Water's Edge

by Genevieve Fortin

  “She sure is,” Angeline admitted with a smile. “She says the pants make it easier.”

  “I have to admit she’s fast. If those trousers don’t fall to her ankles she might be done with the potatoes and beets before dinner,” her father concluded with a low chuckle.

  “I don’t think she could have taken a step without suspenders,” Angeline added, making her father laugh even more. She was glad and reassured that her father found Emilie’s eccentric behavior amusing rather than threatening. Then again, as she watched Emilie work, she wondered how anyone could resist laughing at the situation. She’d found it funny at first too, but now she admired how quickly Emilie moved in the garden.

  Most of all, she was touched and relieved that Emilie had managed to get Victor to help her. The four-year-old who’d been so angry since his father’s death, often playing alone in a corner, was now helping his aunt harvest vegetables and seemed to genuinely enjoy her company. “I think she’s good for Victor. She understands him better than I do,” Angeline confided to her father.

  “I think she’s good for his mother too,” her father said with a smile and a tender pat on Angeline’s shoulder before he left her alone on the porch.

  “Maybe,” Angeline answered to herself, smiling as she watched Emilie pick up Victor and sit him on top of a pile of potatoes in the small wooden wagon she then pulled behind her with the help of two handles at her sides all the way to the caveau, the underground vault they used to store vegetables.

  Emilie opened the trap to the caveau and she and Victor started taking the potatoes down to lay them on the ground. Paul was in school and Marie-Ange was never far from her mother, but Victor had been outside all day with Emilie. At first he’d lurked around the garden from a distance, curious about that crazy aunt wearing trousers, Emilie guessed. She’d waited patiently until he’d ventured closer and had finally asked him nonchalantly, “You want to help me put the potatoes in the wagon, Victor?”

  The boy hadn’t answered but started taking the potatoes she’d dug out of the ground and placed them carefully on the wagon. He wasn’t a talker, but that didn’t surprise her. Joseph had always been the quiet type. She didn’t need Victor to talk to her. The fact that he was engaging in an activity with her was enough for now. He didn’t protest the first time she picked him up to sit him on top of the potatoes in the wagon. He even smiled, and hurried to the side of the wagon every time Emilie got ready for the trips to or from the caveau.

  Yellow stayed by their side at all times. At one point Emilie stopped digging potatoes out of the ground to catch her breath for a minute and watched as Victor petted the dog. “Why is his name Yellow?” she asked Victor.

  The boy simply shrugged and Emilie went back to digging until she finally heard a hesitant voice. “Because his hair is yellow, I guess.” The answer was followed by another shrug and Emilie stopped digging and grinned to herself.

  “That’s a stupid reason,” she said, trying to get a reaction out of Victor.

  “It’s not stupid,” he argued.

  “Sure it is. If we gave people names based on the color of their hair, your name would be ‘Yellow’ too. And your brother and I would be named ‘Black.’”

  The boy giggled and Emilie couldn’t help but smile. Even the way he laughed reminded her of Joseph. It was a sound worth waiting for. “And Maman and Marie-Ange would be ‘Brown,’” he said before he laughed again, this time louder.

  “Right, that’s stupid, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he agreed through his laughter.

  “I think we need to find Yellow a new name, don’t you think?” They spent the next hour proposing new names for the dog as they kept working together. Victor laughed at each of Emilie’s suggestions like “Booger” or “Poopie.” He even came up with a few ideas of his own, all in the same family of words any four-year-old would have found hilarious.

  “No, I think your dog deserves a real name, something that will suit him well,” Emilie finally suggested. She started examining the dog carefully, holding her chin between her thumb and index as if in deep reflection. She grinned when she saw from the corner of her eye that Victor was mimicking her. “I know!” she suddenly exclaimed, turning toward the boy who was staring at her with eyes open wide in excitement. “I think he looks like a lion with that thick fur around his neck, don’t you?” The boy looked at the dog again and nodded in agreement. “So we should call him Lionel.”

  “Lionel,” Victor repeated. “Lionel, come here!” he called to the dog, testing the new name. When the dog walked to him without hesitation, Victor jumped with enthusiasm. “It works! He likes it!”

  “Of course he likes it. It’s his name,” Emilie said with confidence.

  “I’ll go tell Maman and Marie-Ange,” Victor declared and he started running toward the house.

  Emilie watched him leave and saw Pierre Fournier approach the garden, carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper. She automatically looked at her trousers, self-conscious. She feared what Mr. Fournier might think of her forward-thinking ideas. She was only half-reassured when he got closer and she noticed he was smiling.

  “What did you do to that boy, Emilie? I haven’t seen a smile like that on his face since his father…” He interrupted his thought and looked at Emilie with a contrite expression. “I’m sorry. Victor hasn’t been the same since we lost your brother. It seems like it’s been worse for him than for Paul or Marie-Ange.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me. Victor must have been very close to his papa. He looks and acts so much like him. I was close to Joseph when we were children. I think I have a pretty good idea how Victor thinks.”

  “I think you’re right. And that’s exactly what he needs.”

  Emilie felt the compliment heat up her cheeks and she smiled. Mr. Fournier looked past her to the garden and offered an appreciative nod. “You’ve accomplished a lot in just one day.”

  Emilie turned to the garden and realized that she’d not only harvested all of the beets but was also done with most of the potatoes. She’d be completely done by the end of the day and the carrots needed to stay in the ground a week or two before she could harvest them. “I enjoy doing this. And I had help,” she said with a smile.

  Mr. Fournier chuckled.

  “Thank you all the same. My wife’s arthritis makes it difficult for her to do this kind of work and your help makes it possible for Angeline to focus on other chores more suitable to her condition,” he said with genuine appreciation.

  “I’m here to help your daughter in any way I can, Mr. Fournier.”

  “Good. I think your presence is good for her and the children. That means your presence is good for us too, and I sincerely hope you’re in no hurry to go back to Boston.” Mr. Fournier cleared his throat, a little embarrassed by the sentimentality of his confessed gratitude.

  “I’ll stay as long as I can be useful,” she promised.

  “Good. I have something for you.” He handed her the parcel he’d been holding and she took it carefully. Her expression must have betrayed her puzzlement because Mr. Fournier immediately offered an explanation. “It’s just something I thought would make your life here easier.”

  “Thank you,” Emilie said timidly as she tore the brown paper to reveal a pair of gray wool trousers. She looked up to Mr. Fournier and cocked her head in question.

  “These are the smallest pants Theo had in the store. Theo’s the owner of the General Store in town. I figured if you’re going to wear trousers to work you might as well wear a pair that fits you. These might still be too big but Delphine can make adjustments if needed. Just let us know.”

  Emilie started caressing the wool of her very own, brand-new trousers as Mr. Fournier spoke. She couldn’t believe how generous and understanding the man in front of her was. She imagined Angeline had explained why she was wearing trousers in the garden when he’d stopped by earlier. As much as Emilie had liked the freedom of wearing pants today, she didn’t think she would ever have
dared purchasing a pair for herself. Mr. Fournier’s present meant more to her than he would ever know and she was tempted to jump to him and hug him to show exactly how grateful she was. Instead she simply looked into his eyes and said, “Thank you, these will be very helpful.”

  “Good. That’s the point,” he said and he cleared his throat again. He turned to start walking back to his house but hadn’t made three steps before he stopped and turned back toward her. “Oh yes, there’s something else I wanted to tell you about. You see, Theo’s wife used to help him with the store but she’s been sick for a few months now and the poor man can’t keep handling the store on his own. I mentioned you and your experience working in a bookstore in Boston and he said he’d like to meet you. If you two get along he’d like you to work a few days a week. He’ll pay you, of course.”

  Emilie felt compelled to throw herself at this man’s neck again but managed to stay anchored to the ground, her heart racing at the possibility of working in a store and earning money to help Angeline.

  Mr. Fournier said, “I hope you don’t think I’m not minding my own business. I was trying to help and I figured if you had a job here you might be able to stay longer.”

  He took off his wool cap and started scratching his head nervously and Emilie smiled. Her respect and fondness for Angeline’s father were growing stronger every second and she finally found the words to speak and take him out of his misery. “Thank you so much, Mr. Fournier. I’m very grateful you mentioned my name to Theo and I’ll go meet him first thing in the morning.”

  “Good,” he declared, relieved. “Do you need a ride?”

  “Oh no, you’ve done enough already. I’ll walk. I’m used to walking for miles in Boston and I walked here all the way from the train station so I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though.”

  “If you say so,” he said.

  “You’re very kind, Mr. Fournier. Thank you again. For these,” she said as she tapped the trousers still halfway wrapped in brown paper, “and for the potential job. I truly appreciate it.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he answered with a light blush on his face before he turned around once more and started walking all the way to his house this time.

  Emilie held the gray trousers to her chest once more before she laid them on the ground so she could finish her job in the garden. When the dog went to sniff the parcel, she brandished her finger at him. “Don’t touch, Lionel,” she commanded firmly. The dog lay sheepishly down on the ground and instead guarded them for her.

  Chapter Thirty

  September 1905

  “Do you know how to work this kind of cash register, Miss Levesque?”

  Theo Lepage stood tall despite a slightly rounded back. He wore a gray mustache that he rolled between his thumb and index finger as he observed Emilie with a raised eyebrow that failed to intimidate her. She’d witnessed him cuss out the cash register while serving a customer when she first entered the store. She knew he was desperate. The register had most likely been his wife’s responsibility before she became sick, Emilie guessed.

  While she waited her turn to step to the counter to introduce herself, Emilie had studied the store carefully. It was quite different from Mr. Flaherty’s bookstore. There was a small round table at the entrance where two old men played checkers as well as a couple of chairs where customers could sit and chat while they waited their turn. Theo stood behind a large wooden counter that separated the store in two sections, and most of the merchandise was behind that same counter, well sorted onto floor-to-ceiling shelving. No books, Emilie had noted, except for a few Bibles. It was very different from the store where she’d worked for seven years, but the cash register was almost identical.

  “Yes, of course. We used a very similar model at the bookstore where I worked in Boston.”

  “Hmm,” Theo simply answered as he nodded and bent over the counter to take another look at Emilie, inspecting her appearance, starting with her shoes.

  She’d cleaned her black boots and wore them with a brown skirt and a plaid double-breasted jacket. Although her short hair was pulled back behind her ears, Emilie couldn’t hide the fact that it was, indeed, shorter than the hair of all other women in Rimouski. While Theo seemed satisfied with her overall appearance, he squinted at her in a mix of puzzlement and disapproval every time his gaze met Emilie’s hair. At last he sighed and declared, “You’re an odd girl, Miss Levesque, but I need help and Pierre thinks highly of you, so that’s enough for me. When can you start?”

  “I could start today, Mr. Lepage.”

  “Great. If you could handle customers and this darn register, I could focus on some bookkeeping.” He slapped the top of the register with his large hand to illustrate his disdain. “If you start now we’ll see how it goes and we can discuss your conditions at closing. Do we have a deal, Miss Levesque?”

  “We do, Mr. Lepage.”

  Emilie got behind the counter and Mr. Lepage disappeared into the back office before the next customer entered the store. She used her experience at Flaherty Books and her common sense to make it through the day, limiting as much as possible the number of times she had to disturb grumpy Theo. Fortunately, pricing information was detailed in catalogs and what she couldn’t find in catalogs she found in a handwritten book sitting by the cash register. Emilie imagined the book was the work of Theo’s wife, who’d certainly wanted to help her husband and any future employee as much as she could before she finally had to stop working.

  After they closed the store, she walked back to Angeline’s house feeling exhausted but satisfied with her performance and her negotiations with Theo. He’d scoffed when she told him what she’d been paid in Boston and as she expected he could only pay her a small fraction of her former wages. That didn’t bother her. She knew Theo couldn’t pay her as much as Mr. Flaherty had and she also knew that as a woman in Rimouski she was fortunate enough to find any sort of remunerated employment that would allow her to help Angeline.

  What gave her the most satisfaction, however, was that Theo had agreed to let her look into ordering catalogs from book suppliers and had even allowed her to purchase a few classics to see if any customer might be interested. He was skeptical, of course, but he admitted a few people, including the young Doctor Michaud, had inquired about secular literature recently.

  Emilie promised herself she’d have a talk with Doctor Michaud next time he visited the store. They might have a passion for books in common, she hoped. The thought of possibly discussing books with a doctor again reminded her of Maurice and she swallowed the familiar lump of sadness that appeared in her throat every time she thought of her old friend, her kindred spirit. Then sadness was replaced with bitterness and Emilie swore that she’d keep her guard up with Doctor Michaud or any potential new friend. She couldn’t trust anyone enough to let them find out who she truly was.

  On Sunday, after they’d returned from church, Angeline was getting ready to get off the buggy, following her father, mother and the children, but instead of helping her down as he usually did, her father asked her to stay put. He stood by the buggy and held the reins with a smirk. Angeline was about to ask what was going on when she saw Emilie, who’d been the first to jump off the buggy, come back with her leather mailbag. She then climbed back onto the buggy to sit by Angeline and took the reins from her father. When Angeline saw her father wink at Emilie, she finally asked, “What’s going on, you two?”

  “Nothing, my girl. Your mother and I are about to have lunch with the children while you go on a short trip with Emilie.”

  Angeline turned to Emilie, who chuckled before she explained, “I need to celebrate my new job. And you just need to get out of the house.” Before Angeline could protest, Emilie commanded the two horses into motion with a subtle movement of her wrist. Angeline couldn’t help but smile at her friend, grateful for the attention, excited to spend a little time away from the house in good company.

  Angeline’s excitement only grew and her smile widened
when she realized Emilie was guiding the horses and buggy toward the Saint-Laurent River. They stopped the buggy by the road before they got to the beach. Emilie helped Angeline down, set her mailbag across her own shoulder, and tied the horses to a tree.

  They walked down to the beach where sand mixed with rocks of all sizes, and Angeline took in the views, sounds and smells of the sea. The sky was gray and the river so wide Angeline couldn’t see the other side. The September wind was cold on her face and played with the rising tide, creating waves that crashed against rocks in a cacophony of splash Angeline found strangely soothing. Angeline filled her lungs with the marine air and reveled in its saltiness and its smell of kelp. She turned to where Emilie was standing.

  “Thank you so much,” she whispered. The cold wind and her emotions made it impossible for her to speak louder.

  Emilie smiled and took her hand, leading her toward a large boulder that stood twice as tall as a grown man and was almost white in color. She got a wool blanket out of her bag and set it on the sand as she explained, “Your father told me how much you love the beach, and I wanted to do something special for you.” She sat on the blanket and patted the spot next to her, inviting Angeline to sit by her. Angeline sat down on the blanket and Emilie handed her a piece of bread and an apple.

  “Thank you. I do love this place.” Angeline bit into the hearty bread. “We didn’t come often because your brother worked so much, but I enjoyed every time we made it down to the beach. I haven’t been here since he…” She didn’t finish her thought, as usual, unable to speak the words.

  Emilie offered an understanding smile. “That’s a shame. We should start coming every Sunday after church. It will be a little like when we were children in Fall River, except this big rock will be our new buttonwood tree.”