Miracleville (5 page)

“Will you ask Iza if she'll give Maxim and me a ride home in the convertible? Please!” Colette asked, jumping up and down next to me while I was on the phone with Iza. And because I wanted to make things up to Colette, I asked Iza, who said yes. Colette was so excited, she danced around our room.

Tante Hélène is watering her dandelions when we drive up. She's wearing a floppy faded sunhat and a flowery apron over denim overalls. She does look kind of crazy.

I offer her my spot in front, next to Dad, but Tante Hélène refuses it. “Don't go treating me like an old woman! I'm only seventy-five,” she says as she hops up into the backseat.

Maxim's got a jug of lemonade. “Gramma's special recipe,” he says.

“I added some mint from my herb garden,” Tante Hélène explains. I must say that for someone her age, Tante Hélène's in pretty good shape. Maybe it's all those herbs. “The combination of lemon and mint has a wonderful purifying effect on the digestive system,” she says.

“And thank god there's no garlic in it,” Maxim says, winking at Colette and me.

Tante Hélène ruffles Maxim's hair. “You've got your grandfather's sense of humor. He used to tease me too, though he never complained about my throat tonic.”

Colette is sitting next to Maxim, who is balancing the lemonade between his feet. She rattles off all the food Mom's packed in the picnic basket. “Tuna salad and egg salad sandwiches on whole wheat. Which do you like better, Maxim—tuna or egg? Most people like tuna better. Mom also made sandwiches with cream cheese and Dad's crabapple jelly. Then there's Dad's homemade coleslaw, potato salad from the IGA, fruit salad—but there aren't any mangoes in it, in case you like mangoes. Ani's allergic. She once ate some mango ice cream and her lips got swollen. Then her throat started to close up. She was choking and everything! There's another dessert too, but I'm not saying what. And don't you try to make me!”

Colette moves in so close to Maxim their thighs are touching. I think she likes being pressed up against him. I can't imagine behaving that way or feeling so free.

“C'mon, tell me,” Maxim says.

Colette doesn't even pretend to put up a fight. “Okay then, I'll tell you. Dad made strawberry bars—with strawberries from Île d'Orléans. They taste like heaven.”

“Are you giving away family secrets again?” Dad asks from behind the wheel.

Iza is waiting in the parking lot when we get there, and Mom drives up five minutes later. There are a lot of tourists here today, judging from the license plates. In the ticket line, we hear people speaking Dutch and Italian and Spanish.

“
¿Cómo estás?
” Maxim asks a pretty girl with thick black hair and turquoise sneakers. She has the smallest waist I've ever seen.

“
¿Hablas español?
” she asks, smiling, but it turns out
¿Cómo estás?
is all Maxim can say in Spanish. Still, using sign language, Maxim offers to take a photo of the girl and her family using their camera. They want to pose by the giant plastic woodpecker near the front entrance.

“His grandfather was a ladies' man too,” Tante Hélène says as Maxim snaps the photo. She makes it sound like a compliment.

Colette tugs on Maxim's sleeve before he can ask for the Spanish girl's email address. “C'mon,” she says. “Let's go see the falls!”

The woods are dense, and we have to hike to reach the waterfall.

“Doesn't the air smell divine?” Tante Hélène sniffs at the air as if she wants to eat it.

Mom turns her face up to the sky, closes her eyes and smiles. She has the same look on her face she gets at Sunday Mass.

Maxim makes a show of taking his grandmother's arm. Tante Hélène giggles as if she's in high school too. Colette is on her other side, asking her all about herbal cures.

“You see those birch trees?” Tante Hélène says. “Birch bark tea is excellent for treating arthritis. And you can make a paste with it that helps fight warts.”

At this rate, it's going to take forever to get to our picnic spot. Especially if Tante Hélène keeps stopping to inspect flora (“What a splendid patch of coltsfoot!”) and fauna (“Did you see that remarkable ladybug? She's orange, not red. Quite unusual in these parts, really.”).

The canyon has three suspended bridges, and we have to cross the highest one to see the falls. Already I can feel the dewy spray from the waterfall on my face.

The cable bridge lists a little to one side when we cross it. One hundred and eighty feet below us, the Ste-Anne-du-Nord River plunges into a rocky gorge. Looking down makes me queasy, so I focus on the thick woods at the other side.

And there's the waterfall!

“It's higher than Niagara Falls!” Colette tells Maxim. Because she's bouncing again, Colette makes the whole bridge sway.

“Colette!” Dad says sternly. “You're going to make the rest of us seasick!”

Colette stops bouncing, but the bridge keeps swaying.

Once we make it over the bridge, we leave the path. Dad leads us to a spot where the ground is flat, and spreads out our checkered tablecloth. Iza helps Mom and me unpack sandwiches. Maxim fills reusable plastic cups (Mom won't buy any other kind) with lemonade. Tante Hélène keeps offering to help, but Mom and Dad won't let her. “My goodness,” Tante Hélène says, looking down at her lap, “why didn't someone tell me I was still wearing my apron?”

Dad laughs. “We thought it was part of your outfit.”

“No wonder people call me crazy!”

Colette has disappeared—she has a habit of disappearing whenever there's work to do—but now she's back, with a handful of birch bark she's peeled off a yellow birch tree.

“That's very kind, my dear,” Tante Hélène says when Colette gives her the birch bark. “I just hope you didn't peel off too much and scar the tree.”

“Oh no.” Colette covers her mouth with her hand.

“I'm sure the tree is fine,” Tante Hélène tells her, “but it's good to know. For the next time. Now will you pass me some of that lovely coleslaw?”

Maxim hands Iza and me each a cup of lemonade.

Tante Hélène has stretched out and is resting on her elbows. She sure doesn't act like an old lady. And with the sun shining on her face, you can hardly see the wrinkles. “Ahh,” she says, looking up at the falls, “this is what I call a miracle.”

Mom looks at the falls and the forest and our picnic lunch. “It's the Lord's work,” she says. “All of it.”

Dad takes a bite of his tuna sandwich.

In science class we learned that the canyon and the falls were created by Precambrian rock, the river and millions of years of erosion. But I know what Mom would say to that: “Who do you think created Precambrian rock, the river and erosion?” It's hard to argue with someone who's religious.

Tante Hélène sighs. “Whoever's work it is, it's still a miracle.”

Dad groans when Mom's cell phone buzzes and she fishes it out of her backpack. Though we've got a family cell-phone plan, Dad refuses to get a phone. “I suppose you think cell phones are the Lord's work too,” he mutters under his breath.

“Hello,” Mom says into the phone.

I can hear loud ringing and Clara's voice at the other end of the line. “It's the alarm!” Clara is shouting. “I can't turn it off for the life of me! I've tried everything!”

Mom brushes some leaves off her hiking pants. “Don't panic, Clara. The alarm's programmed to go off by itself.” Mom's speaking loudly so Clara will hear her over the noise. “The alarm company should phone in a few minutes. Just explain what's happened. Give them the password. Everything will be fine. I promise.”

I can't hear what Clara is saying now, but Mom is nodding sympathetically. “Try taking some deep breaths,” Mom suggests. Her forehead crinkles up the way it does when she's worried. “You don't sound good, Clara. We're at the canyon, but I can be there in about half an hour.”

Dad reaches for the phone. “Let me try to help her.” Then he lowers his voice so Clara won't hear him, “This is ridiculous, Thérèse. There's no reason for you to go all the way back. It's just a damned alarm.”

Mom flinches. She hates when Dad swears.

“It's no use, Robert,” Mom says, waving him off. “You know how nervous Clara gets. I'm afraid she's having a full-fledged panic attack. She says her heart is racing. What if she goes rushing out of the store and leaves the cash unattended?”

“Okay then, I'll drive,” Dad says.

Mom squeezes his hand. “No, no. I'll manage. Besides, I'm in my own car. You've been trapped inside all week like a mole working on the accounts; you need the fresh air more than any of us. Besides,
chéri
”—she pats Dad's belly—“unless you stop eating strawberry bars, you'll never be able to keep up with me on the hiking trail.”

“Why don't I go?” Maxim offers. “I can look at the alarm. I'm good at fixing things, aren't I, Gramma?”

“You certainly are. That boy worked miracles with my blender when he arrived two weeks ago. His grandfather was handy too.”

Colette pops up from her spot. “Well then, I'm coming too!”

Why am I not surprised?

Things get way quieter after Colette leaves. But the mood is also a little…well…flat. We can always count on Colette to keep a party—or a picnic—going. Tante Hélène has noticed a patch of dry skin on Dad's elbow. She says chamomile can relieve the itching. Dad forgets to cover his mouth when he yawns. He's about as interested in herbal remedies as he is in Jesus.

Iza has another Cyclorama story. “The sound system got stuck and those sheep were bleating nonstop for twenty minutes. Honestly, I wanted to shoot myself. Some people wanted their money back.”

Tante Hélène eats two sandwiches and asks for more coleslaw.

About an hour later, when my cell phone starts to vibrate, Dad groans. “This new generation,” he tells Tante Hélène, “they can't go for a picnic without a cell phone.”

I answer. It's Colette and it's hard to make out what she's saying because she's making weird gulping noises. “Come right away…Tell…tell Dad there's been a terrible… accident. It's Mom.”

My mouth won't work. I want to know more, but I can't form the questions. Even if I could, it wouldn't help. Colette has hung up. The last thing I hear is the sound of her gulping and from somewhere in the distance, the piercing screech of an ambulance siren.

Six

I
feel as if I'm under water. I can hear voices, but they sound gurgly, like they're coming through bubbles. “Don't worry about me,” Tante Hélène is saying. Then there's more gurgling. “Iza will drive me back, won't you, dear?”

“Just go!” Iza's hand is on the small of my back, pushing me forward. Her fingers are warm, but my back is very, very cold.

“Godspeed!” Tante Hélène calls out after us.

We're moving so fast I don't even feel the spray from the waterfall on my face as we pass. But I hear twigs crunching under my feet and the sound of Dad panting. He might not be in as good shape as Mom, but right now, he's flying down the trail in front of me. I spot the back of his baseball cap before it disappears behind an aspen tree.

“Did Colette say anything else? Anything?” Dad's voice echoes in the forest. I'm surprised by how normal he sounds.

I'm finally able to get some words out. “Only that there was an accident,” I say. “And that we should come right away.” I feel my legs shaking underneath me. I don't mention the ambulance. I'm afraid if I do I'll cry.

“Emergency. Sorry. Emergency,” Dad says as we elbow past happy picnickers headed in the opposite direction. An hour ago, we were happy too. Dad's T-shirt and cap are drenched in sweat. The brush is scratching my arms and legs, but I don't care. We have to get to Mom.

I try telling myself Colette was exaggerating—the way she does when she's doing imitations. But then why the ambulance? Maybe it was just background noise. But the siren sounded loud—and close.