CHAPTER

15

August’s mother met them at the train station in Bala. Charlotte Callaghan was fourth-generation Canadian, but she was the first member of her family to marry outside of Hong Kong Chinese descent. Her family had not been particularly pleased with the match, even though it was Computer approved and the Callaghan logging dynasty was considered one of Canada’s most up-and-coming businesses at the time. (The addition of her money had rather catapulted it forward.)

“Family and tradition were important to my parents and grandparents,” Charlotte had once told her, before Helena was really old enough to understand. “But they had forgotten that there is more to the Empire than free trade.”

And so, the story went, Charlotte had stood her ground, and married her lumberman, and, together, they had essentially built not only the commercial success of the region, but also the social accomplishments, from scratch. Neither Bala nor Port Carling were particularly busy in the winter, but in the summer, they were bastions of art, music, sun, and money. In addition to the lumber workers and their families, there were shops and galleries, and, not the least, the Ojibwe First Nation–owned RMS Segwun made berth at the Port Carling pier.

“We can’t have the opening ball there, of course,” Charlotte said, for Margaret’s benefit. “But we rent the ship for at least one family party every summer.”

Margaret looked intrigued at the idea of a party on board the ship, but Helena caught Charlotte’s eye in the rearview mirror, and realized what August’s mother intended that party to be.

“Don’t look at me like that, Helena,” Charlotte said. “Everything will be fine.”

Except that people with Y chromosomes did not bear children, Helena thought. And children were an important part of family and tradition. She was starting to think she should have gone back to New London and faced her parents—at least there she would have support—but then Margaret reached across the seat and took her hand.

“There is one slightly unfortunate thing,” Charlotte said. “I’ve –grammed your father about it, but when I went to check over your cottage and make sure it was aired out, I discovered that the window in the back bedroom had rotted out.”

“How bad is it?” Helena asked.

“Well, if it were truly summer, you could get by with a screen,” Charlotte said. “But it’s still too cold at night to sleep with the window open, and there will be bugs. I’ve hired someone to fix it, of course, but the local carpenters are all backed up getting places ready for the summer, and we’d already dispatched most of our skilled workers before I discovered it.”

“We’ll put Margaret in your room, Helena,” Fanny said. “I know my room is small, but you can sleep there, and I’ll have the chesterfield.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Helena said. “For starters, that thing is older than all three of us combined, and it’s much too bright in the great room in the mornings to get anything like a decent sleep. You stay in your own room, Fanny, as long as Margaret doesn’t mind sharing with me? It’s a queen bed, and there’s plenty of room for your things.”

“Of course,” Margaret said. “I’ve never shared a room or a bed before, so I can only hope I don’t snore.”

“Helena hogs the covers,” Fanny said.

“I do not!” Helena protested, laughing.

“You do, and you know it,” Fanny said. “We’ll get you your own quilt, Margaret.”

“From what you’ve told me, I understand we are to spend as much time as possible out of doors,” Margaret said politely. “I imagine that between that exercise and whatever Mrs. Callaghan has planned for us, we’ll be far too tired in the evenings for me to care if you steal all the blankets.”

In the front seat, Fanny laughed. Helena was glad to see the older girl shed her Toronto formality.

The car turned off the main road onto the cottage driveway, a dirt-packed trail shared and maintained by the Callaghans and Helena’s family ever since the latter had begun to summer here. Once upon a time, the Callaghans had owned the entire peninsula, but they had since divided it up and built two cottages in addition to the main house. The larger cottage was where Evie lived, and would stay unless she married. The smaller one, tucked away on an odd-shaped lot on the other side of the dirt road for additional privacy and facing a different bay than the other two, was owned outright by Helena’s parents. There was a boathouse between Evie’s cottage and the main house, with the launch beside it. On the occasions when the entire Callaghan clan descended upon the property at the same time, it was the garret above the boathouse to which the children were all sent. There they slept in bunk beds stacked three high and played endless games of Sorry! on the wooden floor, beyond the hearing range of their parents when the arguments began.

At the very end of the drive was the Marcus cottage, and as soon as it came into view, all of Helena’s final misgivings were erased. She would rest and research, and she would come up with a plan.

“It’s wonderful!” said Margaret, looking truly delighted. She squeezed Helena’s hand in excitement.

Wonderful was a good place to begin, thought Helena, as she continued to hold Margaret’s hand. As she breathed in her first proper lungful of Muskoka air, for a moment she believed anything might be possible.

THE MARCUS cottage had been built in four stages, Margaret was informed: the main house—which was square, and two storeys tall—the kitchen that extended off the back of the house, and the master bedroom, which was so much the province of her parents, Helena rarely thought of so much as entering it. All of these had been constructed before Helena’s parents had bought the property. Their only addition was the shower room, off the hall that led to the kitchen, if “room” was not too strong a word; it had no roof. Margaret found the idea of showering under the open sky equal parts delightful and intimidating.

The main part of the floor comprised the great room, with its massive stone fireplace and chimney, the aforementioned chesterfield and matching chairs, a corner for reading, and a long table with benches for when company came to dinner. There was also a small storage room, full of firewood, life jackets, deflated inner tubes, and dubiously functional fishing tackle, and a very small bathroom wedged under the staircase.

Upstairs was the main bedroom, where Helena and Margaret would sleep. Fanny’s room was not actually all that small, but it was on the side of the house where the roof sloped down, so it was only possible to stand upright in certain parts of it. The back bedroom was tastefully appointed, though the gaping hole in the wall belied its elegance.

“Fanny will keep track of the groceries,” Helena said, once they were all back in the kitchen. She filled the kettle with water and plugged it into the wall. “But if you want anything, you can get it from here. I try to at least pull myself together to make dinner, but sometimes I get caught up in a book or something and forget about lunch.”

“It sounds perfect,” Margaret said. She meant it quite sincerely, as even her most relaxed family vacations still involved a substantial security detail and regular sessions with the press for her parents.

Helena got down a pair of cups, a little jug for the milk, and two plates, and filled the teapot with warm water, letting the tap run for a moment, even though she’d already run it to fill the kettle. Though they’d only been at the cottage a short time, Margaret was captivated by all the little rituals opening the house for the summer seemed to require—or maybe she was captivated by the ease and grace with which Helena did them.

“What are summers like in Cornwall?”

“Oh,” said Margaret, and then recovered herself. “We get fair weather, or at least enough of it that we can go down to the sea, but it’s not as warm as it gets here, I think.”

“The lake will be cold, no matter how much the air warms up,” Helena said. “But the swimming is wonderful.”

The kettle began to sing, and Helena dumped the teapot before filling it with the boiling water. She set in the tea bags with an apologetic smile, and got a package of cookies out of the basket Charlotte had left on the counter.

With its windows open to the wind off the lake stirring the trees, the cottage made a sound—a sort of audible stillness that Margaret couldn’t quite describe to herself. It was the feeling of being very small in a very large place, and at the same time being held tightly. It was not unpleasant.

“Where is Fanny?” Margaret asked.

“She’s gone over to say hello to her friends at the Callaghan house,” Helena said. “She hasn’t seen them, except for Sally, since last Thanksgiving. I don’t need that much help while I’m here, and it would be unkind to make her sit around and wait on me, so we’re largely independent. She could have gone back to New London, if she wanted, but she said she was looking forward to the vacation as much as I was.”

While she spoke, she assembled everything on the tray, and indicated that Margaret should precede her back to the great room. They settled in on the chesterfield with the tray on the ottoman in front of them, and Helena pulled her feet up under her.

“I hope you don’t think it’s too rustic,” she said. “I worry that I didn’t explain clearly enough what you were getting yourself into.”

Margaret smiled and took a cookie. “I think it’s wonderful,” she said. “Can we go look at the lake after we have our tea?”

“Of course!” Helena said. “Oh, and if you have a screen, it will connect here. We’re not that isolated, because the Callaghans made sure that there was a tower built close by for signals.”

“I should let my parents know I’ve arrived,” Margaret said, even though the Windsor Guard would have done so already. They were staying at a cottage across the bay. Still, she would like to tell Henry that she was safely arrived, and explain that due to a change of plans, they might have somewhat limited conversation opportunities for the remainder of the summer. She hadn’t started anything serious with him, of course, but there was no reason not to be polite.

“And then we can go down to the water. We can even go canoeing, if you like,” said Helena.

“I want to do everything,” Margaret said a little impulsively. “I may never come back to Canada again, and if I do, I may never come here again, and I want to do everything you love about this place, so that I can remember it, and you.”

Helena’s answering smile was so bright that Margaret’s heart skipped a beat.