Well…aren’t you going to open it?” I asked, watching with amazement as my mother placed the unopened envelope back down on the coffee table. Her hand, however, shook with more than just age as she set it down.
This time we were sitting considerably more comfortably in the deep, cushioned chairs of the den cocooned in the coziness of its mahogany panelling. In front of us loomed the floor-to-ceiling fieldstone fireplace that Grandpa John had modelled after the one in the front room of Three Deer Point. Though unlike my own, this fireplace still sported one of Grandpa John’s kills, a giant moose head with an expansive set of antlers. When I’d moved into the cottage I’d removed all the dusty animal heads shot by my relatives over the years. I preferred to see my animal heads alive and moving.
“No, dear. Let’s have a nice dinner and talk about other things. Besides, your sister and her family will be here shortly, and I don’t think the children will be the least interested,” she replied.
Aching to know what was inside the envelope, I nonetheless acquiesced and said, “Of course. But I do want to discuss these letters with you, so please, let’s do it after dinner.”
“As you wish, dear. Now tell me about Three Deer Point. I did so enjoy our summer visits there when Aunt Aggie was alive.”
Even though I thought those long-ago visits had been more a test of endurance for Mother than an enjoyment, I didn’t dispute her comment. Instead I told her about the ups and downs of day-to-day living in the wilds. There was one aspect, however, that I didn’t bring up, which was my relationship with Eric and other members of the Migiskan Anishinabeg who lived on the Algonquin First Nations reserve neighbouring my property. Although Mother liked to think she had an open mind, she was nevertheless a snob. I wasn’t entirely sure she would understand or accept these friendships which had become an integral part of my life.
Soon Jean whisked in with her husband Leslie and two daughters in tow, much as I remembered Mother doing with us when we were children. I’d always rather liked Leslie and felt a bit sorry for him. The heir to one of Toronto’s oldest Establishment families, he was a quiet, self-effacing man who hovered behind the shadow of Jean’s boundless energy. I’d always wondered why Jean had married him, since she didn’t need his money and they seemed to have few intersecting interests. But the marriage was still going strong, unlike my own, which had started off with much greater promise. Perhaps because underneath Jean’s hard edge I sensed an unerring love for this gentle man who in turn felt the same kind of love for her.
Of medium height with a full head of brown curly hair, Leslie was wearing his standard bow tie, this one red. His lips reflected a wisp of a smile. “It’s good to see you, Meg. I think you must enjoy your new home. You’re smiling again.” He blushed as he said these last words, almost as if embarrassed he’d gone too far.
I hugged him. “I’m very glad to see you, too. And you’re right, my new life is treating me very well.”
Turning to the tall, leggy girl clinging to his side, I said, “You must be Megan. You were this high when I last saw you.” I placed my hand about two feet below her current height, which was about the same as her father’s. “You must be thirteen or fourteen.”
“Thirteen,” she whispered and blushed.
“Yeah, she’s the pipsqueak in the family,” added Erin, who proceeded to guffaw at her joke. Although the eldest by two years, she was at least a full head shorter. But unlike her shy sister, she displayed all the bold confidence of her mother, despite having inherited her father’s head of brown curls and his slightly oversized nose. “So I hear, Aunt Meg, you’re going to the Arctic to find out what happened to Granddad.”
So much for Mother’s attempt at censorship. “Probably not,” I replied.
“Hey,” Jean cried out, “you promised.”
“I didn’t. Just said I would consider it. And I have. The Iqaluit police have said there is no need to go. They don’t think it’s Father’s plane.”
“But the letters seemed so certain,” Mother whispered, her steely demeanour suddenly gone as she clenched her hands to her breast.
Her reaction took me by surprise. I’d always had the impression she’d laid her husband firmly to rest when all hope had gone of finding the missing plane. “I hadn’t realized finding him meant so much to you.”
“I don’t have too many years left, and before I die, I would like to know Sutton’s final resting place. And I think you do too, both of you.” She glanced from me to Jean.
“I agree,” Jean said. “We need to end the mystery of his death once and for all.”
“I’m with you,” I replied. “But the police are just as certain that this isn’t his plane. But if it is, chances are his body will no longer be with it, or if so, what is left of it won’t be identifiable other than through DNA, which is done in Ottawa.”
“But at least we will know where he passed his final moments. Jean, you’d better go, as I suggested in the first place. You were always closer to your father.”
I felt the stab of Mother’s censure. “That’s not true. I loved him just as much.”
In fact, I’d always felt there was a special bond between us. We both loved staying with Aunt Aggie at Three Deer Point. He always took me and not Jean on his ambles through the woods, canoe paddles on the lake or on his visits with friends at the Migiskan Reserve. We would often stay a week or so longer than Mother and Jean, both desperate to flee back to the city.
Not wanting to prove my mother right, I said, “I’ll go, but there is no point in going to Iqaluit until mid-July when the water should be ice-free. Police won’t be able to salvage the plane before then.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jean’s face relaxed into a smile. For a few minutes she must’ve been worried. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hasty to respond to Mother’s rebuke.
“And I’m happy to pay some of your expenses,” she added.
“That’s terribly kind of you, Jean, but there is no need,” Mother interjected. “Since this is a family matter, I’ll handle all the expenses.”
My initial knee-jerk reaction was to refuse, simply because it felt like a payoff, nor did I want them to have the last word. But I didn’t refuse. Although Aunt Aggie’s estate provided me with enough income to allow me not to have to work, it was only enough to live modestly at Three Deer Point. It wouldn’t cover a costly trip to the Arctic.
“And while we’re on this topic, perhaps it’s a good time for you to open the letter you got today.” I pointed to the envelope in front of her.
“You were sent another anonymous letter?” Jean’s high heel shoes clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked over to have a look at the brown envelope lying so innocently against the dark mahogany of the table.
“We don’t know if it is or not.” Mother retrieved it from the table.
“But it’s from Iqaluit,” I interjected. “And the writing looks the same. So why not open it now?”
“Our dinner is waiting. Shelley won’t want us to eat it cold. I’ll do it after dinner.” Clutching it in her hand, Mother headed towards the dinning room, leaving us with little choice but to follow.
While Leslie shepherded his two daughters after his mother-in-law, I held my sister back. “Is it me, or am I getting the impression Mother doesn’t want to open it?”
“It seems that way to me too.”
“Did she act this way with the others?”
“I’ve no idea, but I wasn’t here when she received them. She only told me about the letters after she received the newspaper clipping.”
“Did you ask her why she waited?”
“Yes, she said she didn’t think they were important.”
“But she didn’t throw them away.”
“No, she didn’t. But let’s face it, the letters are worthless. It’s absurd to suggest that Father is still alive. I’d go so far as to say it’s an insult to Mother and to us. It’s only the newspaper article that is credible.”
“True, but let’s make sure she opens this latest one tonight. I can’t help but feel that she’s afraid of what she’ll discover inside.”
Jean nodded and followed her husband and children into the dining room, from which the most delicious aromas were wafting, which drew me after them.