As the sun made its final descent on that part of the world in order to rise somewhere else, they arrived at Twin Pine Lane. “Just a little further now.” Shelley took Danielle’s hand and stepped towards the beat-up trailer where Danielle lived. Danielle didn’t move, and her hand slipped out of Shelley’s grip.
“No.”
This was the second time they’d heard Danielle use that word, and just like the first time, it sounded awkward. Like it was word that she didn’t use all that frequently. It was a word she was probably not allowed to use. She shook her head. “I’d better go home by myself. It might be better. I don’t want to get anybody in trouble. I’ll see you all at school.” With that declaration, she walked down the lane alone, the almost-set sun casting a long, cold shadow on the icy snow of the road. Shelley desperately wanted to make sure she got home safely, but it was obvious to all of them that Danielle wanted to go there alone. Her wishes had to be respected.
They stood there at the side of the road watching her walk away, the cold beginning to seep through their clothes as the warmth they had generated walking through the woods dissipated.
Danielle was passing the first tree when she turned around and yelled to them. “Ralph! I’m sorry. I should have let you touch my Horse. I should learn to share more.” Then she resumed her trek to what was dubiously called her home, leaving behind three increasingly depressed kids. For they all knew, the person growing more and more distant from them had nothing else she could possibly share with them. She was still so giving, even with nothing to give.
“She’s so pathetic,” said William. This time, it wasn’t in a snarky or brutal fashion. It was just his way of expressing the fact there was someone in the world who had things worse off than he did. Something he hadn’t thought was possible. And that’s what was so pathetic. He actually felt sorry for her.
“Yeah,” responded Ralph.
Shelley didn’t say anything.
Together, they turned and started to walk back to the more populated section of the reserve. They were silent, lost in their own thoughts. All were different, but all revolved around the ten-year-old they had just walked away from. After ten minutes, they came to a cut-off in the road that led to William’s house. Deeply embroiled in his own thoughts, William turned towards home without a word of goodbye.
“Hey, William!” called Ralph. “If you want, you can come home with us.”
Uncharacteristically, Shelley nodded in agreement.
William stood at the fork in the road, momentarily processing the offer. He shook his head. “No. I don’t feel like playing. Or anything. Maybe tomorrow. Bye.” With a sad smile, oddly reminiscent of Danielle’s, he turned back to his street and left his friends.
If you want, you can come home with us. It struck Ralph how much Danielle would have loved to have heard those words. And how much he would have loved to have said them to her. The last thing Ralph and William wanted was another sister, but Danielle would have been different.
The siblings watched William turn in to his driveway, then disappear inside the Williams house. Without much reason to stand there at the side of the road, they resumed their journey home.
High up on a tree, a crow watched them pass. It knew nothing of horses or little girls or much of anything regarding the complex human world, which, judging by today, was a good thing for those in the crow world.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HIS TWO-WEEK RESPITE from travelling the roads of northern North America was rapidly coming to an end. In two days, Tye’s employer, Sawyer Transport, wanted him to haul three thousand units of maple syrup to the Prairies. Chuck, his boss, loved the idea of a Native man hauling such a uniquely Canadian item across the country. Tye, on the other hand, didn’t care much. Maple syrup, toilet paper, brass fittings, women’s underwear. It was all the same. All came with a location, a deadline, and the necessary papers. Once there, though unconfirmed, there was a good chance he was coming back with a truck full of discount socks and maybe some underwear.
He loved his family deeply, but Tye found his time on the road peaceful, almost Zen-like. He could think his Tye thoughts, listen to his Tye songs, and enjoy the growing homesickness that gradually overtook him, knowing full well it would soon be eased, like an itch or a sneeze, though he would never use those metaphors in front of his family.
“Maple syrup? Socks and underwear? Your ancestors would be so proud.” In retaliation, a pair of Tye’s own socks quickly bounced off Liz’s head, landing on the floor near the closet.
She was helping her husband to pack for this trip, as she did every trip. It had practically become a ritual. He wasn’t scheduled to pick up his truck till day after tomorrow, but experience had long taught the couple it was better to be prepared in advance. Many a time deliveries had to be rushed and there was only time for the rapid grabbing of random clothes. On one such occasion, somewhere on the other side of Thunder Bay, Tye had discovered an odd assortment of Liz’s underwear in his bag. It made for an uncomfortable drive the next day till a Giant Tiger outlet was quickly located.
At this moment, Tye was picking out his travel jeans, as he called them, loose, comfortable, and warm for long stays in the truck’s cab. Meanwhile, Liz was picking out his shirts that fit the same description. On the bed in front of them was a familiar large duffle bag.
T-shirts were next on his list. A frequent problem he had as he packed them was that he’d notice several were missing. In many ways, Tye was a sentimentalist. Each T-shirt in his possession came from a place and time in his past, and he remembered the origins of each fondly. Would he wear a random T-shirt with no backstory? Never. The problem was that, like many stories, frequently they got old, uninteresting, and needed to be replaced with something new. Liz took that awesome responsibility upon herself, frequently weeding out those shirts and stories that sported holes and loose threads. On occasion without telling her husband.
“Have you seen my yellow powwow T-shirt?”
On their first trip together as a couple, Tye had taken Liz to the yearly powwow at Curve Lake, near Peterborough. They had camped there for two nights, and generally a good time was had by all. He distinctly remembered singing songs till three in the morning with a couple in the next tent. Some Creedence Clearwater Revival, some Johnny Cash, some Beatles, and he couldn’t remember what else. The police had shown up. Ever the acoustic experts, the local rez cops told them that sound tends to travel unusually well over water and that this campfire karaoke was keeping quite a few people up in the local community. They had to shut it down. Not the best or the most original story in the world, but definitely one worthy of a T-shirt.
“Threw it out.”
“What! I love that T-shirt. Do you remember I took you —”
“It was full of holes. There was a large grease stain on the side from when you were working on your car that, try as I might, I could not get out. And it was faded. Very faded. You have better T-shirts. You don’t need that one.”
“But I liked that shirt.”
“I am sure you did, but the T-shirt industry needs more sales to survive.”
Knowing there was little point in arguing, Tye sighed his disappointment.
“I heard that.”
“I know. You were meant to.”
Downstairs they heard the door open and the distinct sound of two young adults entering the house, though in a somewhat subdued manner. Tye checked his watch. “The next generation is home. Together. They’re spending a lot of time together these days.”
Liz had finished with the T-shirts, including managing to eliminate one advertising a popular Canadian beer brand that she personally found problematic but that Tye loved due to the fact he had been invited to the product launch after hauling a trailer full of it into town. Technically the term was “swag”, or as he called it, “Stuff We Aboriginals Get.”
“Yeah, I think it’s bec
ause of the Everything Wall. And that Danielle Gaadaw.”
Pausing for a second, underwear in his hand, Tye looked to his wife. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that. What are you going to do about that thing … sorry … the Everything Wall of yours?”
Liz stopped what she was doing. “I don’t know. It’s not doing what I thought it was going to. I mean, it did originally, but now … I just don’t know. It may be causing more problems than anything.”
“I know everybody likes that Horse thing, but seriously, it gives me the creeps. Sometimes I feel like we have a fifth person living in this house. And I’m not including William. Speaking of him, where’s he been lately? Not that I’m complaining.”
Liz moved on to the underwear, making sure hers was as far away from the duffle bag as possible, liberally lining the well-travelled bag with Tye’s. “Kids’ politics, I think. Nothing serious.”
“Liz, is it just me or has the feel of this house completely changed in the last little while? I’m almost afraid to go away this time.”
“I know what you mean.” Packing momentarily forgotten, Liz sat on the edge of their bed. “I have to admit, sometimes when I look at the Horse, I feel a combination of things. I don’t know, fifty percent total amazement that a ten-year-old could create that.”
“Agreed. And the other fifty percent?”
Liz thought for a moment. “Twenty percent envy. Twenty percent incomprehension. And ten percent uneasiness, I guess.”
“I feel all of those, but in different percentages.” Tye sat on the bed beside her, idly bouncing a sock ball in his right hand. “Here’s an uncomfortable question, my sweet. Have you ever tried to think about where that Horse came from?”
Brow furrowed, Liz cocked her head to the right, not unlike a cocker spaniel puppy she’d once had. “I don’t understand. It came from Danielle’s imagination.”
He shook his head. “No. I mean yes. But where inside that little girl did such a huge thing come from? I think maybe it’s some sort of cry for help. Or worse. It’s not just a horse. It’s more than a horse. Am I making any sense?”
“I don’t know. This is not my area of expertise.”
“Mine either. Maybe you can contact one of your weird friends and ask them.”
This time a sock bounced off Tye’s head.
Most of the small talk gone, Liz hovered on the edge of confessing something to her husband. It had been bothering her all day, and she wanted to get it out of the way. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Tye, I went over to see Hazel.”
This generated a perplexed look from the man. “You did? Hazel? Danielle’s mother? When? And why would you do that?” Tye knew his wife seldom had concrete, three-dimensional, concise explanations for many of the things she did, but this definitely required some clarification. Patiently, he waited for an answer.
Formulating her thoughts, Liz pulled a loose thread out of one of Tye’s socks.
“I was worried about that little girl. I didn’t want to tell the kids, but I needed to do something.”
“Okay. What happened?”
“I knocked on the door. That Arthur guy answered.” Liz went silent.
Putting down his favourite jeans, Tye turned to his wife and leaned on the bedpost. He wanted to hear where this story was going. “And?”
More silence followed his question. Then Liz found the words to continue. “They invited me in. I think they felt they should, rather than they wanted to. Once I was inside, I sure didn’t want to be there. The place was a disaster zone. Horrible.”
“Did you see Hazel?”
That question caused a short bark of laughter from Liz. “You could say that. But it wasn’t the Hazel I remember. She’s changed a lot. I doubt she could really see me. They offered me a beer, but I said I couldn’t stay. I asked about Danielle. Evidently our kids had been there yesterday, asking the same question.”
“They were? They didn’t say anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. Hazel said Danielle was sleeping and she didn’t want to wake her up.”
“Do you think that was true?”
There was a creak of wood somewhere in the house, filling in the silence of understanding.
“No.”
Tye went back to packing. Liz went to the closet, rifling through a series of neatly hung winter sweaters. Nothing more needed to be said.
“Mom, Dad?” Ralph and Shelley entered their bedroom, sans winter wear. For the first time in a long time, Liz noticed how quickly her children were growing up. In five months, her little girl would be a teenager. Liz’s mother had always warned her about the terrible twos, but it was those mid-teenage years that struck Liz with their own form of subtle concern. Her son was shooting up, already as tall as his older sister.
Tye looked up, ready to get back to the important task of choosing socks for the road. “Hey, you two, what’s up?”
“We want to talk to you about something.”
That subtle fear Liz had thought about earlier suddenly had a growth spurt. “About what?”
Looking at each other for support, both kids entered the room. “It’s about Danielle.”
Tye mumbled to himself, “Again?”
Though the children had initiated the conversation, there seemed to be a clear reluctance to further it.
“Yes?” said Liz.
As usual, it was Shelley who stepped up to bat, wetting her lips before speaking. “Mom, Dad, about Danielle …?” That was as far as she got. Once more there was an uncomfortable pause.
Slightly irritated, Tye broke the silence. “What about Danielle?”
This time, Ralph spoke. “We think you two should adopt her.”
“Or foster her. Or whatever you think is best, but she needs a place to stay.” The words started to come out fast and furious. “She’s been living at the camp fort, down by the shore. You should have seen her. Oh my god!”
It was Ralph’s turn. “She hadn’t eaten in days. I don’t think her mother looks after her. William said she looked pathetic. She needs our help.”
“She could have my room. I could move back in with Ralph.” Ralph gave his sister a quick, puzzled glance — that had not been previously discussed — but that was something to be dealt with later. “I’m worried for her.”
“Me too,” added Ralph. “We’ll look after her. Feed her. Everything.”
This drew a small elbow from Shelley. “She’s not a dog, Ralph.” She turned her attention back to her parents. “Well?”
Now it was the parents’ turn to hesitantly respond. A slightly amused but still concerned Tye looked to his wife, who was looking down at the wood floor. Two seconds passed before Liz spoke. “I’m afraid things don’t work that way.” She looked as sad as her children, having secretly considered the same thing. Though her heart ached for Danielle, especially after what she’d just been told, the law and the world just didn’t allow for her family to scoop up the little girl and adopt her. To the best of her knowledge, there was precious little she could do.
“But, Mom, she’s so miserable there. They don’t want her and …”
“… we do.” Shelley finished her brother’s sentence.
Liz Thomas wished desperately the world was as simple as her daughter and son seemed to believe it was right at this moment, but she knew differently. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Tye who came to her rescue.
“It doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. Hazel is her mother. That’s the way things are. It’s not always right, and frequently it sucks.” Tye stopped, aware he’d almost sworn in front of his kids. There was also the fact he was unsure what else to add. While his children’s argument was not exactly a detailed one, it had a clear moral purpose, a forceful superiority that he couldn’t deny.
“Your father’s right. If I could, I would. We would.”
The a
ttitude from the Thomas kids began to change from their original hope to sadness, and then to frustration. Holding on to the purity of a child’s sense of right and wrong, Shelley and Ralph couldn’t understand why what they were suggesting wasn’t possible. Their plan would be good for everybody. It was a win-win situation. The best kind. But their mother, who was usually their biggest supporter in most things, was oddly becoming their biggest obstacle.
“There must be something we can do! Mom, Dad, it’s not right.” Shelley had the floor, but her brother was fully behind her.
Liz was silent for a moment, obviously weighing what her children had told her. She totally agreed with her daughter and was proud of her sense of judgment, but society had a way of interfering with a person’s moral compass. “Maybe …”
Both siblings jumped at the breach in the dam. “Maybe” meant something. Seldom had more hopes been pinned on a two-syllable word.
Liz’s visit with Hazel had raised some very serious concerns but had provided no answer. There were always possibilities, as Liz had frequently tried to impart to her children. Life was not a series of dead-end lanes.
Though definitely sharing his wife’s concerns about Danielle — what normal parent wouldn’t be troubled about the precarious welfare of a child? — Tye had learned to be suspicious of his wife’s brainstorms.
“I suppose I could have a word with Marilyn. It doesn’t hurt to chat, I suppose. Tye?”
That earned a firm nod from her husband. “Good idea.”
Marilyn was the local Children’s Aid worker, the woman in charge of making sure as many of the homes in Otter Lake were as happy and fit as was humanly possible. It was a hell of a job for just one woman, because a good part of her job involved making enemies. But Liz trusted her and felt sharing some of the information provided by her children might have an overall positive outcome.
Tye was more than a little relieved that they would be handing this particular ball off. This whole subject, from the Horse to legally extracting a little girl from a potentially abusive home, was in a decidedly grey area. And for all his strengths, Tye was not a fan of grey areas. The blacker and whiter the world, the better he understood it.
Chasing Painted Horses Page 19
