Finding Home (5 page)

“Okay, sure. Probably Phoebe will meet you in
that case. She’s our housekeeper at Malagash, a bit sour, but
she’ll look after you well. I’ll have my assistant make the
arrangements and get back to you.”

I suddenly felt like throwing up. Why was I
doing this? Was I totally insane? “Whatever,” I said.

“And Luce?” Nick’s voice was low and rough.
“Can’t wait to see you.”

And so I went to Nova Scotia.

I told the Rivards I needed time off, and
since the lodge would be quiet for a couple weeks, and I’d never
taken a holiday before, they didn’t object. I said that I was
visiting an old friend who’d recently been in touch. I didn’t say
when I’d be back. I did say I was working on how I could buy them
out. Typically, they didn’t question me. All Odette really wanted
to know was what to tell Jay if he phoned. To ease her mind I said,
“Tell him I’ll call soon,” though I had no such intention.

I arrived at the Halifax airport feeling
buoyant. Maybe meeting Nick was some kind of karmic thing. Maybe
this mad plan could work. Maybe my life was going to turn out okay
after all. But I also braced myself for disappointment. I’d arrived
full of hope at too many foster homes as a kid, only to be crushed
when I wasn’t what the foster parents wanted.

Still, I was determined to give Nick and his
wife a fair try. I owed him that much. I flashed my best caseworker
smile at the woman who came to pick me up. Though Nick had
described her as sour, she was actually quite sweet looking:
mid-sixties, whitish hair, softly wrinkled face.

“Phoebe MacLaren,” she said, ignoring my
outstretched hand. “That’s all your luggage?”

I nodded. I’m proud of traveling light. If I
can’t stuff something in my backpack, I don’t need it.

“This way then.” She strode out the door and
led me to a black Mercedes parked in the taxi zone. As I climbed in
she studied my old jeans and workboots. But it seemed she would
look at me the same way if I were dressed for success in designer
clothes and carried matching luggage. I got the feeling she was
working hard to present herself as neutral. I imagined her saying,
if asked about the purpose of my visit, “No comment.”

We drove in silence for several minutes. I
waited for her to speak first. Money, I told myself, remember you
need the money. Who cares if she doesn’t make small talk? Who cares
if she hates you? If you don’t have the baby you won’t be able to
buy the lodge and then you won’t have anything.

Not anything, anywhere, ever
.

At least she was simply ignoring me. When I
chauffeured hunters to the lodge in Baptiste’s truck, I treated
them with utter contempt. I wanted to shame them, make them feel
judged by my silence. Not that it ever made the slightest
difference. The hunters never questioned their right to be who they
were and do what they did. Whereas I was quickly losing confidence.
Maybe I was making the biggest mistake of my life.

Well, at least I was riding in style – the
Mercedes just purred along. I inhaled the leathery smell of its
rich tan interior. Lovely. “How far is it to the Talbots’ place?” I
finally asked.

“Eighty-five miles.”

“And isn’t there a village somewhere
nearby?”

“Airdrie Bay. Two miles this side of
Malagash.”

“Malagash. That’s a different name for a
house. What does it mean?”

Phoebe took her eyes off the road and looked
at me like I was a bothersome child. “That it’s built on Malagash
Point?” she said.

I gave up then and stared out the window.
After leaving the airport we bypassed the Halifax-Dartmouth area
and followed signs for the South Shore. The day was fine and clear,
but it was a disappointing drive. The highway cut through dense
scraggly spruce and I didn’t even catch a glimpse of the sea. But
we kept passing signs for places I’d always wanted to visit, like
Peggy’s Cove.

Phoebe drove carefully, timidly, as if there
could be no pleasure in it. What a waste. I would have loved to
drive that car. I considered suggesting it, and amused myself for
awhile imagining her possible responses.

After that I couldn’t help slipping sadly
into memories of Jay. From the first time I talked to him, when I
was only eighteen, I knew he was special. So kind and calm, not the
least bit macho. Of course being older was part of his charm, but
he seemed to have some kind of inner peace.

He’d come to Canada in 1968 to teach, not
knowing that his high school sweetheart was pregnant. He never even
met his daughter until she was eight years old. When he learned of
her existence, he tried to do the right thing but it didn’t work
out and he’d come to terms with that.

I also loved the way Jay looked. I couldn’t
take my eyes off him the day we met. He had the most gorgeous black
hair, long and straight, and the smoothest skin. His mother was
Japanese, a war bride, and he’d inherited her features along with
his father’s height and build. Jay still wore his hair, now
streaked with silver, long, usually in a ponytail. But unlike other
middle-aged men, he could get away with it. Probably because he had
no paunch. He was fit from playing so much basketball with
Becky.

We had seven terrific years together, lovers
and soulmates, before Becky’s accident. When Jay left me to look
after her, I thought I’d die. Sure, I could have gone with him. But
it was just like our fight over buying the lodge – I needed Jay to
choose me. When he didn’t, I survived, but just barely. The time we
spent apart was the worst of my life.

Then, the second summer I lived at the lodge,
I agreed to try again. Jay, who to his credit never stopped writing
and calling me, started coming up to visit on my days off. I could
remember the exact moment we first talked about buying Auberge
Ciel.

We’d canoed out to a little island at the far
end of the lake. Garou snuffled around in the woods while we picked
blueberries for Odette to make pies. We were talking about the
hunting thing, which was just starting to bother me. As I filled my
tin pail, eating as many berries as I picked, the idea just kind of
came to me. Why not make the lodge into a camp? Becky could even
come and work for us every summer.

Well, no use stressing about that anymore. If
a camp was going to happen, I’d have to build it myself. But oh,
how I’d miss Jay. His gentle manner, his quiet intelligence, his
hands, his mouth. I had to stop myself from obsessing about him, in
case I burst into tears in front of Phoebe. I forced myself to
concentrate on the questions I wanted to ask Nick’s wife. That was
much more practical.

Finally, just before Lunenburg, we turned off
the highway and drove down towards the shore. “Airdrie Bay,” Phoebe
said, and we were suddenly in a small settlement at the end of a
long narrow harbor. The water lay very calm. We followed the main
street, which was lined with wooden houses. Some were perfectly
plain, some were elaborate structures with turrets and curious
little windows. Most were painted in blues, yellows, pinks or
greens, with pretty white trim. Almost all had laundry hanging out
to dry.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” I cried. “It’s like
something you’d see on a postcard!”

Now Phoebe looked at me like I was an escaped
lunatic. “It’s a hard life, here,” she said. “But the village is
indeed featured on postcards. And you can’t see the place for
tourists in the summer. There’s the yacht club, just up the
way.”

“Lots of fishing boats too, though.”

“Well, it used to be a fishing village,” she
said with a sniff, “but tourism’s more important now.”

“Do you live here?”

Phoebe nodded. “Born and raised here, and I
intend to finish out my days and be buried here.”

“It must be wonderful to live in a place you
love. You’re very lucky.”

“Don’t glorify it,” she said. “I lost my
husband to the sea.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

She almost laughed then. “You needn’t be. The
man was a brute. If he hadn’t a drowned, I might have murdered
him.” She turned onto a narrow gravel road, which took us up a hill
and away from the village, towards Malagash Point. “Mr. MacKenzie,
Kiera’s late father, buying the big house was what saved me. He
hired me to housekeep, and he saw me through, let me bring my
little boy to work with me and all.”

“I see,” I said. What I saw was that the road
looked good for running. A sign warned:
Private Road. No Exit.
No Turnaround
. Great, I thought, there won’t be a lot of
traffic.

But do pregnant women run? I wondered. If I
was having the Talbots’ baby would I have to stop running? I had a
moment of sheer panic. I couldn’t do that. I’d go bonkers.

I didn’t have time to worry about running
though. We immediately passed through open wooden gates onto a
paved driveway thickly hedged with firs. This driveway circled up a
hill and delivered us in front of a house that astonished me. It
was far more grand than the village houses, painted a subtle slate
blue, with navy trim and shutters. Two turrets, one on each front
corner, stood like guards gazing out to sea. The formal effect was
softened by lacy curtains in the tall, arched windows.

I stepped out of the car and breathed in the
salty ocean air, hoping very much that I’d like Nick’s wife, Kiera.
Because I was afraid I would do almost anything, even have a baby
for her, to live in that house.

Phoebe left me alone there, saying she had to
park the car around back. But I had the feeling she also didn’t
want to be there when Kiera and I met. That woman is hiding
something, I thought. But what?

I stood for a minute wondering how to
proceed, then marched up to the double front doors, which had
pretty arched tops like the windows. I stood in the little alcove
the two turrets made and took a deep breath. Then I reached up to
grasp the heavy brass knocking ring.

A petite blonde woman opened the door.
“Lucienne? I’m Kiera Talbot. And I’m so pleased to meet you.” Her
voice, strong and melodic, surprised me. She wasn’t much more than
five feet tall, and she had a look of quiet sorrow about her. But
as I shook her hand I felt the determined grip of someone who does
not give up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the airport,” she
said. She was wearing a charcoal knit dress overlaid with a single
strand of pearls. “I don’t drive and I try to avoid car travel as
much as possible. I tend to suffer from motion sickness. But do
please come in.”

Just for a moment I hesitated, knowing that
even to enter that house was a step towards committing myself. But
money, money, money
, made me go on. I followed Kiera across
the hall into a spacious living room. A carved pine fireplace
monopolized the far wall and opposite it the turret window offered
a view out over the ocean. There was a smell of lemon furniture
polish and loving care.

“Shall I serve tea, Kiera?” Phoebe MacLaren’s
voice called from somewhere at the back of the house.

Kiera motioned for me to sit down. “Oh yes,
please Phoebe. That would be lovely.”

“What a wonderful house!” I said, overeager.
“What a beautiful room!” The pale golden-yellow walls were set off
by creamy white woodwork and dark antique furniture. By the window
stood a spinning wheel with a willow basket of homespun wool beside
it. I sat with care on a carved settee upholstered in gold
brocade.

I felt unusually nervous. It was so obvious
we were looking each other over. I knew I had no real reason to be
worried – as a caseworker I’d interviewed far less friendly people
in far less pleasant surroundings. Kiera was neither hostile, nor
withdrawn, nor in denial. On the contrary, she looked like she’d
dressed up to greet me, as if my arrival were a big event.

And for the first time ever, I realized, I
might be giving someone a child, rather than taking one away.

But still, this was different. This was no
client interview. This was my life.

In my anxiety I couldn’t help blathering at
Kiera. “Nick said Malagash was a special house, but I never
expected something like this. I’ve never seen anything like it. Has
it always been in your family?”

Kiera sat down across from me, in an ivory
velvet wing chair by the fireplace. “Oh no, my father bought it the
year I was born. His father had brought him on a fishing trip to
Nova Scotia when he was a boy, and he never forgot it. We lived in
New York City, and this was where he came to get away from things,
to relax. He considered it the last unspoiled place on earth. Felt
it inspired him and kept him human in his cut-throat business
world. And I agree, it is very special. I just love it here.”

There was a long silence. I could hear the
mantle clock ticking. Then Kiera said, “Well. So here you are. How
was the drive?”

“Fine,” I said. “But I couldn’t figure Phoebe
out. First she didn’t want to talk, and then she told me some
really personal stuff, about her husband and all.”

Kiera gave a sad smile. “Well, she has her
reasons.”

“Does she know what I’m here for?”

“Yes. And it’s huge conflict for her. You
see, she raised me, and she’s more of a mother than my own, who I
haven’t seen in years. And she’s desperate for a grandchild, but
she doesn’t approve of our plan. Thinks it’s morally wrong or
something.”

“Ah,” I said. “That would explain a lot.”

“And she’s never been fond of Nick,” Kiera
added. “I think he somehow reminds her of her husband. She’s almost
afraid of him. But she won’t give you any trouble, if you do decide
to go ahead with it.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve had plenty of
experience disregarding what other people think.”

Kiera laughed. “So I gather. Nick tells me
you’re quite unusual.”

“Oh? And what else did he tell you?” I was
more interested than I wanted to let on. I stood up to look closely
at a series of botanical prints, thinking how much Jay would like
them. Over the summer he’d been working on drawings of the
wildflowers which grew around Auberge Ciel. But the torture of
remembering him brought me right back to my seat. Forgetting Jay
was going to be impossible.