| |
The stars swirled and scattered across the water where the paddle disturbed their reflection. Harriet thought six days should be more than enough time for Father’s patience to wear thin. With any luck he and Featherswallow were safely back in Sprucedale or Huntsville or God willing Featherswallow would be back in England. Faint illumination that dimmed the stars heralded the approach of dawn on this seventh day of July 1917. She allowed the canoe to drift in silence, hugging the shoreline as she approached the vantage point she’d selected to see if Winnie’s signal of safe return was visible. As the sky brightened, the red scarf tied to the upright post of the Trainor dock shone through the mist rising from the dark waters.
“Perfect,” she whispered and dipped the paddle into the lake. “Now as long as the Frasers haven’t rented my room while I’ve been absent, all will be well.”
After stowing the canoe, Harriet hiked up to the lodge with her belongings. The day was humid even at this early hour with the promise of a hot day ahead. She paused in the hall just inside the door of the lodge to wipe the sweat from her face, setting her gear down by her feet.
“Well, well. It’s about time you showed up.” Shannon Fraser regarded her from the door of the dining room.
“I’ve just been out in the bush painting. Nothing unusual in that.” Harriet picked up her gear and moved toward the stairs.
Shannon snorted. “Not the tale I heard. Running off in the middle of the night.” He shook his head. “Your father and that dandy with him were right pissed off.”
“That’s no concern of yours.” Harriet looked down her nose at him, giving a good impression of her mother’s haughty look which worked so well on the servants. She hoped she succeeded as it never worked quite so well for Harriet as it did for her mother.
“Is that Harriet?” Annie appeared in the door of her cubby hole office.
“Yup, the return of the prodigal,” Shannon replied, a sardonic grin on his face.
“Is my room unlocked?” Harriet put on foot on the first riser.
“New door it’s got.” Annie nodded.
“Whatever for? The old door was quite adequate.” Harriet frowned.
“That it was, until your intended broke it down. Lucky for you they didn’t harm the furniture you had shoved in front of it.”
“They broke the door down?” Harriet was flabbergasted, although on reflection, violence wasn’t outside Father’s predilections, and it appeared the man he’d chosen to sell her to was of the same disposition. A lucky escape on her part. A thought occurred to her. “And I suppose I’m liable for the cost of replacement?” She tapped her booted foot.
A sly smile crossed Shannon’s face, before Annie spoke over him. “Oh no. We insisted on payment before they got a ride to the station.” She chuckled. “Not like those two were going to walk there.” Shannon glowered at his wife, annoyed he’d missed the possibility to be paid twice for the damage, Harriet supposed.
“Well, that’s a relief, then. I’ll just go on up and get settled.” She went up the stairs.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Annie’s voice halted her partway up the steps. “There came a telegram for you two, maybe three, days ago.”
Sighing, Harriet continued to the landing and set her gear down before going back down to retrieve the telegram from Annie’s fingers.
“I suppose you know what’s in here?” She raised an eyebrow at the stout, shorter woman.
“Of course I don’t!” Annie jammed her hands in belligerence on her ample hips. “What are you accusing me of?”
“Nothing, of course. It’s just the seal on the flap has been tampered with.”
“Weren’t us,” Shannon broke in. “Might ‘a bin the young fella Thomas sent up with it.”
“I’ll be sure to mention it to Mister Thomas next time I see him.” Giving up the argument, Harriet retrieved her belongings and went along the hall to her room. Once she was settled, the first thing she would do was find Winnie and let her know she was back and safe. Stowing her few items, she sank onto the side of the bed and opened the telegram with its Great North Western Telegram logo printed boldly across the top. It wasn’t from Father as she’d expected, but from his attorney.
Huntsville, Ontario July 4, 1917
Miss Harriet Agnes St. George
Re your actions of July 1 1917. I been notified by my client Baldwin St. George to inform you that as of the above date all ties to the family of Baldwin St. George and any subsequent descendants have been severed. In Mr. St George’s words, “Harriet Agnes St. George is no longer recognized as a member of this family, immediate and all related branches of said family. I disown and disinherit her.”
Signed this 4th day of July it the year of our Lord 1917 in the village of Huntsville Ontario
George Summerville Wilgress
Attorney at Law
Huntsville, Ontario
Harriet read it over three times before folding it and tucking it into her pocket. Emotions coursed through her and she was at a loss to put a name to most of them. Anger, confusion, to name a few, and sorrow underlying them all. Disowned. Never to see the home she’d grown up in, never to speak to Amelia, her favourite sister, again. She blinked back the tears that threatened and straightened her back. Disowned she might be, but she was still her own woman, and best of all, free of Father’s machinations to see her married to a suitable gentleman. Dear Lord! Featherswallow? An English fop if ever she’d seen one, no doubt he’d expected her to just up and move to England with him. Small chance of that, and now, well now...she was free. She collapsed onto the quilt and shut her eyes, thoughts milling around in her mind. Before she realized it, the nights spent sleeping rough in the bush caught up with her and in spite of her best intentions to seek out Winnie and hopefully Tom, she fell asleep.
––––––––
––––––––
A tap on the door brought Harriet out of her slumber, rubbing her eyes, and pulling down the shirt which had ridden up her midriff while she slept, she stumbled across and opened the door.
“Thank God you’re safe!” Winnie burst through the door, kicking it shut behind her before hugging Harriet.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I must have fallen asleep. I meant to come and find you right after I got back.”
“I came as soon as I heard. Shan was talking with Mark Robinson and I overheard you name.” She grasped Harriet’s hands. “It’s such a shame about your father. How could he do such a thing? It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Harriet prevaricated, but was fairly sure the news of contents of the telegram in her pocket was feeding the gossip mill of Mowat.
Winnie had the grace to blush and drop her gaze. “I’m that sorry. I suppose you would have preferred to keep that private,” she shrugged, “but you know what things are around here.”
“Sadly, I do. No matter, Winnie. People would have found out at any rate. It’s just rather annoying that the Frasers feel they have the right to be privy to their guests’ private correspondence. Does Tom know?”
Winnie nodded. “He’s the one who told me.”
Harriet snorted. “I suppose he heard it from Shannon?”
The other woman glanced away. “Actually, Tom heard it from Mark, who overheard Annie telling Mrs. Thomas from the station.”
“Isn’t that just wonderful? Everyone in the vicinity has heard about it before me.” In spite of herself Harriet laughed. “Doesn’t that just beat all? I imagine Father would be furious if he knew his business was spread all over the place.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you mean? I have my own means of support.” Harriet hesitated. “Though I suppose I will have to find a house to rent, preferably in Huntsville. I can’t imagine living in Sprucedale in such close proximity to the family. In a pinch I could maybe get one of the Dean’s cottages on Doe Lake, but I’d rather not do that.”
“Oh, yes!” Winnie clapped her hands. “Do come to Huntsville, Harriet. It will be so nice to have a friend so close.”
“Time to worry about that once September comes. Now, tell me have you told Tom about...you know...” Harriet nodded towards Winnie’s waist.
“I did.”
“How did he take it?”
“He wasn’t thrilled, but it’s going to be all right. We’re going to be married, but there is one small problem.”
“What’s that?” Harriet frowned.
“Tom wants to go west and paint mountains. His friend came back recently full of raptures about his experience in the Rockies.”
“Couldn’t you go with him after you’re married? Providing you got married soon.”
“We did talk about that, but nothing is decided yet. Are you planning on trying to talk with your father about all this?” Winnie waved a hand toward the telegram Harriet had pulled from her pocket.
“Not a chance. In retrospect this break has been coming for a long time, I had always hoped that we might make the break amicably. Although knowing Father, I do believe I was being overly optimistic. No. I will go on living my life as I see fit, and now, without the burden of the family’s disapproval of my actions.” She got to her feet and pulled Winnie up with her. “Let’s go find Tom and see if we can persuade him to firm things up with you. At the very least set a date so you and I can make some arrangements.”
The two women left the room giggling, pattered down the steps and out of the lodge.
––––––––
––––––––
The following morning dawned a bit overcast with a light rain falling intermittently. Harriet decided to hike into the bush in search of interesting locations to come back to later and paint. She had no wish to attempt to put oil to board in the inclement weather, but perhaps it would turn sunny later. Setting out toward the Joe Lake portage she ran into Tom and Shan returning from some business they had with the Algonquin Lodge.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she greeted them.
“Morning,” Tom drawled while Shannon nodded his grizzly head.
“Any luck with that big fish you men are always angling for? Anyone win the bet yet?” Harriet tipped her head back and grinned.
“No luck,” Tom confessed. “Although, I think I will go over to Tea Lake and maybe beyond. See if I can catch one big enough to fool Mark. I’d dearly love to put one over on him.” Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes.
“I’ll never tell,” Shannon promised. “But come over to the lodge and get some provisions, just in case it takes a couple of days.”
“I’ll do that. Bye, Hetty. Be careful on your own in the bush.” Tom shouldered his fishing rod, shifting the wicker creel to his other hand. The two men disappeared down the trail until the bush hid them from view.
Harriet struck out along the north side of the lake, keeping to the higher ground. Somewhere nearby there was a hollow with a small stream running through it and a tiny pond which she wanted to relocate. She’d found it early in the year on one of her rambles and was fairly sure she could find it again. Maybe.
Forty minutes later she was no wiser as to where her hollow was hiding. Harriet turned toward where she knew the lake lay hidden by trees surmounting a low ridge. The sound of voices told her she was close to the shore. Gripping a sapling for support, she gained the top of the rise and looked down between the trunks at the glimmer of Canoe Lake. The voices came again, faint and carried on the light wind. Someone must be inhabiting one of the cottages on either of the Wapomeo Islands. Vaguely she recalled hearing that a doctor might be renting the one on Little Wapomeo which was owned by Taylor Stratton. Doctor Howland, that was the name, not someone Harriet knew and hopefully not someone Father knew. Strange though, the voices sounded like two people arguing. The wind picked up a bit and rustled the leaves making it impossible to pick out individual words.
Harriet laughed under her breath. “Heavens, I’m getting as bad as Annie. Listening to things that have nothing to do with me.” She turned to head back into the bush, having taken note of her position and intending to bear a bit further to the east when she came off the ridge. The voices rose above the wind again, still unintelligible. A muffled sound echoed across the water, like someone striking a melon with a wide stick and the voices cut off at the same time. “Now that’s odd. Maybe the argument, if that is what it was, concerned who should be chopping wood for the fire.” Shaking her head and pushing the incident from her mind, she walked a bit further along the top of the ridge. From the direction of the Blecher cabin came the mutter of their outboard motor, Harriet glimpsed the craft heading toward the twin islands with the younger Martin and his sister on board. A tarp covered a fairly large mound of something in the bow of the vessel. “Lord only knows what that’s about,” Harriet muttered. She half walked, half slide down the ridge and then up a small rise and there, nestled in the hollow was the place she sought. Taking some wool from her pocket, she tied some to branches as she made her way back toward the lodge. It was after one o’clock by the time she came out onto the trail near where she’d met Tom and Shan earlier.
“Hello Mark,” Harriet greeted the tall, angular park ranger, popping out of the bush and startling him.
“My stars, Miss St. George. You did give me a start. No paintbox today?”
“Not this morning. I went in search of a certain hollow in the bush that I came upon by chance earlier in the year but hadn’t been able to locate since.”
“Have any luck today?”
“I did.” She smiled brilliantly and then motioned him closer. “I have a secret to share with you.”
“Nothing scandalous, I trust.” Robinson seemed a bit uncomfortable.
“Nothing about my father, as I suspect you are already in possession of that information. No, this concerns you and the bet for the big trout.”
“Oh?” Mark relaxed a little. “What have you heard? Did they manage to hook him this morning?”
“Not exactly.” She smiled. “I met up with Tom and Shan first thing this morning coming back from Joe Lake. They didn’t catch the big one, but Tom said he was going out for a day or two, up to Tea Lake I believe, and see if he could catch one nearly as big so he could pass it off as the one you men are seeking. He was very amused to think he was planning to put one over on you.”
“The scoundrel!” Robinson mimed annoyance, but his eyes were full of mirth. “I wish I had thought of that,” he confessed.
“I thought it only fair I warn you.” Harriet grinned.
“I thank you for that, Miss St. George. And may I say I am sorry to hear about the trouble with your father.”
“Don’t bother your head about that, Mark. In many ways I am better off without the ties of family.” She grimaced. “At least now, no one can marry me off to a man of their choosing. If I decide to marry it will be to someone of my choosing.”
“I am happy to hear you’re not overly upset over the situation then. Thank you again for the information, now I must be going. I have a lead on those bootleggers, someone let drop there is going to be a delivery today.” The ranger touched his cap and stepped by her on the trail.
“Good luck, Mark. I hope you catch them red handed.” Harriet waved and continued down the trail. She glanced at the sun which had decided to show its face, if the weather held there was time to fetch her paintbox and get a good hour’s worth of painting down before the light failed beneath the canopy of leaves.
There was no sign of Shan or Tom when she arrived at Mowat Lodge. Tom’s distinctively coloured canoe was missing, so he must have already left on his quest. She grinned. Turnabout was fair play in her book, tipping Mark off only added to the drama of the fish bet in her opinion. After checking on her canoe, she headed toward the lodge. Rounding a corner of the building she stopped short. Across the bare patch of land between the lodge and the outbuildings, Shannon Fraser, Belcher Sr., and the disreputable man she’d seen with Fraser much earlier in the season were engaged in a heated discussion.
Harriet set her gear down being as quiet as possible and slipped into the shadow of the lodge. She made her way toward the men, skirting the rear of the buildings, treading carefully through the weeds and long grass. Peering around the corner of the woodshed, she withdrew her head quickly. The men were only a few paces from her place of concealment.
“Delivery made?” She recognized Fraser’s voice.
“Ja, Martin took it this afternoon.” That was Belcher Sr.
“Alone? What if something went wrong?” Fraser again.
“Nein, Bessie went with him. Looks better for a woman to be along, more innocent like. A day of fishing by the dam.” The man glanced over his shoulder. “I let her take the pistol hidden in her skirts. There was no trouble.”
“Better not have been. Them men don’t like it if the delivery is late.” That was the third man. “That Frenchie gets mighty perticuler like if things don’t go his way.”
“No need to worry. The delivery is made. I saw the motor launch returning before I came to meet you.” Blecher again.
“Fine and good. Let’s drink to another successful run.” Fraser rubbed his hands together and motioned toward the lodge.
“Not me,” the third man shook his head. “I got places to be.”
Harriet blinked in the dying light and to her surprise in that amount of time, the rough clad man faded into the gloom. Holding her breath, she slunk back toward where she left her gear. Reaching it without being discovered, she picked it up and went toward the lodge, crossing paths with Fraser and Blecher Sr. as she approached the steps. It seemed a better idea to hang around the lodge and see what she could hear rather than heading into the bush. Some of the locals had reported seeing a black bear with two cubs scrounging in the undergrowth not too far from where she planned to paint. There were plenty of dandelions growing in the clearings where the tree canopy was thin.
“Evening.” She nodded at the two men and hurried by them. Her mind worked overtime as she mounted the stairs to her room. Bootlegging, it had to be bootlegging, and they must be selling the liquor to the aboriginal peoples living nearby. Tom, she knew, was opposed to the selling of liquor to them. Winnie had mentioned that he was planning to speak with Mark Robinson about his suspicions. In the act of kicking her door shut with her foot and dropping her gear on the bed, the image of the Blecher boat returning across the darkening water of Canoe Lake this evening came to mind. She’d only caught a quick glimpse through the trees, but the bow of the launch had been empty of whatever it carried on the outbound journey and no strings of fish were visible hanging over the side. At the time, Harriet had only noted it in passing, but now it started to make sense. She thought she’d seen something floating in the water by Little Wapomeo, just a dark shadow not far from the shore, but when she squinted her eyes hoping to improve her vision, the shadow seemed to be absent. A trick of the light, no doubt. She dismissed the memory.
“Blecher Jr. and his sister are deeply involved in the clandestine activities. I wonder if Tom has figured that out? I must ask Winnie when I see her tomorrow as I doubt Tom will be back tonight now that it’s dark,” she whispered. When faced with a problem it always helped Harriet to work it out by vocalizing her thoughts. Best to be quiet though. The Frasers, and especially Shan were formidable when crossed. Pushing the disturbing thoughts away, she completed her nightly ablutions and crawled into bed.