Maccloud falls, p.35
macCLOUD FALLS, page 35
‘Well, sanding costs nothing, honey. Trouble is, to get the house finished requires materials, and materials cost money. I can do the work myself, even source and cut the timber, but there’s so much more needed. Like this wall here, where the picture windows will go. The right glass costs an arm and a leg.’
A brief silence fell on the four of them, as they stood in that strange cathedral to nature, the light glinting in through the place where the glass should be.
‘That’s where the Robbie Burns book comes in,’ Sara prompted.
‘Ah yes, the book,’ Gil said eagerly, ‘I was wondering when we’d get to that.’
‘It’s not Robbie Burns, Sara,’ Gordon said, rather grimly. ‘I’ve told you that.’ Then as if realising he’d spoken harshly, he said more brightly, ‘Come on, let’s go back to the old house. Sara’s made a picnic for lunch, and we’re going to take you to one of our favourite spots.’
They went tentatively down the ladder and exited through another makeshift door to the rear, from where a grassy path led back up towards the road that Gil had driven in darkness the night before. The two women went ahead with Hero, while Gil waited with Gordon as he tried to make sure the door was properly closed against racoons, and Benji sniffed around.
‘So the book is a touchy subject?’ Veronika ventured, when she and Sara were a distance away.
Sara sighed. ‘Yep, kinda. I’m not sure of its history, but I know it’s been in his family forever, ever since they came over from Scotland.’ They turned from the grassy trail onto the gravel road and Sara checked back to see where the men were. ‘So you see it’s hard for him to even think about parting with it, but if it is worth a lot, maybe this is the time. We could do with the money. We’ve been building the new house for the last ten years and Gordon can do all the work himself, but like he said we need materials. So I suggested we see if we can sell the book. We saw online that one similar had sold at auction for a lot of money a while back. At least we think it’s similar. That’s where Gil comes in. I guess he’ll know, won’t he?’ She glanced at Veronika as if in hope of reassurance, who took her arm.
‘I think he knows his business, yes. He was certainly interested enough to travel all the way up here.’
‘Well, Gordon didn’t want to send him the book. I mean, he seemed a good guy from the emails he sent, and the books we ordered from him came prompt and all, and now that we’ve met him I feel sure he is, but you know, just posting it off into the unknown didn’t seem like a good idea.’
‘No, I can see that. But I’m sure he’s trustworthy.’
Sara glanced again at her, then laughed. ‘You know, you do look very like her up close. I can see why the folks in Cloud Falls got the wrong idea.’
‘So I’m told,’ Veronika smiled, but she was tired of being someone else. ‘I’m really looking forward to this surprise picnic,’ she said. And they walked on, arm in arm, silently, but smiling at the ease of their new-found friendship.
Gil and Gordon came on behind, also silently at first. Gordon seemed a little put out as if the book was an off-limits topic at that moment, but Gil felt he should say something else, maybe something about the dreamhouse and the kids, yet he didn’t quite know how to broach the subject without it seeming trivial. So he just followed Gordon up the narrow trail through the knee-high summer grass. Some of the plants that grew were familiar to him, but some were not, rather like this place and culture that he had landed himself in.
As they turned onto the road, Gordon waited for him to come alongside.
‘It’s hard for Sara,’ he said, once they were walking together. ‘I mean, the kids and all. Hard for me too. Everything we’ve built here is for them. The new house too, in a way. But now they’ve upped and gone and it’s still not done. And now a lot of the time I don’t really feel like doing it. Guess the motivation’s lacking.’
‘Maybe they’ll come back – the kids and the motivation.’
‘One might. The youngest. The one travelling.’
‘That’s something to look forward to, then.’
‘I guess.’ He quickened his pace a little. ‘I’ll show you the book tonight, okay?’
They caught up with the women who were walking slowly, arm in arm, and Benji gave Hero a friendly neck-bite which he then returned, both tails wagging.
‘Happy trails,’ Gordon said, and Sara chuckled at him as if it were a code, a phrase they shared, one that meant all’s well.
Veronika had carefully placed the four-leaf clover into the pages of her journal, making sure that none of its delicate edges were folded, and had noted the date, time and place where she found it, when Gil tapped on the bedroom door.
‘All right to come in?’ he asked from outside.
‘Sure,’ she answered, putting the journal back into her purse. ‘I was just getting ready for the picnic.’
‘Sara says to bring a waterproof if you have one, and if you don’t she’ll loan you one,’ he said, walking round to his side of the bed and opening his backpack, from which he fetched out a lightweight dark blue cagoule.
‘Not something I brought,’ she said. ‘So where is this mysterious picnic spot?’
‘Don’t know. They’re being very secretive about it. Like they want to surprise us.’ He pulled the cagoule over his head and put the hood up. ‘Somewhere wet, though, I suppose. There, how do I look?’
She grinned, thought for a moment. ‘Well, with your burned red face and that blue top, a bit like a Facebook notification.’
‘What’s that?’ he asked, crossing to the mirror and peering into it, rubbing his fingers over the worst of the peel. ‘Think I need some maintenance.’ He fetched some of the healing cream he’d got in Kamloops.
‘You really are a creature from the dark ages, aren’t you?’ she teased, but he didn’t respond and just carried on applying the salve to his cheekbones and nose, while she watched him.
‘It’s kinda sad,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘Their kids not being here. Feels like such an empty nest.’
‘And one they’ve not even finished building yet.’ He dabbed one last blob onto the tip of his nose and rubbed it gently in.
‘Speaking of, did Gordon mention the book to you yet?’
He sat down on the bed across from her, to put the cream back in his backpack. ‘Said he’ll show me it tonight.’
‘I don’t think he really wants to part with it, you know.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Oh, just what Sara said. How it’s a family heirloom.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, standing up and swinging the backpack onto his shoulders. ‘Well of course I can understand that. Anyway, it may not even be the real thing. Could be that Toronto facsimile I told you about. You ready?’
‘Sure,’ she said, getting up, ‘Let’s go picnic.’
Halfway down the staircase, she saw Hero waiting for them. He was still a bit wet from his creek-herding, and she gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Hello lad! Wasn’t that a good walk? Isn’t it amazing that I found that four-leaf clover?’
Gil, who was a couple of steps ahead, didn’t turn round to look at her, but said, kindly, ‘I think you deserve it.’
The truck had its tailgate down, the hamper was already loaded and their hosts were waiting. All climbed aboard except for Benji who, as Sara noticed, was left looking forlorn as his new chum went off for a ride in his own truck. Worse still he was allowed to sit up front with the people, squeezed in between Veronika and Gil, his tongue out, smiling.
As they drove away from the homestead, Gil could see where he’d driven the night before and said to Veronika that they’d been lucky to find their way. Little Forks too revealed itself, more substantial than it had seemed when they turned off at the intersection the night before.
From there the highway north ran parallel to the North Thompson River and the views were so beautiful that conversation was minimal, other than when Gordon or Sara gave a name to some feature or landmark. The river was wide and running very slow, a labyrinth of channels, little islets and sandbars, reflecting the green trees that forested its banks, and the great mountains came in and out view, some snow-capped, some not. They drove for about an hour before they came to any human habitation and then the highway took a sweep across a new bridge towards the town of Clearwater.
At that moment, a ping from Veronika’s purse told her she was back on grid. Hero gave a woof when he heard it, as if it had awoken him from a dog daydream. She almost leapt in fright at first, and fished in her bag to try to silence it before the others heard, but she fumbled with the buttons and a succession of other pops and pings followed.
‘Someone’s popular,’ Sara said. A little embarrassed, Veronika glanced at Gil who simply smiled benignly and turned his gaze to the town they’d arrived in.
‘Work, probably,’ she said, but she didn’t sound convincing. She’d told them the night before that she was still on sick leave after her cancer treatment. ‘I should probably see what the matter is.’
It was him again, more messages. She scrolled down her inbox. Five. She opened the earliest one. R U trying to hold me to ransom? it read, followed by a winking emoji. The second was just a row of questions marks. The third said; I know we need to sort things out. The fourth, Where R U? and the fifth: Am going to tell her about u. Promise! xxx
Amazing how text reduced an eloquent and literate man to such simplicity, she thought. But her heart began to pound, and silly tears welled up. She tried to pretend it was nothing, threw the phone back in her purse, but inside she was screaming. She took hold of Hero and squeezed him hard. She wanted to shout something. But what? For so long she’d wanted just that message, or those words, in one form or another. Through a fuzz of muddled emotion, she heard Gordon say something about this town, about it being on Sushwap land, and she nodded like she was paying attention but she couldn’t concentrate. All that was in her mind was the thought of him confessing to his wife. Maybe it had already happened. Maybe it was all out in the open, had been for hours. Even days. She didn’t even know what day it was any longer – Saturday? Sunday. It was still the weekend – wasn’t it?
Gil was listening carefully to Gordon’s account of the Sushwap people, the salmon fishing they did on the North Thompson, and their simple yet sophisticated method. But he was well aware of Veronika’s turmoil when he looked briefly at her. She tried to smile at him, but the expression on her face barely hid her confusion behind a thin-lipped grimace, and the frown around her eyes gave her away.
In Clearwater, they turned off the highway onto a smaller one, two relatively narrow lanes by Canadian standards, divided by the ubiquitous yellow marking Gil was now familiar with – Clearwater Valley Road, which slowly climbed away from the Thompson, tracking a tributary, but at some distance above the valley floor. The landscape changed, became a degree more barren, less dramatic, more like the highlands of Scotland, Gil observed.
‘I do hope to see that for myself one day, my friend,’ Gordon said, and Gil agreed he must, one day.
Veronika couldn’t resist another look at her cell. She was wondering about finding that four-leaf clover. Was this the good luck it would bring, this event she’d hoped for so long at last becoming a reality? But she wasn’t even sure she wanted it, now that it was happening. Was it even happening? Inwardly she cursed the uncertainty, the poor mobile coverage, even herself for setting off on this impulsive journey at such a time. What had possessed her to leave Vancouver the way she did, in pursuit of this Scotsman she hardly knew? But then, if she hadn’t, would he ever have told his wife?
The messages were there, five as she’d counted, but now the signal was gone again, and she felt a kind of relief at that. She sighed and stroked Hero’s head. The fur she loved more than any man, those soft crimped locks under his ears.
‘You’re enjoying this road trip, aren’t you, lad?’ she said, looking around them. ‘My my, it really is lovely up here,’ she said, into the ear of Sara who sat in front of her, and Sara nodded, without turning.
‘So what is the Scottish side of your family’s story, Gordon?’ she asked. ‘You told us last night about the Canadian.’
‘Well, I think I may have mentioned this in one of my emails to Gil, the two brothers who sailed out from the Clyde? But the family came from further north, near Stonehaven. I have some documents from my father.’
‘That’s similar to the journey the Burns family took – Robert’s father came from the north-east, and ended up in Ayrshire, not so far from the Clyde,’ Gil observed, after a minute’s thought, and Gordon nodded, as if he knew.
She tried to listen, to tune out the texts, but couldn’t. She needed to think through the relationship and tell its story to herself, so she could see how things had got to be as they are, so she could decide on a way forward. She remembered it began with a few sightings at events, across a room after a reading or at a conference. Then when they talked and he gave her his card, he said he might have some work for her. The emails gradually changed tone, to personal, and then, on his side, sexual. It was really an email affair at first, and email was new then, exciting. She’d never used it for anything other than business before, and hadn’t really known how to respond – she knew that he was married by then, that he had a whole life in another place she had never seen.
‘Must have been quite a thing for those boys to do,’ Gordon was saying, ‘They were not very old at that time.’
‘Just how old were they?’ Gil asked.
‘Twenty-two and twenty. My great grandpop was the younger.’
Of course she had known that it was wrong, at least some part of her had, but it was fun too, as well as exciting. So new. Somewhere along the line the texts began – that was new tech too. They were in each other’s lives, present in the sense of taking up time and giving companionship almost on a moment by moment level, as much as if they’d lived together, and the vibration of her phone had signalled that. She had never expected back then that it would last so long, had accepted they couldn’t live together, though there was a time, once it was serious, she had desperately wanted to, when she’d created a kind of fantasy where they would make a world together, perfect partners. So why had she felt resentful of his presence in her real life, those times when he’d sleep over and stay a day, or even two, the way he seemed to colonise her space?
‘Did you ever know him?’ Gil asked Gordon, about his grandfather. The question cut into her mind, deeply personal, and resonated so that she lost the thread of thought, and gave out a sigh. Did she ever know him completely?
Gordon swung the steering wheel at a sharp bend, so that Hero almost overbalanced, and then nodded slowly, without taking his eyes from the camber.
‘Look,’ Sara said. The view was a conversation stopper.
‘Wow,’ Gil and Veronika said, almost simultaneously.
Sara laughed, from the front seat. ‘Isn’t it just wow?’
After a while, Gordon answered the question still hanging. ‘Yes. I knew him some, Gilbert. I guess I was five when he passed on.’
‘And he was the fellow with the buffalo coat and the rifle, the pioneer?’ Veronika asked.
‘That’s him.’
‘You know,’ Gil said, ‘There is a theory expounded by Alexander Carmichael, of the Carmina Gaedelica, that the Burns family came from the west coast, round Loch Etive or Loch Linnhe. Before they moved to the North-east.’
‘Really? I’d like to read that sometime.’
‘I’ll send it to you, I have the text.’
Gordon smiled. ‘That’s what I love about you, Gilbert. You always have the text.’ And Gil laughed in response, an actual hee-hee.
Sara twisted her neck around so she could make eye contact with Veronika. ‘Just like brothers separated at birth,’ she said.
‘I see that now.’
‘Who’d have thought you could hook up such a friendship on email, five thousand miles apart?’
‘Yes,’ Veronika answered slowly. ‘Who’d have thought it?’ she said to Hero. ‘Eh lad?’
Hero, wise as ever, kept his own counsel, but Gil felt oddly cheered, uplifted by this acknowledgement of his expertise. Ever since Veronika’s phone went off like a time bomb in the tight crawlspace between them on the back seat, his footing in this new world had felt tenuous, his knowledge limited. But here was a Canadian, a man he now respected, saying he was expert, even reliable. He knew he was, but it was good to hear it from someone else. He gave Hero’s head an affectionate ruffle and looked over at Veronika, but she was staring out the window again.
‘Yeah, just who?’ he said.
She was thinking about the happiest times they’d had, the first long weekend in San Francisco, the nights in London, Prague, Chicago, and the times at his cabin on Bowen, when they’d been able to get away at the same time and she could bring Hero along. But none of them were truly domestic, no laundry, no dishes, no work to travel to. They’d been holidays, really, even if they’d met on the pretext of doing work. He’d been generous then, introducing her to people who’d since become friends and colleagues, and he knew so much about the old country, things she had no notion of, though some child-self inside her seemed to sense their importance in making her who she was.
They passed a sign which read Wells-Grey National Park. Gil spoke the name out loud and Gordon asked if he’d heard of it, but he said his research hadn’t reached this far north. They drove on, along a road that narrowed, for another distance, then turned onto a track for a while, and finally Gordon brought the truck to a halt.
‘It’s a bit of a walk from here along the trail, but really worth it,’ Sara said to her back-seat companions.
The two men carried the picnic hamper between them, Gordon leading the way. Sara came on behind, with Veronika and Hero on his leash following her. They walked for quite a way along a path through a young forest of Douglas Fir. The men were discussing David Douglas, the Scottish botanist whose name the trees now bore. They both knew quite a lot about him, though only Gil could say he’d been to where the botanist grew up in Perthshire. Gordon explained that the undergrowth was called falsebox, an evergreen that moose liked to graze. He said there would likely be some moose droppings somewhere along the path.
