by Janine McCaw
“I don’t know,” Olivia replied.
“Shouldn’t you go out there?” Frank asked.
“I think she wants to be alone,” Olivia said. “Her coat’s still here. It’s cold outside. I don’t think she’ll go far. I’ll watch her through the window. Let’s give her a few minutes before we go running after her. Something has obviously upset her, but I think it’s something personal. It must have triggered a memory for her.”
Lucy placed her head against the porch post and started to cry, unaware that she was being observed. No one followed her outside, she knew. She was all alone again. There was no way anyone inside the house could have known the significance of the tiny sheet of folded paper. None of them had been there, with her family and the Yada’s. She placed the little bird on the railing.
“Maybe it really is time to leave after all,” she said to herself.
She thought she had turned a corner in her sadness, but now she once again had doubts. She took a few steps off the porch, determined to take her leave and leave the bird and the memory behind.
The wind picked up at that moment and lifted the tiny paper ornament into the sky. She was certain then that Akiko had made the piece, as it was aerodynamically perfect. It swirled around and around and headed out towards the ocean. Then the wind died down and the little bird landed in the sand. Lucy looked out toward the water, afraid of the thoughts that were running through her head.
The world around her was perfectly still for a moment. There was no noise at all, not even in the lane. The town clock began to chime in the background, but in her mind, it remained silent because she did not want to hear. It reminded her of the silence her daughter must have known, and for a brief moment, Lucy felt like they were together again. She held her head in her hands. The wind picked up again, startling her. An unseasonable gust whistled by, stinging her ears, and she was suddenly acutely aware of her surroundings once more.
She stopped sobbing. She closed her eyes and let the wind enter her lungs, forcing life back in them. She raised her head to the heavens, her arms embracing a new spirit that was filling her. She opened her eyes.
The paper bird had taken flight again, given new life, but this time it was not heading out to sea. Its direction had been reversed, and it was making its way, gust by gust, back up the mountainside until Lucy could see it no more.
“That’s what I must do,” she thought to herself, “make my life back up the mountain, step by step, making sure I take a moment to catch my breath along the way.”She turned around, went back up the steps and into Olivia’s house once more. As she reached for the doorknob, she checked her face with her other hand. Her eyes were drying. She tossed her red curls behind her back and held her head up high and she opened the door.
“Is it time to cut the cake?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer she went into the kitchen where she had earlier noticed a candle, brought it into the livingroom and placed it in the desert herself.
Olivia smiled and lit the candle for her. “I think it would be bad luck to do it all yourself,” Olivia offered.
“From now on, I’m in charge of my own luck,” Lucy said, “whether the candles are lit by myself or by others.”
“Welcome back Lucy,” Olivia said, wiping a tear from her own eye.
Olivia, Frank and Rudy never did learn the significance of the tiny paper bird that night. All they knew is that somehow, someway, the Lucy of old was returning.
Chapter Sixteen
McMichael stepped onto his front veranda and sniffed the air, much like a dog would.
It was June, and all signs of winter had long since passed. There was a warm breeze coming across the Pacific this morning, signalling the arrival of summer. The tall, white dogwood, which had been in bloom most of April and May, was also losing its petals, making way for the summer blossoms.
Still, McMichael thought, there was an air of discontent that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His home was peaceful now, but in a few hours the daily shouting between his daughter Christina and their housekeeper Mrs. Schwindt would begin. Perhaps it was because Christina was a teenager and rather moody that she raised the ire of the nanny on more than one occasion. One would come to expect that. Christina had started insisting that Mrs. Schwindt be referred to as the family housekeeper, not the nanny, as she felt she was far too old for a nanny, and McMichael thought that she was probably right about that. Mrs. Schwindt it seemed however, preferred to be called the nanny. She let him know that in so many words. He sensed that was only the tip of the iceberg. More and more lately McMichael had noticed a change in Mrs. Schwindt’s personality. True, she had always been a touch cantankerous, but that side of her was growing now, and it was rare that any of the McMichael’s would see her crack a smile, or laugh the throaty cackle they had all made fun of from time to time. If things kept going the way they were, McMichael admitted, he would need to make a change. He was not looking forward to either the change or the decision that would have to precede it.
The streets were empty as he made his way to the office. The lights were already on, so he knew that Sarah had beaten him into work that morning. That in itself was not a good sign. Sarah was chronically late. She stayed late to make up for it, but getting Sarah in for seven a.m. for five consecutive days in a row would signal the beginning of Armageddon. Here it was, six forty-five and the office was open for business. He opened the door and found Sarah sobbing at her desk.
“What the hell is wrong with you now?” he asked, which of course only threw her into sobbing fits as she tried to stop but couldn’t.
“Sarah, you’re going to hyperventilate if you keep that up,” he said. He walked over to the calendar and looked at the date.
“Well, it’s not a blue moon month, so you can’t be asking me for a raise.”
Someone had once told Sarah that McMichael gave out raises ‘once in a blue moon’, so like clockwork, she waited until the calendar would show the double full moon, and gather her courage to ask her boss for more money. McMichael had overheard her talking about this to a girlfriend, and he found it quite hilarious. She would work herself up into quite a state the few days leading up to it, so he always knew it was coming. But she had been fine yesterday.
McMichael went into his office and began to go through the correspondence Sarah had left on his desk. At the top of the pile was a letter from the provincial government thanking the community for the tremendous contributions the ladies of Britannia Beach had made for the war effort. He had to hand it to them, once Olivia and Lucy got it into their heads to set up a committee to gather clothing for needy families of the men stationed overseas, they distributed more than the groups in the city had managed to do. McMichael had relented and let the women use a storage room out back, and stood in awe as they inventoried their clothing stock far better than his own stock was kept. He made a mental note of that. Sarah volunteered to handle their correspondence on her own time, so he had said she was free to use the company stationary for her letters if she needed to. He supposed that’s why the letter had arrived here, at the mine, instead of at the post office. Still, it was nice to see the government recognizing their efforts, and he thought perhaps he would have Sarah organize a tea party for the ladies. Nothing fancy, just cookies and tea, but a chance for celebration all the same. He went back into the outer office.
“For the love of God Sarah,” he asked. “Did someone die?”
She was gazing out the window and the tears were flowing again. McMichael could see Sergeant Wolanski and Lucy Bentall having a conversation on the corner.
“Is that what this is all about?” he asked.
Sarah nodded.
McMichael had been through this with Sarah several times as she constantly fell in love with men who at best did not return her feelings.
“Why are all the men in love with Lucy? What is wrong with me?” she asked.
McMichael thought about this. It was true that most of the men in town found Lucy incredibly
attractive, and he could see why. But he himself, contrary to popular belief, did not. He could think of other women in town who enchanted him more. Particularly one.
“Lucy is a beautiful woman, it’s true. But not all the men are in love with her.”
“You are,” Sarah said.
He laughed out loud.
“I am not!” he said indignantly.
“But you bought her a dress.”
“You told me to!” he shouted. “You told me it was her birthday and I needed to buy her something to cheer her up, so I did.”
“You bought her the dress because you love her.”
“No Sarah! I bought her the dress because you told me she didn’t have anything to wear since her things were gone and that she needed something new. I like Lucy, she was a friendly to my wife. I appreciate that. Most of the women in town were jealous of my wife. If I loved Lucy, I would not have bought her that dress. Lucy Bentall hates that dress. I knew she would hate that dress. But I thought you were right, that she needed something, and I thought it would be a nice gesture. That’s it. Really. That’s it!”
She looked at the dress she was wearing that was also purchased at the General store. McMichael realized he might have put his foot in his mouth.
“Look Sarah,” he began, “that remark wasn’t meant to be personal. That dress looks quite nice on you, it’s more your style. You’re more demure. Lucy Bentall is many things, but demure isn’t one of them. Now getting back to the matter at hand. Did Sergeant Wolanski ever make any indication to you that he had feelings other than friendliness for you?”
“Well, no…” she began, “not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” he quizzed.
“Not in so many words, no…”
“He didn’t lead you on?”
“No.”
“He didn’t ply you with alcohol and rob you of your virtue?”
“Oh stop it,” she laughed. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Love, Sarah,” he began, “is a mutual thing. If you don’t both feel that way, then it isn’t love. Now isn’t there a chance that you got a little too carried away with your crush on the policeman? Just like you did with the young red headed miner? And the veterinarian? And come to think of it, the dead doctor? I mean, I seem to recall you were crazy about him until you found out he was getting married.”
McMichael took a deep breath. It dawned on him that he was probably going to be having the same conversations with his oldest daughter very soon, and perhaps Sarah was good practice.
“It will happen Sarah, you just need to find the right man.”
Sarah wiped her eyes and smiled.
“Quit looking at me like that Sarah,” he said. “Don’t get any ideas. I am not the right man. Don’t even entertain that idea.”
Sarah laughed.
“Then can I have a raise?”“
No,” he said. “Listen Sarah, Lucy has a way with clothes, with fashion. Why don’t you ask her to help you, if you’re not comfortable with your appearance. Now don’t make a face, I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with you. There isn’t Sarah. But maybe she can help you feel better about yourself. Why don’t you ask her?”
“I don’t know...” she hesitated.
“Then ask Olivia. You like Olivia right? Olivia is,” he paused, “a woman of great grace. I don’t know much about her own family, but I get a sense there’s some culture there. She has a certain confidence that is very becoming to a man. Who knows, maybe she has a brother.”
This pleased Sarah.
“Okay,” she sighed. “Maybe I’ll talk to the girls.”
“You do that,” he said. “And having solved that world crisis, perhaps we can turn our thoughts to our overtime budget. I need to check on the status.”
“It’s already on your desk sir,” she said.
Sometimes, McMichael had to admit, women could be so intuitive and surprising.
Chapter Seventeen
Frenchie Cates sat on the deck of the Northern Mary; a cup of freshly brewed black coffee in his hand. The sun had come up over the mountains earlier in what was the most spectacular pink and yellow sunrise he had seen in quite some time. He thought of the old adage, pink sky in morning, sailors take warning, which seemed to be true everywhere in the world except the West Coast.
“Tis gonna be a bonny day ‘ere, non?” he said aloud, although no one was near.
It was still pretty quiet for a Thursday morning. The men had already rotated from the graveyard shift to the day shift at the mine. A little early for the rest of the townspeople to be out and about, the streets were relatively empty. He pulled his brown wooden pipe out of his flannel coat pocket and lit it. His Maggie wasn’t too happy about his pipe smoking, so they had come to the understanding he would only smoke aboard his boat, not at her home, which he was spending more and more time at. She had banned chewing tobacco altogether, and this was a compromise he was more than happy to live with, rather than live without her. Things were going pretty well between him and Maggie, he thought. They might even have a future. He was tempted to get down on one knee and propose. They were both mature adults and who knew how much time they really had left together? But then he thought that Maggie would think it was too soon, that he was only after her money, and he decided to wait a bit longer. Maybe another year. Besides, if he moved in with Maggie, where was Lucy going to go? Frenchie couldn’t throw her out onto the street after all she had been through, but the tiny house would be too small for the three of them. No, the Northern Mary would be his home for a while yet.
His friend Sharkey Miller’s crabber was just coming up to the dock. Sharkey and his crew must have stayed out all night. That was odd, given the weather had been clear and Sharkey normally returned before sunset.
Frenchie turned his head and saw Frank standing up the dock, watching the world go by. That too, was a bit odd, given the fact that the morning crew had just started and he should have been at the mine, bossing them around or whatever it was he did. Frenchie had heard the boys saying that Frank himself was pretty odd these days. The way they told it, the good-natured young man with whom they had shared many a brew was disappearing. Some said the foreman’s job had gone to his head. They never called him Frankie anymore. Some said the grudge Frank had against Les Ferguson was becoming an obsession. Some said he was having trouble at home with his wife. Even the ladies were saying that. Saying he wouldn’t even let her visit her family. He never drank with the other miners down at the pub anymore they said, not even on Friday.
Frenchie gave him an acknowledging wave. Frank nodded back. That was the extent of their relationship. Although Frenchie was quite fond of Olivia, he had never had the occasion to get to know her husband, and that suited him fine. Frankie was in deep with McMichael, Frenchie had heard, and that was reason enough for him to keep his distance from Frank.
Sharkey’s boat was now in, and he was tying her up to the dock.
“Where ye bin?” Frenchie asked. “I was gittin’ worried when ye didn’t git in ‘ere last night. I was givin’ ye till noon befer we got a search crew out dere fer ye.”
“It was a good haul yesterday,” Sharkey said. “We decided to take it on into the fisheries in Vancouver. They’re paying top dollar right now. If anyone around here asks, we had rudder problems and needed to take her into the shipyard, that’s why we went south.”
“Gotcha,” Frenchie winked.
“You got any ale Frenchie?”
“Now Sharkey, ye know der’s ne’er bin any of the devil’s brew onboard de Northern Mary,” he said, nodding his head towards the top of the dock where Frank was still standing. He lowered his voice. There would be no whispering winds carrying this conversation up the dock.
“I tot ye were unloaded.”
“It was a really good haul Frenchie. We had enough to take to Vancouver and also some left for our own interests, let’s say. Not too much mind you, given the mysterious rudder problem and all. Just in cas
e anyone is too curious. And not short of your own special cargo either. In case you were wondering.”
“Twelve for twelve?” Frenchie smiled.
“Double it up this time.”
Frenchie smiled wider. He loved to eat crab, and although twenty-four of them were probably too much for him and Maggie and Lucy, he was sure there were some deals to be made for the rest. He’d get that Japanese woman, Akiko, to come down and give his galley a clean. She’d be more than happy to take a few off his hands while they were still alive and kicking. And a couple would go to Olivia and Sarah, just because he still loved the ladies, much to Maggie’s chagrin.
“At dusk?” Sharkey asked.
Frenchie nodded.
“No… wait,” he added. “Mon Dieu, where is my ‘ead? I’ll be ‘eadin’ down de coast dis afternoon. I’ve got some special cargo of me own to take down south. Let’s just wait for Frank to get lost and we’ll make de swap.”
He glanced up the dock. Frank had finally left.
“Well der you go den,” Frenchie said. “Let’s make de trade.”
Sharkey went below on his boat and brought up what appeared to be a large cotton mailbag. Frenchie took it gingerly.
“Des still a snappin’,” he smiled, taking it below and coming back up with a box marked Coastal Marine Supply held tightly in his arms.
“Dunt know what it be, inside ’ere. Must be some of dem boat parts ye ordered,” he said loudly, just in case Les or Frank were lurking around.
“Careful, it’s kinda ’eavy.”
As he passed Sharkey the box, the unmistakable rattle of bottles could be heard.
“Must be bottles of teak oil,” Sharkey laughed. “My deck has been getting rather weathered lately. I have to do something about that.”
“Tought so.” Frenchie laughed back. He leaned closer to Sharkey. “Only dis time, it’s not teak ale, it’s teak scotch. I ‘ad a good haul too! I still owe ye one fer the salmon you got me a few months back. We be even stevens now, okay?”
