Stormy Cove (7 page)

CHAPTER 9

Two days later, she saw them both: the polar bear and Archie. In that order.

She was leaning against Noah’s snowmobile, her cell phone to her ear, and trying to hear her son describe his handball game.

Reception on the hill above the houses in Stormy Cove was better than she’d expected, though it seemed surreal to delve into Andrew’s daily life in the middle of this cold white wilderness, out of Noah’s earshot but constantly aware of his presence. His bulky snowmobile suit made his silhouette look huge and ponderous; he was like an upright anchor in his monotonous surroundings.

Noah didn’t seem to be in any hurry to repair the snowmobile he’d agreed to sell her, despite his reassurances that it wouldn’t take long. Clocks in Newfoundland ticked differently than in Vancouver, which wasn’t exactly a mecca of hustle and bustle. Lori would never want to trade the leisurely, laid-back West Coast lifestyle for the frenzy of Toronto. But here in Stormy Cove, a slower speed was linked with stubbornness; at any rate, that’s how it struck her. If people were already at the mercy of the forces of nature, then at least they didn’t want to have the rest of their life dictated to them. This explanation appealed to Lori, even though she suspected Noah didn’t trust her to venture out onto the Barrens on a snowmobile all by herself.

“I’m on the right wing now . . .” she heard Andrew say.

His words just poured out of him, which should have made her happy. His year as an exchange student in Germany was off to a good start. And he could stay with his father and his family, which he obviously enjoyed.

Andrew was giving a detailed account of his new position in soccer when an increasingly loud roar drowned him out.

“That’s wonderful, Andrew,” she shouted. “One sec, something’s making a racket here.”

She looked at Noah, who pointed skyward.

Above them, a helicopter hovered, an overstuffed net dangling from it.

Noah shouted something that she only heard after three attempts.

“Polar bear!”

“Oh my God! Hang on, Andrew, I’ll be right back!”

She thrust her phone into her jacket and fumbled around in her camera bag. The helicopter was flying past. Lori couldn’t believe what she saw and clicked the shutter like mad. She zoomed in on a black nose with dirty yellowish fur. Her rapidly beating heart was in her throat.

She didn’t snap out of her frenzy until the chopper disappeared over the horizon. Then she fished the cell phone out of her pocket.

“Andrew? Are you still there?”

“What’s going on?” His voice sounded amazingly close.

“If you can believe it, I just saw a helicopter with a polar bear in a net!”

“There are polar bears there?”

She knew he’d jump at that.

“Yeah, several of them. They walk across the ice and go into the villages. The game wardens knock them out and take them off somewhere by helicopter.”

“Did you get some shots?”

“What do you think? I’ll send you some.”

“Cool. Germans are nuts about polar bears. They line up to see them at the zoo.”

“They’re all yours. But you send me pictures of yourself—playing soccer or whatever.”

“It’s a deal, Mom. Gotta go. Bye!”

She stood there for a while in a daze, phone in hand. She’d wanted to tell him about the snowmobile and that she was going to go ice fishing with Noah’s family. That would certainly have impressed Andrew. She felt the cold air on her face.

Let him have his own experiences in Germany, Lori. He’s still your son no matter what happens. Hard to let go, that’s normal. But he needs his dad as much as he needs you, especially now that he’s a teenager.

She felt Noah’s eyes on her.

“Everything OK?” he shouted.

She nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat.

The snowmobile glided up to her, and she put on her helmet as she climbed on. Noah tore off, and Lori ducked behind his shoulders to escape the cold wind. As they bounced over stones and roots hidden by the snow, she held on with all her might. The trip seemed to take forever. They crossed a level surface that she recognized as a frozen lake, then she saw some black and colored points moving back and forth on it. Noah finally slowed down, and the snowmobile came to rest. Lori slid off her seat, feeling like she’d been through the wringer, and pulled off her helmet.

Her mood improved when she saw people all around her, holding rods over holes in the ice and waiting intently for a bite. A young man squatted down to show his young son how to move his rod back and forth to lure fish. A group of young women in pink, turquoise, and bright blue ski jackets eyed her, but were distracted when a man with an ice drill almost slipped and fell on the slick ice.

“Nate,” Noah shouted, “maybe you should’ve brought a cane!”

The man came over to them.

“At least I’ve got the proper equipment to drill with; you might need some yourself very soon.”

The bystanders all laughed, while Lori pretended not to understand.

“My brother Nate,” Noah said. “Always has to have the latest gadget. An iron bar is good enough for the likes of us.”

Nate looked at Lori. “Have you ever gone ice fishing?”

She shook her head.

“Well, then, it’s about time. Everybody has to donate a fish today. Here’s a good spot.”

He revved the drill, and water gushed up through the hole in no time.

Noah put a rod in her hand.

“I need to take pictures,” she protested.

“Lots of time for that. Hold the rod at this angle, then wiggle the line back and forth in rhythm.”

She gave in, mainly not to make Noah look silly in front of the two dozen people watching keenly.

She met their gazes and smiled.

“If I freeze, then somebody’s got to light a fire under my bum,” she shouted playfully.

Now she had the crowd on her side. Until then, she’d thought ice fishing was a solitary endeavor in a little wooden shack. But this event was very obviously a family affair. Lori supposed they were all Noah’s kinfolk. The young women, most of them under twenty, were obviously whispering about her; she could tell by their furtive glances in her direction.

Noah was talking with an elderly man who held his rod barehanded. But she felt the cold penetrating her feet and hands even through all her layers of clothing. How long was she going to have to stand still and move a little rod back and forth?

A sudden tug on the line. She jerked up her rod—and indeed, a little fish dangled there! When several people applauded, she could hardly hide her delight.

“Beginner’s luck,” Noah said, taking the fish off the hook.

“What kind of fish is it?” she wanted to know.

“Trout.”

The four-year-old came running to grab at the flailing fish.

Lori seemed to be in just the right spot because she pulled out two more good-sized trout in a short span of time.

The plastic bags people had brought began to fill up with fish. Lori wandered around with her camera, introduced herself, and asked if she could take pictures. Nobody had any objection, but nobody asked questions or struck up a conversation.

People gradually started to drift away and gather around a fire on the shore. Old iron pans were unpacked and the trout fried.

The elderly man Noah had been talking to came over to Lori just as she was pointing her camera at the happily babbling teenagers who’d taken off their boots and were warming their feet by the fire. That the photographer from Vancouver showed interest made the kids all the more boisterous.

The man offered her a can.

“Here,” he said, “this’ll warm you up.”

Lori saw it was beer.

“How nice of you, but I’d rather not. I’d love some hot tea.”

“No tea here,” the man informed her. “This’ll warm you up faster.”

His round head rested on a massive neck, and his head was as bare as his hands.

Lori laughed and shook her head. “I don’t drink when I’m working.”

The man wouldn’t let it go.

“Maybe that’s what they do where you come from, but we do things differently out here.”

While Lori was wondering how to react, Noah stepped in.

“Archie, she’s got to get used to things. You watch, in a few weeks she’ll be more Newfie than we are.”

He took the beer, opened it, and handed it to her.

“Here, one swig to get used to it.”

Lori saw she couldn’t refuse a third time and took a sip. Archie watched her with evident pleasure.

“There’s a good girl,” he muttered, a smile deepening the folds in his furrowed face.

Noah took the can out of her hand and took another drink before saying, “You haven’t tried the trout yet. Fried in lard, you don’t want to miss it. Come on.”

He escorted her over to a cluster of stunted fir trees a little ways off from the crowd and handed her a paper plate. Lori sat down beside him on the snow and cut her fish with a plastic fork. The trout tasted so good that she almost forgot about her cold rear end.

“So that’s your Uncle Archie?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Mm-hm.” Noah picked a bone out of the corner of his mouth. “He’s not my real uncle. His father died in a fishing accident and his mother couldn’t handle fourteen children. When that happened back then, you simply scattered them around to other families. Archie was taken in as one of our own—made no difference to Granny. He’s the last surviving brother of seven because he was the youngest.”

“Their mother isn’t alive?”

“No.”

“And these people are all family?” Lori asked, gesturing toward the gathering.

“Pretty much. Family’s everything here. You don’t survive without family.”

“Sometimes you don’t have any choice.” Lori’s words slipped out unexpectedly.

“Why?” he asked with a sideways glance.

“My dad and brother lost their lives in an accident. Their car was buried by an avalanche.”

Noah didn’t reply. Lori realized that he processed difficult information in silence, whereas she shielded herself by talking. Maybe she was more like her mother than she thought.

“I was fifteen and all alone.”

“What about the rest of your family?”

Lori understood that he meant uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, and so on, but she said, “It’s just me and my mom.”

She couldn’t take sitting in the snow any longer and walked closer to the fire. A gust of wind blew the flames in her direction. She stepped back and bumped against Noah, who was walking behind her.

You either freeze to death here or you burn,
she thought.

Two of the girls approached her, their faces aglow with the heat of the fire. They didn’t look at Lori when they asked Noah, “Is she coming tomorrow night to darts to take pictures?”

Noah shrugged. “Ask her yourselves. You’re not usually so shy.”

“Darts?” Lori asked. “Where do you play?”

The girls told Lori there’d be a dart contest in a pub in the next village. Lori was intrigued, sensing a perfect opportunity to get shots of more inhabitants of Stormy Cove. She promised to come.

On the way back, Noah stopped by Uncle Archie’s well-heated cabin in the woods, where Lori was offered a rum and Coke. She accepted with a smile. Best to get on the right side of the clan chieftain. In exchange, she was allowed to take pictures of the inside of the cabin and of the men with their drinks; of the typical nylon lace curtains; of the divan with at least five layers of patchwork quilts in wild color combinations; of a girlie calendar pinned near the front door—a freebie advertising the Northern Lights Garage in Crockett Harbour. She tried to strike up a conversation with Archie’s wife, Nita, a wiry little woman, but she scurried about the whole time, washing glasses, shoving wood into the stove, and making sandwiches. Lori sat down on the divan, as every other seat was taken. The men clustered around a little table, talking about hunting, new pickups, the roaming polar bears, and the urgent need for repairs to the wharf.

It was very warm in the cabin, and Lori fought off a sudden exhaustion that threatened to overtake her. Her eyelids kept closing. All of a sudden, she heard Noah say, “I’ve got to get going before she falls asleep.”

His brother Lance, who was sitting at the table, shouted, “She’s probably bored stiff!”

“She worked too hard today,” Archie added, “and drank too little beer.”

Lori protested, but Lance slapped Noah on the shoulder. “You should take her for a good, big snowmobile ride, say, to the Isle of Demons.”

“Lots of time for that,” Noah replied, putting on his jacket.

“Haven’t got all that much time; ice’ll be breaking up ’fore you know it.”

Nita wiped the table with a damp cloth.

“Don’t listen to him,” she said in an unexpectedly resolute voice. “Nobody’s ever lost anything on the Isle of Demons.”

Lance laughed. “Everybody’s afraid of the demons. Maybe somebody should go see if there are any demons there at all.”

Nita raised her voice. “Of course they’re there. Not a fisherman around who hasn’t heard them voices.”

“Right,” Archie spoke up. “There’ve been demons on the island ever since they marooned the French princess on it.”

“French princess?” Lori was puzzled.

“Marguerite was her name,” Nita said. “She was an orphan and came to The Rock on her uncle’s ship. Her uncle left her on Great Sacred Island with her lover and her maid as punishment.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t lay that old story on her,” Lance said.

But Nita shut him up. “Because her uncle . . . because he didn’t want Marguerite to marry against his will. Everybody died but her, even the child she’d given birth to on the island. Marguerite was rescued, eventually.”

Archie nodded. “It’s a true story. Happened five hundred years ago.”

“The island’s cursed,” Nita said.

Lori turned to Noah, who was already at the door. “Have you ever heard the voices?”

“Now look who’s awake.” Lance laughed.

“I’ll tell you about it,” Noah said as he opened the door.

But not that day.