Winter Shadows (19 page)

Martin snorted. Walter retreated behind his newspaper again.

“Cass, did you read anything about the house before the dreams?” Betty asked.

“No.”

“Comper,” she mused. “Not a common name hereabouts. They may have been an early family who died out. Could check the church records. Maybe they survived the fire.”

Walter said, “One of my long-ago aunts married a Comper. My great-great-aunt Marianna, but she and her family went off to Portage La Prairie at some point. Other Compers are probably in the old burial site down by the river – under bushes and trees roots. There was a log church there, I’m told.”

“Really?” Betty said. “I didn’t know that, and I’ve lived around here as long as you. But my family records went up in smoke, like so many others. No wonder we can’t find some relatives.”

Walter shrugged. “I can show you where the site is in the spring.”

“That would be great. I bet Anne Alexander is buried there,” I said.

“The Comper farm …,” Betty said thoughtfully. “I wonder where that was.”

Martin cleared his throat. “Listen, Aunt Betty, you should know that Cass –”

“I worked it out on the way here,” I said, leaning forward. “I think it was right where that old feed store is.”

“That section belonged to another family for years,” Betty mused. “Cochranes.
Mmm
. Not to say a female Comper didn’t married a Cochrane and the name ended with her. Have to check out land deeds.”

Martin was staring at her. “Aunt Betty, you’re not really going to check out someone’s dreams, are you?”

“Why not? I’ve tried to tell you about the traditions of the people we come from, but you don’t listen. Dreams are important, Martin.”

I said, “Sometimes in that house, I feel like one part of me is here
now
and another is in 1856. I can almost feel what it was like back then. I guess that’s why I dream about it.” No point in mentioning a diary I couldn’t produce as proof.

“The mid-1800s was a complicated time in this settlement,” said Betty. “All made difficult by mixed heritages, country marriages, children from two cultures, and so many English coming in. A lot of the Company men in the big settlement deserted their country wives and brought over British women as their ‘real’ wives. Many of the native wives were forced to find their way back to their families or find another man willing to take them and their English Métis children in. Otherwise, they faced a pretty harsh life.”

“I bet,” I said.

She smiled at me. “So don’t you worry what other people think, Cass. You know what you know.” A knot loosened in my gut. She believed me!

Martin narrowed his eyes. “Auntie Betty, Cass doesn’t actually know any of –”

I bristled. “Excuse me, but I think you should just –”

“You know, thinking about it, what bothers me is how many of the older families in this area still deny having native blood,” Betty said.

“I thought people were sort of proud of that these days,” I said.

“Mmm
. Younger ones, maybe.”

Martin frowned. “I’ve never given it any thought. Who even knows who’s got native blood or not? I only know I do because of you, Auntie Betty.”

She shrugged. “After the Riel Rebellion, many powerful English Métis quietly moved into white society, as if their ancestors never existed.”

Walter nodded. “My whole family avoided mention of it for years, until one of my grandsons applied for Métis status. Got me to do it, too. That kid appreciates the land.”

I had a pretty good idea who’d be inheriting Walter’s farm. I wondered if his grandson would sell it.

“Anyway, Martin,” Betty said gently, “what Cass saw in her dreams might be important. Her spirit may be moving through time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Auntie Betty! You take the spiritual part of your aboriginal DNA way too seriously. Cass is pulling your leg. She does that. Talk at school is she played a trick on the bus driver that could’ve caused an accident.”

I sat up with a jolt. “I did not! I would never do that!”

His aunt said, “So that’s what those boys were teasing you about. What happened?”

My heart was pounding. “I fell asleep on the way home ’cause I was feeling sick. I had a dream. It got mixed up with being on the bus. I called out, and Gus put on the brakes. The bus stopped in a snowbank.” I told her the rest.

“And everyone is saying you did it just to make trouble –” Martin said.

Walter said, “Hey, hey, enough of that.”

“I didn’t say I believe it,” Martin said. “I said there’s
talk
that she made it up.”

Walter shook his head. “That don’t make it better, son.”

“And it’s really you fudging over the fact that you
do
believe it!” I said.

I stood up. “Nice meeting you, Walter. Thank you for telling me all this, Miss Pelly. And thank you for believing me. Please don’t tell Jean. I haven’t said anything to her because she would only –”

“I understand.”

“I don’t feel like working, Martin. Don’t bother driving me home. I’ll walk.”

As I strode away, I heard his aunt say, “Martin. What’s
with
you? Anyone with any sense can see the girl …”

I didn’t hear the rest. My bottom lip was trembling, and if I went back to say more, I knew I’d just cry. I ran out into the snow. I was sure his aunt would make Martin follow, so I took the footpath down along the riverbank that eventually comes out at the road.

The snow wasn’t deep under the trees by the river. As I ran along the path, I heard a truck grind out of the parking lot. Martin was waiting at the road, leaning against the driver’s door, exhaust hanging like a white cloud in the cold still air. I walked right past.

“Come back, Cass. Have something to eat. We’ll talk.”

“No.”

“If you don’t, Aunt Betty will never let up on me. Please? With mustard and relish on it? Best hot dogs in the world. And those creeps have gone.”

“That leaves just one then!”

“Look, Cass, Betty believes you and that’s good enough for me. I’m sorry. I really am. But you do have quite a mouth on you sometimes.”

“I’d never do anything to deliberately distract a bus driver with kids on board!”

“I know that. Come back. Please? With vinegar and salt on it?”

If I went home now, I’d have to help Jean with her stupid party. I climbed into the passenger’s side. The silence in the car was like damp smog. The afternoon sun was going down behind the curtain of snow. We met up with Betty and Walter getting into their truck. His aunt stood at the open door on the driver’s side, snowflakes tumbling over her woolly tam.

“Good for you, Martin,” she said. Then she took my arm and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. There’s a reason for everything. You’ll figure it out. I’m sorry if I sound like some kind of phony wisewoman, but it’s truly what
I believe. I’ve lived a long life, Cass. I’ve seen many things that don’t make sense, and then something happens and it all fits together.” She laughed. “Come on, Walter, let’s get you home.”

Inside Pelly’s, Martin went straight to an empty table that said Staff Only. The place was hopping, country Christmas music throbbing through the air. Lots of greetings, laughter, and noise. The woman with the poinsettia in her hair called, “We could use some help here, Martin!”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Just for half an hour,” the woman said. “I need you on the grill, Martin. Racine hasn’t shown. She’s fired for sure.” She looked at me. “You can pitch in, too, can’t you? I pay ten bucks an hour.”

“I’ve never worked in a restaurant,” I said.

“We’ll just have you clear and wipe tables.” She took my arm, dragged me into the kitchen, and gave me quick instructions. “Pile what you can on a tray, wash tables, check seats for grease, wipe them if they need it, dry them really well, come back, sort in marked bins, throw away, go back, repeat. Change the water with that mixture over there regularly. Oh, and make sure all the ketchup, salt, and vinegars don’t run out.”

She was a terrifyingly organized person. Martin gave me a thumbs-up and ran over to wash his hands at the sink. I grabbed a cloth and trays and took off.

The rush finally slowed down around six-thirty. I was so hungry, it felt like my stomach was folded in half. Martin came out of the back room smelling of grilled bread and grease. He put down a tray loaded with food, and we sat across from each other in the staff booth. He shoved a vanilla milk shake toward me. I wolfed down a hot dog – loaded – half a dozen onion rings, and a small order of fries.

“I don’t eat this stuff much anymore,” Martin said, “but when I work the grill, I get hungry for it.”

“Are you a good cook?” My hands smelled of vinegar.

“Not bad. Tom Harrow’s the best.”

“The guy with the tattoos, the blue scarf on his head, and all those earrings?”

“Yeah.” He looked out the window. The lights were now on in the parking lot. “Listen, can I ask you a question?”

I sighed. “I was telling the truth about my dreams, okay? Only what I didn’t say was that, a lot of the time, I’m awake when it happens. Laugh. I don’t care.”

“That’s what I was going to ask. So … you think your place is haunted, right?”

“Haunted? It’s more like she’s actually living there. If I tell you everything, you’ll think I’m nuts.”

“I know you’re not nuts. Not entirely.” He smiled, showing the gap in his teeth.

So I told him everything.

When I finished, he leaned over the table, his arms stretched out, hands almost touching mine. “So you are
seeing the ghost of Beatrice and some of the people she knew. So, why, when I asked you if you heard music, you laughed it off?”

“I thought you wouldn’t believe me. I’m reading her diary.
As she writes it
. Laugh that off! The thing that scares me is, she must have died young.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how I see her – young.”

“But she sees you, too, right?
You’re
not dead.”

“She died over a hundred and fifty years ago, Martin. She
is
dead.”

“But it doesn’t mean she died young. You said she’s writing the diary as you read it. Maybe she goes on writing in that diary for forty more years.”

“I never thought of that.” Tears threatened.

He slid one hand forward and grasped my fingers. A shadow fell over us. It was Blondie, wearing tight jeans and fat furry boots, her silky hair flowing down the front of her blue parka. I pulled away first. Martin left his hand where it was.

Tricia said, “So what’s with you two? Are you going out, or what?” Her face was tight. I felt sorry for her.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said Martin.

“Well, which is it? Never mind. I can take a hint. She’s weird, you know, Marty. Everyone says so,” she said and walked out of the restaurant.

I could see the manager, Donna, watching us out of the corner of her eye.

“Why did you say that?” I asked Martin.

“Don’t worry, I’m not jumping the gun. I just don’t like her much. She kept calling me Marty even when I told her not to. So you were a good – what I mean is …”

“A good excuse to dump her?”

He grinned. “Shouldn’t we get to the schoolwork discussion?”

“I’m too tired. My dad and Jean are having a party tonight, and my dad made me promise to be there. I don’t want to go, but –”

“Oh, yeah, Daisy mentioned that. What time does it start?”

I looked at the clock. “An hour ago?”

“You better get a move on.”

Despite everything, the day had turned out to be a pretty good one after all. Maybe I should give in to Dad just this once. I grabbed my jacket. “You may as well come, too.”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I just walked out the back door and headed straight for the truck. As he leaned past me to open my door, he turned and smiled. My heart felt light for the first time in weeks.

A
re you seeing angels of your own?” Duncan Kilgour asked, looking at me sitting in the snow. “I’ve watched you – you are seeing something.”

I dusted off my arms and hat. He pulled me up
.

“I must get those cakes in the ovens,” I said, “before your mother throws everything out.”

He nodded, turned, and led the way to the carriole. As I followed him, I asked, “You don’t seem to know Ivy very well. Did you not grow up with her?”

“I was sent away as a child. I was told my mother could not support me,” he said
.

“Did your father die?”

“Yes.”

“Was it sudden?”

He looked at me. “No, it was a long dissipated death, if you must know. My mother is a bitter woman. I came here to try and find out what happened to her and to see if we could one day be mother and son again.”

I wanted to say
, Well, let me know if you ever figure out your mother because I never will.
Perhaps my face said it for me. “My papa has given her a good home” was all I could think of
.

“I agree. Your father is a patient man. But you don’t seem to be a patient young woman, Miss Alexander. You want my mother to see how good your father is to her and to change overnight. But you must give her time to mellow.”