Maccloud falls, p.37
macCLOUD FALLS, page 37
Gordon gave out a huge sigh, blowing his cheeks out as it escaped his lungs. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘So you think it’s real?’
‘I do. As if it’s hardly been read,’ he said, then laughed, remembering Veronika’s comment at the waterfall: multiple wows.
‘They say my grandfather never took it out of the case. My father wasn’t so interested in books, so he never did either.’
‘You know, when they printed these, they stitched them and then it was up to the subscribers to decide how they wanted them bound. This never has been. It’s like it’s hardly been touched. There’s some spotting but that’s to be expected.’ He turned the pages slowly, examining the type closely, looking for marks. ‘Although, now, I can see it has been read. Here, some thumbmarks where the pages are turned.’
Gordon looked. ‘Yeah, I know. Must have been great-great-grandfather. It was him who supplied the leather case, I believe. He gave it to my great-grandfather when he was leaving Scotland, like I said, the cattleman I told you about. It travelled out in the bottom of his trunk. And he never took it out again. Well, hardly ever. Maybe on Burns Night. Or St Andrews.’
Gil sighed, then let out a little laugh. ‘Well, it’s remarkable that it’s survived. Who’d have thought it? Five thousand miles and, what, two hundred and twenty-five years?’
Gordon nodded, then frowned. ‘So it not being bound, does that add to the value or otherwise?’
‘I’d think it would add.’
‘That one that sold at auction for £40,000, that was bound, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So how would this compare, value-wise?’
‘Something like this, almost pristine, still with its blue covers, well…
if a couple of libraries or collectors went head to head after it… you may well double it. Maybe more.’
‘You’re kidding, buddy? That’s getting on for a lot of dollars.’
‘I really have no idea. But there would be a lot of bidders, all round the world. Big libraries and private collectors.’ Gil leaned back in the wooden captain’s chair. ‘You know, I’m wondering if your great-great-grandfather might have been one of the subscribers, if he was around at the time. He may even have known Burns. If his name is on the list, that would prove the provenance conclusively.’
‘I think we should have a wee dram to celebrate,’ Gordon said, and went over to the small cupboard under the bookshelves, from where he’d brought the wooden box. He fetched out a crystal decanter with a silver thistle adorning it, and two small nip glasses. ‘This is the good one,’ he said. ‘For very special occasions.’
‘What do you think your grandfather would say if he was here with us now?’ Gil asked.
Through the wall, Veronika heard a sudden ‘Whoopee!’ She’d been lying half-awake, listening to the low mumbles of their voices, gently massaging the scar on her left breast and musing on the last few days. The lump was gone, but the scar was itself a knot in her skin. She thought she would never have been here, would never have followed Gil north, had it not been for it, the cancer, their shared bond. She would never have acted so impulsively before it. Some deep change had taken place, or was still taking place, in her psyche, in her attitude to life. Things that in the past she would hardly have noticed or, if she did, would have ignored, the tangents and side roads, the back alleys she drove past without a glance, the little marvels of nature she’d begun to discover while walking in Pacific Spirit – since she’d been forced to stop her onward course, she’d had time to look around her, to notice things, and to reassess what was important. She looked down at the scar, something she had hardly ever done since the operation, because it seemed too awful, too dreadful a reminder of her vulnerability. She saw the little blue indelible mark that the radiographers had made, the target guide for the lasers they had shot her with. It was tiny, but it was forever.
She heard laughter from the next room, and wanted to share in it, so she rose from under the quilt Sara had made, as the sound of their voices rose in volume.
‘Whoopee,’ she said to herself quietly, stretching. ‘Whoopee indeed.’
She went downstairs and found Sara sitting, almost napping herself, with Hero on her knee. Sara asked how she was feeling and she said fine, it was just the shock, she’d like to take a walk before dinner. At the word ‘walk’, Hero leapt to the ground.
‘That’s another word he knows,’ Sara said. ‘He’s a very clever boy. Would you like some company, or do you want some time alone?’
‘I think alone,’ she said. ‘Or just with him.’
‘Sure,’ Sara said. ‘I understand. But don’t go too far, supper’s almost ready. Oh, and just to warn you, Hero seems a bit too interested in the chickens, so best not to go that way.’
‘I heard a cheer upstairs,’ she said, as she was fixing his leash.
‘Did you?’ Sara was suddenly alert. ‘Think I’ll go up and see what’s going on.’
Outside they were joined by Benji, who went a distance with them, as if shepherding Hero away from the livestock. Then she walked down the dirt-road away from the house, and cut across the grassy path to the new place they were building. She guessed that ‘whoopee’ meant money, that the work here could perhaps be finished because of it. Hero was sniffing around the backdoor, as if he’d got the scent of a racoon or some other creature, but she pulled him away and carried on down to the creek. Ahead of her was the little bit of meadowland where she’d found the four-leaf clover. Funny that happening, now, at her age. As a girl it had been one of the treasures she sought after and never found. Once she’d even spilt a leaf to make a four, but her mother wasn’t fooled.
Hero was straining at the leash, drawn to the sound of the water, but she gave a yank on it, and turned away. ‘Enough of that for today,’ she said to him. ‘You naughty boy, I thought I’d lost you for a second. It’s a very good thing Gil was there.’
When they got back to the old house, they found the three gathered around the table in the dining area. Gil and Gordon were clearly a little drunk already – their faces flushed, their beaming smiles and gleaming eyes rather gave it away. In the middle of the table was a leather case, lying opening, with a package wrapped in yellowed paper.
‘Veronika!’ Gordon called out when he saw her, ‘Come in, join the celebration!’
She caught Sara’s eye, where she sat at the far end of the table. There was no glass in front of her and her expression said she was tolerating, not participating.
‘So this is because?’
‘The book!’ Gil cried out.
‘To the bonnie bonnie book!’ Gordon said, and they raised their glasses, to clink in toast. ‘To Rab!’
‘Rhymer Rab!’
She leaned forward so she could what was behind the wrapping, where it peeked out. She read the title to herself. ‘So it’s what you thought it was, Gordon?’
‘According to our visiting expert from Auld Reekie, it is the real McCoy,’ Gordon replied, emphasising the word ‘real’.
‘What’s Auld Reekie?’ she asked, frowning, but with a faint smile on her lips.
‘Edinburgh!’ Gordon called out.
‘Scotia’s darling seat!’ Gil clarified.
‘Okay…’ she said dubiously, and looked over at Sara, who seemed quietly pleased, but not quite on page with them.
‘Scotchmen,’ Sara shrugged, with a smirk. ‘What can you do with them when they get together?’
Veronika sat down on a vacant chair and took the leash from Hero’s collar. ‘I really don’t know,’ she answered. ‘It’s not a problem I’ve ever encountered before.’
‘Come on now, lassie, will you no hae a dram, to celebrate our good fortune?’ Gordon said loudly, and set the bottle in front of her. ‘I’ll get you a glass, so I will.’ He seemed to be becoming more Scotch in his speech the more whisky he drank.
‘No, really, thanks, after last night…’
‘He’s getting more Scottish by the minute,’ Gil confirmed, and slapped him on the back. ‘You must come over, my trusty frere. As soon as you like.’ And they guffawed and nodded, as if nothing could be more certain.
‘So this is because of the book?’ Veronika said, across the table to Sara. ‘That’s great.’
‘Yes, yes it is,’ Sara said. ‘As long as we can do something with it.’
‘Ah…’
‘Gordon,’ Sara said, leaning over to put her hand gently on his forearm, the one that led to the hand holding his glass. ‘We should eat. And maybe put the book somewhere safe. You wouldn’t want to spill whisky on it, now of all times?’
Her calm words had immediate effect. It was if she had a secret power, to make things as they should be, to control man and beast alike.
‘Oh! Sure, sure, sorry.’ And the mood in the little dining room changed as if by magic. Gordon got up with one last guffaw at Gil, and carried his precious heirloom out. Sara followed him as far as the stairs, and watched as he went up, slightly unsteadily. Then, she turned and seemed to glide across the floor to the kitchen, with a little wink to the others as she passed the open doorway.
Gil and Veronika were left by themselves, with Hero stretched out on the floor between them. If the atmosphere should have been a little awkward after what happened earlier in the truck, neither noticed.
‘Really good news,’ Gil said, and he drained his glass. ‘Sorry if we were a bit rowdy.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen much worse. Anyway, after what you did at the waterfall, you deserve to do whatever you like.’
He gazed into her deep brown eyes for an instant. There was gentleness, kindness, companionship. She was back from wherever it was she went to.
‘I’m sorry I have to go tomorrow.’
‘Do you have to?’
‘I think so, yes. I’ll miss you taking a shift on the road. Even if you drive on the wrong side of the highway.’
He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose I could come with you. If you wanted me too.’
‘Would you? Just to take a turn at the wheel?’
‘Of course. It’s a long drive. And well, now I’ve checked out the book…’ He shrugged, and smiled at her, that slightly sheepish look on his face.
‘Your sunburn’s healing,’ she said, and reached out to run her fingers over his cheek.
Hero looked up at them, sitting face to face, staring into the other’s eyes. He gave a little dog groan and stretched out on the floor between them.
‘He’ll be happy if you do. Won’t you, lad?’ she said, and stroked the fur on his belly. Hero didn’t reply, one way or the other, but as he stretched, his front paws touched her feet, and his rear paws, his.
‘You’re Hero’s hero now, Gil.’
Supper was a chicken pie Sara had made, with beautiful golden-brown pastry, sweet potato from the garden and salad too. The mood was more subdued, both men slightly drunk, but trying to pretend they weren’t. Conversation drifted to the book, and what should happen next. Should Gil take it away and look to auction it in Edinburgh, like the one they’d read about, Sara wondered? Gordon visibly stiffened in his seat at that idea. Gil, sensing that, said ‘There’s no reason why it has to be sold in Edinburgh. Could be anywhere. This is a global market.’ Gordon’s mien didn’t alter. It wasn’t Edinburgh that was the problem, Gil realised, but the taking away.
‘I don’t know,’ Gordon said, after a while. ‘It’s great that’s its real and worth so much, and we could truly do with the money as you know, but it’s not easy for me to consider parting with it.’
An awkward silence fell around the table. ‘This pie is delicious,’ Veronika said. ‘Such great pastry! I wish I could bake like this.’ Sara thanked her, but she was watching Gordon carefully. His face was so easily read, his emotions so near the surface.
The wine flowed and they talked about the trip they’d made to the falls, how much fun the picnic had been, and how Gil’s lunge had saved the day from potential disaster. But Robert Burns was a proverbial elephant among the company now, unacknowledged and unspoken, but very present. The talk further retraced the steps of the day and arrived at the creek where Veronika had found her good luck symbol, and again they said what an amazing day they’d shared, quite unforgettable. She was going to get it framed, she said, when she got home. From there it wasn’t far to the new house, the half-built dream, and Burns was there again, in all their minds. Veronika so hoped that the children would come back home again soon, to visit if not to stay, so they could see them all, and she said that if they were ever coming down to Vancouver to visit the one who lived there, they must, absolutely must, come and see her.
‘Build it and they will come,’ Gil said, not knowing why the phrase had popped into his mind at that moment.
Veronika stared at him. ‘I thought you never watched movies?’
‘Why?’
‘What you just said. It’s from ‘Field of Dreams’.
‘Is it? Huh,’ he said. ‘I had no idea. I thought it was from a book. What’s ‘Field of Dreams’?’
Gordon and Sara knew the movie and they began to tell him the plot in outline.
‘Hang on,’ Gil said. ‘That is a book. ‘Shoeless Joe’. Kinsella.’ None of the others had heard of it, but there was a hopefulness to their tone now, as if the phrase he’d spouted had tapped into their essential optimism unwittingly, the shared energy that had helped build what they had already built, over the many years of their marriage.
‘I suppose we’ll manage it somehow,’ Sara observed. ‘It’s not as if we’re broke. And we do own the property. Maybe we can raise some money against it. I don’t want you to sell the book if it makes you unhappy, honey.’
At that moment, a thought popped into Veronika’s mind, one of those inspired ideas she sometimes had. ‘Couldn’t you raise money against the book? Like with a great artwork. Not actually sell it. If it’s worth what you say it is. And it’s not as if it’s going to lose value, is it?’
‘Huh,’ Gordon said. ‘That’s a thought, indeed it is.’
‘If you had a letter from a respected antiquarian bookseller in Edinburgh, and proof of provenance, I reckon you probably could,’ Sara said.
‘Happy to help,’ Gil ventured. ‘It may take a little time, but I feel sure we can get the papers required. It’s as close to pure gold as a Scot can get. As far as verification goes, I know of a professor at Simon Fraser University who’s an expert in Scottish Literature in the eighteenth century. I’m sure Leith could check it out and corroborate.’
A broad smile burst across Gordon’s face and he began to chuckle. ‘What?’ Sara asked, as if recognising the signs of some funny thought bubbling up in his mind. He chuckled again, as she leaned in close, waiting for his words.
‘I was just thinking, honey, our bank manager in Kamloops is a MacDonald. Nothing he’d like better than something like that, safe in a bank vault.’
‘And it would be safe, and it would still be yours.’
‘Huh,’ he said again. ‘Veronika, I think you may well be a genius.’
‘I think she is,’ Gil agreed. ‘That’s an inspired solution. And you know, if you wanted to sell the story to the newspapers, it’s a great outcome all round.’
Gordon went on. ‘The thing with it is, what has always troubled me, is that it has never really felt as if it was mine. I always thought of it as my great-grandfather’s, see? Like I was just the custodian for a generation, that one of our kids would have it sooner or later.’
‘But if this works out, one of them will,’ Sara said. ‘And there will be a new house here too. Right,’ she said. ‘Time for pudding.’
‘But won’t it belong to the bank?’ he thought out loud.
‘Not if we pay the loan off.’
Gordon helped her clear the table and followed her through to the kitchen. Moments later he was back. He raised his eyebrows and winked, then closed the doors. ‘Back in moment,’ he said.
Gil looked at Veronika. ‘What do you think’s going on?’
‘A little quiet whoopee, maybe?’
He laughed. ‘It’s nice to see them so happy, whatever. You’re a very smart woman, whatever your name is,’ he said. He added, ‘Sigourney’, and grinned.
She punched his shoulder, but laughed. ‘Yup. So they tell me.’
‘And good at making other people happy.’
‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I am. I just hope it works out for them.’
The aroma of dessert began to creep into the dining room, and when the doors opened again, it was to the sound of Gordon with a toy trumpet, playing Auld Lang Syne, though it sounded more like a kazoo.
‘In honour of our dear departing guests,’ Gordon said, and then in came Sara with a tray, as he root-toot-tooted his trumpet.
‘This is one of my grandmother’s recipes. Old-fashioned Mennonite Blueberry Cobbler,’ she said.
‘And this,’ said Gordon, putting the trumpet down, ‘Is the champagne that was sacrificed in the dramatic rescue of our other departing guest, the king of Rough Collies, our Hero.’
‘Gordon’s drunk,’ Sara said. ‘Please excuse him.’
‘Not drunk, my love, just very happy. Merry, you might say. Because the book is the real McCoy, and our genius new friend here has pointed out a way to both keep it and profit by it.’
‘Anyway, enough about that book of yours,’ Sara said, as she sat back down and began spooning out the cobbler. ‘I want to hear about your book, Gil. The one you’re writing.’
‘Ah, the book,’ he said. ‘Yes, my great labour.’
‘This looks wonderful, Sara,’ Veronika said, as her eyes saw the blueberry appear from under the golden brown topping. Sara passed the first plate to Veronika, who took a taste. It was delicious.
‘Wow… if you were to open a restaurant in Vancouver, you’d do really well.’
Sara laughed and poured a little cream onto her bowl. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than having to cook for lots of people all the time in exchange for money. To me, food is about love. This cobbler is full of Grandma’s love to me. The secret ingredient. But Gil, do go on.’
