Finding Home (4 page)

In those early days I immersed myself in
solitude and hard physical work as much as possible. At night I
stayed in my room reading. On my days off I hiked in the forest
with Garou or canoed remote parts of the lake. It wasn’t until the
next year, when the steady, healthy routine of lodge life began to
heal me, and Jay came back into my life, that I started to think
about what the hunters actually did.

Then I began to observe and think about
things like the bearskin rug on the hearth and the chairs with arms
made from antlers. Like the scruffy stuffed moose head over the
fireplace in the main lounge, whose glassy eyes now always seemed
to be watching me. Accusing me. By the next fall I could no longer
ignore the blatant contradiction between my idealized vision of the
lodge as my own peaceful retreat and what it really was.

Chasse et Peche. Hunting and Fishing.

It was hypocritical perhaps, but I found I
could tolerate the guys who came in the summer to fish. Usually
they brought their wives and kids and stayed in one of the cabins,
just having a family holiday. We had a swimming raft and a
pedal-boat, a wooden lawn swing and a horseshoe pitch, and when
there were lots of kids playing around the grounds everything
seemed okay.

But come fall the hunters made me want to
vomit with their apparently primal need to kill. They destroyed all
wildlife – moose, deer, bears and anything that flew – just for
fun.

They were murderers!

Whenever I saw them, so conspicuous in their
florescent orange jackets and vests and caps over their camouflage
clothes, I was reduced to powerless fury. They looked so unnatural,
so ugly, so evil. And the sound of their shots exploding the skies,
shattering the silence of dawn and dusk, again and again and again,
day after day after day, was unbearable.

I know I was guilty of stereotyping the
hunters. They couldn’t all be bad. At least a few must have been
quite ordinary people, living dull, harmless lives the rest of the
year. But so many were so despicable they obscured the rest. My
hatred was total and toxic.

I couldn’t face another season. Just thinking
about it made me crazy, made it impossible to think sensibly about
Nick’s offer. As impossible as it would be to shoot a deer myself.
I realized I was rocking the old pine chair with violence, gripping
the arms so hard my fingers hurt.

I decided to go for a swim to calm down. I
changed and headed for the waterfront with Garou racing ahead. I
passed the guests’ swimming area, the only sandy beach on the whole
lake, and at the far end climbed an outcrop of gray rock. Its
surface was still warm from the afternoon sun, the pale green
lichen both soft and rough on my bare feet.

When the lodge was out of sight I stopped by
a lone ragged pine which clung to cracks in the rock with thick,
gnarled roots. Then I stood looking out over Lac Poisson-du-Ciel
and the high wild hills all around.

I knew this place as intimately as my own
body. I’d explored it on foot and by canoe, leisurely discovering
its timeless secrets. I knew which hidden meadows offered the best
raspberries and blackberries, which islands were carpeted with
blueberries. I knew where wildflowers bloomed in the woods, and
where marshes hid blue flag irises and pink lady’s slippers. I knew
which streams lead to ferny waterfalls, which paths were
portagable. I knew where deer and rabbits grazed, where turtles
basked, in which secluded bays loons nested.

I knew and loved it all so much I wanted to
dig in and cling on for dear life, like the pine on the rock behind
me. A slight breeze ruffled the forested hills around the shoreline
and my heart ached at the sight. Streaks of crimson tinged the
sugar maples and the birches glimmered with hints of gold. Cedars
and pines stood a dependable dark green, holding everything
together in a solid embrace.

I would rather die than leave.

I dove into the cool clear waters of my
beloved lake and swam out into the remaining sunlight, now snipped
back into a single shining ribbon. In the water below me I could
see the flat striped shapes of sunfish sheltering in the last
slanting rays of light. Such silly little fish. Always so busy
flitting about, following the sun at any cost. I’d seen them caught
off the dock by a child of six, tossed back in and minutes later
caught again.

Was I being just as foolish, to even think of
Nick’s offer? I knew it was full of hazards and complications. But
I’d already taken a tiny nibble. And though I couldn’t swallow it,
having tasted its sweetness, I couldn’t spit it out either. I was
hooked.

I continued swimming with a lazy breast
stroke while Garou paced about up on the rock, yelping for me to
come back. When I rounded the rocky point I could see the lodge
again. Built of logs wrapped with verandahs and high dormer
windows, it presided over the scoop of bay with a weathered
rightness. My well-cared for lawns sloped down to the waterfront.
My wood-chip paths led from the beach, dock, and boathouse up to
the cabins nestled in the forest on either side, and to the wide
front steps and double doors of the main building.

On the first floor, multi-paned windows faced
the lake, underlined with overflowing window boxes. I’d taken great
pleasure in planting those, combining marigolds, cherry-pink
petunias, trailing blue lobelia. Behind the lodge, at the edge of
the gravel parking lot, I also had a small vegetable garden I
tended for Odette. As I rested in the water, moving my limbs just
enough to keep afloat, I felt proud and satisfied with my work. I’d
never grown anything before coming here. I’d never cleaned a motor
before either, or repaired a pump or shingled a roof, but I’d
learned to do all that too.

I wondered then who would buy Auberge Ciel if
I couldn’t. It was a very desirable property for an outfitter, but
the spot itself was so lovely it could just as easily be ruined by
a developer eager to convert the rustic charm into a swanky
resort/conference center. That would be as bad as letting the
hunting continue.

Really, I thought as I swam back, I didn’t
have a choice. It was up to me to save Auberge Ciel. I simply had
to find the money to buy it.

It was getting cold now that the sun had set,
and I hurried to my room upstairs in the main building. A small,
simple room, with sloping knotty pine walls, brown plaid curtains
and bedspread, I’d deliberately kept it uncluttered, neither
needing nor wanting possessions.

Now however, as I pulled on jeans and my
warmest sweater, I began to worry about my limited wardrobe. In
high school I’d been well-dressed, thanks to the Wembles’
generosity. I’d reveled in being fashionable. Vain and shallow as
it was, I wondered what Nick would think of me now? For I’d made up
my mind that we would at least meet again.

But what would I wear? I’d gotten over
worrying about my appearance years ago – Jay had never cared about
stuff like that. Nakedness would be his first choice, and if that
wasn’t possible, then jeans and T-shirts were all I needed. And
around the lodge I lived in the same old clothes all the time. The
work I did required it. But really, the sweater I’d just put on,
while perfectly, deliciously comfortable, looked terrible.
Stretched shapeless, the thick, navy-blue wool was pilled and
lint-covered.

Still, I couldn’t throw that sweater out.
Vera Wemble had knit it for me, sending it for Christmas my first
year at the lodge. The accompanying note had read, “Keep warm way
up there in Quebec. God bless.” And Vera, profusely thanked for the
sweater, began to send more and more hand-knit items each year.
Tams in fluffy pastels with oversized pom-poms. Boldly striped
scarves with foot-long fringes. And mittens, always silly, childish
mittens to match.

I’d never been able to bring myself to tell
her that for shoveling snow and chopping wood I preferred my sturdy
work gloves and a plain toque. The sweater was the only thing I’d
worn. The rest I’d passed on to kids on holiday I met over the
summers, or to Odette for her church bazaar. But I was touched by
Vera’s offerings, and always grateful to know she was out there
thinking about me.

The Wembles were the only foster parents I’d
ever stayed with, the only ones who never kicked me out. I lived
with them just over four years. When I left at eighteen, although
they didn’t understand, they accepted that they couldn’t expect to.
They didn’t disown me. And Vera had faithfully written me her
little notes ever since, always ending with something like, “Come
visit anytime. We’d love to see you. God Bless.”

One thing I knew for certain. If I did take
Nick’s offer, I could never, ever, tell the Wembles. They’d be
horrified, and I had no desire to hurt them any more than I already
had. But as I headed down to the kitchen I felt a twinge of
pleasure at the thought of scandalizing certain other people. Say
Jay Williams, the man who’d chosen his daughter over me.

“Sorry I’m late,” I called to Odette, seeing
she was already busy scrubbing down counters. I usually helped
clean the kitchen in the evenings, even though that wasn’t part of
my job anymore. There’s something soothing about performing
monotonous tasks when you’re not obliged to, and I always found the
hour or so we spent together at the end of the day comforting.

Odette, dressed in her usual combination of a
frilly apron over a sweatsuit, merely nodded towards the oven, her
mouth an odd, loose pucker, which indicated she didn’t have her
dentures in. I took the plate she’d kept warm and started eating
the hearty veggie pie to please her. I knew she’d made it just for
me, even though she didn’t approve of my vegetarian diet.

I wanted to ask if there was any news of
Claude, just in case he’d changed his mind about taking over the
lodge. But if Odette didn’t have her teeth in, that meant she
didn’t want to talk, which must mean she had nothing new to say. So
I just enjoyed being there with her.

My relationship with both the Rivards had
always been one where little was said, but enough was understood. I
could help Odette chop vegetables for a stew, or sling supplies off
the truck with Baptiste, and say next to nothing. They were
comfortable with my quietness and I was comfortable with their
mostly incomprehensible country French.

I knew they’d been planning to keep living at
Auberge Ciel with Claude, and wondered now for the first time where
they’d go if I couldn’t take over. They usually spent January in
Florida, but I knew they didn’t want to retire there. My plans for
a camp had always included the two of them staying on, working as
much or as little as they liked. I’d pictured Odette supervising
the kitchen, or teaching crafts, Baptiste guiding hikes and canoe
trips.

But if that didn’t work out, what would
happen to them? Where would they go? The Rivards were just one more
reason I had to buy the lodge. Clearly, the time had come to make
my move.

First I called Vermont, using the phone in
the lounge so Odette wouldn’t overhear me. She adored Jay, and I
didn’t want to upset her.

Becky answered right away, mid-ring, throwing
a hissy fit. “God Lucienne, what’s going on? Why didn’t you show
up? Dad’s been out of his mind, not that you care. I mean, he’s
been frantic!” Pretty emotional, for her.

“Oh, really?” I traced the whorls of a
braided rug with my foot, not about to explain myself to Becky. Let
Jay do that. “Can I talk to him please?”

“You sure you want to? You’ve only been
refusing to take his calls for the past – ”

Jay must have grabbed the phone away from
her. “What the hell are you doing?” he cried. “Hanging up on me and
then just buggering off like that. Now there’s another offer in on
that Waterbury property.” He wasn’t yelling, Jay never yelled at
me, but I could feel his fury.

“Jay.” I took some deep breaths to hold back
tears. “I’m calling to say goodbye.” I tangled my fingers in the
phone cord. “For good.” The moose head over the fireplace stared
with its shiny dead eyes. “I can’t move to Vermont, Jay. I want to
stay here. I’m going to buy Auberge Ciel on my own.”

“What? Oh, come on. How?”

“Not your problem anymore.”

“Luce, this is ridiculous. I’m sorry I got so
mad, look, I love you, you know that, we’ve gotta work something
out.
Please
.”

“Sorry Jay.” I pushed all our love, all the
good times out of my mind. “I really don’t think so.”

After I hung up I pulled Nick’s card out of
my pocket. I knew it wasn’t a responsible solution. But I didn’t
feel responsible – I felt reckless. More than reckless. Sure the
risks were great, but I was willing to hope the rewards would be
greater. I looked again at the card, which I’d been twisting and
bending so much that the tasteful raised black lettering was almost
unreadable. But that didn’t matter. I’d already memorized the
information.

I got Nick’s voice mail and was just leaving
my name and number when he picked up. “Lucienne! Hey, how are
you?”

“Oh hi, I’m fine. I uh – ”

“You’re going to do it? Terrific! I knew you
would.”

His assumption set me back a bit. He was
right, I had been about to say yes, but his arrogance offended me.
Made me wary. The guy was a little too sure of himself. “Actually
Nick, I haven’t really decided yet. I guess I’d like to meet your
wife and then think about it some more.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Oh sure, good idea
How about this weekend? I’ll book us a flight to Halifax Saturday.
I keep a Harley at the airport for going back and forth to Airdrie
Bay, so I can run you out. It’s a great ride.”

“Hmm.” I didn’t like the sound of that. Or
rather, I liked it too much. “Actually it might be better if I go
down Friday by myself. I’d really rather arrive ahead of you, have
a chance to talk to your wife alone, get to know her a bit, then we
can all talk later.” I figured if I didn’t like his wife I could
bail before Nick showed up.