Somewhere In-Between (2 page)

No one has bothered to remove the orphaned real estate sign from the ten-acre parcel. Julie has no idea if the property has sold or not. Nor does she care.

A few miles later they cross the Fraser River and start the steep ascent to the Chilcotin plateau. When they first moved here Julie would have turned around at each hairpin switch-back to look down at the ‘mighty Fraser' flowing through the deep gorge below. She used to love this drive west. How many times over the years had she and Ian hopped in the car on a whim to drive out to one of the time-warped country cafés, simply for a piece of homemade pie? Not once during those Sunday drives, as much as she enjoyed giving lip-service to the legendary ‘lure of the Chilcotin,' had it ever occurred to her that either she or Ian would one day consider moving out here. For a brief moment she feels a surge of panic that she has indulged him, even slightly, on this whim, that she has let it go this far.

As the patches of forests give way to the rolling grasslands of the Chilcotin plateau, she opens her window to allow the spring air with its fresh scent of sage and juniper to blow in.

Lulled by the warmth of the sun, the hum of tires, Julie feels her eyelids growing heavy. Without warning, she is suddenly flung against her seatbelt restraints and jarred awake as the Jeep takes a sharp turn off the paved highway. On the road in front of them, Richard's truck fishtails on the loose gravel. Small stones shoot up from beneath its tires like bullets, strafing the hood and windshield of the Jeep. Julie grabs the armrest as Ian, swearing under his breath, slams on the brakes. Their vehicle skids across the washboard surface and comes to a stop in a billowing cloud of dust. Simultaneously she and Ian press their automatic window buttons to seal the interior against the thick invasion.

Julie clamps her mouth shut, resisting the urge to blurt that he was following too close; to protect him or herself she isn't quite certain. Criticism of each other is no longer a luxury they can afford.

Ian waits for the pickup's tail lights to disappear before following at a distance in the settling dust. The first week of May and already the Chilcotin countryside is drying up.

On either side of the road fir and pine saplings dot the landscape of an old clear-cut. Sun-bleached stumps, the remnants of trees cut long ago, lay like hulking animal carcasses in the new growth. Not a pretty sight. But then, growing up in Vancouver, Julie knows she has been spoiled by the majestic cedars of the coastal rain forests.

Ian slows down even more for a white-faced Hereford that ambles along unconcerned in front of them, her udder swaying between her legs. A stiff-legged calf runs beside her, its tail straight up. At the sound of their horn the calf veers off to scurry up the low bank. In no hurry, the cow follows, swinging her head, her huge eyeballs rolling a white-edged warning at the Jeep inching by.

Half an hour later they come to Richard's truck, its silver paint dulled by a layer of dust, stopped on the side of the road waiting for them. As the Jeep pulls up alongside, the salesman rolls down his window and sticks his head out. With his black hat pushed back on his forehead, he flashes a grin that says, “Isn't this great?” He points to a narrow side road leading off to the right, “Almost there, folks.”

They fall in behind his vehicle once again. As they head west the grasslands gradually turn into trees, then into dense forest. Although it has been many years since her ill-fated trip to the ranch, Julie suddenly remembers her surprise even then at seeing so much untouched timber. Taking in the towering trees all around she admits that this old- growth forest very well might measure up to the coastal forests. At the next junction she recognizes the fenceline where the ranch property begins. Old instincts kick in and she is about to point out the white survey peg on the bank, then decides that she'll leave all that up to Richard. Let him do his job. Glancing at her watch, she wonders if Ian has noticed that they have been driving for over two hours.

They round another bend, the downhill grade increases and the roadside drops away on the western facing slope. After a series of hairpin turns, the realtor's truck slows and pulls over to park on a widened area of the road. The driver's door flies open and Richard jumps out, waving them to park behind his vehicle. “This is the best view of the place, folks,” he hollers. The sales pitch is back on. Julie has to hand it to him though, the guy is enthusiastic.

Ian is out of the car and standing on the edge of the road before Julie has opened her door. The last, and only time, she passed this way, she was driving and so had missed this vantage point completely.

“Beautiful, eh?” Richard asks when she joins them. She follows his gaze down over the treetops reaching up from the hillside at their feet, and gasps at the sight.

Below, a valley stretches from north to south as far as the eye can see. A willow-lined creek meanders lazily through natural hay meadows. On either side of the serpentine creek, the fresh spring grass sprouts through the dull yellow of winter-killed stubble. A hip-roof barn and a cluster of weathered outbuildings rise like silver-grey islands in the greening landscape.

To the west, a steep granite ridge rises straight up to the Chilcotin plateau, where in the blue distance, a haze of coastal mountains cuts into the horizon.

Richard directs their attention north, to the glistening waters of the lake, which dominates that end of the valley. “Spring Bottom Lake,” he says. “The entire lake is on the property.”

Directly below, an enormous ranch house—new since Julie was here—overlooks the lake's southern shore, its polished logs a golden glow in the mid-day sun.

“The tenant's cabin is out on that point,” he adds, indicating a small bay.

Julie thinks she can detect the faint outline of a roof through the treetops. If so, the cabin in the shadows is, just as Richard promised, a good distance from the main house.

“Other than the cabin, the ranch house is the only home in the entire valley,” he announces proudly.

Julie turns to Ian, and sees in his eyes that he will have this place. She sees that, with or without her, he will make it his own. It's just a matter of time, perhaps days, maybe even hours, before he tells her that he is going ahead with the purchase. He will ask her to give up her home, her life in town, and come with him. And she knows that when he does, she will say yes.

Instead of a grieving widow, bowed under the recent loss of her husband, a vibrant woman opens the ranch house door when they pull into the yard. Wearing knee-high leather boots, designer jeans and a silk shirt, Elke Woell flashes a brilliant smile and strides across the back porch to greet them.

Julie feels the woman's energy even after her hand is released from her firm grip. She recognizes the widow, remembers when she and her husband purchased the property through Leon Walker years ago. The couple were two of many German vacationers who had fallen in love with the Cariboo Chilcotin country, and then returned when the Deutschmark was so high that it was easy to buy into their cowboy dreams.

Over the years Julie has spotted Elke shopping in Waverley Creek every now and then. She's hard to miss. In her expensive European clothes and carefully coiffed sun-blonde hair she was a head-turner whenever she showed up on the streets of the decidedly casual town. She still is, even though she has to be at least ten years older than Julie.

To the salesman's obvious discomfort, the owner insists on accompanying them as they tour the ranch. In an accent heavy with guttural consonants, she does most of the talking. Following her through the outbuildings, Julie feels a twinge of sympathy for Richard, who is being so firmly usurped from his role, until she notices his twitches of pleasure at Ian's obvious buying signals. The novice realtor actually rubs his palms together while answering Ian's telling question about the equipment in the sheds and barn being included in the sale. Julie can almost see the salesman mentally calculating his share of the commission.

Outside, she joins Ian as he strays over to the horse corral where he leans on the wooden fence, resting one foot on the bottom rail. “Beautiful,” he says to himself, as two enormous chestnut workhorses plod across the dirt towards them. Their hides reflect the light in a coppery sheen; jet-black manes sway across arched necks. In stark contrast, the markings on their long faces and legs are snow white. Their feathered stockings, which look freshly combed, splay out over platter-sized hooves as they rise and fall with each heavy step.

“They must be at least eighteen hands high,” Ian says.

Julie glances over at her husband, surprised that he knows this term for a horse's height. But, why not? He's a numbers man after all.

“Clydesdales,” Richard says as he and Elke join them. “They're included along with the four saddle horses out in the field.”

The two workhorses walk up to the fence and lift their massive heads over the top rung.

“Yah, they are Virgil's babies,” Elke says reaching up and stroking the heavily muscled withers of the closest one. “His gentle giants, he calls them. At least that was what my husband told me. I wouldn't know. I don't see Virgil so much. He did business
mit
Helmut.” At the mention of her husband's name something changes in the woman's eyes. She quickly blinks herself back to the moment and points to the far side of the meadow. “The west side of the property goes to the top of the plateau,” she says, then begins to describe the boundaries.

“I have all the maps and overhead forestry photographs,” Richard announces in an attempt to take the lead.

While the verbal tug-of-war over property lines, hay production and timber values continues, Julie scans the countryside. Across the valley, below the western ridge, dense forest hugs the hillsides, a tapestry of variegated greens with rusty brown peppered throughout, as if Mother Nature has prematurely arrived with a hard autumn frost. From a distance it looks beautiful. But Julie knows exactly what causes this effect. The dead pine trees stand like tinder dry skeletons, remnants of the unchecked pine-beetle infestation, which continues to devastate the province's forests.

“This is one of the few properties in the area that hasn't been clear-cut,” Richard says as if following her thoughts.

“Helmut would not do this.” Elke strokes the velvet muzzle of the other horse. “He did not want to ruin the view.”

“The beetle-killed timber will have to come down,” Julie says, surprising herself.

Ian's head jerks up. He smiles at her, and she is glad to see his delight at her joining the conversation.

“Virgil will log it
mit der
…” Elke stops. “
With the
horses,” she corrects herself.

“There's a market for those dead trees now,” Richard interjects. “The lumber dresses out nicely. Denim pine they call it, because of the streaks of blue grain that the beetles cause. I did the wainscoting in my kitchen with it. Looks great.”

He turns away from the corral fence, effectively ending the conversation. “Now let's see the rest of the property.” He directs them toward his crew-cab and Julie climbs into the back seat beside Elke. A few minutes later they turn down onto a driveway flanked by mountain ash trees.

“The rental cabin is just down here,” Richard says nodding ahead. “We'll have a look at that first.”

Elke leans forward, shaking her head. “No. No. We cannot go inside.”

“You didn't give the tenant notice that we were coming?” Richard asks slowing the truck to a crawl.

“Why would I? It is his home.”

The back of the cabin, nestled on the water's edge, comes into view. Typical of the ancient settlers' homes sprinkled throughout the Chilcotin, the weathered, square-hewn log cabin has a low slung roof and few windows. Except for the dented, road-weary pickup truck parked behind it, there's no sign of life.

“I'd like to see inside,” Ian insists.

“There is nothing to see. It is just a small cabin, of no value. I have never been in it. Just my husband. No.” Elke sits back. “We must leave.”

“Sorry, folks,” Richard says, the frustration evident as he throws the vehicle into reverse.

During the jaw-chattering drive to the northeast fields, in answer to Ian's questions about the tenant, Elke explains that Virgil was already living in the cabin when she and her husband bought the ranch. “He was here before we came, and he will be here when we are gone.” Her husband had promised Virgil Blue he could live in the cabin as long as he wanted. She means to keep that promise.

“He does so much work around the ranch,” she adds firmly. “You will be glad.”

Uncharacteristically, Ian does not press the point. Another tell. Julie watches in amazement as he nods in agreement. He turns to face the road and she studies the back of his head. For the first time in months he is sitting up straight. Lately it seems as if he is shrinking, that the essence of who he once was is diminishing, and the solid walls that once made up his defences are caving in. She is afraid that something beyond weight and size is being lost. Even his neck looks different, like a turtle's retreating into its shell to shore itself up from the outside world. Is it possible that this crazy idea of his, this getting away from it all, might be their saving salvation after all?

Inside the ranch house Ian's buying signals escalate. Even a wet-behind-the-ears realtor can't miss Ian's need to touch things, to run his hand along the smooth logs, the polished wooden doors, as he wanders from room to room. In the prow-shaped living room he stops to admire the massive central rock fireplace, and then walks over to the floor to ceiling windows. Beneath the high open beam ceiling, he stands in front of the plate glass staring out at the lake. “Amazing, just amazing,” he says to himself, before heading to the next room. Julie follows silently, skirting the glossy black bear rug splayed out in front of the fireplace. An involuntary shiver grips her at the sight of the bear's enormous head, its fierce open-mouth display of carnivorous teeth.