Winter Shadows (22 page)

“Not a good time right now, Jean,” Dad interrupted.

“But why not? Everyone we know is here. It will save on phone calls!” She cried, “Everyone! Jonathan and I are pregnant!”

There were mild oohs and aahs and some scattered clapping. I could hear Aunt Blair’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, God, not now,” she whispered.

Dad gave Jean an exasperated look. “Cass, honey, I was going to tell you.…”

I pushed past him and stalked out of the room. Someone was following right behind. I pulled on my jacket and boots.

Aunt Blair said firmly, “Jon. Let her go. Just let her go. This is not the time.”

Beside me, Martin was yanking his boots on. I banged the back door open. When I got to the road, I kept walking. Martin came crunching up behind me. He touched my shoulder, but I twisted away. Jean hated me – hated Mom – and she was getting even by having a kid with Dad.
Wasn’t she too old to have a baby? Why didn’t Dad buy a proper tree?
I asked him twice when I was sick, and he said he would.
What’s the matter with him? What would Mom think? How could he have another kid at his age? What was Aunt Blair doing at the party? Was it because of the baby? Did she know about it? How?
A new baby would arrive soon, and Dad would love it, and … 
our
Christmases – his, Mom’s, and mine – were over. I stumbled on a ridge of snow and the shock of it forced out a loud sob.

“You’re going the wrong way. Turn. Go to my truck. Your aunt’s just left. She said to go to her place. Come on, Cass.” Martin touched my arm.

I pulled away from him again, but I turned around anyway. I didn’t know what else to do, where to go. When we walked past the house, I could see Dad’s outline in the front glass door. He opened it when he saw us.

“Go away!” I shouted. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to hear you!”

Martin pointed at the truck. “I’m taking her to her aunt’s place. She’ll be okay.”

Dad nodded and backed into the doorway, tripping
over the edge. Daisy was behind him and caught him before he fell. No Jean. Of course.

We were quiet until we pulled onto the highway.

Martin said, “Can I ask you something?” I shrugged. I was empty, exhausted. “Do you think your dad is happy with Jean?”

I rolled my eyes. “He married her, didn’t he? If he’s not happy, he has only himself to blame!”

The wind was blowing ground snow across the icy road in thin white curtains. Martin kept his eyes straight ahead, his face still.

I sighed. “Okay, I think he’s happy sometimes.”

“Are you and Daisy making things tense for them? I’m not accusing, okay? Just asking.”

I was too tired to talk about Jean or Dad, so I didn’t answer.

“And if you keep on at your dad, you might break it up, right?”

“Just be quiet, Martin, okay? You know nothing.” I stared out the window.

We drove through the whiteness for a while. I suddenly realized that I was leaving Beatrice behind.
Would she be able to find me at Aunt Blair’s?
I felt for the brooch through my jacket. Yes, it was still pinned in my pocket.
Surely she’d find me, wouldn’t she?

“So what was your dad like after your mom died?”

He wasn’t going to give up. “He got up, he went to work, he came home, he went to bed. His eyes were dead – like no one was in there.”

“And you?”

“I got up, went to school, came home, made dinner, went to bed. It was like a huge semi had crashed through our house, smashing half of it to bits. The way she left … it was … I was … there is no way to explain. Aunt Blair took me to her doctor after the funeral. He gave me something that helped me sleep, so I could at least get to school.” I stared out the window again.

He put a hand over mine. “Sorry.”

“Sometimes, at school, I heard kids talking about their makeup or their hot weekends, or griping about their parents, or crying over some guy or girl, all stupid superficial stuff. I just wanted to shout at them, ‘Don’t you get it? We’re all going to die! Who cares about any of this crap! What’s the point of
anything?’“

“Still feel that way?”

“It got better. Then Dad married her. And she’s done her best to – oh, just never mind, Martin.”

“You clearly can’t stand Jean.”

I put my head against the backrest. “You think? She’s uptight, jealous, bossy, and has absolutely no sense of humor. None. Zilch. My mom was all over the place, but she was easy to be around, and funny. Jean hates me. And my father just wants everything to be normal.…”

The sign for Jackson’s Grange, a tiny hamlet between St. Cuthbert’s and Selkirk, loomed up ahead. We pulled off, and a mile farther, came to a narrow stone house.
Beside it stood a brick building that had been a local telephone station in the 1920s. My grandpa, Duncan Andrews, bought it and turned it into an antique store in the early 1960s. Now it was my aunt’s. People came from Winnipeg, Selkirk, and as far as Brandon to buy stuff here.

Martin pulled into the driveway. “You aunt’s just getting out of her car. Maybe being at her place will give you some space to think.”

I smiled sadly. “Maybe thinking’s the last thing I want to do.”

I
have found out that in her clear-out of the house when she married Papa, Ivy threw away all of my mother’s handmade Christmas decorations. I was not surprised, but angry even so. This morning, after milking the cows and cleaning the house, the girls and I opened the doors between the parlor and the dining room, lit the fire, and set out paper, paste, brushes, and paints
.

As I organized a big pot of tea and a platter of scones for the girls in the kitchen, Ivy grumbled to Papa, “All this hullabaloo for Christmas! It’s not right. It’s not Godly!”

Papa said quietly, “Then just steer clear of it, Ivy, and all will be well.”

She pulled herself up like an affronted hen and glared at me around her long beak. Soon after we began our work on the decorations, I saw her accusatory eye appear every so often around the parlor door
.

I hoped Duncan Kilgour would stay away, but it wasn’t
long before he was poking his nose in, too, acting as if nothing whatsoever was wrong. I couldn’t confront him with the girls there, so I told him he could help nôhkom down to the dining room, instead of eating all my scones. Off he went
.

The Three Graces and Dilly chatted brightly as they sifted through the bits and bobs in the box I keep under my bed. It was filled with beading supplies, porcupine quills, tiny pine cones, flattened and curled birch bark, leaves and flowers, pretty stones, and other things I’d collected on my summer and fall rambles
.

“Look,” cried Anna Grace in Cree. “Leather and bags of beads!”

Soon they were making tiny moccasins. Grandmother was tooth-biting simple designs on smooth pieces of pale birch bark lining, looping red wool through them as hangers. She said she learned it from a friend she once knew “up north.” I fashioned paper-loop garlands and stars using precious silver tissue. As the morning wore on, our pile of little things to put on the tree grew and grew
.

As we worked, Duncan wedged the balsam’s trunk solidly into the wooden pail, using pieces of wood to hold it in place. Then he lay balsam boughs along the mantelpiece, tucking smaller pieces behind the long picture wires on the walls. All the while, he sang Christmas songs. He began with “The Contest of the Ivy and the Holly,” looking toward the hall door now and again
.

When he loudly intoned, “ ‘Ivy hath chapped fingers, she caught them from the cold, So might they all have, aye, that with Ivy hold,’ ” I heard a gasp, and footsteps retreated quickly down the hall. Duncan chuckled and hummed a new tune
.

Why did he come to Rupert’s Land? He shows such clear disdain for his mother, but also a kind of amused pity. Not love. Why doesn’t he go back to Scotland?

He stood far too close to me as we added the garland to the tree. I could feel the heat of his body. Then he made me irritable by devouring most of the scones
.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to wind the garlands through the branches, but it took much longer to place each tiny decoration. Duncan watched benevolently from a chair by the stove, where I’d ordered him to sit. I found candle-holders with metal guards that Papa had made when I was a child, which somehow missed Ivy’s sweep, and I tied them carefully to the tree. I placed small candles in each one, then commanded Duncan to tie a metal star to the highest branch
.

“We can’t light the candles yet,” I said. “For these are all I have.”

“I will make you more,” he said
.

I saw one of the girls elbow Dilly and smile, but one narrow-eyed glance from me stopped this silliness in its tracks. When I turned quickly to tidy our clutter, my little spirit girl moved across the room toward me. Her cloud of hair seemed to fill the room. She gazed at me sadly, almost desperately. I looked at the others. No one saw her
.

She stood by our tree, looking intently at the shadow of a strange white one beside it. She looked so distressed, I walked right up to her. “What is upsetting you? Is it me?” I whispered
.

My heart stopped when I saw us both reflected in the window. Her lips moved, but I could only catch the words
“It’s her.” And then she was gone. Who was she talking about? Her mother?

“What are you seeing out that window?” Duncan murmured behind me
.

“I-I was thinking of my mother. I was thinking of Christmases past. I was thinking how long our winters are.”

He looked at me carefully. “This is my second winter in the New World. I spent my first in Upper Canada. I hear the winters in Rupert’s Land are even colder than in York. We must do something this year to brighten up –”

“The minister man is here. The young one,” Dilly announced, returning from refilling the teapot in the kitchen
.

I smoothed my apron. “Show him in, please, Dilly.”

Duncan sat down and crossed his legs. Truly, his nerve is astounding at times!

“Mr. Kilgour,” I said, “would you please help my grandmother to the kitchen? I’ll give her some dinner there later. And I will receive Mr. Dalhousie in here alone.”

The girls scuttled toward the door after putting some of the tattered tree branches onto the fire, where they fizzed and crackled. Kilgour fussed over nôhkom until the minister walked in
.

“Dalhousie! Good to see you so soon,” called Duncan. “How is your lovely sister this morning?”

I clenched my teeth
.

“She is rather tired, but quite well, considering. The girls you sent, Miss Alexander, are being a great help to her. “

“Duncan, Beatrice has asked us to leave,” Grandmother said softly
.

Duncan picked her up. “Of course. Excuse us.”

Grandmother frowned at me over his shoulder. She was trying to send me a message, but I couldn’t work out what it was
.

“Will you accept a cup of tea, Mr. Dalhousie?” I asked
.

“Thank you, Miss Alexander.” He took the cup
.

“You said you had a hymn to add to my choir’s list?”

“I’ve decided that learning a new piece would only put more pressure on you, Miss Alexander. We have more than enough music.” He put his teacup aside. “I –” he cleared his throat, “I have another reason for coming here today. “

“Oh, yes?”

He seemed reluctant to speak. “I’ve decided to remain in St. Cuthbert’s just until spring. That should give the church authorities plenty of time to find a man who is right for the job.”

Why was he telling me and not Papa, who was an elder of the church? “I’m sorry you’ll be leaving. You will disappoint so many eager mamas.” I laughed lightly, trying to imitate his sister, but failed miserably
.

“I’ve been asked by an old friend to go to the wilderness, along the northwestern coast, thousands of miles from here. There I can practice true missionary work.”

“But how will Henrietta take to the hard travel and remote land?”

He looked down at his hands. “If she had a kind companion, she would do well. As would I.” He cleared his throat. “I rather hoped that might be you, Miss Alexander. “

“Me? Why me? There are young women in the parish who’d suit the role much better than I. I would not be an easy companion.”

“You do yourself an injustice, my dear. You have integrity and compassion. I will open a school there, and I want a wife from my own church – a servant of God, like myself, ready for hardship and challenge. One who would teach alongside me.”

“You’re asking me to come as your wife? But you hardly know me, Sir! To say nothing of your feelings for me.”

“Surely, Beatrice – if I may call you that – a deeper affection will come to both of us in due course. I’m not wrong in thinking we like and admire each other?”