Remembering the Bones (21 page)

They were sitting on the blue blanket where they had brought their trays and eaten their breakfast. They could not be seen from the street below. The late-autumn sun warmed the room and he saw the varying shades of red in her hair as light fell across her.

“The worst thing?” She thought for a moment. “Not having information that everyone else has. No—worse is when information is withheld—the smallest detail—by someone who thinks it isn’t important enough to pass on.”

“More. Something I can’t know.”

She did not have to ponder this.

“The way I see the world.”

“No one sees so much.”

“The way I see is divided. Into things that move and things that don’t move.”

She saw the surprise on his face, watched him stow the information. This pleased her. “You could not have known that.”

“I do now.”

“It keeps me alive,” she said. “Movement and shadow. I rely on those. Mamo helped me, but I learned by myself, too. Maybe when I was a child—instinct.”
A horse moves, a swing, an auto, a gate, a cutter, a door, a branch in the woods, a running child. Wind moves; it lifts, even sweeps objects from place to place.
She thought of Miss Marks during senior class at school, trying to explain the various meanings of sweep.

“The first time I saw you,” he said, “last year, in the bandage room at the hospital, I walked up from behind and didn’t realize you were deaf. But you didn’t move. No part of your body moved. You should have been surprised when you saw me. Anyone else would have jumped, they would have been startled.”

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She watched and weighed the words. Always a time lag. “I remember. But you were not a threat. Not in that place. From the side, I could see Miss MacKay’s eyes flicker. When you approached.”

She reached across and touched his shoulder. They were face to face. She slipped her hand into his. “You tell something, something I can’t know about you.”

Tell.

He laughed. “You’ll never know how I sing. Sometimes I wish you could hear me.”

F
or discussions along the way, I thank Frances Hill, Jean Stratton, Jane Anderson, Joel Oliver, Janet Lunn, Deborah Windsor, Donna Wells, Barbara Mitchell, Orm Mitchell, Dr. John Young, Brian Hill, Gwen Hoover, Cath Hoogerhyde, Faith Schneider, Bryan Moon for our ancient ramblings and fantasies about Turks, and Patrick McGahern of Patrick McGahern Books for swiftly locating a copy of
Gray’s Anatomy
, 1901. For background information, I acknowledge delving into
The Home Children
, Phyllis Harrison, ed.; Hodder & Stoughton’s
The Princess Elizabeth Gift Book
, 1935;
Queen of Home
, 1892, by Emma Churchman Hewitt;
Maclean’s
January 15, 1937, Abdication issue; as well as various issues of
Better Homes & Gardens; Woman’s Day; Chatelaine
from 1945, 1957, 1971.
The Ottawa Citizen
published the Queen’s birthday lunch invitation as well as countless articles I have collected since 1994, about unfortunate persons who plunged over the edges of roads, cliffs and ravines inside their vehicles. The item about the German bear is from
The Ottawa Citizen
, August 9, 2002. The War
cake referred to is from a vintage recipe (World War One) in J. Anderson’s
American Century Cookbook.

Thanks to Will Shakespeare for his everlasting
Macbeth
and
Julius Caesar.

The epigraph from the poem “Relating” is reprinted from
Always Now
(in three volumes) by Margaret Avison, by permission of The Porcupine’s Quill. Copyright © Margaret Avison, 2005.

Love and thanks to Sam and Craig for sharing expertise from your chosen fields and the outdoor world. Love to Russell and Aileen for sharing your expertise in music and music history. Thanks to the four of you for answering the varied questions I put to you. How blessed I am to have such children.

Thanks to Ted, who was there at the beginning, in Geneva, when
Bones
began in laughter.

Thanks, always, to my agent, Jackie Kaiser at WCA, for her hard work, friendship and never-failing support. Thanks to Natasha Daneman at WCA, on the international front.

Special thanks to the always surprising Phyllis Bruce, my Canadian editor and publisher, who—apart from putting her hands on a cache of Royal memorabilia—looked over the scattering of bones at an earlier stage and handed me, in a single word, the sinew. I much appreciate the suggestions, questions and discussions. Thanks also to the entire team at HarperCollins for the commitment and the great support—especially Noelle Zitzer and Nita Pronovost.

I thank Elisabeth Schmitz, my American editor, for her perceptive editing and invaluable suggestions. I am grateful for the strong support of Grove/Atlantic in New York and Hodder & Stoughton in London.

Any musings about the Queen and ongoing events at the palace are fictional ramblings of Georgie.

FICTION

Poached Egg on Toast

Deafening

Leaning, Leaning Over Water

Man Without Face

Pack Ice

Truth or Lies

POETRY

A Season of Mourning

Rentee Bay

No Other Lodgings

CHILDREN’S

Linger by the Sea