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The last days of May passed far too quickly for Harriet. She spent most of her time in the bush or paddling the canoe she’d decided to rent from the Algonquin Lodge rather than the Frasers after discovering it was less than half the price Shan would have charged. That hadn’t endeared her to the Frasers, but she didn’t care too much about that. Even though she wanted to spend every minute she could with a brush in her hand, the need to soak in the solace and solitude of the wilderness was stronger. The weather was warming as May slid into June, the blackflies were replaced by swarms of mosquitoes and deer flies. The insects often drove Harriet out of the shade of the trees and onto the lake where the strengthening sun kept the flies at bay a bit.
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The breeze tugged at the ribbon binding her long hair back at the nape of her neck, Harriet raised her face and closed her eyes, basking in the sun which stood high overhead. Her canoe floated near the shore where the Trainor’s cottage was located. Leaning her paddle across the gunwales Harriet glanced toward the building in an attempt to ascertain if any of the Trainors had arrived. It was unlikely given the fact anyone arriving by train would have been known to the residents of Mowat. She was sure Annie would have had something to say about Winnie showing up. Still, Harriet wasn’t spending much time at the lodge, rising early and staying either in the bush or on the water until the light faded. Taking up the paddle she moved the canoe out further into the lake, enjoying the pull of the water against the flexing of her muscles as the narrow vessel slid through the water. There was an east wind blowing and small whitecaps slapped at the canvas sides but caused her no trouble. After a few lessons from Tom last summer Harriet considered herself a proficient paddler.
She made her way toward Little Wapomeo Island, the breeze cooling the sweat gathering on her face and between her shoulder blades. The sun picked diamonds from the small chop of the water, and she shipped her paddle again. In the lee of the island, she let the canoe float and fished behind her seat for a shingle. In order to paint while on the lakes, Harriet had rigged a makeshift place for her paintbox. She opened the lid and set the blank board in place, preparing to try and capture the play of light and colour, the sky reflecting on the water with fragments of clouds wisping across the blue. She blocked in the bulk of island trees and the straggle of rocks on the point, leaving the majority of the space for the sky and water with the far shoreline a counterpoint in the distance.
“Hetty!”
The sudden call startled her so she almost dropped her brush into the lake. Gripping the gunwale to steady the canoe, she turned her head toward the sound. The peculiar grey-green colour of the canoe rounding the point identified the paddler as Tom.
“Hey,” she called back. “You startled me. I thought you were up at Tea Lake Dam.” She waited while Tom paddled the short distance, sculling with his paddle to bring his canoe alongside hers with only a slight bump.
“What are you up to? I figured you’d be out in the bush or painting somewhere, not lazing about in the sun,” Tom teased, sunlight glinting off his rugged features.
“I am painting,” she insisted, pointing at the crate fixed to the bottom of the canoe which held her paintbox.
“That’s ingenious, I wish I’d thought of it.” Tom leaned over to study what she’d done. “I might have to figure something out for my canoe. I see you’ve been working on your style.” He nodded at the two completed paintings she’d set on the bow seat of the canoe to cure in the sun.
Warmed by his praise, she smiled and placed a hand over his where it held the gunwale of her canoe to keep them from drifting apart. “Thank you. I thought if I could paint on the water it might give a different perspective to my work. And it’s so peaceful just floating on the lake, like I’m actually part of the painting, in it I mean, not just putting down what I see.” Harriet gave a self-depreciating laugh and removed her hand. “That sounds really pretentious, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all, Hetty.” Tom’s face was serious. “I know exactly what you mean, about being part of the painting, not just the creator of it. If it’s all right with you, I think I’m going to see if I can rig something up like your idea so I can try painting from the canoe.”
“Of course, you’re welcome to it. The only thing I can tell you from my experience is that the wind can be tricky, and if the water is even a bit rougher than it is now the whole thing is an effort in futility. I almost got blown into Big Wapomeo the other day because I wasn’t paying attention and then the wind caught me broadside,” she shrugged, “and you know how that goes.”
“Well, just be sure to be careful, Hetty. I don’t want to find your canoe floating upside down and you in the drink.”
“I learned my lesson, I assure you,” Harriet said. “Hey, do you know when Winnie is coming? I thought she’d be here by now. Did you stop in Huntsville on your way up here? I forgot to ask you before.”
Tom looked down at his hand holding the paddle across the canoe. “She’s coming up on the afternoon train. That’s the last I heard. Today is June sixth, isn’t it?” He raised his gaze to her face.
“Yes, I believe it is. Oh, I’m glad. I can’t wait to see her. It will be nice to have some female company, well besides Annie Fraser.” Harriet grinned.
“I see your point,” Tom agreed.
“Are you going to meet her at the train or at the Lodge. I suppose they must have their boat stored there.”
“I hadn’t planned on it. I’m sure she’ll have settling in to do, and her father will be with her to help with things. I’m headed over to Joe Lake to see if I have any luck catching that big trout we’ve all been after. Wish me luck!” Tom let go of the gunwale and backed his canoe away from Harriet’s. With a brief wave, he paddled off toward the portage over to Joe Lake.
“Well, that’s interesting. I wonder what Annie will make of Tom not being around when Winnie arrives. I’m sure that woman is reading my mail from some the things she’s inadvertently let drop while she’s busy gossiping. Like how did she know my father forbade my youngest sister to come up for a visit? I surely never mentioned it, but Amelia did write to me to complain about Father. I bet she reads everyone’s mail, including Tom.”
During the brief exchange with Tom, the light had changed. With quick strokes Harriet filled in the scene as best she could, vowing to work on it a bit more later tonight in her room. It might not be as vibrant as if she could have completed it here on the water, but the sketch had enough body to warrant continuing to work on it. Slipping the panel into the clamps on the box, she stowed the other two panels as well and closed the box. Dipping the paddle into the water she turned the canoe and went in the opposite direction from the Joe Lake portage. One woman chasing after Tom Thomson was enough, Harriet had no intention of adding her name to the list.
It was only mid-afternoon, but Harriet changed direction and turned the bow of her canoe toward the dock at Mowat. The wind was coming up and there might be time to make a short excursion into the bush. There was a certain grove of birch trees that stood in sharp relief against the backdrop of dark spruce and tamarack that she had her eye on. After that, she’d wait around to meet Winnie when the train came in. Harriet pulled her canoe up above the waterline and turned it over to let the canvas over the cedar strip dry. Shouldering her paddle, she carried it up to her room. There was no point in taking the chance of the paddle walking off on its own if she left it with the canoe. It happened twice last summer and there was no way Harriet was going to allow that to happen again. She was pretty sure she’d bought her own paddle back twice from the Frasers.
Stowing it under her bed, she locked the door and skipped down the stairs, pausing as she passed the dining room. Shannon Fraser was bent over a table engrossed in an intense conversation with another man. The second man had his hat pulled down over his face, Harriet was fairly sure she had seen him hanging around after dusk on more than one occasion. She tucked herself up against the wall and peered around the door frame into time to see Fraser hand over a wad of bills which the other man tucked in his jacket pocket. The two men stood up and Harriet scurried away from her vantage point. She was still close enough to hear their conversation as they left the dining room.
“You’ll be sure to make the delivery tonight,” Fraser growled.
The second man muttered something and nodded his head.
“You know the meeting place, they’ll be waiting by the time you get there. Don’t be late, and don’t screw anyone over. I find out you’re sampling the product there’ll be hell to pay.” Shannon cuffed the shorter man on the shoulder.
Harriet cleared her throat and made it look like she’d just come down the stairs, her boot heels sounding loud on the floorboards. Whatever clandestine activities were going on, she didn’t want to get caught up in it. If she had to guess, they were probably selling bootleg liquor to the natives. There was no doubt there was no shortage of booze at the lodge. Most nights saw the men gathered around the big firepit outside passing the jug. Sometimes Annie joined them. Maybe, Harriet thought, I should go the next time Annie decides to join, or even better, I bet Winnie will be up for it. Especially if Tom is there. “Not that it’s any of my business,” she reminded herself while slipping out the door and heading for her favourite trail in search of that elusive grove of birch trees.
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The sky had darkened to an ebony blue with the first starts pricking the firmament when Harriet made her way back to Mowat Lodge.
“Damn, I’ve probably missed Winnie by now.” She kicked a stone out of the path where it landed with a satisfying plunk in the shallow water of the lake. A smile slid across her face though. Safely tucked in the paintbox in her hand was the rough sketch of the birch grove. It was good enough, in her opinion, to turn it into a larger piece on canvas. Her step slowed, but first, before she got too excited, she would show it to Tom and see what he thought of her work.
The lamp light from the lodge hall sent warm yellow light into the gloom. Harriet blinked to let her eyes adjust to the change in light.
“Harriet! There you are!”
A body almost bowled Harriet over and she clutched the precious paintbox tightly. Strong arms enfolded her, lifting her almost off her feet.
“Winnie! I wanted to be here to meet you, but I got involved with this painting I was working on, and the time just slipped away from me.” Harriet caught her breath as Winnie released her.
“Figures,” Winnie sniffed, “you and Tom, both of you. I think you like your paintings more than you like me.”
“Oh Winnie. You know that’s not true. I love spending time with you, and I’m sure Tom does too.”
“Where is he?” Winnie squinted over Harriet’s shoulder. “When he wasn’t here I thought he must be with you somewhere.”
Harriet shook her head and taking Winnie’s arm drew her into the lodge and out of the worst of the mosquitoes that were swarming to the lamp light. “I spoke with him earlier out on the lake. He was headed to Joe Lake to try for that big trout the men are all het up about.”
“Do you expect him back tonight?” Winnie settled on a chair in the hall by the dark dining room.
“I hardly know. I don’t keep track of his whereabouts. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s probably going to camp somewhere and try for the fish early in the morning if he doesn’t have any luck today. You know him and Mark Robinson and mostly likely Shannon have a bet going on over who is going to land that thing.”
“I was hoping he’d be here to greet me. I sent him a telegram letting him know I’d be on the afternoon train.” Winnie’s lower lip pouted and a frown creased her forehead. She shot a glance at the closed office door. “I bet Annie never even gave it to him.” Winnie pushed herself up from the cushioned chair.
Harriet put a hand on her arm and pulled her back down. “He must have gotten the telegram because he told me you were expected on the afternoon trail. There’s no point antagonizing Annie when Tom must have read it.”
“Hummf.” Winnie blew her breath out in a huff. “That man. Sometimes I don’t know why I bother.”
“I’m sure he’ll show up sometime tomorrow,” Harriet soother her friend. “Are you staying here tonight? I would have thought you’d go across to the cottage.”
“Father isn’t coming until tomorrow and I decided to wait for him. There’s a fair bit of work to do opening up the cottage for the summer. I only came up a day early because I was hoping to spend some time with Tom.”
“I’m sorry.” Harriet patted her arm. “Have you had a bite to eat?”
Winnie nodded. “I managed to get something from Annie when I arrived. You’d think I’d asked for the moon, the look she gave me.”
“I can imagine.” Harriet grinned. “I have a stash of food in my room just I never have to rely on the Frasers. In a tin box,” she added, “no point in feeding the rodents.”
“Smart lady,” Winnie said getting to her feet. “Since there’s no chance of seeing Tom tonight, I think I will turn in. Travelling on the train always tires me out. See you in the morning at breakfast?”
“Of course.” Harriet linked her arm with Winnie’s. “I’m ready to turn in too. It’s been a long day, and I need to set my latest painting out to cure.” She patted the paintbox.
The two women went up the wide staircase arm in arm, Harriet keeping the paintbox safely in her free hand. They parted ways at Harriet’s door, Winnie disappeared into the room two doors down.