by Janine McCaw
“Jimmy,” he yelled. “Come here a moment.”
Jimmy at first did not hear him, so McMichael yelled again, somewhat louder this time.
“Jimmy Yada! Come here my friend, the little ambulance driver. Do you know there are jobs for grown men doing exactly what you did here last night? You’ve got a bright future ahead of you Jimmy; you just keep at it and stay out of trouble. You’ll be able to drive those gas-powered automobiles. Now wouldn’t that be something? Now tell me, what are you up to today?”
Jimmy froze for a moment, looked warily around and started over towards the man. McMichael crouched down to the boy’s level and examined the contents of the wagon. “What have you got there?” he asked.
“Tea.”
“Tea?”
“Tea.” Jimmy nodded.
“I didn’t know you were a man of such few words,” McMichael said to the young boy.
“I’m just curious. You’re not in trouble. What exactly are you doing, Jimmy?”
“The people here are all upset. Because of what happened last night. I am bringing them calming tea. No caffeine.”
“No caffeine?” McMichael said, amazed by the young boy’s knowledge. “What is it then?”
“Herbal tea. Chamomile. My grandmother sent it to us. It was a present. She told my mother in a letter that it is very healthy. She told her it would be soothing. My mother sometimes feels lonely and upset and my grandmother thought this would help. I think it works because my mother has stopped crying so much lately. Would you like some?”
McMichael smiled to himself. Jimmy probably revealed more about his mother during that conversation than Akiko would have liked, as children often do. He hadn’t noticed a change in Akiko himself, but then he didn’t pay that much attention to her.
“Well, that would be fine, Jimmy. Yes. Thank you.”
Jimmy took a small demitasse cup from his wagon and poured a little tea into it. McMichael took a sip. It was quite good. He might have to think about stocking some at the store.
“The water has been boiled,” Jimmy stated. “It is safe to drink.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from Harry Yada’s boy,” McMichael said. “Would you like some money for this son?”
When he finished he gave the cup back to Jimmy, who also had the foresight to bring a bucket full of soap and water to wash it with, and a towel to wipe it dry.
“No, Mr. McMichael. I must do this for the people. For kindness. My father says it will come back to me three-fold. It will help us become centred once again.” Jimmy put his hands together in a prayer-like fashion and gave a slight bow.
McMichael clasped Jimmy’s hands and gently pulled them apart, stuffing a nickel into his palm regardless.
“You are quite an extraordinary boy. Your father should be proud,” McMichael said to Jimmy, who bowed his head but could not hide his grin. “It is quite considerate and kind of you to share the gift your grandmother sent your family. But always take the money. You’ve got to cover your expenses, charity or not. Carry on son.”
“Mr. McMichael,” the boy hesitated. “I am going to be a doctor some day.”
“Well then, we’ll have to find someone else to drive the ambulance, won’t we?” McMichael laughed. “You keep your eyes open for a few good men for me.”
“Yes sir,” the boy agreed.
Jimmy left up the street with his wagon, the nickel tucked safely in his pocket. McMichael opened the door to his office and went inside.
Sarah, who had obviously not been home, had now arrived. Her hair was tossed on top of her head, and her normally primly pressed dress was wrinkled as though she had slept in it. But other than that, she actually seemed quite in control under the circumstances. She was sitting at her desk, going over the books.
“Mr. McMichael,” Sarah said. “I spoke with the Vancouver police last night. I told them there had been a landslide. They said they were sending up an officer, and that he should arrive sometime today.”
“Good,” McMichael said. “I suspect he will be here a while. Send Akiko up to John Howser’s house to clear things out and clean it up for the constable. He can stay there while he’s here.”
“They said he would be moving up here…” Sarah said nervously, not sure how her boss would respond.
“Well, then you’d better tell her to clean it good. And charge him two dollars more a month than Howser was paying. No employee rates for the police. We want to make that clear.”
“I believe he’s bringing some doctors and nurses up with him.”
“Then call the hotel, make arrangements for the medical staff to stay there. Tell them it’s no charge. At least for the time being. If there’s too many of them we’ll have to billet them with families in town. Anything else?”
“Should we have the pastor bless the house, you know, since John’s dead and all? Get rid of any evil spirits lurking about?”
“We could if we knew if the pastor lived through the night. I haven’t seen him myself. And if you do find him, I think he’s going to be a bit busy with pastoral care, funerals and things. Maybe you can just whip up a séance Sarah, and be done with it. On your own time of course. Which reminds me, people are going to need more candles after last night. All those vigils in the street. Get down to the store and tell Joe to put the price up five percent.”
“But sir,” Sarah began to plead. It shouldn’t have surprised her that her boss would try to profit from the tragedy, yet it did.
“Anything else?” he asked, the tone of his voice telling Sarah he was losing patience.
“Um, no sir, I don’t think so anyway,” she replied.
“Good. Can you find me the engineering stability report?” he asked.
Sarah looked confused.
“The papers that the engineers left. Remember the men who were here last week? I’m sure you remember the men Sarah. They had you type a report, one that said they thought the mountain was safe and sound. They signed it, and they put a seal on it, and they left us a copy. I need that copy Sarah.”
This rang a bell with her.
“Oh yes, I remember the men. Quite distinguished, weren’t they?” Sarah appeared to go off into dreamland.
McMichael coughed loudly bringing her back to reality.
“Oh, the report! Ah, no sir, I’ve been looking all over for it. I thought you might want it. I know it is here somewhere…”
“Sarah, do you realize how important that piece of paper is?” His voice was full of exasperation.
He leaned over her desk, and a drop of perspiration fell from his forehead onto the ledger she was working on.
“Yes sir,” she said, trembling. She felt herself turning red despite her wishes to the contrary. A wave of nausea passed over her. “I wish I could remember…”
She could feel the icy stare through to her bones. His eyes moved from her face to the wall behind her, and she was glad he was focusing on something else.
“Sarah,” McMichael said sharply. “What is that bundle of paper you have hanging on a string with a clothespin? Over there, behind the filing cabinet. The one with the seal imprinted on the last page that I can see from here?”
“Oh,” Sarah sighed, relieved. “There it is. Now I remember. I had spilled tea on it yesterday and hung it there to dry. You remember when I did that, you were going on about Ruby…”
“Lose it again Sarah, and I will hang you out to dry.”
Sarah’s eyes began to well up. The pressure of the last twenty-four hours was taking its toll on McMichael, and his rage, which often lay just below the surface, was well above it now.
“Give it to me,” he yelled, no longer able to hold his own composure.
He wished that Ruby were his only problem this morning. How much simpler things were yesterday. McMichael took the report, slammed the door leading into his private office and poured himself a stiff drink of Canadian rye whiskey. He had earned it.
There was a knock at the door.
�
�Oh, for the love of God, Sarah!” McMichael said and stormed over, opening the door with some force. “What now?”
But it wasn’t Sarah. There standing before him was a man, dressed in a crisp navy blue uniform. The man, all six-foot four of him, was of impressive stature. McMichael sized him up quickly. The stranger appeared slightly younger than he was, but McMichael sensed maturity in the man that went well beyond his apparent chronological years.
“J.W. McMichael, I presume? Sergeant Rudy Wolanski,” the man said. “Vancouver Police. I’ve been stationed here indefinitely by Chief Stuart Collin. I believe the two of you are acquainted. He sends his regards. Now, why don’t you tell me what the hell happened here last night?”
“Excuse me, Mr. McMichael,” Sarah stammered, “I didn’t get to announce him properly. I didn’t catch his name. He just went scooting by me. And he has a badge and a gun and all…”
“There’s no problem Sarah,” McMichael said, his voice suddenly finding insincere friendliness. “This is the constable you said they were going to send up, Officer Wolanski.”
“Um, well actually there is sir,” she said.
She gazed at the stranger, thinking how attractive he was and how single she was. This man, she sized up in her own way, was quite something. He had a handsome, rugged look about him, with a scar above his left eye. The scar dissected his eyebrow, giving him a slightly roguish look. His moustache, the same sandy blond as his closed-cropped hair, was neatly trimmed below a nose that revealed it had been broken once or twice, which in her estimation, only added character to his features. He was tall, taller than most of the men in town, and just how tall she was hoping to get close enough to, to tell.
“There is what, Sarah?" he queried with some exasperation in his voice.
“Oh yes. A problem,” she giggled, blushing like a teenager. “Mrs. Schwindt just called. She says you need to go to the house immediately. There is some kind of an emergency.”
“Forgive me Sergeant Wolanski,” he said to the man. “As you’ve heard, I need to head home. Some sort of family crisis I gather. It’s just up the road, I will be back in a moment. Mrs. Schwindt, my nanny, has a tendency to over-react. I’m sure it will turn out to be nothing.”
“Well not all the time,” Sarah offered. “Remember once, the house was on fire.”
McMichael rolled his eyes. “It was a small fire in the chimney flue. Nothing to write home about, Sarah.”
“In that case,” Rudy stated, “I’ll go with you. I’m good at emergencies. It comes with the job.”
“Thanks a lot,” McMichael said rather sarcastically, to no one in particular, yet to everyone in the room.
“Will you be coming back to the office?” Sarah asked. “I could put the kettle on.”
“No, Sarah,” McMichael sighed. “I think the officer will be a little too busy for socializing today, don’t you?”
The two men went outside.
“She wasn’t asking about me, you know,” McMichael said. “Funny she never seems to ask me whether I’m coming back to the office. Are you married, officer Wolanski? Well, she’ll keep nattering on at me until I find out, so I’d rather be done with it.”
Rudy Wolanski smiled for a moment, taking in his surroundings. McMichael’s secretary was a nice enough woman, but not his type.
“No, I’m not,” the officer said matter of factly, anxious to change the subject. “I gather you’ve had quite the night.”
“We lost a lot of men, women and children last night,” McMichael admitted. “As you probably noticed, a good portion of the mountaintop came down last night in a landslide. It happened just after midnight. Dr. Van den Broek will be able to fill you in on the details as to the number of casualties and injuries. I’m afraid I lost count somewhere after two a.m. I’ve arranged a place for you to stay. Sarah will get you the keys. Did you bring some medical personnel with you? Sarah had mentioned you might.”
“Yes, two doctors and three nurses came up with me. That’s all they could spare on such short notice.”
“I’ll take them. We’re normally very well staffed on our own, but the whole town is a bit of a disaster area at the moment. Did they go over to the hospital?”
“Yes, a tall redheaded woman led them over.”
“That would have been Lucy Bentall. Beautiful woman. She lost her entire family last night. Quite tragic. They were in what’s left of that green house, mid-section. Her two children and her husband lost their lives.”
“Well, that would explain why she was in a somewhat catatonic state. She didn’t talk, just pointed out the direction of the hospital and wandered ahead. She was definitely still in a state of shock,” the constable noted.
McMichael was truly sorry to hear that. He knew that on top of losing her family, she was now also homeless. He though for a moment about the number of people that were now in that position. He would have to do something about that. When he was allowed some time to catch his breath.
They were close enough to the house now that he could hear Mrs. Schwindt screaming at the top of her lungs. The woman did have a loud, shrill voice when she wanted to. He would have a word with her about that, again. The officer started to hasten his pace, as he could see where the commotion was coming from, but McMichael calmly waved his hand from side to side, indicating to the officer there was no need to panic.
McMichael and the officer were soon upon his doorstep where they found the nanny, his youngest daughter Lara, and Jimmy Yada, engaged in a rather one-sided shouting match.
“Mrs. Schwindt,” McMichael said calmly, “what seems to be the problem? There’s no need to shout, the whole neighbourhood can hear you.”
Mrs. Schwindt was an older widower he had in his employ since before his wife died. At times he felt she was a bit too stern for his children, but he needed a firm hand to guide them. He was called away from his home a lot, and he wanted to keep some continuity in their lives after their mother’s death. She was a big woman, her long grey hair which she steadfastly refused to cut, drawn up each morning into a tight bun. She wore her big black boots under her dress, even in the heat of summer. She was not a woman given to breaking from her rigid routine.
“This little Japanese child,” Mrs. Schwindt said, pointing to young Jimmy, “is trying to poison your children by giving them heaven knows what.”
The young boy was doing his best to try to understand why Mrs. Schwindt was so upset. He looked at the two men and shrugged.
The nanny noticed the officer.
“You should probably take him away. To jail,” she said indignantly.
Jimmy’s eyes grew wide.
“Relax Jimmy, there will be no jail for you today,” McMichael began, embarrassed. “Mrs Schwindt, young master Yada is giving Lara tea. TEA. Do you hear me? And furthermore, I told him it was perfectly fine to give anyone he liked some tea.”
“Herbal tea,” Jimmy corrected him.
“Herbal tea it was.”
“Chamomile,” Jimmy said to the officer.
“You see Mrs. Schwindt, I’m afraid you owe our little doctor here an apology, and perhaps even some lunch.”
McMichael tussled the boy’s hair good-naturedly.
“Jimmy, why don’t you take a break, hmm? Just leave your wagon and play with Lara for a while. Mrs. Schwindt will make you more boiled water when you are finished if you’d like to continue around the neighbourhood.” He turned to the nanny.
“Now if you don’t mind Mrs. Schwindt, the officer and I will return to more pressing matters.”
“Can I keep the nickel?” the boy asked, keeping it tucked safely in his pocket.
“Of course you can, Jimmy,” McMichael answered.
“I forgot to say thank you,” Jimmy said
“You earned it.”
He once again saw a smile on the boy’s face.
As they began walking back to the office, McMichael told Rudy the story of the boy’s heroics the previous night.
“Not to worry, I
am not employing child labour,” he assured the officer. “Jimmy just likes to try to help people, and most of the people, Mrs. Schwindt not withstanding, seem to appreciate his efforts. He is the son of the assayer. He’s quite a remarkable lad, really. Bright boy, I must say.”
McMichael wasn’t sure how much more he wanted to tell the officer about the town and its people. Let him discover it on his own, he thought.
“Well then, there you have it. Welcome to Britannia, Officer Wolanski. You’re Polish, I assume?”
“Does it make a difference?” the officer asked.
“Not to me,” he said, “but this is, after all, a small town. People are a bit set in their ways. Nationality is always a topic of conversation around here.”
“I see that. I can handle it,” the officer said.
“I’m sure you can,” McMichael agreed. “We’re a bit unusual here in Britannia that there are many cultures all trying to live together. Your own neighbours while you’re here are Ukrainian, I believe. I hope that’s okay. I may have to move some of the European families around if this talk of war continues. You’ll have plenty to do here Officer Wolanski, particularly after payday. It gets a little rowdy on Fridays, down at the bar. If they get into trouble, do what you want with them over the weekend, but remember I need them back to work on Monday unless they’ve murdered somebody.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind, J.W.”
“Stuart Collin calls me J.W.,” McMichael corrected him. “You can call me Mr. McMichael, or just McMichael.”
Rudy had just gained some valuable insight into the character of the mining boss.
“Fine, Mr. McMichael. And you can call me Sergeant Wolanski, not Officer Wolanski, or just Wolanski, all things being equal.”
“Sergeant?” McMichael questioned. “I think there’s just one of you. Who exactly are you in charge of?”
“There’s one of me for now,” Wolanski threatened.
Down at the dock, McMichael could see Frenchie Cates lowering his boat’s flags to half-mast. His boat would be used as transportation for many of the bodies that needed to go to their families in Vancouver and beyond. A few wooden boxes were already being lined up to be brought on board.
