The Winter Road Page 6

  She smiled. “You’re easy to get along with.”

  “Always.”

  She chose the longer way. He was full of questions as they went. How big was the farm, had they sold any parcels of land, were any other buildings found on the property? Emily couldn’t remember anyone being so interested in her home.

  Cattle traveling in single file had worn a narrow path through the bush. They followed it to a more densely wooded area, mostly thin poplars too close together, with an undergrowth of highbush cranberry and hazel-nut. Not far off, they heard water bubbling.

  “The three creeks?”

  “One of them. The biggest one.”

  The woods thinned again and they entered a small clearing where daisies grew almost as thickly as grass. Large, smooth rocks—lichen-spattered granite—rose out of the ground at the edge of the creek.

  “It’s beautiful, Emily. From the road you’d never know it was like this.”

  “Your uncle taught me to fish here. That’s why I wanted to show it to you.”

  Matthew climbed onto the stones. “It looks too shallow for that.”

  “You can get jackfish or suckers in the spring, when the water’s high.”

  “Suckers. Yum.”

  She laughed. “And then in the winter Daniel played hockey with us here—with Sue and Liz and me. Three Creeks can be such a guy-ish place. Daniel is different.”

  Matthew cocked an eyebrow. “Not guy-ish?”

  They both smiled at the thought.

  “He made time for us when we were kids, not just for the boys. He helped us if our horses weren’t behaving or had a problem with their hooves, he knew more about making snow forts than anybody. He taught us how to whistle.”

  “Sounds like a father. Or an uncle.”

  “Maybe not.” Daniel was never like the other grownups. “When we were little, he used to give us coffee. No one else let us have coffee. And while we drank it—hating it—he’d tell us stories about his Army days or about chasing criminals. He always called them ‘dumb clucks.’”

  Matthew smiled at that.

  “So if I seemed…impatient or anything when we met it was because I was afraid something had happened to him. I didn’t think he’d voluntarily miss Liz’s wedding.”

  “You weren’t impatient—or anything. He’ll be sorry to hear he worried you.”

  “Don’t tell him.”

  She climbed up beside Matthew on the rocks, then stepped onto the next stone and sat down, her feet dangling above the water. Remembering the purpose of the afternoon, she began to tell him what she knew of the first settlers’ arrival, how the Robbs, the Rutherfords and five other families had traveled from Ontario by train and oxcart, and at the end of a long and difficult journey had found an untouched forest where they could hunt, with creeks that provided fish to eat and fresh water to drink.

  She stopped when she noticed how intently he was watching her. “Matthew?”

  “Hmm?”

  Had he heard anything she’d said? “You’re staring. Past eye color, past freckles, right down to DNA.”

  “Sorry. I guess I zoned out. Maybe it’s the drive.” He gave a quick, unconvincing smile. “Car lag.”

  It wasn’t the drive. “You must be worried about your aunt. Or great-aunt, I suppose. Has Daniel called to let you know how she’s doing?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I wouldn’t mind talking to him—”

  Matthew wasn’t listening. He lifted his hand to brush her cheek. “What a very nice woman you are.”

  Oh boy.

  She stood, casually she hoped, and moved off the rocks. Funny what one touch could do. All those questions about time and character vanished.

  She patted the bark of the tree closest to her. “This is a poplar. Good for firewood, not so good for building, because it tends to twist. Do you have poplars in Ontario?” Silly question. Of course they did.

  “Aspens.”

  “Oh, right, trembling aspens. I love that name. My mother told me it comes from the way the leaves are attached. There’s something unusual about the stem that makes them shake and flutter in the breeze.”

  He had the most intense eyes. They had been intense at Daniel’s the first day, especially when he heard her name. They had been intense yesterday while he stood with Treasure Island in his hand. They were intense now, in a way that confused her. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or putting her under a microscope, and if he was putting her under a microscope she had no idea why.

  “My cousins and I used to climb these poplars on windy days. We’d pretend we were up in the rigging of a tall ship out on the ocean. Cartier’s ship, usually, or pirates off Newfoundland’s coast. The tops of the trees swayed so much you could just about get seasick.” She was talking quickly, and a lot. Chances were her attempt at a casual retreat hadn’t fooled him.

  “Sounds like fun. The girl cousins, I suppose?”

  “Susannah and Liz.”

  “Daniel told me about the three of you. They both left and you stayed. No wanderlust?”

  “They had good reasons to leave. I didn’t.”

  “Did you have reasons to stay?”

  “Why would I need reasons? I live in a beautiful place with clean air and clean water. We produce most of our own food. We know exactly what’s in it and on it. I love my job, I love my family, and they love me.”

  “It sounds perfect.”

  “It is.”

  “Except for the archives?”

  “That’s a little thing.” She patted the poplar again, encouraging him to focus, the way she did with six-year-old boys in the library.

  “So,” she said, her voice sounding too much like a teacher’s, “the woods at the Rutherford place would have been exactly like this. My grandmother might have pictures. I’ll call her later today and ask.”

  He kept looking at her, evaluating, adding and subtracting, amused, and then he allowed his attention to be redirected to the trees around them. She could see that unlike the six-year-old boys in the library, he was only humoring her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE BELL OVER the door jingled when Matthew went into the post office the next morning. The place had just opened but there were already a number of customers inside and, if he wasn’t mistaken, half of them were Robbs. Four men, two older and two younger, visibly related, clumped together at the far end of the grocery counter drinking coffee from takeout cups, visiting as if they were in one of their own kitchens. They noted his arrival, then ignored him.

  A woman with her back to the door sorted mail. She smoked while she worked, keeping two fingers busy with the cigarette and managing envelopes and flyers with the other three.

  “Good morning,” Matthew said.

  The hand came up, telling him he would have to wait. From a distance she looked young, with one of those unnaturally red hair colors. Up close, her neck and hands and the way she stood gave a more realistic idea of her age. Late sixties, he guessed. This must be Virginia Marsh. Born in Three Creeks, widowed at thirty. Bought the store in ’72 and finished paying off the mortgage just twelve years later.

  While he waited he half listened to the conversation by the coffeemaker. One of the older men was saying something about looking on the bright side. His voice became louder as he made his point, confident and nostalgic.

  “When I ran my farm, I was my own boss. Decided what to do and when, worked out in the sun and fresh air. That’s worth something!”

  “That’s exactly what we were telling the bank manager,” one of the younger men said. “Weren’t we, Tom?”

  “Oh, yeah. ‘But the fresh air!’ we said. ‘That alone’s got to be worth another fifty grand.’”

  These must be the cousins who used the Moore farm for grazing. Matthew didn’t hear the rest. The postmistress had turned to look him up and down with a frankness he found disconcerting in someone older than his mother.

  She smiled through a haze of smoke. “You must be Matthew R
utherford.”

  The Robb conversation paused.

  “That’s right. I’m taking care of my uncle’s place for the week.”

  “He’s not back?”

  “Not yet. He’s staying with a sick relative.”

  “Funny kind of visit. You come here, he goes away.”

  Matthew smiled. “I’ve always had that effect on my uncle.”

  She winked. “You and me both. Sad, but true.”

  “I came by to see if he has any mail. He wants me to pick it up if he does.” He handed her his Ontario driver’s license.

  She peered at the photo and then at his face. “Spitting image. Close enough, anyway.” She passed it back to him. “Now, technically, Daniel needs to ask me himself. But I’ve seen your ID. I’ll make an exception.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If he gets any mail, that is.”

  Matthew nearly laughed. He got the feeling she’d gladly keep him going all morning. “I’ll check again another day.”

  He went in search of meals in a can. While he tried to choose between ravioli stuffed with ground beef or ravioli stuffed with cheese, the bell over the door rang and another customer came in, going straight to the grocery section.

  Early twenties, T-shirt, designer denim. No one in the store greeted him, so Matthew assumed he was a stranger, too. A black Mustang was visible through the windows at the front of the building. He couldn’t see the plates.

  But he did see Emily. She had parked on the other side of the road by the railway allowance, a wide flower-filled strip of meadow. He watched her hurry across to the store, hardly checking for traffic.

  She looked hot and tired, as if she’d been working outside. She gave him a quick smile, but went to the counter in the no-man’s land between the grocery store section and the post office section without saying hello.

  “Look at all of you!” she called to the men by the coffeemaker. “I’ve weeded Grandma’s whole garden already this morning and you’re here doing nothing.”

  “Not nothing, sweetheart. I’m visiting with my fellow man.”

  “You’re excluded from the criticism, Uncle Winston, because you’re on holiday.”

  He gave a little bow of thanks. “But busy nevertheless. I want to talk to everybody one more time before Lucy and I go home. Will’s helping me.”

  “Martin and I are working,” Tom said. “Hard. We’re waiting for the parcel delivery guy.”

  Martin nodded. “It’s very stressful. And all this caffeine isn’t helping.”

  “We’re going to show Alex how to change a combine bearing.” Tom checked his watch. “Soon as it gets here.”

  The customer in the designer jeans went to the counter with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. As if no lighthearted chatting was going on around him he said, “I thought you weren’t supposed to smoke in public buildings.”

  Nobody responded. The Robb men continued to sip their coffee and Emily stared at a basket of licorice cigars beside the cash register. Mrs. Marsh rang the man’s purchases through and dropped them into a brown paper bag—jar on top of bread, Matthew noticed. That was a bit of nonverbal communication he would have paid attention to, but the customer seemed to feel a real need to make his point.

  “There’s a sign. Right in front of you. No smoking.”

  Mrs. Marsh slapped his change onto the counter. “I know there’s a sign. Who do you think stuck it there?”

  “Well, then—”

  “Well, then?” she repeated, her anger clearly increasing. Anybody would think it was the worst thing he’d said yet.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “More than you should. Honestly! I won’t have somebody I don’t even know coming into my store and telling me what I can or cannot do. When a woman can’t stand in her own building without some young—”

  The man picked up his grocery bag and hurried outside. Mrs. Marsh, still looking flushed and ready to do battle, watched him go.

  “You may have scared away our only tourist for the year,” Emily said mildly.

  “No, no. There’ll be others. There’s a honeymoon couple in town right now.”

  “Someone chose Three Creeks for their honeymoon? Don’t tell Aunt Edith.”

  Mrs. Marsh gave a snort. “This isn’t their destination. But they stopped for a bit, that’s the point, they turned in off the highway. It was the name of the place, she told me. Poetic. They’ve decided to stay a while.”

  “But we don’t have a hotel.”

  “They put up a tent somewhere. Not my idea of romantic. They’re on a road trip. They want to go all the way to Churchill. See the polar bears. I told them they won’t get to Churchill driving, but they were in too good a mood to care about that sort of detail. Silly with it.”

  Matthew put his tins on the counter. “Why can’t they get to Churchill?”

  “Because nobody ever made a road up there. It’s all lakes and muskeg. There’s a train track and planes flying in and out, but that’s it.”

  “You could go by boat,” Will said. “Right up the Churchill River. But you’d have rapids to contend with and you’d have to watch out for whales.”

  Matthew made eye contact with the group for the first time. “Whales?”

  “Belugas. They feed at the mouth of the river.”

  “Not that most of us ever get up there to see them.” Mrs. Marsh hardly looked at Matthew’s cans while she rang them through the cash register. He wondered if she was going by memory or making up the prices as she went along. “You want something, Emily?”

  “Just the mail—ours and Grandma’s, if there is any.”

  “Not today. I suppose you’re all waiting to hear from Jack and Liz. That’ll take a while, postcards from Europe. Next summer, maybe.”

  Matthew put his bag under one arm. “Emily, I was going to ask you—” The conversation at the coffeemaker stopped again. He lowered his voice. “—if you’d be free tomorrow morning to help me in Pine Point. I’d like to find the museum you mentioned and take a good look around.”

  Emily smiled with enough pleasure to stimulate guilt. “I’d be happy to go with you. I won’t have a lot of time, though. I’m helping my grandmother with her housework in the afternoon. Would you mind if my mother came, too? She always enjoys the museum.”

  “Of course.” They started walking to the door, but Matthew stopped when one of the older Robbs—Will—called his name and waved him back in, telling him to take a minute for coffee.

  Emily leaned close to say something. Matthew’s body responded to the proximity, to the faint smells of shampoo and sunscreen and sweat, and he missed the first half of her sentence.

  “…your line of Rutherfords has been doing since they left town.”

  He got the gist. “Then I hope there’s a really big pot of coffee.”

  She smiled again. He’d never met anyone who smiled as often and as warmly as she did. “See you tomorrow, Matthew.”

  “Pick you up at nine-thirty?”

  She nodded, backing out the door.

  EMILY KNEW Matthew didn’t really need her help with the museum—he had found the library on his own and he didn’t seem like a person who needed company—but she was glad he’d asked her to go along.

  She made a pot of tea and arranged toasted cucumber sandwiches and a few muffins on a plate, then tried to find room for the food without disturbing her mother’s work area. Julia had started the day by cleaning another section of shelves, but now she was trying to narrow down the list of Egyptian books that interested her. Seeing her eager posture and wondering if Martin’s estimate of a week or two was optimistic, Emily decided she would have to tell her about the rent check.

  “I’m afraid there’s going to be a wrinkle in your plans, Mom. Martin says he and Tom can’t pay the rent yet.”

  There was no response. Sometimes Emily wondered if her mother even knew that money was a required element in the quest for food and shelter. A small life insurance check came eac
h month, but there wouldn’t be anything from the school division until fall.

  “We’ll be fine,” she added, in case reassurance was needed. “He hopes it’ll be a short delay. If it isn’t we have lots of the beef they gave us and the garden’s coming up well. But you’d better not order any more books for now.”

  Julia’s hand, peeling paper from a muffin, paused. When the peeling resumed, it was with tight, precise movements. Emily wondered how a hand could look so annoyed.

  “I can show you the last bank statement.”

  “I won’t order anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Until when?”

  “Until they give us a check. Or until school starts.”

  For barely a second, her mother’s startled eyes met hers. Emily smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure it won’t be that long.”

  MATTHEW REACHED for the telephone, punching in a number from memory. He could have made the call his first day in Three Creeks. Should have. For some reason he’d been putting it off.

  “Hey. Yeah, it’s me. Can you run some checks?… Well, I dunno, what do you want? Cigars? Silk stockings?” He smiled at the response. “Sure, I’ll go that far. Ale or lager?… Thanks. I’ll fax you a list right now.”

  He pressed the send button, then replaced the receiver and watched the paper inch through the machine. Names, addresses, birth dates. It was half the family, which made him feel both guilty and incompetent. They were all connected, however tenuously, to the downed aircraft. By acquaintance with its pilot, by age, by financial need.

  Julia and Emily. William and Winston. Martin, Thomas and another cousin, Brian. The new member of the family, Jack McKinnon, apparent fortune-holder. Alexander Blake, another Robb in-law. Matthew wasn’t sure why he’d included him. The guy had a high profile—he was always talking about dinosaurs on TV, going on expensive digs. And last, Virginia Marsh, the lady with the quickly paid-off mortgage.

  He entered a second number and got an answering machine. After the beep, he explained what he wanted, concluding, “I’m out of town right now, but you’ve got my e-mail address. Whatever information you can give me, just so I have an idea what makes a book a good investment. As soon as you can, that’d be great. Thanks.”