyes. “You took me by surprise,” he adds. “I’d love to hang out and check the sights of this area with you. Maybe I could get some sandwiches and a pop at Subway, and we could lunch in a park somewhere.”

  With all the poise a woman can muster with a mouth full of toast and marmalade, Irene grins. “Great. I’m glad you like the idea. What about Meadows in the Sky? Going to be a brilliant afternoon.”

  “Never been there,” Brewster says. “If you say it’s a good place to visit, let’s do it. It’ll be fun. It’s the sort of thing I haven’t done in a long while. Thanks for the idea.”

  They agree to meet at the Grizzly Plaza in the midtown Heritage Walk. After swapping cell phone numbers, Irene packs up her dishes and heads out. Brewster remains at the table, lost in his thoughts and mixed reactions of sadness and delight at the opportunity to spend an afternoon in the mountains with a beautiful, vibrant woman.

  He pulls up his iPad and taps out a message to Hannah and Harris. “This is what is happening in my day here in Revelstoke. The breakdown with the Jeep has a good side.” He writes about Irene and her friendliness, and he emphasizes that the afternoon trip to the Meadows is not a date, just a small adventure in a picturesque place on a picture perfect sunny day. He finishes breakfast with a marmalade-loaded croissant and returns to his room.

  The city has made a big deal out of its heritage legacy, and in spite of its changing fortunes, it has revitalized many of the original buildings in the downtown core. It’s a history town, and it’s this history that holds a fascination for Brewster. He likes the architecture and takes his mind back to the days when settlement was based around building the railway and its operation in an area that knows more about winter snow than probably any other region along the railway’s length from coast to coast.

  He walks along the streets of historic commercial buildings and houses of a bygone era, and he is saddened by the fact that he is without his lifetime friend. They’d long promised each other a visit to this railway city, but they had never made it past the Tim Hortons on the Trans-Canada Highway as they drove through from Calgary to the fruit stands of BC’s interior. He gets to thinking about all the times he’s foregone something because it took time, because it wasn’t on the schedule or agenda, because he had something else to do, because he thought Melanie was busy. So many excuses, and he’s reminded that he almost did the same with Irene a couple of hours before. Spending the afternoon together was all she suggested. Visiting the Meadows was all she suggested. What is he so antsy about?

  There’s still some time before he’s to meet her, and he finds himself walking toward the Columbia River. A spur line used to run down here from the railway to bring cargo and people to the sternwheelers. He tries to imagine the noise of people and machines; sniffs the air for any telltale signs of coal and wood smoke and loses himself in an imaginary time warp from his rest stop on the cedar seat of a paddlewheel sculpture. It’s a city that has matured beyond the rush and crush of developing the railway, sternwheeler traffic up and down river, electricity and the construction of one of the largest hydro dams in the province, the logging in its heyday and today, the enduring aboriginal people’s love of the land and its abundant resources and yes, even farming—dairy cows perhaps on this very piece of land.

  The history and the industriousness of a community named after a London banker have combined to give him something to think about besides himself. Sure, I can feel sorry for myself, but I can’t bring her back. No one can. She’s conquered this life and gone. Just like the pioneers of this town. They worked it, developed it and left a legacy for others to enjoy.

  Hannah was right to tell him to get out of town. It was right that his vehicle had an inexplicable breakdown seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Here he is, sitting quietly, listening to the voices of days gone by—people who lived and died. They are surely the faces in this town.

  He finds he’s looking forward to his trip up Mount Revelstoke to the Meadows. This is good bear country, and the area shares a reputation with ursus arctos horribilis and his sidekick the black bear. He engages in an imaginary conversation with Melanie from where he sits on the kerb near his meeting place with Irene. A crow looks at him and contemplates a raucous reply when Irene walks up.

  “Were you talking to that crow?” she asks.

  “Too right, but he’s not listening,” Brewster says, thankful that Irene did not hear his conversation. “I hardly recognized you all dressed for the outdoors,” he says. “I’ve really only seen you set for exploring tunnels.”

  She’s dressed in an easy-fit floral top, light khaki walking shorts and hikers. Her tanned legs and arms show off her slender, athletic frame.

  “I’m parked just over by the visitor centre,” she says. “I love this country, these mountains. I get out whenever I can. There’s a group of us who hike and bike most weekends during the summer. In the winter we snowshoe or cross-country ski.”

  Brewster picks up his daypack. “This is lunch,” he says, hefting a large plastic bag. “Don’t ask me what it is, because I don’t have a clue. I was walking past the coffee house just down a block or so and asked them to put together a lunch for two up at the Meadows. All I had to do was pick it up on my way back from being down at the river, where the sternwheeler dock used to be.”

  “Sounds like a man’s approach,” she says. “I’m all for that kind of surprise. Knowing that foodery, it’ll be good.”

  “Hey, same as mine,” he says when she points out her forest green Jeep Grand Cherokee. “Except mine’s red and is now happily being repaired in Salmon Arm. I love it—well, until the other day anyway.”

  He recounts his reason for being in Revelstoke. His chatter masks his schoolboy nervousness at being alone with Irene and the strange feelings that tell him he’s being unfaithful.

  Her Jeep is a true engineer’s vehicle, and he scans the array of gear stowed in the back: shovel, hard hat, boots, Carhartt overalls and jacket, a level, stakes, orange tape and spray cans.

  “I like to be self-contained,” she says, noting Brewster’s interest. “I dunno. It might be my size or the fact I’m a woman, but a lot of the guys must think I’m a delicate, desk-bound, corner-office type. Having a trunk full of gear lets ’em know I know what I’m talking about even if it’s never used. Anyway, let’s go. Meadows, here we come. I’m m
ore than ready for this adventure.”

  They head out to the Trans-Canada Highway, turn east and find themselves in the heavy mix of midday traffic with semis hammering along in both directions.

  “Busy highway,” she says. “Always is. I’m glad there’s a good looping off ramp just up a bit to get across to the Summit Road. Have I told you I love it here?”

  Brewster’s lost his voice. How can I keep up with this person? She’s like a hyper alpine guide. I haven’t climbed around mountains since my early 20s. He smiles at his host and bends to peer out the windshield at the tree covered rocky bulk towering ahead.

  “Now we’re through the park gate, we’ve got 26 kilometres of paved road that will take us up about 1,000 metres from here,” Irene says as she pilots the Jeep around a tight, rising curve. “Sixteen switchbacks. Great views.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It’s a hurried and unexpected start for Brewster. His morning email includes the good news of his Jeep being available for pickup around noon at the Salmon Arm dealership. He stops by the front desk after his leisurely breakfast to inquire about the best way to go the 100 kilometres west to the lakeside town.

  “We’re heading that way in about an hour,” a voice beside him says. He turns and is greeted by the middle-aged couple who’d been sitting behind him at breakfast. “We can drop you there—only about an hour or so trip.”

  “You sure?” he says. “That’s a wonderful offer. My Jeep broke down on the highway and had to go there for dealer service. I only have a small backpack, so I can be ready to go anytime you want.”

  “Done,” the man says. “I’m Jim, and this is my wife, Doris. Let’s meet here at, say, 9:30?”

  “Boy, don’t get that very often these days,” Brewster says to the young woman at the desk.

  She smiles and adds that the couple often visit the hotel on their way through to the Okanagan. “They’re good people,” she says. “You’ll enjoy their company.”

  #

  An hour later, Brewster waits in the lobby and covers business and pleasure on his iPad.

  Hello Harris and Hannah,

  On my way to Salmon Arm to pick up the Jeep. I met some people here an hour ago, and they offered to drive me through. Very nice of them. Not sure what I’ll do when I’m mobile again. It has been very restful here in Revelstoke. I might head back home because the park folks want to talk about what they say are exciting new developments with our project. I’m not sure I’m fully on board. What do they want? I’m still a bit reluctant to part with the photos even though I’m sure your mom would be tickled pink that our pastime might benefit park visitors.

  I spent a magic day up at the Meadows in the Sky in Mount Revelstoke National Park with Irene, the woman I mentioned the other day. Over dinner last night, she talked a lot about grief. In a very nice way, she challenged me to get over it and accept it as one of those unexpected life events we’re actually quite powerless to control.

  As I say, she was quite frank and said a few things I really didn’t need to hear. She asked me if I believed in God, and I said rather bluntly, “No, not anymore.” I emphasized that I didn’t want to talk about it. After a bit of a sticky silence, she opened up about her own circumstances. You won’t believe it, but her husband went overseas about 20 years ago as an aid volunteer and has never come home. She hasn’t heard from him—doesn’t know where he is or even whether he’s coming back.

  She’s reconciled to that and enjoys life to the fullest as what she terms a “volunteer widow.”

  Hannah, I expect you are through your exams now and getting ready for your time in Europe. You’ll have an awesome summer, I’m sure, and I long to hear all about it. Not sure what’s happening in your world, Harris, except that you’re into winter, and I wonder if that is a good tourist time.

  A car has just pulled up at the door; it’s my ride to Salmon Arm. I’ll check in with you later.

  Blessings,

  Dad

  #

  “I’m all set, Jim. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your offer,” Brewster says, packing his iPad and picking up his daypack. He settles into the rear seat of the Subaru Outback and greets Doris, and they’re on their way. As usual, he’s a bit lost for conversation.

  “Takes about an hour,” Doris says. They talk about the weather, the pending rain showers and the promise of sunshine when they reach the Okanagan. “How long will you be in Salmon Arm?”

  “I’m picking up my Jeep from the dealer there. It broke down the other side of Revelstoke, and because this is a warranty fix, it had to go to the nearest dealer. Then I’ll head back to Revelstoke because I’ve left my room open there. I’ll head back to Calgary tomorrow.”

  “You must like Revelstoke, then,” Jim says. “We do. We always find it nice to stop there on our way through. It’s pretty regular because we have family over this side and like to check up on the grandkids. Every now and then, I’m called upon to speak on a Sunday at one of the churches.”

  “You’re a pastor, then?”

  “I’m a teacher at a Christian school in Calgary. What about you? How do you fill your days?”

  “Oh, just a businessman. I sold my sheet metal and plumbing business a few years back and bought some property and a multi-storey commercial building in the southwest. That keeps me fairly busy, and my …” He hesitates, his voice breaks and his eyes sting. “Ah, well, we own a flower shop too.”

  A discomforting silence fills the Outback.

  “Looks like we’ll be in Craigellachie soon,” says Doris. “Historic little spot once we’re through the Eagle Pass. Ever stopped there, Brewster?”

  “Matter of fact, I haven’t,” he says. “One of those things that was always on the to-do list but never happened. Always wanting to get from A to B in one day.”

  They stop at the rest area and walk across the large parking lot toward the cairn marking the completion of the transcontinental railway in 1885.

  “This is an interesting place to me,” Jim says. “It is said that maybe British Columbia might not have joined confederation without the railway. I connect the last spike driven here, that uniting of Canada, with the last spike driven in the hands and feet of Jesus as he was crucified. So you see, the last spike fulfilled Canada’s promise to unite this great country, and so too did the nails in Jesus fulfil God’s promise to unite us by grace with Him.”

  Awkward. Brewster watches as young Chinese spill excitedly off two tourist buses in the parking lot. He fiddles with his briefcase. Should I just let that go, say nothing? “I’ve not heard it put like that before,” Brewster says.

  Camera-laden boys clamber around the caboose at the stone monument, taking their photographs, while several chattering girls head to the gift shop. Some young guys mimic driving in the last spike nearby as others stand at the mural, excitedly pointing out the Chinese faces.

  “I can imagine the hoopla and rah-rahs here when they connected the lines from east and west,” Brewster says. “I wonder if they thought about the human cost, especially amongst the underpaid Chinese? Their deprivation, substandard facilities, no food or clothing provided as in the ‘other’ camp, segregated, abused, fall sick or injured or dying. I wonder how uniting that was.”

  “Serious thinking there, Brewster,” Jim says. “And we must never forget that cost. All the more reason to know the Gospel, to have faith in God’s promises and the hope that we have in Christ.”

  “Didn’t do my wife much good,” Brewster says. “Killed on a crosswalk just a year ago. She put Christ first all the time, loved the church—an ardent volunteer always. And then bang, she’s gone, and I’m still here alone. It should have been me. She had so much to give. Where is God in that?”

  The tourist shop is full now of the Chinese visitors looking for treasures and memories to take back to their homeland. Their enthusiastic chatter floats out the do
or. Their brief glimpse at history ends as the coach drivers and guides wave them to reboard.

  Doris looks at him, steps up and says, “May I?” She holds him tight. His body quivers, and he’s near to breaking. Why, oh why did I say that about Melanie?

  “I knew something was troubling you about your wife,” she says. “I’m so sorry. Don’t give up.”

  Brewster mostly listens as they cover the miles to Salmon Arm. He changes the conversation to his children and answers Doris’s questions about their career choices, and finally how they had accepted their mother’s death.

  “All I can say is that they have done much better than me,” he says. “At least, that’s what I see. Sure, they’ve talked to me about it, but they share the faith of their mother. Me? I thought I did too, but now, not so much. I don’t see God around at all.”

  “Just remember, Brewster, the Word that God has planted in you,” Doris says. “I can assure you that God is as near to you as the breeze on your cheek.”

  There’s a departing awkwardness in the parking lot. They exchange smiles, shake hands and hug. Jim and Doris decline his offer to pay for his ride, and with a wave they are gone.

  Brewster heads into the dealership, and an hour later, he turns out onto the highway. He’s grumpy and ticked off that it took so long to get his Jeep, and that he had to sign too many pieces of paper. On top of that, he’s wrestling a negative attitude on his parting conversation with Jim and Doris.

  He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, ever again.

  #

  The intermittent slap-slap of the wipers clearing the light drizzle from the windscreen reminds Irene of life itself, the contrast between yesterday and today, last night and this morning. Magnificent views in brilliant sunshine and light breezes on the mountaintop unfolded into late evening thunder and lightning as a prelude to grey skies, morning showers and drizzle.