Saltwater Cowboys (15 page)

Jack smiled. “I never heard tell of anyone make a better cup of tea than you,” he said graciously.

As the lights dimmed, Katie and Maggie squeezed between Wanda and Pete, hands full of toys, chips, and pop, and sat next to their mother. Lily was wide awake on her lap.

Angela clung tightly to Lily and silently watched Katie and Maggie. Her pups, with their milk teeth, settled in around Jack and herself. She was mesmerized by their joy. They had each received a tiny plastic doll from the ice fishing game and were talking in baby language, a secret tongue they used when they were playing with dolls. Lily's warm body grew heavier as she nestled into Angela's chest and fell asleep. A woman waved to Angela from across the room. Her new neighbor, Olive St. James; earlier this week she'd overheard Maggie outside with Olive's daughter, Brandi.

Maggie had stared at Brandi. She was as brown as mud and her eyes glowed like shiny round beads, the type Maggie had seen in sparrows. She was her papoose doll from Labrador come to life, like the little Inuit doll Grandma McCarthy had given them. She wore a white jacket with a hood ringed with white fur pulled tightly around her face by two strings with big pom-poms. A pattern circled the waist of her jacket: forests, mountains, and rivers, voyageurs in canoes, carrying them on their backs in some spots, sitting and paddling in them in others, red, yellow, green, and blue stripes on the cuffs of her wrists.

“Are you the ghost of Mary March?” Maggie had asked innocently.

“My name is Brandi St. James. Who are you?”

“Maggie McCarthy. You look like the ghost of Mary March and my papoose doll.”

“I'm too big to be a papoose, nincompoop, but you look like an icicle or a snowflake. A cloud with two blue sky spots poking through.”

“I'm not a cloud or an icicle!” Maggie shouted.

“I'm not a ghost then!”

“Wanna play
ghost?
” Maggie asked mischievously.

“Sure,” Brandi answered, “how do we do that?”

“Is your mom at home?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we sneak in and hide in the cupboards, and when she comes to find us, we make a lot of noise and scare her.”

Angela had listened at the kitchen window then run to the closet to put on a coat.

The two girls crossed over to the trailer next to the McCarthys', owned by Olive and Eugene St. James, a Cree couple from Brochet, Manitoba. They had moved in less than a week ago. Eugene had found work in Foxville as a janitor at the mine. Olive stayed at home with their two children.

Once out the door, Angela watched Brandi lead the way. The snow had hindered the little girls who trudged through it, little slugs in coconut flesh, worming their way silently, breath as milky as coconut juice, thick, white, and cloudy. Angela was a few steps behind as they reached the trailer and Brandi opened the aluminum screen door. The smell of bacon fat and cigarettes reached their nostrils. Angela caught a glimpse inside; the trailer was bare, a small wooden table with two chairs. A chipped teacup, and a stubby candle sat on the kitchen table. A ripped sofa, an old basinet and an acoustic guitar — one stray and crinkled string dangling from the neck — in the living room.

Olive St. James, a tall, dark brown woman with long, straight black hair, had stood in the kitchen, hoisted her tiny breast out from her top, and put it in her infant's mouth. She'd been singing softly, her long thin lips gently curled at the sight of the girls, and she welcomed them in with a nod, her long, flat nose, heavy cheeks, and bushy black eyebrows moving when she smiled and settling tenderly when she looked back at her infant.

Coming up behind them, Angela could see through the open screen door. Brandi wiped her nose with the back of her mitten and bent down to untie her homemade leather and fur-lined mukluks. Maggie had thrown her white and grey nylon rubber boots to the side. They both crept over the linoleum, the same pattern as in Maggie's house, brown and off-yellow foliage,
fleur-de-lis-
like crowns in the centre of each square, and headed to the panel board cupboard.

After watching the two children for a minute, Angela knocked on the door, and Olive rushed over to open it. Angela came in slowly, her hair still wet, pink parka undone, housedress hanging out of a pair of grey jogging pants, Jack's wool socks covering her legs, hanging off the end of her feet, and Lily on her hip.

“Maggie!”

“We were playing ghosts!” she said proudly and walked over to her mom.

Angela squatted on her haunches and brushed the wet snow from her child's cheeks. “When you leave the yard, you've got to tell Mom where you are.”

Maggie nodded.

Angela stood up, shifted a drowsy Lily to her other hip, and extended her hand.

Angela stared at Olive; she'd never seen a Cree woman before. Olive stared back at Angela, looking equally fascinated.

“This is Brandi, and Monique,” Olive said and swivelled around so Angela could see her baby's little face, cheeks squashed up against her shoulder, sliding in a pool of drool.

“She's adorable. What a little trout,” Angela said and stared longingly at the infant. Her throat had tightened as she watched it sleep. She clenched Maggie's hand tighter.

“This is Maggie, and Lily, and Katherine is off at school. Come over for Purity tea that I brought with me from Newfoundland.”

“I've never had tea from Newfoundland before. I can make some bannock.”

This afternoon at the Winter Carnival amongst a crowd of people in the bleachers, Olive smiled at Angela. Angela nodded. She wasn't looking forward to having tea with her new neighbour. She was sad that someone with a new baby had moved in. On the one hand, befriending Brandi would keep Maggie from wandering too far, but Angela didn't know if she could bear to be around an infant just yet.

The lights dimmed and the master of ceremonies took the stage, a thin woman, the high school principal dressed in grey dress pants and jacket, an icy blue polyester blouse, and a greying, short mushroom-shaped haircut. She gently welcomed everyone and introduced the mayor.

Mayor Spencer Cooper strode confidently across the stage and took the microphone. “Good afternoon, parents, children, citizens of Foxville. It gives me great pleasure to officially open Foxville's first annual Winter Carnival. There will be plenty of games throughout the weekend, and of course the highlight of the carnival, the dog-sled races, which begin tomorrow. Enjoy the concert, we've got singing, stand-up comedy, the school choir, dramatic skits, and ribbons for the winners of the tea-boiling contest, bannock-baking contest, and the flour-packing contest. But first I'd like to say how proud I am to have been appointed the first Mayor of Foxville by the Chamber of Commerce. This is a wonderful new community where people from all over Canada have come to enjoy prosperity and the great splendour and mystery of the Canadian North. I know it took some coaxing by my wife and son to get me out of Calgary, but I'm here and I plan to stay here, and hopefully watch my son have grandchildren.”

The crowd laughed warmly.

“Come on out here, Tanya Ann and Tyger, come say hello to Foxville.” His wife Tanya Ann emerged from offstage, dressed in white, and waved graciously to the crowd. The women stared at her. The pearls on her neck shimmered in the spotlight. “And our son, Tyger.” Robert waved for Tyger to come onstage. He blinked in the spotlight and joined his parents onstage in tight blue jeans and a plaid lumberjack shirt open at the neck. “And yes, Tyger is the name on his birth certificate. So, without further adieu, the winners of our carnival games contests.” He announced the names of the winners and called each one up to receive her ribbon.

Wanda jumped up when she heard her name. “One of the first place tea-boiling team members, Wanda Fifield, is a goofy Newfie! Well, she's good for something else besides hard work, eh?” Spencer Cooper pointed at her as she walked across the stage to collect her ribbon, laughing heartily at his own joke. Wanda was red-faced, frumpy in her oversized parka, her winter boots and grey track pants tucked inside her boots. Her short curly hair was so frizzy it stood on end with static. She hid her anger at what was expected and laughed at his joke.

“Well, I guess I can't say how many Newfies does it take to boil tea! Only one, eh!” Spencer screamed and the crowd laughed.

Wanda scratched the pink birthmark on the left side of her forehead.

Peter laughed loudly and squeezed his eyes shut. The veins in his neck bulged.

Wanda turned red, too, but laughed along with the crowd. She was presented with the ribbon, and the microphone was pressed to her face. “Thanks a lot,” she said mockingly, her eyes crossed, fat hands on hips as she executed a little jig before she left the stage.

Jack's mouth hung open. Angela shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Wanda returned to their corner and sat back down on the bleachers without saying a word. She averted her eyes. She'd show them all someday, she knew it. She knew what Peter was capable of, and she knew that they'd hurt his pride and humiliated his wife. She felt empty and lonely but knew it would only be a matter of time before Peter was back on track. He always won, no matter the opponent.

After a moment Wanda looked at Angela and Jack and smiled shyly. Her face was aflame with red blotches, her eyes low. Her orange sweater smelled like cooking grease from the bannock she'd eaten. She wiped her buttery fingers on her fraying ski jacket then hid her fingers in her pockets.

Toward the end of the evening the mayor introduced Olive St. James. The crowd clapped as Mayor Cooper was shepherded from the stage.

Olive sat on a wooden stool in a green dress, her long black hair parted in the middle. A feather at the back of her head, tucked into a buckskin headpiece, was covered with cranberry red beads. She strummed her acoustic guitar as her husky voice filled the room.

Sun sets at the end of the highway,

You know I plan to stay.

I have a mind to stay all my life,

Alberta you're home to me.

In my dark December, you're the shining northern lights.

You're the aurora, you bring magic to the night.

In a world as dark as this one, you shine like a star.

I could run away my love, you know I'd never really get too far.

My heart is a compass

Pointing north straight and true,

I've seen the north my love,

But now I'm making a home with you.

I'll stay with you for happiness, for the joy that you bring,

I'll stay with you forever, you inspire me to sing.

“Stupid squaw,” someone hissed. Angela watched her new neighbour sing and was moved by her talent, and pained by what she heard the people around her saying.

W
ild wolves howled every evening after sunset, irascible, lamenting wails that pawed at Jack's nerves. It frightened him as he lay awake, as did other things at night. Guilt was a bull that raged around his mind, egged on by a red flag of anger.
How could all of this be happening to us? How could I have let her down?

He heard a sudden howl close to the mobile home and turned to Angela. Her black hair was in a snarl, clumped around the collar of a pink housecoat littered with crumpled tissue paper.

“What's that noise?”

She didn't respond, fixated on a natural health magazine that was discussing the link between industrial toxins and miscarriage. Her mother had called today. Jack had overheard them on the phone, Lillian shouting at her, placing the blame on the move, the mine, and the man she was married to. He had grown quiet as he listened. He knew that Lillian would pierce the dream-like bubble that surrounded Angela — the one that kept her absent and silent. She'd been engrossed in thoughts of the past lately, and they had kept her from the present. Daydreams so palpable Jack had witnessed her staring out the window and talking to herself. After Lillian punctured this bubble Angela simply wilted and gave up, retreated to her bedroom for the day and came out only to heat a simple meal of canned ravioli for the children.

Jack sighed and got up. The living room was dark. He crossed to the kitchen and pulled back the ochre polyester curtains.

The new neighbour's white dog was tied to a tree in the patch of wood behind the trailer. They had moved in a week or so ago. Jack hadn't noticed anyone going to see, walk, or feed the dog. After the last snowfall, there weren't any new footprints in the snow and no walking trails plowed into the two-foot deep piles. Jack was worried; the dog's ribs were bumpy, visible through flat dull white fur, its eyes wild as it stared madly at a world that kept its owners warm and fed while it was left cold and alone. The dog shivered. Its thin hind legs were weak as withered yellowed blades of grass, its nose and tongue slack, pink, and dry.

Jack promised himself he would do something about the dog.

When Jack came home from work the next day, supper wasn't ready. The girls were sharing a large bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. White crumbs lay in clumps on the carpet. They sat transfixed by the
Rainbow Brite
cartoon on the television. Angela slumbered in the bedroom, the curtains drawn, the bed rumpled and unmade, the cloistered air stale and yeasty. Lily was asleep in her crib.

Jack drew back the curtains to see two sets of delicate tracks in the snow that folded in on themselves like tents, supported by the densely packed snow underneath. The girls had walked on the hardened ice all the way through the backyard, straight to the dog, and had headed back again.

Why would the girls have gone by themselves to the snippy, half-mad, neglected dog? Where was Angela — why hadn't she stopped them? Jack sighed and stood still, looking out the kitchen window, the curtains resting between his fingers, the starchy cheap polyester fabric rough and prickly, and wondered what he'd do with his wife.

In the bedroom the bedside alarm clock was unplugged. Angela was asleep in her old green cords, a knobby old black turtleneck limp around her wrists and throat. She looked dirty, her hair greasy at the crown, dry and knotty at the frayed ends, and shiny smears of butter and crumbs on her mouth.

Jack glared at her, shuddering at the blue-black and yellow rings under her eyes. He'll let her sleep, because it seemed as though she hadn't slept in weeks. Lately he'd woken up every night to find her pacing, huddling in corners, while the dog howled outside, gnashing its teeth, helpless and hoping for its freedom, before the howls finally dissolved into whimpers as it collapsed into sleep. Far off in the forest he could hear the wolves.

In the kitchen he started to make supper. As he wiped Maggie's chocolate-smeared face with one hand and opened the fridge door with the other, he noticed two hamburger patties missing from the four he had taken out of the freezer to thaw for tonight's supper. They'd fed the dog the raw beef he'd set out for supper, he realized.

Suddenly there was an urgent knock on the front door. It sounded like flint in a man's hand, pummelling wood. Jack moved Maggie aside. “Angela? Can you come help with dinner, please?” he yelled and opened the door awkwardly. Frost spilled in quickly and tumbled over itself like billowing cumulus clouds. Jack shivered.

“Yes?” he said as he stared at the face of his neighbour.

Barry McMillan tipped his sooty, crumpled baseball hat at Jack and met his neighbour's soft, blue, worried eyes with his beady, red-rimmed ones.

“McCarthy? You feeding my dog?”

“Yeah,” Jack answered.

“We don't want that old dog anymore, so don't feed it, alright?”

“Put it down.”

“Don't tell me what to do McCarthy, or I'll —”

“I'll keep away from the dog,” Jack said wearily and bit his lip.

After McMillan left, Jack opened the fridge door, removed the cold red meat, and slammed his fist on the stove.

Late December. The trailer was in full holiday regalia. Doorframes were decorated with homemade red velvet ribbons. Green plastic holly centrepieces on tabletops were filled with red and white stubby candles. Stencils of Santa Claus sat in an ornate sleigh, and fat snowmen were sprayed on windowpanes with simulated snow from a can bought at the Hudson's Bay Company. A small evergreen stood in the corner of the living room. There was fresh popcorn on white cotton thread loosely wound around the lopsided branches. The children were very proud of their decorations.

Angela and Jack were hosting a Christmas party. Many of their neighbours and a few new friends from work were there. Peter was preoccupied and sat hunched over in the corner. He'd borrowed money from Jack for Christmas expenses, and he felt sick and nervous about it. He felt needy, dependent, and a burden. He'd watched the traditional Newfoundland Christmas mummering spectacle with a wry smile. His head throbbed, and last night hadn't been able to sleep; all he could think about was how much money he'd lost, what they were going to do, and how to ask Jack for more.

Wanda, fed up with worry, danced and laughed all evening. Homesick, she'd told Angela, covering up for him with lies earlier in the week while they were shopping for the party. That was the problem. “He misses the boys at the mine back home, I'm sure of it. He wouldn't say so, but I know my Peter.”

Angela had given her a hollow smile.

In her kitchen, the party in full swing, Angela rolled the instant sugar cookie dough between palms until the dry dough blistered and flaked.

“Easy there,” Wanda said as she poured amber rum in the eggnog. “You're overdoing it.”

Angela glared at her and put down the cookie dough. “Fine then, do it yourself.”

Wanda lowered her head and finished the cookies silently. She pranced around Angela's kitchen, shepherding the children, calling to them in a singsong voice as she sprinkled cinnamon on their hot milk, baking cookies, preparing salads, and baking a chicken. Angela drifted toward a corner and stared blankly at the party unfolding before her. All she could see were shadows of people as they moved through the room ladling eggnog and eating sugar cookies.

“What's wrong with ya, woman?” Jack asked as he whirled in the room, a glass of rum in hand.

She glared at him without a word.

“Come dance with me, wife.”

She rolled her eyes and clamped her hands under her arms. “No, Jack, leave me alone,” she said as he hauled her to her feet.

He smiled at her, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “Dance with me, my love.”

She pushed him away and her wily arms smacked him on the neck. She shuffled into the bedroom and fell on the bed. He followed her.

“It's a party, try and have some fun.”

“I can't.”

“Then why did you want to throw a party?”

“I dunno,” she said and whimpered. “I thought I could handle it.”

Jack watched her softly and moved beside her on the bed. “Oh, my love —”

“Don't touch me,” she whispered. “I want to be left alone,” and she kicked him off the bed. Jack tightened his grip on his glass as he reddened and moved slowly away.

What the hell is wrong with her? Why is she still so upset? We'll try again, there's no need for her to act like it's the end of the world. It isn't
, he thought.
She's putting us through hell
.

In the hallway outside, Peter homed in on Jack and hovered close to his chest.

“Listen, I don't got enough for Christmas and January's mortgage. Can you give me a bit more? I'll pay you back in the New Year. Wanda will get a job, I'll call home, whatever it takes,” Peter said and peered shame-faced out from under the rim of his ball cap.

“Not now. I've got enough problems of my own,” Jack said.

“Some friend,” Peter said stiffly and walked silently down the hall.

“We'll talk later, okay?”

“Never mind,” Peter said sharply.

Jack watched him slink away and shook his head. Just like Peter not to even see how this had all affected Angela.
All he's worried about is his own hide. Money for Christmas, what does that mean? Money for booze is more like it. It's not like Susie needs the contents of the toy store to enjoy her second Christmas
. Jack turned his back to Peter and guzzled his drink. He held the cold glass against his throbbing temple and cursed Angela under his breath.

“
This is where the larger bills go, underneath the till, see?” Darlene said as she counted the money. She licked her thumb every so often to sort the pile. Her short, dark brown hair, parted in the middle and feathered at the sides with a flap in the back, hung on her shoulders like the pelt of a small curled animal. She wore a hot pink sweater and electric blue leggings that matched her creamy makeup; she was as plump as an Arctic chickadee, her chest and stomach puffed out roundly. Her small neck and tiny, innocent black eyes were buried in a wide grin. Her teeth, as conspicuous as a protruding beak, were the focal point of her warm and inviting face. They were exposed often since she liked to laugh a lot, big deep, bellowing honks that caused people to stop and stare.

Darlene had been training Wanda at the grocery store. Wanda had taken the job in the first week of January. Today she'd accepted an overtime shift. She'd started at eight-thirty this morning and was about to begin the evening cashier's shift. Customers were few, the shelves were relatively empty, and the bakery had started selling cakes, doughnuts, and white bread rolls at half-price. Wanda looked forward to picking up and taking home a small iced cake for Susie.

A cart full of groceries nudged up against the till. Darlene bent down and loaded the conveyer belt with groceries. Wanda pushed the pedal to move the groceries down the aisle. She looked up to see Angela balancing Susie on one arm and pushing the cart forward with the other.

“Oh, my love, hello,” Wanda said heartily.

Susie dropped a can of condensed milk on the newly waxed floor. “Angela, how has she been today?”

“Oh, best kind, Wanda. She hasn't given me any trouble at all,” Angela said and wiped Lily's nose

Angela looked after Susie while Wanda was at work. Shortly after Christmas Peter and Wanda had told Angela that they'd lost all of their money. Peter, despondent and shamed, refused to take any more loans from Jack. He was full of promises that he'd find a way to pay back what he'd already borrowed. Angela didn't want them to suffer and had opened her house to Susie. She would watch her, just until they got on their feet again.

Wanda lifted her child out of the grocery cart and held her against her chest. “All I want is to stay at home with my baby. I hope to get out of here and have as many as I can.”

The dark shadows under Angela's eyes deepened as her face fell.

“Angela, my love, I'm not thinking. Any answers yet?”

“I've spoken with the doctor, taken some tests; I seem to be alright. I've been reading a few natural health magazines. There could be a link to some of the types of mining toxins we are releasing into the water supply and miscarriages. I've got to find out why —”

“Don't be upset if you don't find an answer —”

“What do you mean if I don't find an answer?”

“Sometimes we never know why —”

“I'd like to know why,” Angela said and set the can of condensed milk on the conveyor belt.

Wanda's soft brown eyes searched Angela's face. “I'll pick Susie up at eight o'clock,” she said gently and put Susie back in the cart, her pudgy leg stuck to the chrome as Wanda tightened the lace of the scuffed white bootie on her tiny kicking foot.

“Boss is comin',” Darlene whispered.

Wanda quietly checked out Angela's items.
We're the ones who were ripped off
, she thought resentfully.
We have nothing. I'm working to put food on the table while she gets to stay home with her children, and my child
.
She's getting too close to Susie for my liking. Susie is not her replacement for the one that she lost,
she thought defiantly.

Her heart ached as she watched Susie clamour to get in Angela's arms and rest her head on her chest. Wanda greeted the next customer with a phony smile.
I'll get through this,
she thought,
and it'll only be for a little while. Peter better find a way to make this up to me pretty damn quick, or he's going to stay sleeping on the sofa until summer
.

As Angela walked home on the side of the paved collector that led to the trailer park, Susie wouldn't stop crying. She wanted her mother. Impressionable Lily mimicked her tears and cried louder. The sound irritated Angela, who hummed the Anne Murray song about a snowbird flying away from it all. Maggie walked beside them slowly, stopping every few feet to plop down on the edge of the snow bank to make a snow angel. Angela was in a hurry; Olive was going to come over to show her how to make her special stew, and Angela was going to show her how to make Irish soda bread.