A Cold White Fear (5 page)

L
arry
was trembling like a leaf and was about as thin as one.

“It won't be for much longer,” I said. “Once I'm finished you can put on some of my husband's warm clothes and wrap yourself in the blanket.”

He nodded grimly.

His forehead continued to feel cool, though a bit sweaty.

Instead of following me into the den, the tattooed man returned to the living room with Shoni nestled in his arms, where he no doubt was taking inventory. The largest and most beautiful room in the house, with its floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, wall of windows overlooking the lake, and corner turret, was filled with antiques, as the man had already noted. My great-grandfather acquired many of them during several trips to Europe. My great-aunt had added the Quebec pine pieces, like the eighteenth-century folk art sculptures and metal-edged grain bin that had long been used as a woodbox.

I was rather proud of my handiwork. The wound was clean, with almost no discharge of blood. I prepared the bandage, applying some antiseptic ointment to the gauze. With Larry gritting his teeth, I spread it gently over the wound and affixed it with tape.

“Roll over on your side so I can dress the wound on your back.“

Despite considerable groaning, he seemed to move easily, which suggested that the bullet had caused minimal internal damage. Although the exit wound was larger and more ragged, it appeared relatively clean, with no embedded threads.

Once I finished dressing it, I had him sit up so I could remove the remnants of his T-shirt. Although he favoured his injured side, he continued to move with ease. I was feeling more hopeful that his injury wasn't as bad as initially thought. Nonetheless, I found his shivering worrisome, considering that the room had warmed up to almost tropical levels with the recharged fire. I'd even been forced to remove my sweater.

“This'll make me better.” He pointed to the traditional four-coloured medicine wheel on the front of Eric's T-shirt. “Been a long time since I seen one of these. My grandmother used to believe in all that shit. Even had her own medicine bundle.”

After struggling into the T-shirt and the former girlfriend's sweater, he lowered himself gently back down onto the sofa and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“Did your grandmother live on the rez?”

“Yeah, all her life. But she's probably dead now.”

“You don't know?”

“Like I said, been a long time since I lived on the rez.”

“I might know her. What was her name?”

“Flora. She was my mother's mother.”

“I know a few Floras. What is her last name?”

“Commanda.”

“It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place her. She might've passed on before I moved here.”

“How long you been here?”

“About eight years.”

“Yah, coulda happen. Been about thirteen years since I seen her.”

“Well, the rez is just around the corner. You can go look for her when you leave here.”

“Yah, be nice to see her again. She was real good to me when I was growing up.” He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand.

“Do you have other family who might still be living on the rez?”

“Don't know. Like I said, I haven't kept in touch.” He turned his eyes away and began picking at a loose thread in the blanket.

So much for my visiting-relatives-for-Christmas theory. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Some of that rye and ginger would be good.”

“How about just ginger ale? I don't think the rye will do you any good.”

“I guess.”

I poured some into Professor's empty glass.

Larry greedily drank up the ginger ale, finishing with a resounding burp. “I never been inside this house before.”

“But you've seen it?”

“Yeah, a ways back, when I was little. My dad did odd jobs for Auntie. He sometimes brought me. She used to give me an apple and a glass of lemonade. Not much of that stuff on the rez back then. If I was extra good, she'd give me a chocolate chip cookie. The first I ever had, eh? I sure loved 'em. Still do.”

“I'm rather partial to chocolate chip cookies myself. Aunt Aggie's were particularly tasty. She always added extra chocolate chips. I have some of my own in the kitchen, but I can't vouch for them being as good. Do you want some? Perhaps with a cup of tea?”

I felt the puppy's muzzle sniffing my hand and picked her up. “Where's your babysitter?” I expected him to arrive at any second.

But he seemed content to remain in the living room. As long as he wasn't leaning over my shoulder, that was fine by me.

Larry reached over to ruffle the puppy's ears. “Sure cute. Had me a dog when I was a boy. Called him
Nàbek
. Means ‘bear' in my language. Been a long time since I spoke any Algonquin. Used to speak it with Kòkomis.” He raised his dark brown eyes up to me. “Kòkomis is what all us Algonquin kids call our grandmothers.”

“I know.”

“Anyways, Nàbek was a mix, not high class like this one. He was sure a great dog, till he got run over by my dad's truck, eh? Never had another one. Mom hated dogs.”

Larry seemed more relaxed and more trustful of me. With Professor occupied in the living room, I thought I would see what more I could learn.

“Larry, I'm curious to know why you've come to my place? It isn't exactly a top tourist attraction.”

He took his hand away from Shoni's head and tucked it under the blanket. His smile vanished, as did the warmth in his eyes. “Professor didn't tell you?”

“No.”

“You better ask him.”

“I doubt he'll tell me. To tell you the truth, the two of you turning up at my place in this awful storm and your gunshot wound make me nervous.”

His eyes shifted everywhere but on me. He breathed in slowly and then let the air out just as slowly. “You been nice to me. I make sure he don't hurt you, okay?”

“So where are you from? Who shot you?”

He sighed. “Better you don't know. Look, I'm feeling kinda hungry. Think you could get me one of those cookies and some tea?”

I tucked Shoni under my arm and tiptoed as silently as I could down the hall to the kitchen. Larry's words, or more correctly the lack of them, made me even more jittery. They had to be escaping after committing some crime.

If the police didn't come, what would Professor do with me when he finally decided to leave?

I
didn't for one second think of getting Larry a cookie or making him tea. Instead, with Shoni under my arm, I aimed straight for the pantry, where I snatched up my
down-filled
jacket, wool hat,
down-filled
mitts, Sorel boots, and Eric's backpack, and threw them out onto the porch.

I listened one last time to make certain that Professor wasn't coming after me, and then I closed the back door softly, very softly, behind me. I threw on my clothes and then stuffed my feet into the boots and the puppy into Eric's pack. She squirmed and scratched, but with the appropriate bribe, she settled down long enough for me to zip up the pack, leaving a small opening for air. She had just enough room to move around and curl up into a warm ball. I slung the heavy pack onto my back and grabbed the snowshoes and the ski poles hanging on the outside wall.

I stumbled through the snow clogging the stairs, almost losing my balance when my foot missed the last step and I landed
knee-deep
in the white stuff. It was deeper than anticipated. Crunching through it was going to be a challenge.

I fought with the snow as I jammed my boots into the snowshoes and cinched them up tightly. After a last glance at the windows, half expecting to see the tattooed man's writhing snakes, I set out with my headlamp off. I would turn it back on once I was out of sight of the house.

I felt the icy prick of the flakes against my face. My world was an
all-pervasive
swirling white, while around me the trees roared with the anger of the wind. I lumbered toward the slightly darker shape of the woodshed, thinking it would be best to put its sturdy log walls between the house and me. But it was hard going. The snowshoes sank in the light powder, forcing me to lift up each leg like a
high-stepping
horse and kick the snowshoe forward through the snow.

Shoni squirmed and whimpered. I reached back and touched her nose poking through the gap. “Go to sleep, little one.” I found another treat in my pocket, but I would soon be out of them. I mentally kicked myself for not bringing a good supply.

Not being familiar with every twist and turn of Jid's bush trail, I decided to take the Three Deer Point Road to the main road. If the gods were with me, I would meet up with a passing motorist on Migiskan Road. If not, I would keep walking until I reached the reserve.

The snow was so blinding that I almost bumped into the woodshed. Only a sense of a looming presence prevented a collision. I hazarded a backward glance at the house for signs of Professor, but the whirling white obliterated it too — which was fine by me. The man wouldn't be able to see me either.

I was very glad to be wearing Eric's lightweight aluminum snowshoes. With Aunt Aggie's
old-fashioned
willow bearpaws, I'd still be back at the house trying to move.

Once I reached the woodshed, I decided to keep going past the rest of the outbuildings and away from the house, instead of taking the most direct route to the driveway. This was parallel to the house, in full view of the den windows. Knowing my luck, Professor would be gazing out one of them.

After what seemed an eternity, I stepped beyond the shelter of the old stable, the last of the outbuildings, and into the full onslaught of the storm. It almost blew me over as the snow lashed against my face. I tucked my head deeper into my hood and cinched the wolf ruff tightly around my face. It reduced the pinpricks marginally.

I switched on my headlamp, hoping to see the start of the forest, which I knew was less than a tree length away. But it merely lit up whirls of flying flakes and little else. I trudged forward, terrified I might trip on my snowshoes and fall. Unable to get solid purchase in such deep powder, I would find it practically impossible to get up.

Once again, I felt as if I were in my own separate surreal world, only this time nothing else existed but the snow, the wind, and the tunnel of light. The only sounds were the moaning of the forest canopy and the rhythmic scrapping of my snowshoes. For some strange reason it seemed to envelop me in a protective cocoon. I began to feel more relaxed, more confident that I would make it … until I caught the sound of gunfire.

At first I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly until the second shot was fired.

The tattooed man had discovered my escape.

I picked up my pace.

Where had the gun come from? Had he managed to break into Eric's gun cabinet?

Another shot boomed.

With one of Eric's deer rifles, he could hit me at two hundred metres, and he wouldn't need to step off the porch.

I turned off my light.

Another few metres, and I was entering the protection of the trees. I stopped behind a particularly wide tree trunk and listened for the crack of another rifle shot.

I waited a minute or two but heard no more gunshots. He could be caught up in following my tracks, but without proper gear, I doubted he would leave the dryness of the porch. Nonetheless, I wasn't going to wait around to find out.

I treaded deeper into the muffled silence of the forest. Under its protective canopy, the blizzard's intensity was lessened. It was almost like walking in a gentle snowfall. It also meant the snow was not as deep. Since I could make out the black shapes of the tree trunks, I kept my headlamp off and turned in the direction of my road.

I was hoping the two of them would leave for wherever they were headed before their detour to my place. Professor would know that I would send the police after them as soon as I reached civilization.

I no longer felt Shoni squirming in the backpack. Hopefully she'd fallen asleep with the rhythm of my walking. I was now fully in stride and was maintaining a good pace. I decided to stick to the woods and follow alongside the road when I reached it. Staying off it would also prevent Professor from knowing my route, should he decide to leave.

As I wended my way through the trees, my thoughts strayed to Eric. I wondered if he had tried to call. But with the power outage, he would only get a busy signal. After several failed attempts, he would know it wasn't me occupying the line. I hated talking on the phone, so I kept my calls short. Besides, Eric was the only person I talked to on the phone. My friends were few. Eric was the only friend I needed.

He probably knew by now that Three Deer Point was being pummelled by a blizzard. Would he call Will to have someone come check on me? Before our decidedly frigid parting, I would have said likely. Now I wasn't sure.

God, I was stupid. He was the best husband a woman could have. Yet I couldn't shove aside my insecurities. I couldn't understand how he could love me. I was not what anyone would call a beauty. Even though I had lost weight, I would never be called slim. My hair might be red, but it needed a lot of help from Clairol to hide the emerging grey. And I wasn't exactly a witty conversationalist.

Eric could have any woman he chose. I watched the way women, young and old, gathered around him at events, hanging on to his every word, trying to catch his attention, batting their eyelashes, blowing kisses. Well, not quite. But that's how it seemed to me. So when I heard the same voice for the fourth time in two days asking to speak to my husband in a breathless Marilyn Monroe whisper, I got mad and hung up. Eric was furious.

This had happened as he was packing to fly to Regina to meet with a number of First Nations chiefs. In his bid to become the next GCFN Grand Chief, he was crisscrossing the country to meet with the chiefs of as many of the six hundred or more First Nation communities, as best he could. He believed that to be an effective Grand Chief he needed to have a solid understanding of the issues and needs facing them.

He gave me only a perfunctory kiss on the cheek as he hefted his bag over his shoulder and headed out the door to make the
two-and
-
half-hour
drive to the Ottawa airport. He didn't call from the airport, something he always did before hopping onto the plane. I was too chicken to call him. That was three days ago. We hadn't talked since, so he probably hadn't bothered to call to see if I was okay.

The second the door slammed behind him, my heart sank. I knew I'd done it again. The last time he'd slammed a door on me, we barely survived. It took a near tragedy to cut through the months of silence and bring us back together again.

This time jealousy was added to the mix. He hadn't told me who the woman was. And I was too afraid to ask.