Uncharted

by Graeme Connell

  I’m thinking of selling up everything now and moving away once the book is settled. I might take a look at somewhere on Vancouver Island. I’ll take a trip and see what the business opportunities are like. Some sort of a fresh start to keep busy and interested in life. Not really sure what I’ll do. Our wildflower book has been my focus this year. Hannah is off to Europe this winter, and Harris is enjoying himself and doing well in the warm waters of northern Australia. I think he’s given up on the big boat racing idea since the capsize and his close encounter in renegade seas. Not sure we will see our boy back here again; he does enjoy his sailing and the sun. I’ll suggest to Hannah that she and I head down there when she’s finished at Acadia. We’ve talked about it, and I’ve now come to realize that you will be with us too. You will always be wherever we are.

  This has been a long letter today, Mel. I know you will read it as the expression of my lonely heart. I don’t think I’ll write any more, so this is my final letter to you, my love. I want to release you to your new place. You kept your vow of till death do us part, so now I must let you go, happy to know that one day we’ll hug again.

  Love goes on and on, forever.

  Brewster

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It’s still dark when Brewster wakes. He thought his restless nights were a thing of the past, but here he is, wide awake. His first thoughts are of Clotilde. He gets up, showers and goes to his computer. He stares at it, working up the courage to write her an email about yesterday’s miraculous find. He wants to reach out to her and hopes to see her again, to be involved together and bring the project to completion. Please, please, Lord. Help me.

  Hello Clotilde,

  Great news. I’ve found a striped coralroot in Fish Creek Park. Well, I didn’t find it, but a seven-year-old girl found it and took me to it. It was by Owl’s house, she said. She’s imagined Winnie the Pooh and Tigger down there in her own fairy-tale place. Ever since I blew up (and I apologize over and over for that), I’ve been down at the park looking for the orchid. I had to find it, and Lily, the little girl, led me to it. I’m sure it will be around for a few days yet; flowers are still forming, and it’s in a relatively safe place.

  Please come and have a look. I know you will be delighted. The plant cluster is not far from the barns, toward the river and along the pathway to the snakes. I think you might find it a good location to get your drawings. I promised Lily and her parents I would be there tomorrow for detailed photographs. Probably around noon, when the sun is high and the light is best at ground level. I’m hoping Lily can be there, but she only gets out on day passes from the hospital, so it really depends on her condition.

  Do let me know. I think you’d like drawing this striking little plant.

  Brewster

  It’s 7:00 a.m. when he finally sends the email. He’s dithered a bit, contemplating whether he should email or call on Clotilde, and wondering if she is still mad at him to the point of total withdrawal from the project. He thinks about Holly’s comment that they trust God for each day with Lily’s illness and their hope for a miracle. Such a bright child, he thinks. How sad for them—leukaemia. As Brewster prepares his breakfast, he recalls Harris’s very serious and meaningful comments before he returned to his life in Australia.

  “Dad, when I was out there floating around in a stormy ocean, there was only one thing I could think of, that if this was the way God wanted me to die … .well, I didn’t have a choice, did I? You and Mom taught us to believe in Jesus Christ, so that’s where my mind was as the huge waves lifted and broke over me. I could hear the emergency whistles of my mates, but I could not see them. When a wave carrying me crested, I could see the hull of our broken yacht and tried to head toward it. Nothing was happening. I just prayed and sang any old hymn I could think of. I must have lost it somehow, because the next thing I know, I’m being hoisted into a rubber ducky—you know, a Zodiac. So I say, Daddy dear, that I’m here today as a result of God’s hand. All of us were picked up, and I always see God in our rescue. So get with the program, Pops!”

  Brewster smiles. Harris’s rant has touched a spot deep down, and even though he has yet to truly accept Melanie’s accident, he sees now that she has broken through this life and into the new; she is with her Jesus in the very place He promised her. His lips move in a whisper as his eyes close, seeking help to embrace the day.

  #

  He breakfasts out on the patio with the chickadees. There’s been no response from Clotilde. Perhaps she’s not home, but he knows she always takes her phone with her and that Bebo will have heard the email come in. It’s after 11:00 a.m. when he heads to the park. He does not want to miss this fresh opportunity to spend time getting all the striped coralroot pictures he will need. He imagines the picture on the wall of the park administration building.

  Lily was delightful in the way she told him about Owl. The faith of a child. Melanie often spoke of them being children of the living God. Not many people in the park again today. That’s good. Fewer interruptions to my challenge.

  The coralroot looks gorgeous, and the natural light is as he likes it. The dime-sized flowers sparkle in their translucent beauty. He pushes some of the undergrowth away to allow the filtered sun onto the tiny plant, poking maybe a foot or so above the dark, moist, ground clutter. He has plenty of room to move around, setting up his tripod and camera. He positions his homemade reflector to improve the lighting under the flowers and unrolls his vinyl picnic cloth so he can lie down to minimize ant attacks and avoid prickles. The mosquitoes haven’t found him yet, but they’ll come soon. He pulls on his mesh mitts. He’s lying down and composing his photograph on the digital screen before seeing it through the viewfinder. He’s lost in the closeup beauty of the orchid. He wipes away stray twigs and grass crowding the frame.

  “Hello, Mister Brewster.” It’s Lily, cheerful and smiling from under her big hat. “Owl told me in the car park you are here, and Mom and Dad let me run down to see. They’ll be here soon. We’ve got lunch.”

  Brewster looks into her shining face. He invites her to kneel down and look through the lens at the flower. He shows her how to click the shutter and take her own picture.

  Clotilde reaches the barns and recalls the message that the plant is somewhere along the path near the garter snake hibernaculum. She knows every inch of the park and heads straight for the place where she thinks Owl might live in the imaginary Hundred Acre Wood. Brewster jumps up when he sees her, embarrassed, and he offers yet another apology as Lily bends to touch Bebo. Clotilde asks her not to pet the dog because he’s at work; she explains quietly that Bebo helps her by listening. Lily stands back, silent and watching, while Brewster shows off the coralroot. Clotilde greets him with a smile. He inwardly melts as she shows her excitement at seeing this very striking flower.

  “Let’s go find your parents,” Brewster says to Lily. He expects Clotilde will need about an hour to do her work with the plant. Further photographs can wait for different lighting. He’s quietly thrilled Clotilde has come and is obviously back in touch with the project.

  Lily races around the grassy picnic area, chasing the ground squirrels into their burrows. Then she lies quietly on her tummy, watching them pop out again and call to one another as they dart from hole to hole. Her squealing laughter drives them all underground again. She rolls on to her back. “Mister Brewster, can we go and see that lady now?”

  “She’s getting a bit tired,” Wendell says. “I’ll ride her down.” Lily doesn’t need any prompting. As fast as a ground squirrel dives down it’s hole, Lily is up on her dad’s lap, snuggled against him as he wheels round and heads down the path.

  Brewster and Holly pack away the picnic gear, and he helps her stow it in their vehicle. She tells him more about Lily, and about Wendell’s past few months in a wheelchair.

  “How do you handle it all?” Brewster asks.

  “We were faced with the utter b
leakness of everything that was happening to us. My neighbour came over one day and said matter-of-factly, ‘Why don’t you give it all to Jesus?’ What about you, Mr. Brewster?”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like to talk about it.”

  As they walk toward Clotilde, Brewster realizes that he’s been extremely rude to a person who has opened her family to him. He’s just about to speak when Holly tells him he’ll drive himself to an early grave if he keeps everything inside. Surprised at her bluntness, he apologizes and tells how he and his wife were well established in their church, and he really thought he was a true believer until the accident. “I could not understand why Jesus took her away from me. Where was God?”

  “So you’ve spent the past year being totally miserable to yourself and everybody around you,” she says. “How does that make you feel? Any better?”

  “With what’s happened in the past few weeks, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s me,” he says. “I slammed the door and wallowed in my own misery. I’m the one who has to open up.”

  Their footsteps on the loose gravel remind him he has to buy cornflakes on the way home.

  “I’ll be honest, Brewster. Our lives were shaken to the core when Lily first got sick. Then there was Wendell’s accident. Our world was crumbling. Wendell took my hand one night when I was visiting him in the hospital. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, brushing the tears from my cheeks. ‘Let’s pray.’”

  They turn onto the soft, needle- and cone-strewn path to Owl’s place. Brewster tiptoes into their quietness. “You are an astonishing family, Holly. The coralroot has introduced us, perhaps for a purpose we’ve yet to experience. Look.” He pauses and lifts his camera to his eye. Lily is standing with her arm draped across Clotilde’s shoulder. Sunlight bounces off her big pink hat, contrasting sharply with the green of the trees and the dark brown of the pathway angling across and behind them. Clotilde sits on her portable camp stool, her sketch pad across her knees. Her floral dress drapes to one side, providing a snug spot for Bebo. “This is a Rockwell moment if ever I saw one,” he says. He positions and repositions, shooting from all angles to capture the backlit moment.

  “Mommy, I want to draw like this lady,” Lily says. “I can put the pictures on my wall.”

  Clotilde senses Lily’s interest. She rummages in her bag, brings out a small sketchbook and offers it. She gently pushes Bebo to one side to make room for Lily, who squats on her knees, takes a green pencil from Clotilde’s case and begins drawing the coralroot.

  Brewster and Holly leave them and join Wendell nearby at the river. He hushes them as they approach and points to a garter snake wriggling its way upstream on the opposite bank. They spot another in the shadows.

  “Sure is a magical day,” Wendell says. “Twenty minutes here in the sun beside a lazy, wandering river has given me new energy.” He turns to Brewster. “Lily has really taken to your artist friend.”

  “Speaking of Lily,” says Holly, “we’d better get back and get her home.”

  Lily sees them coming, jumps up and starts yelling. “Look, look! The lady says it’s really good. I made my stalks green—much better green.”

  “She reminds me of my Hannah at that age,” Brewster says, realizing that this is the first time he’s spoken of his children. “She’s doing an earth and environmental sciences degree at university in Nova Scotia. We used to come here and do the same things. She loves the wild plants, just like her mother did.”

  “Mr. Brewster, this lady—I’ve seen her at the hospital. When she reads a book, she waves her hands like this, and Anil the deaf boy knowed what she was saying.”

  “Her name is Clotilde,” Brewster says. “Look at her when you talk and she will know what you are saying. Clotilde is deaf too, and when you talk she can read words on your lips. Cool, eh?”

  Bebo frisks around as Clotilde packs her things, and the Palmer family heads toward the car park. It’s been an interesting and happy time, and Brewster wonders where it’s all heading. Clotilde is very matter-of-fact, all business. She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. He mutters something about his turn now, and he looks at the flower and considers his best angle. With a perfunctory “I’ll be in touch,” Clotilde and Bebo are gone. The silence of the woods surround him as he settles down with his cameras, and for half an hour he loses himself in his favourite pursuit, reminiscent of his times scrabbling in the underbrush as Melanie poked around looking for other hidden gems.

  He elbows his way up to sit on his knees and unclamps his shoulders. He has the feeling he’s being watched, but there’s not a person in sight. A deer? No, there’s not a sound.

  “Why don’t you give it all to Jesus?” Holly’s question dangles in front of him. Harris’ outburst sits on his mind. He tries to brush them aside. “Give what?” he asks, directing his question to the coralroot. “Me? I tried that, remember? But I wake up every morning.” Pins and needles tingle and prickle his legs. He gets one leg up and leans forward on his left arm to stand. He looks around, certain now that he’s not alone. He pulls his camera case over and leans on it to pull himself up. His legs throb as nerves rearrange their pattern. It’s time to get back to the car park.

  Give it all to Jesus, give it all to Jesus, give it all to Jesus. The words clang in his head. “What?” he screams. “What?”

  “Hey, Brewster. You okay?”

  José is about 30 feet down the path. “Oh, hi, José. Boy, you startled me there. It’s just pins and needles and a bit of cramp.” Brewster’s words rush out in an embarrassed ramble. “Look, we have the striped coralroot.”

  “Man, that’s cool,” José replies as he comes alongside. “How’d you find that? Looks as though it would have been very well hidden until you started trampling all over the ground.” He grins.

  “Clotilde was here, and we had a family with us. It’s been a good day,” he says, fluffing up and rearranging the disturbed ground cover.

  As they stroll back to the parking lot, Brewster talks about how he’d been led to the plant by a small girl’s imagination.

  “Pretty remarkable, I’d say. Sounds like one of those God moments,” José says. “Well, I’m due over at the centre. Good to see you, Brewster. Glad the project’s going well.”

  Brewster slowly packs his gear into the Jeep, methodically closes the tailgate, locks the vehicle and wanders over to the picnic table he’d shared a couple of hours before with the Palmers. “God moment,” he murmurs. “What the dickens did he mean by that?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brewster wakes with a wild idea to paint the lounge and dining room. He looks around the room, and halfway through his breakfast, he gets up and rummages through a drawer where Melanie had carefully stowed the paint chips they’d decided on. The work will keep him busy while he waits on word from the park.

  Hello Harris and Hannah,

  I think I’ve gnawed my fingernails to the quick while waiting for word on the project. Today I finished painting the lounge, like your mother always wanted. It’s the colour she chose, a warm sandstone. Looks good and fresh, but I think it needs a contrast wall somewhere. I can remember your mom talking about it, but I don’t think it was ever decided. You guys might know more next time you are here.

  Well, I just got a call from Louise at the park. We have a book meeting set for Friday afternoon. Sounds good to me, and then I’ll be able to report on the next step in getting this work done. To say I’m a little bit excited is an understatement. I’m sure your mom will be pleased that her work and interest will see daylight in a glossy, full-picture book to be enjoyed by many users of the park and beyond.

  The business is good, and when I last checked, Joel has successfully filled all vacant space. We have an insurance company as a new ground-floor tenant. A large company is pressuring us to sell them the building. We’re into some heavy negotiations, but Joel is confident the sale will go through.
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br />   Must give Jo a call at the Blue Aster. Haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks now.

  Harris, you asked me about Irene. To bring you up to date, she finally heard from her long-lost husband because he wants a divorce. Joel and I helped her with her papers to get things settled. She was a bit distraught, as you can imagine, with her husband leaving on an overseas assignment and not coming back. She may pull out of Calgary and take a contract job with the Nicaragua canal project. Massive undertaking, and she may be working with a British company on some environmental aspects. Good opportunity for her.

  As for me, I’m doing good and getting things together. Been going to the Rhodes for their small-group meeting. I’ve met too many people recently who by chance happen to tell me to “give it all to Jesus.” So there you go. I’m following your advice too. One day I’ll talk to you about all the blue asters showing up wherever I am. Not sure I’ve ever seen so many in one season. Makes me think there’s something going on. But that’s crazy talk.

  Would love to hear from you soon. Thanks so much for your emails.

  Dad

  Brewster is sad that Clotilde is not at the meeting. As he understands it, she’s closed up her house and moved her world to Cheticamp in Cape Breton, for an extended stay close to her parents’ families. He hasn’t seen much of her since the coralroot finding, and he recalls the day they bumped into each other at Louise’s office when she mentioned very briefly she was leaving the city. His chin had dropped to his knees, or maybe the floor, saddened to lose all contact with her. He’d love to be with her, talk with her and hear her voice. The possibility of seeing her again has kept him attending his sign language training program.

  “… But we’re extremely disappointed to tell you, Brewster, that we will not be printing the book this year.”

  Brewster sits bolt upright. He’d fogged out for a minute as the discussion revolved around how wonderful the work is and the amount of work done to present the final draft. The technical information has been added, and the book is ready for final editing and design.