“… cause out of the edge of darkness … there rides a peace train…”
And he would have his new name at the nice foster home. Tim, or maybe Tom. Tom Dawson. Yes. A definite possibility. And the beautiful daughter was Andrea.
“Oh Tom,” the beautiful daughter Andrea would say, “we are so thrilled you have come to live here. Isn’t it wonderful that my room is right next to yours!” Andrea would smile and gaze at him with her sparkly blue eyes, tossing her thick blond hair as she spoke. She would also stand quite near to him and brush up against him.
Then, after they had a fantastic dinner out at a nice restaurant, like Smitty’s or a cafeteria-type place where they gave you all you could eat for $8.95, the happy foster family would go home to their cozy cabin in the woods. They would sit around watching TV and eating popcorn. Then, the nice foster parents would go to bed.
“Goodnight, Tom,” the foster mother would say. “Sleep well. Sleep as late as you can in the morning.”
“Yes, Tom,” the nice foster father would say, “just sleep in and get rest. Take it easy. We don’t need you to do any work around here. Having your company is what we care about. Now I have someone to watch Hockey Night in Canada with.”
“Yes,” says the nice mother, “we have always wanted a son.”
“The missus is right,” says the father, “a son just like you, Tom.”
Then the foster parents go to bed. Then Andrea whispers goodnight and gives Tom a little kiss.
Tom goes into his bedroom and gets in some nice pajamas they bought him at Sears. The pajama shirt is identical to a Canuck’s jersey. The parents in this nice foster home can afford to buy such nice pajamas for their new son, Tom. The son they have always wanted.
Tom climbs into bed. It is not a sleeping bag, but real sheets and a nice soft blanket. Also from Sears. The very best they have. The sheets are very clean and soft and Tom snuggles down under the covers. Tom closes his eyes and begins to drift off to sleep, warm and cozy in his new home.
Tap … tap … tap.
Tom stirs in his sleep, not quite sure if he heard a little tapping sound or if it is part of a dream.
Tap … tap … tap.
Tom opens his eyes. Tap … tap … tap. There it is again. He is sure now. Someone is knocking at the door.
“Tom?” Andrea whispers. “Tom, it’s me, Andrea.”
Tom stretches slowly like a giant cat, his muscles rippling under the Canuck’s pajama top, then, springing like a cougar, he leaps to the door and opens it.
Andrea throws herself into his arms. “Oh, Tom, I have waited for this moment from the minute you came to live with us.”
Silently, Tom closes the door behind them and pulls her into his bedroom. Andrea drops her robe, her blond hair shimmers against her creamy skin, and the moonlight streams through the window, filtering through the trees, and lets Tom get a good look. Wow.
“Shhh, we must not wake my parents,” whispers Andrea.
“Of course not,” Tom whispers as Andrea takes his hand and pulls him toward the bed.
Moonbeam closed his eyes and smiled as Andrea, older, experienced, beautiful Andrea romped with Tom in Tom’s room in the nice foster home. Tom did not have to worry about messing up because older, experienced Andrea knew all about everything. They did it almost all the way to Tofino.
* * *
“Isn’t that something?” Abby smiled as they passed the Kennedy Lake road.
“What is?”
“That we were both here at the Peace Camp in ninety-three.”
“Hfmg,” Moonbeam grunted.
“You’ve sure been quiet.”
“Just sleepy.”
“Well, I think it’s something that he was here and we were, too.”
“That guy Harry?”
“Harvey. Why can’t you get it right? His name is Harvey.”
“So what if he was here? A lot of people were here.” Moonbeam looked at what was called the Black Hole, the old clear-cut that had housed the village of protesters. “Twelve thousand. Remember?”
“Of course, I remember.”
“Man, it’s really coming down.” Moonbeam was hoping there’d be a break in the storm by the time they reached the campground. They were pretty close. He could smell the ocean as they took the highway through Pacific Rim Park, and when they drove along Long Beach, he got his first glimpse of the huge, steel gray swells and boiling whitecaps pounding the beach. Salt spray exploded off the rocks, and next to the road strong gusts coming off the sea bent the immense branches of the trees.
“There’s probably a pay phone in one of the parking lots,” Abby said as she turned into the campground at Long Beach. “I’m going to call him.”
“You’re sure not wasting any time.”
“The early bird gets the worm, Moonbeam. Who knows how fast they’ll fill those jobs at that new lodge.” Abby spotted a pay phone at the end of the parking lot next to the bathrooms. “I’ll be right back.” She jumped out of the truck and ran through the rain to the phone booth.
In a second she was back. She climbed in the truck, grinning. “He asked us to his place for dinner. Isn’t that great!”
“Depends on the food, I guess.”
“What’s wrong with you? We should thank our lucky stars Harvey came along when he did yesterday.”
“Is he going to call his friend about the jobs?”
“I’m sure he will.” Abby started the truck. “We’ll eat at his place and by then maybe the storm will have passed and it will be easier to set up camp.”
“We’ve set it up before in the rain.”
Abby drove out of the campground onto the highway. “I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Moonbeam. And neither should you.”
“You don’t even know this guy.”
“His name is Harvey. He was in the phone book just like he said.”
“So what. Maybe he was just trying to impress you. Maybe he doesn’t know the manager of anything.”
“Look. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll look for work at the other resorts around here. Have a little faith, Moonbeam.” Abby drove slowly on the highway, looking for roads that led in toward the ocean. “He said it was just a few minutes from here. Past Radar Hill. Oh, there’s the road. That must be it.” She turned left on a dirt road and they bumped along until they reached a clearing. A stunning shake house stood on the bluff facing the ocean.
“I can’t believe this is it.” Abby’s eyes grew wide.
“There’s his RV.” Moonbeam tried not to seem surprised. “It has to be.”
Abby pulled up to the house just as Harvey came out to meet them. A large German shepherd burst out of the door, dancing around and wagging its tail.
“This is Gretta.” Harvey rubbed the dogs ears. “She can get a little too friendly.”
“We love dogs.” Abby let Gretta sniff her hand and then crouched and patted her. “You’ve sure got quite a place here.”
“Can’t see much in this rain. But it faces Kathryn Bay. There’s a great beach.”
At least he’s got a nice dog, Moonbeam thought as he stood next to Abby and patted Gretta. But this place looks like something in the movies. Who is this guy?
“How long have you been here?” Abby asked as she walked by Harvey’s side toward the house.
“Two years. But it was being built while I was still in Toronto.”
He hired people. Not her style at all. Moonbeam followed Abby and Harvey into the house. There was a room off the kitchen by the back door where Harvey said they could hang their wet coats and leave their boots. Harvey went back outside for a minute, throwing a stick for Gretta.
“Did you hear that?” Moonbeam pulled off his boots.
“What?”
“He didn’t even build this house himself.”
“So?” Abby looked at her reflection in the window and fluffed up her hair.
After a few minutes, Harvey came in with Gretta on his heels. “I’ve got some salmon c
howder left over from last night. We can warm that up, if that’s okay.”
“Great. I’ll set the table, eh?” She smiled and went to the kitchen with him.
Moonbeam hung up his coat and noticed all the shiny new tools the guy had, all hanging neatly on a corkboard opposite the coat hooks. Then he saw something on a shelf above the coats. Now that was really not her style. A gun. Some kind of rifle. For a split second he felt scared, wondering if this guy really could be some kind of rich weirdo. Toronto had a lot of weirdos.
Moonbeam looked out at the rain. Calm down, he told himself. He was probably just a guy who went hunting, and as far as his mother was concerned that would do it right there. She had a real thing about guns. Hated them. All guns. In her book they were all evil and she usually couldn’t stand the people who owned them. As soon as she heard about this, the guy would be history.
His mother was usually very picky about men. Picky, picky, picky. In fact, Moonbeam wasn’t even sure she liked them too much. There were a few single men at the Happy Children, but they were like her brothers. She hadn’t been really involved with anyone since they lived in Victoria, when Gregory Thomas was always hanging around. He came to town on business and stayed at the Empress Hotel where she worked.
Gregory Thomas was in the picture for a couple of years, but Moonbeam never had that much to do with him. Mostly he just remembered having that stupid baby-sitter, Fiona whatever-her-name-was. She lived in the apartment down the hall and he’d have to spend the night at her place when his mother went out. “Fiona might as well sleep in her own bed since we’ll be out so late,” was what she always said. Gregory Thomas had been no particular loss to Moonbeam, but after his mother stopped seeing the guy, she seemed to be pretty down on men.
But this guy, this Harvey guy, was definitely all wrong. They should be settled at Long Beach now, with their camp all set up. They would be cooking a nice piece of salmon on a plank over the fire by now, not about to eat this jerk’s leftovers. She must be really losing it.
The kitchen opened up on a large living room, which had a round cherry wood table near the kitchen. The whole expanse looked out on the ocean. Abby was setting the table, as Moonbeam came in the room. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace and next to that he noticed something else she couldn’t stand: a TV.
“Maybe you’d like to watch TV after dinner, Mum?” he said, smugly pointing it out.
Abby ignored him and went to the kitchen. She tossed the salad and brought the bowl back to the table.
“Soup’s on.” Harvey carried in a large pot of smoked salmon chowder.
Moonbeam had to admit that it was good. But the way his mother went on and on about the dinner, a person would think the guy was the head chef at the Empress. This whole thing was getting to be too much. Moonbeam ate in silence. Slurping up the chowder, chomping on salad and garlic bread, and staring out at the ocean, hoping the storm would end so they might still have a chance of leaving.
“Did you hear that, Moonbeam?”
“What?”
“Harvey called his friend at the new resort and he wants to see us tomorrow.”
“That’s good.” The sooner the better.
“I’m a little worried about a resort, I have to admit.” Abby put down her soup spoon. “Ever since I came to Canada I’ve been trying to get away from the kind of people who go to places like that.”
“You have to have money to go there, that’s for sure.”
As if you’re just a regular basic, down-to-earth, back-to-the-land guy. “You have a computer, too, I bet.” Moonbeam looked at Harvey.
“In my office.” Harvey nodded.
See, a techno-wizard. Just what you hate. Moonbeam gave Abby a knowing glance and took a large bite of garlic bread.
“We were talking about the resort.” She scowled at him. “Anyway, it’s not that I dislike all people with money, I mean, I’m not that narrow. But there’s some who just develop this attitude. It’s a smug superiority and I can smell it a mile away. I grew up with it.”
Harvey picked up the salad bowl. “Anybody want more?”
“No, thanks.” Abby smiled.
“Not really.” But go ahead. Pig everything. Moonbeam looked out at the ocean.
Harvey helped himself to more salad. “My family was pretty middle class. My Dad worked in collections at the Toronto Dominion, as an administrative clerk. Very conservative, cautious, saved his money, very careful. He and Mum dreamed of buying an RV and traveling across Canada and the states when he retired. That’s all they’d talk about.”
“Did they get to do it?” Abby took another ladle of chowder. “More? Moonbeam?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll get my own.” Don’t need you to spoon it out for me.
“No. And it was a real lesson to me. Probably the major factor in my decision to sell my software company and move out here. He had a heart attack three weeks after he retired.” Harvey went to the kitchen and came back with the coffee pot. “Ready?”
“Thanks.” Abby held out her cup.
“What about your folks?”
“My dad’s a vice-president at Boeing and travels all the time. I never remember him being home for more than about a month.” Abby put sugar in her coffee. “I was closest to my mother, but she died of breast cancer when I was fifteen. So my dad had me board at Annie Wright, a private school near Tacoma. I saw him on school holidays. Then he remarried my senior year and sold the house I grew up in. He and my stepmother moved to a suburb on the east side of Lake Washington, Bellevue, which I thought was dreadful.” Abby looked thoughtful as she stirred her coffee. “I’m sure I went to the University of British Columbia to feel closer to my mother.”
“Can I feed the dog?” Moonbeam held out a crust of garlic bread.
“Sure.” Harvey smiled. “But you’ll never be able to get rid of her.”
Yes I will because we’re leaving tonight and I’m not coming back, jerk.
“Here, Gretta!” Moonbeam called the dog, holding out the bread for her.
Harvey looked out at the storm. “It hasn’t let up at all. I’ve got plenty of room. You might as well stay here tonight.”
“This is so nice of you!” Abby smiled. “Really? Are you sure?”
“It’s no trouble.”
“I have to admit, it would be a pain trying to get the tent up tonight.” Her voice was warm with appreciation.
“We’re not wimps. We could do it.” Moonbeam looked out at the rain. “We’ve done it in worse weather.”
“Moonbeam, we’d be crazy to pass up an offer of a warm bed.” Abby laughed.
Crazy? Here’s what’s crazy. You’ve known this dude for all of five hours and now we’re spending the night!
Chapter Three
The closer this island is to town, the better, Moonbeam thought as he and Abby left Harvey’s for Tofino. The town was located halfway up the west coast of Vancouver Island, where the Trans Canada Highway came to a halt. Northwest of Tofino, the coast was sparsely populated with occasional homesteaders and Native reserves only reached by boat. The last thing Moonbeam wanted was to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere again.
“Are you sure he said ten?” Moonbeam asked.
“Yes.”
He didn’t quite believe her. He never quite trusted that she got things right. “Ten o’clock at the Fourth Street dock, you’re sure?”
“Yes.” She frowned at him. “I’m sure.”
“Well, we better get down there.”
It was a gray and misty morning with both Lone Cone and Mount Colnett, the highest points on Meares Island, completely covered by thick banks of clouds. As they walked down to the dock, a whale-watching zodiac filled with tourists outfitted in cherry red life suits made its way slowly through the mist in pursuit of the gray whales who migrated in March and April from Baja to Alaska. Moonbeam chuckled to himself, imagining the whales organizing an expedition to swim through Tofino inlet to watch the people puffed up in the bright red suits
. He could see a bunch of whales with cameras hanging out next to a little stand on the ocean floor: THE NEXT WEIRD PEOPLE–WATCHING TOUR LEAVES AT 2:00 P.M.
“Are you absolutely sure he’s supposed to meet us here? Not at the First Street dock?”
“I’m sure!” She waited by the Wild Side Charters and Day Break Charters, two sport fishing boats. “Harvey said everyone’s on island time.”
Either that or she got everything mixed up, he thought as he wandered along the dock reading the names of the boats. Ocean Drifter, Wanderer II, Ranu, Skipjack, Merilda II, Aranui, Me’ynsa Rae, Shirley Barbara II, Hamish I, Ocean Brave. There seemed to be a few Native names, maybe fisherman from the Opitsat village across from Tofino. Moonbeam wondered about what Harvey had told them about this resort being leased from the Clayoquot band, about their giving priority in hiring to Native people. It seemed kind of phony to use that since he never knew his father. Just his name, Daniel Dawson, and that he was a Haida, and a little bit about how she met him. She never talked about him much.
Growing up on the Happy Children of the Good Earth commune and then those few years in Victoria, most everyone in Moonbeam’s world was white, like his mother. He’d never even been on a reserve, and the only Indians he knew were a few kids at King Edward in grade two, and their grandparents had come from Bombay, east Indians from India, not first nation indigenous people. Sure, he knew a lot of the Native legends from the commune school; they were big on that stuff. But he had no actual connection with Native people other than his blood.
He wasn’t sure if he even looked part Native. He did have dark, straight hair and dark eyes, and his shoulders were broad, but his features were sort of a hodge-podge and it seemed to him that as far as his looks went, his roots could have been just about anywhere except Scandinavia or Africa. He found the whole thing pretty confusing, to say the least.
The Eclipse of Moonbeam Dawson Page 3
