Who Is Frances Rain? (6 page)

Chapter Fourteen

IT'S amazing how a night's sleep, daylight and bacon and eggs can change a person's ideas on ghostly cabins and phantom hands. By the time I'd crunched my way through a fourth piece of bacon, I'd convinced myself that I'd fallen asleep on the island and dreamed everything. Like Alice.

I'd also decided that I would hang around home, even if it meant putting up with Mother and Tim and Evan. Gran and I were sitting at the table, mopping up the last bit of egg yolk and slapping marmalade on our toast crusts, when two of the three walked in. The Happy Twosome.

Mother, in her silk housecoat and satin mules, muttered, “Good morning” and went straight to the coffee pot. Tim, vertical, but otherwise still asleep, slumped into a chair and mumbled on a cold piece of toast.

I'd already lost track of the number of heated conversations these two had waded through in the past few days. “Conversations” is their word, not mine. They'd fought for hours the night before. It seemed that Mother was
going home
, but according to Tim no one was going anywhere until certain things were straightened out. It was all very tense and getting worse when I decided to go to bed. I'd been hoping to see Alex that evening, but had finally given up in disgust. The whole day had been too much to handle.

Evan had stayed up trying to referee the “conversation” — or coach it, depending on whose side you were on. He was on Mother's, of course.

You know what was really strange? I actually found myself rooting for Toothy. Funny how his bungling up the rescue operation that day in the storm had given me a kind of protective feeling for the big dope. And I figured if he won, then maybe, like Gran said, Mother would win, too.

Now, watching them with a wary eye, I couldn't help wondering if they'd come to some sort of a decision. I was about to make myself another toast with marmalade, when Gran gave me a raised-eyebrow message to clear out.

I walked slowly from the room, keeping an ear cocked in case the row started again. I wanted to know who'd win round two. I was about to creep back and listen at the kitchen door, when I heard a loud scream down by the shore.

“Eaah! Bram! Let go! Leggo!” shrieked Erica.

I ran outside and found her, still wearing her pyjamas, chasing Bram in and out of the shoreline bushes, howling something about a daisy. She kept tripping over the legs of her oversized pyjamas into the sandy dirt. Tears ran in dirty trails down her cheeks.

“What's up?” I called. “Stop it, Erica! Bram! Hey, what's happening?” I caught hold of her.

“Bram ate Daisy! She's been eaten up!” Tears gushed.

I let her go and chased the dog down, cornering him inside Gran's woodshed. He lay on his belly, tail wagging madly, tongue slopping over his killer teeth.

“Okay, kid. You are in big trouble,” I growled. “Out with it. Did you kill Daisy? Come on, cough him up. Grrr.”

“Cough what up?”

I was down on my knees growling at a fat cocker spaniel, so it seemed only right to look up and see Alex frowning down at me. I grinned sheepishly, then scowled when I saw his wicked grin. Erica ran around the corner and threw herself on me, sobbing hysterically. We collapsed in the dust.

“Bram ate Daisy!” she cried. “Oooh! Poor Daisy.”

“Who or what is a daisy?” asked Alex, mystified.

“Pet chipmunk,” I said, struggling to my feet. “He gets sunflower seeds from Erica every morning. Or Gran. He and Bram have this game they play every year. You know, Bram threatens and Daisy teases. This time I think Bram called the game.”

“Daisy's not a he! She's a she ... and she's been murdered! I hate you, Bram!” She came closer. “Look in his mouth. Can you see her?”

We all stared at the golden sausage with the sweet face.

“Erica,” I said patiently, “if Bram ate her, then she is not going to be in his mouth.” I shook my head sadly. “Besides, she could have got away.”

“But I saw her tail hanging out of his mouth!” she wailed. “Like this.” And she wiggled her fingers in front of her lips. “Look in his mouth. She could be there. Look, Lizzie, please?” She was jiggling up and down, her voice pleading.

“Bram, come'ere,” I said.

He looked at me, considering, then slowly dragged his belly over to where all three of us were down on our knees waiting. I examined his soft lips and yellow teeth. Not a sign of gore, not even a bit of fur stuck to a canine tooth.

Alex looked at Erica and smiled. “I don't think he ate Daisy at all. I bet he dropped her off on his run around the yard. I was watching and there was no way he had time to get in a good chew. He was probably so surprised to find her inside his mouth, I'll bet he dropped her right away. My dog does it all the time.”

“He does?” she asked, wiping the dirt around her face. “You mean Daisy could have run home by now?”

“Yup. That's what I think happened,” he said. “As far as I'm concerned, she's home right now with an ice pack between her ears, telling all her neighbours about her big adventure. Hey! You wanna go fishing, Erica? You too, Stringbean. I know a great fishing spot not too far from here.”

Erica beamed wetly up at him. “I'll bet she
is
home. I'll go get my stuff.” She waddled off.

“And wash your face,” I called out. I looked at Alex suspiciously. “You mean to tell me that your big brute of a dog catches chipmunks and then spits them out safe and sound?”

“Well ... he spits them out. By the time they hit the ground, they're usually dead as furry doornails.”

“Poor old Daisy,” I sighed. Bram wagged his tail and gazed happily at no one in particular.

Chapter Fifteen

A LITTLE while later, we were bobbing around on the water, our lines deep, and the motor putting slowly along. When we passed Rain Island, I looked hard at the stand of trees in its centre. Sitting there in the boat, chewing on an Eatmore and drinking a cola, I had trouble believing that anything strange had happened the day before. The Alice in Wonder-land theory still held up. I'd almost told Gran about it after supper, but all that arguing kept me quiet. Now, I was just as glad. It all seemed so ridiculous.

We got back two hours later, with five good-sized pickerel and a couple of small perch. When she asked for lunch, I knew Erica had forgotten about Daisy. Alex followed us into the veranda looking hungry, too.

“Want a sandwich?” I asked him.

“Wouldn't say no to one. Wouldn't say no to two, either.”

Evan, who'd been asleep when we left, was sitting on the veranda reading a book. He pointedly ignored us. Alex batted his feet out of the way and sat down on the end of the lounge.

“You guys want a lemonade or anything?” I asked.

“Sounds great,” said Alex. Evan scowled at his book.

I shrugged and went to check out the food situation. Mother was still in the kitchen. A pile of dirty coffee cups, filled ashtrays, books and briefcases were spread all around the table. Gran was peeling potatoes and casting savage looks at her daughter's bowed head.

Tim was in the main room, slumped on a couch, reading a mystery book with a ferocious frown on his face. I felt like screaming a few dirty words into the air, just to see what would happen.

Over lunch, things got tougher. Gran and I gave up trying to talk to the store window dummies that looked like Mother, Tim and Evan. It helped having Alex there, though. He talked to Gran about plans for a new dock in the landing bay and to Erica about fishing, and ate his way through piles of roast beef sandwiches. Tim, who'd perked up a bit when fishing was mentioned, asked us how many we'd caught.

“Five,” said Alex. “You guys can have those. I've got to go out and get more for the weekend. I'll be out till dark. You wanna come, Evan?”

Before Evan could answer, Tim said, “I'd like to come very much, Alex. How about if I pack a supper for all of us and we can get going? You can have whatever I catch.”

“Me too?” Erica begged.

“We'll be gone a long time, Peanut.”

“I can do it, honest. I'll take some comics. I promise I won't complain once. There's nothing to do around here.”

Tim looked at Mother. “That's true. But you'd better ask Alex first.”

Poor Alex looked trapped. “Sure ... uh ... I guess so. How about you, Lizzie?”

Evan scowled and muttered. “Count me out. I don't fish in gangs.”

“I think I'll hang around here with Gran this afternoon,” I said. “Maybe go for a walk. How about it, Gran?”

She looked pleased. “Sounds good. How about you, Connie?”

“What is this?” sneered Evan. “Life at the McGill resort? Are you all little social directors?”

Mother ignored him. “I've got work to do. All of you go and do your little things,” she said tersely. “As we won't be going home for a few days, I've got to get some work off to my colleagues. I can't waste time doing nothing.”

So Tim had won round two. They were staying for a while. Round one had been getting her here in the first place. Pretty soon, though, she'd make her move. Tim could end up mincemeat in round three.

Gran and I walked along the long shore path that ended up on a rocky ridge overlooking a wide open stretch of the lake. We sat down on the edge of the ridge and gazed out over the glittering lake.

“Gran?”

“Mmmm?”

“Did you know that someone lived on Rain Island once?”

She was silent for a moment, contemplating the far shore. “How did you discover that, honey?”

“I've been kind of exploring it. For something to do. There's part of an old cabin there. Do you know whose it was?”

She glared at me. “I thought I told you kids to stay away from there. The underwater rocks are treacherous.”

“I'm old enough,” I said. “I'll be sixteen soon.”

“Six months into your fifteenth and already you're sixteen, eh?” She looked out over the lake, thinking. “Still, I guess you're right. You're old enough.”

“So, who lived there?”

“Well,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “People around here don't know too much about her, you see. She was kind of a mystery woman.”

“Her?” I asked in amazement. “You mean a woman lived there?”

She nodded. “Her name was Frances Rain. She moved up here around 1911 or '12, or thereabouts.”

I scrambled to my knees. “But why did she live on the island? Was she a prospector? Did she live alone? What did she look like? When did she die?”

Gran laughed and poked me. “Too many questions. She was from Alberta somewhere and she moved up here to be a teacher in The Pas. That was when there was a big rush of mining going on. In the summer she prospected. I don't suppose there's anyone left around here who remembers her ...” She looked as if she was going to add something, but then said, “Funny, all she ever wanted was her privacy. She succeeded too well, maybe.”

“How do you know? Did you know her? How come you never told me about her before?”

“She died before I moved up here to live for good,” she said. “But no one really knew her.” She gazed in the direction of the island. “She died there one winter night. Alone. She was still a young woman. Close to your mother's age.”

“You sound like you knew her,” I said, but she wasn't listening. “Gran? You okay?”

“What? Oh, yes. I'm okay. Well, enough of that.” She slapped her hands on her knees and struggled to her feet. “I'm hungry, kiddo. Let's go get something to eat.”

I tried to get her to tell me more on the walk home, but she kept pointing out wild flowers and bird sounds, finally distracting me completely.

Mother and Evan had already eaten and were hidden away in their rooms. The sweet sad sound of the flute accompanied our meat and pickle sandwiches and iced tea. The music made me think of Frances, dying alone on the island. Had I seen her hand hovering in front of the door yesterday? It all seemed centuries ago that it had happened.

“I wish you knew more about her,” I said.

“Who?”

“The lady of the island. Frances Rain.”

“All I know is that everyone who met her said all she ever wanted was to be left alone.”

“Sort of like a hermit. Hey, maybe she was running from the law!”

“You do have a busy little mind, don't you, kiddo? Sometimes it's best not to pry. Some things are best left alone, kept in your heart, away from ... interference.” She stood up.

I looked at her and forgot Frances Rain. “Are you okay, Gran?” Her skin had a dusky greyness behind it.

“I'm fine. Just winded. Your ma and all this nonsense has worn me right out today. Could you do the dishes?” Before I could answer, she added huffily, “And don't go thinking I'm an old crock!”

I put my arms around her. She gripped my shoulders and pressed her lips hard to my forehead.

“Been a long time since anyone did that, Lizzie. I miss it. I miss your granddad. He was quite a hugger. I didn't have too many hugs when I was a kid, but he sure made up for it.” She tapped my chin with a long finger. “Now, here I am getting all sloppy. I'm off to bed.”

After I did the dishes, I sat on the veranda and thought about Gran. I knew she'd been brought up by her grandparents, but she never talked about her mother and father. She'd been married to Granddad for over forty years, and she'd really loved him. What had it been like to find herself alone? Did Mother feel the same way when Dad left? I hadn't really thought about it that way. Maybe it was even worse when someone left you. Gran's parents had left her. Dad left Mother. Did Frances Rain leave someone behind in Alberta? A whole lot of people had been left behind, it seemed to me.

Chapter Sixteen

I TOOK my sketchbook and pencils and sat back down in the veranda. I tried to sketch what I'd seen on Rain Island. Sometimes, when I've transferred something onto paper, I understand a lot more about it. Not this time, though. I held up my pencil drawing of the small cabin. I still couldn't understand where it came from.

If that had been Frances Rain's hand I saw, then why me? Why did I see it? Looking closely at the soft, blurry cabin, I suddenly felt a strange ache deep inside. It's hard to explain, but it was as if the cabin was changing me, as if I was growing outside of me — growing into someone else — someone different and lonely and sad. I slammed the book shut. The feeling disappeared.

I stood up and paced the veranda. Was I going stark raving nuts? Who was this Frances Rain and how could my own drawing give me the willies?
Who was Frances Rain?

I sat down. She was a teacher and prospector, Gran said. I'd read enough to know that prospecting was no sissy occupation. There were hard climbs through rocky hills, tough slogging through wet muskeg and hordes of blackflies and mosquitoes. There would be long hours spent hammering away at rocks in the high bush country. Then back to her little castle and moat.

Had she chosen to live her life the way she'd wanted, or had she been running away? I thought about Dad. Which one had he been doing?

Here I go again, I thought. Questions and no answers. I can't even answer why my own father left two years ago. How could I possibly find out why Frances Rain came here all those years ago?

All I knew was that I'd live my life the way I wanted, too. And I wouldn't leave anyone behind. Because I wouldn't get married. I'd become a writer or artist. Definitely
not
an archaeologist. Feeling good about my mature decision, I watched the sun go down. Pink and orange edged clouds drifted above the cabin and lit the veranda with a warm glow. The low putt-putt of a small boat moved across my line of vision. Alex angled the boat towards shore. Tim lumbered onto the dock and held the boat while Erica scrambled out, batting mosquitoes with her hat. The three of them swatted bugs, talking and laughing. They stampeded up the path and crowded onto the steps trying to escape the vampire horde.

“Hey, Lizzie,” said Erica, “guess how many I caught? Six! Big ones.” She held her arms wide apart.

The argued for a while about who caught the biggest.

“We'll fight this out in the morning, little one,” said Tim. “Right now, your eyes are at half mast. Bed!”

Erica was too tired to fight it. She mumbled something about a zillion pound pickerel and wandered sleepily out of the room. Tim sank into one of the big chairs. I expected Alex to make up some excuse to go home, but he sat down beside me. I was glad that it was dark enough to hide the stupid grin on my face. We settled back and looked out over the dusky lake. Bugs tapped and hummed against the screens.

“Do either of you believe in ghosts?” Tim asked casually.

“Ghosts?” we repeated in unison. Only in my case, it kind of croaked out.

“Not ghosts necessarily,” said Tim, “but something paraphysical or otherworldly, if you like.”

Alex stared at him. “Why are you asking us? Planning on a good ghost story?”

“No. It's just that ... well ... the funniest thing happened when we were out on the lake,” said Tim. “I've always been a bit ... what the Scots call ‘fey.' My grandmother was a Scot and she knew when something was going to happen. I can't do that, but I've been into a few houses where I felt ... something. A kind of pressure. Anxiety. And a few times, I've been told that the house was thought to be haunted.”

“A pressure?” I gasped. “Like when someone pushes on you?”

“A bit like that. But as soon as I leave, the feeling just goes, and I usually convince myself that I ate too many onions for dinner or drank too many beers. Speaking of beers.” He got up.

“Wait a minute,” I demanded. “You can't just leave. What happened on the lake?”

“Yeah.” Alex leaned forward. “That's dirty. Tell us.”

Tim fell back on his chair and laughed. “Tell you so you can jeer at me and make fun, huh?”

“No,” I said. “Honest. Come on. Give.”

“You'll be disappointed, kiddo.”

“If you don't tell me, I'll tell Mother that you're dying to go back to the city tomorrow.”

He guffawed. “Anything but that! Jeez! You'd make a good interrogator. Get ‘im where it hurts. Okay, what happened was this. We were just on our way back and we were passing that big island ... the one over there ... you can almost see it from here.”

I felt my scalp prickle.

“We putted around it, trying for that one last bite, eh, Alex? Well, that's when I felt that pressure I was telling you about. And when I looked over at the island, I thought I saw someone standing on the rock jutting out from it on the far side. But then Erica got her line tangled in mine, and when I looked back, I didn't see anything.”

“That's when you asked me if there was a cabin on the island,” said Alex. “I wondered why you asked that.”

Tim nodded. “But even while you were telling me that no one lived on the place, I saw a light flicker in amongst the trees.”

Alex laughed. “You told me you needed a leak, and would I drop you off for a second.”

“I couldn't very well tell you that I wanted to check out ghosts, could I?”

I heard my own voice in the distance. “Did you land?”

He nodded. “I just walked a little way up this slope, but I could see there wasn't a cabin anywhere. And there definitely wasn't any light. The mosquitoes drove me back to the boat. Anyway, we circled the entire island afterwards and there wasn't even a canoe pulled up anywhere. But I'll tell you this. The whole time I was on that island, I felt an unearthly sadness all around me.” He sat back. “Now call me a fool.”

“This person you thought you saw,” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Could you make him out? Was it a man or a woman?”

He thought for a minute. “You know, now that I think of it, I would have said it was a woman ... no ... I couldn't be sure. All I really saw was a sort of flicker.” He smeared his hand all over his face and pulled his beard. “I don't know. Probably imagined the whole thing.” He grinned sheepishly.

“Weird,” said Alex. “Definitely weird.”

“I told you you'd start calling me names,” chuckled Tim.

“Oh, I didn't mean —”

“It's okay, Alex,” said Tim, flashing his sugar cubes in the air. “Now, may I get that beer? See you later, kids.”

“You didn't tell me your mother had married a madman,” said Alex, when he'd gone. I knew he was only kidding, but I guess I was pretty edgy by this time.

“How do you know what he saw or didn't see? You really think he would have told us if he hadn't seen something? You're just like Evan. Think you know everything.”

“I was only —”

“It took a lot of guts to tell us that story. If it happened to me, I wouldn't tell anyone. And lots of people — important, intelligent people — have seen ghosts!”

He jumped to his feet. “Hey! Cool down. I was only kidding. If Tim says he saw a ghost, he saw a ghost. Don't get crazy.” He shook his head.

“Oh, so now
I'm
crazy 

“Will you get serious? How come you're so worked up all of a sudden? You'd think you'd seen a ghost, not Tim.”

“And if I had, you'd be making fun of me! Loonie Lizzie, maybe?”

I was acting stupid, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. Acting stupid is like a virus — comes on you without warning.

He held up both hands. “I believe him, okay?” He began to walk backwards to the door. “Look, I'm not looking for a hit in the nose. Besides, May will be wondering where I am.”

I came to my senses too late. “Listen, Alex ... I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm jumping down your throat. Everyone around here is tense right now, okay?”

“No kidding. But, no big deal, eh?” He took the steps two at a time.

“How about fishing again?” I called.

“Right. Sure. See you around,” he said, stiff back and all.

Feeling like a number one hysterical schmuck, I watched the little red and green lights on his boat move across the water. Between Evan and me, we'd done a good job of getting rid of Alex Bird. He'd never talk to me again. He probably thought I was really nuts. I should have told him. But how could I? “By the way, Alex, I not only saw the ghost Tim saw, but the house she lived in.” Great. Loonie Lizzie.

Somehow, I had to resolve the mystery of Frances Rain. For a long time, I stood on the veranda and stared over the flat silver bay. In the distance, the island was etched darkly against the navy sky, and I knew that under those distant trees, the golden spectacles were waiting for me.