by Janine McCaw
Olivia’s Mine
Janine McCaw
Copyright 2005 by Janine McCaw
Smashwords Edition
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For Gerri Cook, who loved to tell a good tale.
Preface
For years I had been driving up the coast from Vancouver to Whistler, passing by an old mine site on the east side of the Sea-to-Sky highway.
One summer day my husband Paul and I decided to stop and take a tour of the mine. I was fascinated by the history that had occurred at Britannia Beach, that for years, I had never taken the time to learn about.
To try to write a true account of the life and times there was beyond my scope. I’m quite content to leave that task to the historians. But the drama that occurred there, in the early 1900’s set my imagination into over-drive, and I spun a tale of what life might have been like, given the situations and the times.
We attended the 100’th anniversary reunion at Britannia Beach, where I learned a little bit more about the tight knit community that once thrived there.
Britannia Beach during the 1900’s was a multi-cultural community with all the challenges that entails. People were not necessarily politically correct. That part of the book was difficult to write as I don’t share the viewpoints of some of my characters. But times were what they were.
Urban sprawl being what it is, Britannia Beach will soon change forever, and rumour has it, the old mine on the hill is going to get a face lift. Some of the charm of the old town may be lost, but more people may take the time to stop and learn the history of the area. Olivia would have liked that.
Acknowledgements
I could not have written this book without the love of my life’s constant support and encouragement. Paul Busch, thanks for saying “Is it done yet?”
The artwork is done by Canadian artist Millie LaBelle who lives in Thunder Bay, Ontario. Millie paints incredible landscapes, and if you would like to see more of her work, you can email her at [email protected].
Grace Shaw, I will never truly learn the proper use of a semi-colon. Thanks for reminding me it wasn’t a body part; as you patiently read through the works. I am learning about syntax for the next one.
The story you are about to read is fictitious. The characters are figments of the author’s imagination and never existed outside the pages of the book. There is however, a real Britannia Beach, with a real mine and a real history. There really was a landslide, a fire, a cave-in and a flood. A good book to read for a more accurate account of the life and times would be Britannia: Story of a Mine by Bruce Ramsey. Or if you happen to be in the neighbourhood, spend some time at the BC Museum of Mining located on the Sea-to-Sky highway between Vancouver and Squamish.
Epigraph
“There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run.
When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun.”
"Canadian Railroad Trilogy" by Gordon Lightfoot
c 1967 renewed 1995 Moose Music
Used By Permission.
Chapter One
The single rosebud he held in his hand was a mixed hue of yellows and soft pinks, a hybrid common to the gardens of the Pacific Northwest.
“Do you know that every time I come into this garden and see the roses, I’ll think of you?” William Bower said, as he removed the thorns, shortened the stem and handed the flower to the beautiful young woman before him.
In its life the blossom had reached for the light, twisting itself around a portion of the wooden arbour that blocked it from the sun. This gave the stem a unique curve. It was not a perfect specimen, but it was beautiful in its own right. He removed his spectacles to take a closer look at the flower. It gave him a sense of peace. The rose garden at the back of the house was his hobby, his escape, and he tended to it well.
“Nothing in nature is straight,” he commented, his voice breaking slightly. He coughed, trying to cover up his emotion, bringing his other hand up to cover his mouth, his grey moustache poking out from beneath his fist. Although he was a man well into his fifties and seasoned in the ways of business and life, at that moment, he found it hard to compose himself.
“I’ll miss the roses very much,” she said, pausing to smell the perfume. “These are my favourites. I’ll always remember how it really doesn’t smell much like a rose at all, more like a peach. Look how the colours blend together, like it can’t quite decide what shade it really wants to be.”
“Ah, now you’ve hit upon it,” he mused. “Perhaps that’s why they remind me of you. Not because you’re delicate like a little flower. Nobody in their right mind would have the audacity to compare you to such a thing.”
This made them both smile, and broke some of the awkwardness of the moment.
“No,” he continued, “because after this plant gathered the gumption to survive the never ending winter rains of Seattle, it bloomed forth in glory, still managing to hold something of itself back. It didn’t quite let its full beauty show. It’s feisty and so complex, like you. I have no idea why this bud has bloomed early in March. Perhaps it is a sign of good things to come this summer. Perhaps it just couldn’t wait. Patience has never been your strongest virtue either.”
“That’s really quite beautiful,” she said. “I never knew you could be so eloquent.”
“There are a few things you don’t know about me, you know,” he replied.
William gazed at the young woman before him, her chestnut hair, not unlike his own, placed erratically atop her head, like some last grasp at childhood. Her slender figure cast an early morning shadow over the well-manicured lawn.
“You have always been my flower, Olivia, and you don’t have to go.”
“I’m a married woman,” she reminded him. “My place is with Frank, in Canada.”
“But Canada is so far away,” he stated in a tone that told Olivia he really didn’t believe it himself.
“Next you’re going to say I’ll be living with a bunch of savages who live on ice flows all year round. I am an educated woman you know. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that. I’ll be a short journey away, just north of Vancouver. You can always come see me if you miss me too much.”
“And you can always come back if you miss me too much,” he added.
The two continued their stroll though the garden. The rhododendrons were beginning to form buds. In another month, a mass of royal purple would be in full display along the pathway leading to the home, but Olivia knew she wouldn’t see their full splendour this year.
“You’ve been to Britannia before, haven’t you? You’ve never told me what I’m in for,” she noted.
“Your Uncle Aaron asked me to investigate one of his business holdings a few years back,” William replied. “He was dabbling in mining himself then, always looking for new money-makers; you know how he is. Since I was heading up there on some investment business myself, I dropped in on the town for a weekend. Despite what your mother might have you believe, it’s actually quite civilized. There are over 500 men working at the copper mine. The town’s not a bad size. My stomach ulcer was acting up somewhat while I was there and I was relieved to learn that there was a doctor living at “the Beach” as they call it. In fact, there is a tiny little hospital which seems to be able to handle most of the day-to-day mishaps and ailments, which is mo
re than I can say for our own medical facilities at times. Don’t get me wrong, I was rather relieved to have to spend only a few days there. I think the isolation will drive you quite insane, you being a big city girl. But you won’t be any worse off than you would be in one of the smaller towns here in Washington State. Your mother’s sister lives in Spokane, and just try to get out of there in the winter when the snows close the Snoqualmie Pass. Now that’s isolation.”
William sat down on the wooden garden bench he had hand-crafted many years ago. The winters had weathered it over the years, but it held for him many memories of spectacular sunsets with his children on his lap.
“At least,” he continued, “you will be able to take a boat into Vancouver every now and then if you get lonesome for some city life. Vancouver’s not so bad, and it’s rare that there’s enough ice in the Straight of Georgia to stop the boats, even in January. That’s how you’ll get back and forth, on supply boats, mainly.”
He noticed Olivia was taken aback by this last bit of information.
“Besides,” he said, taking her hand as she sat down beside him, “it’s 1915 and we’re heading into a new age, let me tell you. If my conversations with the Canadian government continue at the pace they are now, they’ll soon be putting in a railroad there too, north-south, just like they’ve done here. They’ve got to find a better way to bring that lumber down from the forests to the pulp mills, mark my words. If they had listened to me the first time around, they’d have the confounded thing completed by now, instead of just talking about it. Great Pacific Western Railway indeed!” he scoffed. “Silly buggers.”
“Now that sounds more like you,” Olivia laughed.
He tweaked her nose like he had done so many times in her life, a ritual between them, and Olivia briefly wondered whether she would ever find that familiarity with him again.
“There’s a man up there, McMichael, I think is his name. I’d say he’s in his early thirties but he’s crusty enough to be in his eighties. Swarthy character…you’ll find out soon enough who he is. Don’t you go spilling our family secrets to him. He’s got his fingers in enough of the pie up there, from what I recall. Don’t mention me. I think he’ll remember the occasion we butted heads. There’s no real reason for him to know you’re a Seattle Bower unless that man you married goes and tells him so. I told him I’d flog him if he did, and by God, I meant it. You’d be better off to wait until we have the opportunity to harvest some of that untapped wealth up north, so that you’ll be able to provide for yourself once you divorce that man. No sense handing him the money. You’ve got to be practical.”
“Daddy,” she said. “I’m surprised that such a staunch Catholic as you would even whisper the word divorce, let alone recommend it. If you want a family scandal to spice things up, open Emily’s closet.” She looked him in the eye. “I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine. Frank’s a good man, you know that.”
“Hmm, we’ll see. I’ve spoken to your sister Emily about her gallivanting ways and she tells me it’s entirely your fault. She says it all started when you taught her how to tie the sheets to the bedpost and use them to escape out the window and onto the porch roof and off into the great beyond. Something your mother has never been able to figure out to this day. Or at least she claims not to have. Perhaps separating the two of you for a while is not such a bad idea. Your sister is a young seventeen, rather naïve…wipe that smirk off your face Olivia…but she’s ultimately sensible, takes after her mother. That husband of yours though, Frank, I’ll never understand why he insisted on dragging you, a woman of twenty years, up to that God-forsaken copper mine rather than take the job I offered him here. You go with my blessing, my child, but not my approval. We had this discussion before you married him. They are two very different things.”
Olivia smiled. “I never told him about the offer. It never would have worked. You’d have been hard on him to disprove any favouritism.”
William Bower laughed in mock disgust. “Favouritism?”
“You know what I mean,” she laughed back. “He would have hated you for it.”
“I should have known better,” he sighed. “Still, if I really wanted him to work for me, I suppose I could have asked him myself, rather than leave it to you. Freud would have something to say about that.”
Olivia noticed a vacant look in her father’s eyes.
“Dad?”
“Sorry, I was just reminiscing. By God, you were a frustrating child Olivia. Always going against the grain. At four you would turn your head when we were reprimanding you, thinking that if you couldn’t see us, we couldn’t see you. Your mother and I laughed so hard we didn’t feel much like scolding you after that. A devious little mind, even then. No, out of the five of you, if there’s one child I worry the least about, it’s you. You’re the most like me. I’ve often wished it was your brother Jason, but it’s not, it’s you. I have very fond memories of you, but I don’t want just memories. Promise me you’ll be careful, because I have a feeling that life is going to throw you some interesting curves. You have the stomach for it. You will be fine. Your family loves you very much, and we’ll always be here for you. Remember that. Remember to hold on tight to those you love, and that everything material can ultimately be replaced. I love you Olivia, and I trust that God loves you as much as I do and will protect you. It is hard for me to let you go, but go I know you must.”
Letting his guard down was not something William Bower was want to do, even amongst his family, as he suddenly remembered. He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch.
“Get inside and say good-bye to your Mother. It’s time we were off to the docks.”
Olivia turned and took one last glance at her childhood home. Nothing, she knew, was ever going to be the same.
Chapter Two
As the boat headed north towards the international border, Olivia smiled, remembering the last few moments she had shared with her father by the pier. She took a moment to gaze at the beautiful scenery surrounding her. Mount Rainier was a magnificent snow topped sight in the distance.
“What are you staring at, Olivia?” William had asked.
“The mountain. It is always different. All fourteen thousand feet of it. Every time you look at it, it’s never quite the same. Whenever I lost direction, I would just look up and find it, and I knew it was to the southeast. I am not going to know where my southeast is anymore. I want to hold this vision in my memory.”
“You’re going up the coast to an ore-mining town. I suspect you’ll be sick of seeing mountains soon enough,” her father had laughed.
The Captain of the steamer the Northern Mary, Frenchie Cates, had leaned over the stern side of the vessel. Olivia noticed its home port was Britannia Beach, British Columbia. The boat belonged there, and soon she would too.
“Fitzpatrick,” he had yelled. “Get yer kiester aboard m’ship. Time’s a wastin’. I gotta get ‘er goin’ while the tides awit’ me. I called ye once, me mate called ye twice, if ye aren’t here, we’re leavin’ witout ye. Merde.”
“That’s you, you know,” William cajoled.
“Oh my heavens, I forgot…” Olivia said, astonished. “My married name hasn’t quite sunk in.”
“Interesting…”
“Daddy, please…” she pleaded.
“You’re right. I’ve said my peace. Good-bye Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” said her father as he kissed her good-bye on the cheek.
“Give my love to mama,” she said. “I’m sorry she didn’t come to see me off. Tell her to please stop crying.”
“She’ll be fine Olivia. She’ll be busy once the baby comes.”
“You know Dad, she is getting a little old for that.”
William’s voice became embarrassingly stern.
“There are things, Olivia, that a respectable woman does not discuss, not even…especially not with her father.”
Olivia returned the tone of the voice.
“There are things, my father, that a respectable ma
n, does not do, or at least is more careful about…”
An awkward moment of silence was slowly broken as a smirk crossed her father’s face.
“Git yer kiester aboard the boat, before I throw ye in,” he laughed, mimicking the Captain’s accent. “Have a safe journey. Godspeed, my child.”
With that, Olivia had boarded the boat the Northern Mary, waving good-bye to her father and the rather affluent lifestyle she had been raised in. The Bowers may not have been the richest family in Seattle, but they were far from the poorest. William Bower’s family had been in the banking business for generations, most recently in California, and were only now going their separate ways, diversifying and using their family connections to spread the new found wealth amongst the old found few. Michael Bower Jr., Olivia’s oldest uncle, remained in the banking business along with her grandfather, who had not yet retired. Mackenzie “Mac” Bower, the second born son in her father’s family, was the attorney general for the State of Oregon. Aaron Bower, the next in line, was the risk taker, and had several interests, some legal, some not, including a newspaper chain, a metal fabricating plant and running Mexican tequila up through Texas.
Olivia’s father had met her mother, Grace, and became betrothed to her while he was away attending university. Grace was the daughter of the mayor of Los Angeles, California. Olivia’s grandfather had found that a good business match for his son William, and her uncles were envious for the same reason, her father had told her, particularly Uncle Mac, who had a few other reasons of his own to be jealous.
“One of your Uncle Aaron’s football team-mates had set him up with Grace, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go,” her father had told her. “So he wanted me to arrive early and see what she was like. If she was less than desirable, I was to make excuses for Uncle Aaron, meet him at the concession stand and he would sit somewhere else in the ballpark and watch the game. We were cads, no doubt about it. I got there a half an hour before the game, and there she was, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. So I made excuses for Uncle Aaron anyway, told him she was as ugly as sin, and stole her away. I don’t think he’s truly forgiven me for it, to this day.”
