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The next morning, Harriet took a biscuit and some coffee and went to sit on a large boulder by the lake. Her position was sheltered from view of the lodge or dock by a stand of cedar trees. Their lacy branches formed a lovely, scented swaying curtain the seemed to hold her in its embrace. Dear Lord, she prayed, show me the way I should travel. Give me a sign. Should I sit and wait for Mark to set things in motion and give the Blechers, or whoever, time to get rid of the paddle, or should I try and get it myself?”
Commonsense told her to wait for Mark, but the stronger inclination was to take matters into her own hands and try to retrieve the paddle herself. Listening to her impulses had gotten her into hot water in the past, so she should err on the side of caution, shouldn’t she? Her mind said yes, her heart said no. Restless, she shifted on the sunny boulder, absently watching dragonflies flitting across the still, shallow water, occasionally alighting on a lily pad. It reminded her of the day she and Tom sat and watched them last summer and then later in the day, the ripples on the surface as fish came to the surface to feed. If people she knew were involved in Tom’s murder, surely she owed it to her friend to pursue all the leads. A small shower of rocks plunged into the water about ten feet beyond where she sat concealed by the cedars. Harriet started to call out and ask who was there, then held her silence.
“The kinder are worried someone has been poking around the boathouse in particular. Martin fears someone suspects us of having something to do with the death,” Martin Sr. spoke quietly, but the sound carried clearly to Harriet.
“They’re just getting the heeby-jeebies, Martin. I don’t think it has anything to do with Tom’s death. It’s more likely to do with the operation we’re involved in,” Shannon answered.
“Why do you think that is so?” Blecher sounded almost relieved.
“Annie thought someone had been nosing around in the office the other day. Her papers weren’t in the same order as she left them, though how she could tell I’ll never know. I didn’t give it much thought at the time. You know how women can be...but if you agree with Martin and Bessie, that someone has been snooping in your motor launch, then maybe Annie was right. I’ll get her to check if she thinks anything is missing.”
“This could be trouble, ja?” Martin’s voice rose a bit.
“Could be.” A rasping sound told Harriet Shannon was rubbing his chin. “First thing is to find out just who it is that’s been snooping...and then...”
“Ja, and then...?”
“And then take care of them.” Shannon spat into the water not three feet from Harriet’s place of concealment.
Now she was more relieved than ever she hadn’t called out. She held her breath, almost afraid to breathe in case the men somehow heard her. Silly, of course, but adding this bit of information to what she’d already collected would make her discovery treacherous and put her in a very vulnerable position.
“What do I tell the kinder? Martin is very nervous, and we haven’t worried Louisa too much with this, of course. You know how volatile she can be,” Martin Sr. asked.
“Tell them to just stay put, don’t do anything out of the ordinary. We might have to put off the next shipment for a week or so. Robinson has been sniffing around with some questions. He was some put out about the body being moved without him being notified first. I better let Francois know there might be a delay with the pickup at Tea Lake,” Shan said.
“I will tell them, but I have to say Martin wants to get that cursed paddle out of the motor launch as soon as possible. I caught he and Bessie talking about throwing it into the bush on Little Wap or into the lake further down.”
“Don’t do anything that stupid! Someone is sure to see something, especially now we suspect someone has suspicions regarding us. Get control of your kids, Blecher,” Fraser growled.
“Ja, ja, I agree. I will speak with them as soon as I return home.” He stopped for a moment then continued. “What if it isn’t the ranger, or that Trainor girl, or that other nosy parker who is always asking questions, they are the ones I thought of first, what if that brother, George, has hired a private investigator to inquire into his brother’s death?”
“Could be, could be. There’s that new guest just showed up a few days ago, says he’s come up from Toronto hoping to paint with Thomson, said he hadn’t heard about the tragedy. Some artist or another just come back from painting out west, ‘least that’s what he told Annie. I’ll get Annie to go through his stuff when she’s cleaning the room. You never can tell,” Shan actually sounded worried.
The men’s voices faded as they moved away. Harriet let out the breath she was holding and pried her trembling hands apart. I assume I am the nosy parker always asking questions, it’s too bad they suspect me, it may make things harder. Thank God I gave Mark that paper, now even if Annie or someone decides to search my room they’ll find nothing. I must warn Mark to be careful as well. It worries me, the news that Martin and Bessie are talking about moving the paddle. I’m not sure Blecher Sr. can control them. Especially the brother, he’s such a hot head...It might be best if I tried to get that paddle before they can do something with it.
Harriet stayed perched on the boulder for another twenty minutes, then she slipped off and moved away from the lodge following a narrow trail that skirted the lake. There was no way she wanted to be seen coming from the direction where the two men had their discussion. The weight of suspicion, imagined or otherwise, hung over her like a cloud. A frisson of anxiety set her heart racing. Should she dare try for the paddle or take the safe course and wait for Mark. For the love of God, I need to make up my mind before I drive myself crazy. She followed the trail for a good half mile before pushing through the underbrush to access a wider deer trail she knew was up on a ridge. Sweating from the exertion and swatting at insects, she sauntered back toward the lodge in what she hoped was an innocent manner. When she came clear of the bush at the head of the trail she glanced about and was reassured to see the vicinity was vacant. Still moving in an unhurried way, she crossed the chip yard to the lodge and went inside. The hall was also empty, she noted the office door was closed and now sported a padlock. Well, that’s new. The wry thought crossed her mind as she made her way to her room.
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Much later, she hiked over to the Trainor cottage hoping to find Winnie home.
“Harriet, I’m glad to see you. Come in,” Winnie greeted her.
“I wasn’t sure you were back yet.” Harriet stepped inside and closed the screen door on the insects. “I see Louisa has put a new sign, tourist bothering her again? Or just her pleasant personality?”
Winnie giggled. “I don’t think most locals pay much attention to it. Other than to marvel at how big she made the sign. I wonder if the bears can read ‘No Trespassing’ or if she’ll chase them out with a broom like she does the tourists.”
“Lord only knows.” Harriet joined in the amusement, then sobered. “Is your father about?”
“Not at the moment, he’s out trolling in the canoe hoping to land some trout.”
“Did you get in touch with the Thomsons?”
“With some difficulty. I discovered the wires were down between Scotia and Huntsville when I got to Scotia Junction. It was around seven-thirty in the evening, and I was much vexed. Then I looked up the Grand Trunk Railway agent and explained my situation. He was perfectly lovely about it all and sent the messages to Huntsville for me, all free of charge.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I went and called on Mr. Churchill and asked him some plain questions. He was very adamant that I not use his name if I spoke of these things to anyone else. He seems a conscientious man and said he thought the bill from Flavelle was very steep. Because the man is not an undertaker, but only a furniture maker, he had to bring the embalmer from Sprucedale so that doubled the expense. I have no doubt that Shan will try and make a bit on top if he can when he presents the bills to the family. Mr. Churchill said the original casket was very rough, not painted, and I believe it had no handles. Heavens it wasn’t even sealed properly, nor was it copper lined as it should have been. That may have been because the copper lining costs more than the coffin itself.”
“So, George did ask this Churchill to come and being Tom back to Leith?” Harriet clarified.
“Oh yes, his sisters and family as most anxious for him to be brought home. I believe George planned to accompany the casket on its journey.” Winnie wiped a bit of moisture from her cheek and sniffed. “I’m some glad he will be close to family, but I will always think of him as being here and I will keep that patch where he lay in our little cemetery looked after.”
Harriet waited until Winnie gained control, then broached the delicate subject of the impending child. “Have you decided what to do about...” She nodded at the other woman’s waist. “I can’t even imagine how you are coping with that dilemma alongside Tom’s death.”
“I have contacted some relatives in the States. I plan to stay with them until after the baby is born...then I’m not sure what I will do.”
“Does your father suspect anything?” Harriet chewed her bottom lip.
Winnie shook her head. “No, and I intend to leave before anyone can notice my condition.” She reached across and gripped Harriet’s hand. “I will miss you. I’ll write, I promise. And I will leave my address with you. Do you know where you’ll winter? I imagine returning to your father’s house isn’t an option.”
Harriet snorted and patted her friend’s hand. “I will never darken that doorstep again. I will most likely look for a room in Huntsville or Parry Sound. I have some friends in both places and hopefully I can find a job of some sort to keep me from going stir crazy.”
“That’s grand. I’m glad you’ve got a plan.”
“When are you leaving for your relatives?”
“Tomorrow on the morning train. I’ve done what I can for Tom and his family, there’s no point in putting things off.”
“Winnie, what are you plans for after the child is born? Will you bring the baby back with you?”
“I haven’t decided for certain, but I don’t think I could bear being classed as an unwed mother. You know how cruel people can be, both to me and to a bastard child. My relatives have offered to take the child in and raise him or her as their own. I can’t think of a better solution.”
“But wouldn’t it be a comfort to have a part of Tom still with you?” Harriet was having trouble coming to terms with giving up a child.
“Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t. I don’t know, but I do know a baby is no replacement for Tom. Could never be. What if I came to resent the child because he or she wasn’t his or her father?”
“I suppose, but still...”
“I know it must seem harsh to you, but I just feel in my heart I wouldn’t be a good mother. I’ve already made up my mind and my family in the States is expecting me.”
“Will you ever tell your father?”
“Absolutely not. You are the only one who knows, and I trust you will never betray me.”
“Of course, your secret is safe with me. Let me fill you in what I’ve discovered.” Harriet went on to relate her foray into Annie’s office as well as the excursion to the Blecher boathouse and explain what she found.
“In the name of all the saints! I knew it, it just knew it! I never trusted that Martin Jr., no matter how he tried to sweet talk me. You say Mark Robinson is going to handle things, look into it?”
Harriet nodded. “That’s what he told me.”
“Is he going to search the boathouse and get that paddle. Oh, I wish I wasn’t leaving so quickly. You must be sure to write and let me know how it turns out.”
“He must speak with Superintendent Bartlett first, but then, yes he will handle things.” Harriet assured her, not wishing to delay Winnie’s intended departure. No good could come of her condition being discovered and the ensuant gossip and vitriol that would go with it. One woman disowned at Canoe Lake this summer is enough. The wry thought crossed Harriet’s mind. She got to her feet and Winnie followed suit. The two women embraced and then stepped back.
“I will miss you, Winnie Trainor,” Harriet said, blinking back tears.
“And I you, Harriet St. George,” Winnie responded.
“I’ll write,” Harriet promised, heading for the door.
“I’ll write back,” Winnie replied, standing with her hands tangled in her skirts.
Harriet slipped out the door, forcing herself not to look back. She backtracked and skirted the Blecher two-story cottage which sat on the lot just south of the Trainor’s. If no one was about perhaps she could slip into the boathouse and retrieve that thrice damned paddle. Ignoring the large and prominent No Trespassing sign, she wended her way thought the thick bush, keeping an ear out for any sign of life, human or otherwise. Harriet wasn’t sure which she feared most, Louisa Blecher or a black bear intent on scavenging some food. Her heart stuttered at the sharp crack of a branch when she miss-stepped. I must be nervous. I haven’t been this noisy in the bush since I was a kid. Concentrate. Pay attention.
The roof of the boathouse reared its head above the tall bushes clinging to the banks of the lake. Moving ever more cautiously, Harriet edged along the verge of the woods, approaching the structure from the side furthest from cottage whose white-washed walls shone through the screening greenery. One foot raised to step out of concealment and onto the narrow path, she shrank back into the safety of a fragrant cedar at the sound of the boathouse door creaking open. Holding her breath she peeked through the lacy branches. Martin Jr. and Louisa emerged from the doorway. Martin carried a large tool of some sort while his mother strode ahead of him toward the cottage.
“Come, Martin. Hurry.” Louisa made a waving motion with her hand but did not look back.
He stopped long enough to pull the door shut and shove the lock home. Shaking his head and scowling he scurried after his mother. Harriet took a careful breath. Having held it so long without thinking that spots started dancing in her vision. There had been no sign of the paddle in either of the Blecher’s hands, but the darn door was locked now. The only way in would be from the lake.
Defeated for the moment, Harriet wended her way back to the trail that would return her to the lodge. With some planning it would be possible to sneak in and get the paddle once the night set in. It’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one I have at the moment. Seething with impatience, she reached the lodge and went inside. The murmur of voices came from the area where the Fraser’s private rooms were. Her moccasined feet made no sound on the wooden boards of the floor. The entry hall was vacant so the other guests must be out and about. There was no one to remark on the fact she crept over to the far side of the hall, pressing close to the frame of the slightly ajar door.
“There’s nothin’ to worry about. Your Martin is shying at shadows,” Shan was saying.
“Nein. I am also sure that someone has been asking questions that they shouldn’t,” Blecher Sr. said.
“Who would that be?” Annie inquired as though she already knew the answer.
Harriet pressed closer to the wall, hardly daring to breathe in case she missed any nuance of speech that might indicate she was in danger.
“Hugh’s daughter, if it’s anyone. That one just won’t let things lie. Contacting Tom’s family, causing all that fuss,” Shan said. “From what I’ve heard from Geroge Thomson she’s been casting doubt about my honesty.”
“Ja, that one I found lurking by the boathouse just yesterday,” Martin Sr. said. “Louisa caught her and chased her off with the broom.”
“Wish I’d seen that.” Annie giggled.
“Was she in the boathouse?” Shan sounded a bit worried now.
“Nein. Louisa thought not.”
“The item was still where it’s supposed to be?” Annie inquired.
“Ja, ja.” Blecher sounded impatient. “The ranger’s been around more than usual too. It is possible he is suspicious as well.”
“He’ll keep to his own business if he knows what’s good for him,” Shan growled.
“What’s the plan to get rid of the...item? It’s pure stupidity to leave it where it can be found and point the finger at any one of us.” Annie declared.
“I have the plan.”
Harriet sucked in a breath. That’s a new voice. He sounds French, I wonder if this is the mysterious Francois Winne saw. Go on, go on. What’s the plan?
“It better be good,” Shan warned. “Things are getting too hot.”
“Oui, and the big men are getting very impatient with the delays. It is not good to anger them,” the French man said.
“Nein, nein. We must make them happy. I have heard stories of what happens to those who annoy them,” Blecher actually sounded worried, his tones edged with fear. “I have made promises, promises we dare not break.”
“Fine mess you’ve got us into,” Annie snarled. “Shan, you said there wasn’t any risk, just some easy money.”
“Shut up, woman. Let me take care of this,” Shan growled back.
Heavy footsteps followed by a door slamming deeper in the lodge suggested Annie had stomped off in a fit of anger.
“What is your plan?” Blecher said, a chair scraped as if the man had stood up.
Harriet hovered, wondering if she should get clear before she was discovered, but the temptation to hear more held her in place.
“After dark, I will come and get the item. It will disappear forever, and no one will be the wiser. Certainly not some nosy woman or that excuse for a park ranger. Have it ready for me. I won’t wait around for it,” the French man ordered.
“You can take care of that? Wait for Francois in the boathouse until he comes,” Shannon addressed Blecher.
“Ja, ja. Either myself or Martin Jr. will be there,” he assured the two men.
“Better you do it. The son, he is jumpy. I don’t trust him,” Francois said. “If anything is suspicious I will disappear, and you will be left with getting rid of the item yourselves. And answer to anyone the big men send to see why there are delays. You will not like these men, I promise you.”
“I will be there. There is no need to contact your big men. It will be done as you ask,” Martin Sr. said with some truculence. He obviously didn’t like being ordered about.
“See that it is. Now, I go. Tonight, I see you after full dark. No lights, you understand?” Francois snapped out the words.
“No need to get testy, Francois. We’ll take care of things on our end, so long as you can assure that things are taken care of on yours,” Shan attempted to defuse the volatile situation that was threatening to develop between the other two men.
Francois made a guttural French sound before he spoke. “I go.”
The sound of chairs scraping on the rough floor and accompanying footsteps sent Harriet scurrying for the stairs. She was on the second step when Annie spoke.
“Miss St. George,” the tone was stiff and officious, “I didn’t see you come in just now, and I was just cleaning up in the dining room, you weren’t there either.” Annie stood with hands jammed on her hips, brows drawn down over her eyes.
“Oh! Well, you must have missed me then. I just came in and was on my way up to my room to fetch my paints. I thought to try and catch the sunset, it lights up the trees across the lake and the colours reflected in the water are perfect right now. I need to hurry before the light changes.” Harriet threw the words over her shoulder and bounded up the steps. Once in her room, she leaned on the closed door and pressed a hand to her chest to still her galloping heart.
Oh, dear God. Did she see me listening at the door? But she couldn’t have, could she? There must be a back way into the dining room from their quarters, she sure didn’t come into the hall, I would have been discovered for certain. I’m just being paranoid. There’s no way they could have known I was there.
She slipped the lock on the door and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Once her heart slowed, she put on a flannel shirt over the lighter one she was wearing and gathered up her paintbox. Now she’d have to make a show of going out to paint the God-blessed sunset or Annie would be even more suspicious. The thought of changing her moccasins for boots crossed her mind, but if she was going to have to enter the boathouse later from the lake, moccasins were easier to slip out of. Given the conversation she’d overheard, she needed to get into the boathouse and retrieve the paddle before Martin Sr. went down to wait for the French man and certainly before this Francois ever showed up. There was something very dangerous about that man and Harriet had no desire to meet him face to face.
On her way down the stairs she made sure to thump on each step and bang the paintbox off a few spindles in the railing. Annie came out of the office as Harriet crossed the floor toward the outside door.
“I’m off to catch the sunset,” Harriet called without pausing.
Annie watched her leave in silence, but Harriet didn’t like the expression on the woman’s face. Sour as always but was it her imagination or was there something more she should be worried about. Nothing I can do about it now. I need to get the canoe and set out as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Lord, I wish Winnie were still here. I could use the company, not to mention a lookout.
Once in the canoe, Harriet paddled away from Mowat. She rounded Big Wap and let the vessel drift with the gentle current. Now what? There’s time to kill before I dare try to get the paddle. I suppose I should produce a painting or two to prove to Annie that I wasn’t lying about what I was up to. The lake was calm and, in the lee of the big island, where she sat close to the shore, the canoe lay motionless. It took only a matter of minutes for her to set up the paintbox and put brush to palette. She lost herself in the glorious scene before her. The westering sun threw long slanted beams of golden light across the water and lit the trees on the eastern side of the lake as if with a spotlight. Each needle of spruce and pine and each leaf was limned in honeyed light. As she painted the sky changed from eggshell blue to a deeper sapphire, the light softened, and motes of dust and pollen danced in the cooling air. Behind her, the western sky was awash in scarlet and magenta, tinged to orange and saffron at the edges. Soon, the colours reflected in the still lake. Harriet let the brush hang idle in her fingers, her heart singing with the beauty and serenity that was unfolded before her. I wish Tom were here to see this. The thought tightened her throat and broke her out of her reverie. Dusk was falling, enfolding the lake with shadows and mist.
Harriet took stock of the work she’d accomplished and allowed that it was very satisfactory. Perhaps that friend of Tom’s what was his name? Dr. MacCallum from Toronto, he was the one who took care of marketing Tom’s work. With any luck he might be willing to at least look at her paintings. Packing the wet paintings carefully, she closed up the paintbox and stowed it in its customary place. It was just coming full dusk, if she was going to try and beat the men to the paddle, now was the time. Kneeling behind the middle thwart of the canoe, she dipped her paddle into the water and with the practiced stroke of a master canoeist, moved across the lake leaving only a faint ripple and no sound besides the quiet lap of the water against the canvas side of the vessel.
She rounded Little Wap and hugged the shore intent on reaching her goal. Hardly daring to breath, she nudged the canoe into a tiny cove and climbed out onto the granite boulders at the shoreline. Securing the painter to a convenient brush with a quick release knot, she considered her options. It was earlier enough; she should be able to nip into the boathouse and get out before the Blechers finished their evening meal. Even better if the door was conveniently unlocked. Pulling a dark cap low over her face, Harriet wriggled through the bush and approached the shadowy structure from the side away from the cottage. No light glimmered through the grimy windowpane, so luck was with her so far. Slipping from one cluster of shadow to the next, she reached the structure and stepped out onto the path. Her fingers encountered the padlock which she turned over in her palm, feeling for the shackle in the dark. Whoever locked the door last failed to be sure the pin engaged, and the shackle popped free when she pulled.
Her breath caught in her throat. Luck or a trap? I’m not sure what to do now. I think I’d feel better if it was locked up tight as a drum. She faded back into the underbrush and took a deep breath to steady her resolve. In for a penny, in for a pound as Aunt Lois used to say. Here I go. Harriet moved back to the door and unhooked the padlock, leaving it hanging on the hasp. The interior of the building was dark, little light filtering in through the dust accumulated on the tiny window. She edged past the tools and equipment on the workbenches and along the boardwalk beside the motor launch. Hesitating beside the craft, Harriet listened for any trace of sound coming from outside. Nothing stirred except the haunting call of the loons and a couple of whippoor-wills calling to each other. She stepped down into the boat, cursing under her breath as the weight made the water lap against the hull and the sides of the boathouse. Still no sign of anyone coming to interrupt her activity.
Her toe caught on something, and she smothered an oath. Careful. Be more careful. It was only a few more feet to the canvas laying under the deck covering the bow area. She ducked under and lifted the canvas. Yes! It’s still here. Now to get it and get out of here. Closing her fingers over the shaft of the paddle, she pulled it out, grimacing at the sound of it scraping across the canvas. She trembled so hard she worried it would rock the boat. Harriet forced herself to take three deep breaths and then began to back out from under the deck. On hands and knees, she was almost clear when the sound of voices made her freeze.
“It’s almost dark and there’s no moon right now. It should be perfect for our purposes,” Martin Sr.’s voice echoed a bit for some reason.
“Oui, excellent,” the Frenchman replied.
“Martin must have left the door unlocked again. I will speak with him,” Blecher’s voice sounded oddly complacent rather than annoyed. There was a rattle as the padlock was removed and the door creaked open.
Harriet’s gut clenched. Using the sound of the men’s entry, she moved as far back into the nose of the bow as she could and pulled the tarp over herself. The paddle was lying uncovered in front of her hiding place. At the moment getting out of the boathouse in one piece was more important than the paddle. She made herself as small as possible and barely breathed, hating the faint rasping of the canvas each time she took a breath. Her heart was pounding so hard it seemed impossible that the two men couldn’t hear it thundering away. There was the sound of a match striking, she peeked around the edge of the canvas. The man’s face she’d seen meeting with Shan and others was thrown into stark relief in the tiny flare of light. Biting her lip, Harriet tucked her chin in, she remembered Tom saying how your eyes could give you away by glinting in any source of light if you were hunting.
The two men conversed in tones too low for her to catch the words. They seemed content to stand about, as if they were waiting for something...or someone. It was a trap! They just don’t know I’m here already. With any luck they’ll give up waiting, take the paddle and leave. Please God. Time moved oddly for Harriet. She felt she’d been hiding for hours and yet somehow she knew it wasn’t that long. Another match flared and feet shifted on the rough boards.
“I think we’ve waited enough time,” Blecher said.
“That Fraser woman may have been wrong and painter woman didn’t hear anything. We’ve been wasting our time,” Francois declared. “You know how women are, imagining all sorts of things. Phah!”
“Ja, ja. I worry though, my Louisa also caught her snooping around, but she was gone before Louisa could confront her,” Blecher replied.
“Once the paddle is gone there is nothing to worry about. There will be nothing to connect any of us to what happened out on the lake. It would have been much better if the body had never surfaced, though,” Francois remarked.
“The copper fishing line should have held, but there must have been some silk line which came loose. Ja, it would have been less trouble if he had just disappeared,” Blecher agreed. After a long pause he spoke again. “How did it happen? Such a strong man, how did you get the best of him?”
Oh ho! Now this is interesting, Harriet thought.
“You sure you wish to know this thing? If I tell, you must never speak of it or you will find yourself joining this man,” Francois spoke with quiet conviction, leaving no doubt he meant what he said.
“Ja, maybe best I don’t know.” Blecher’s voice trembled a tiny bit under his American-German accent.
The Frenchman gave an expansive sigh followed by the rustle of material. “I tell you anyway. Then I have the knowledge you won’t speak. I borrow one of the Algonquin canoes, they not miss it, then I come to lake here and launch. I go out near islands, out of sight of the buildings. I wait and I make plans. If one does not work, the others will. Always. The man come around the little island and I pretend to be in trouble. He come to me. I am near island in shallow water. He stick out his paddle, thinking perhaps I am stuck on a sunken log, I don’t know. I grab the paddle and take it from him, before he can shout, I hit him on the side of the head. Very hard with the edge. He fall, almost tip canoe. I grab him, blood is coming from ear. That strike never fails me. He has the convulsion, then stop breathing. I make sure, before I drag him into deeper water, away from island. I wrap leg in fishing line, tie to rock, and sink him. Then it is done. I am professional, I do my job well. I tip canoe over, push it out into the channel and leave it there for someone to find. Look like accident.”
“Except a lot of people don’t believe it was an accident,” Blecher protested. “And the body didn’t stay down.”
Cloth rustled and Harriet assumed the Frenchman shrugged. “Sometimes it happens, but it took long enough that no one can connect me to anything. No one saw me with him.”
“Nein, instead they think we had something to do with it,” Martin accused the man.
“That, my friend is your problem,” Francois told him.
The scent of cigarette smoke floated down to where Harriet huddled. Her heart shuddered in her chest. I knew Tom didn’t just slip and fall. I knew it. I’ve got to get out 0f here and tell Mark. All because they thought he was going to mess up their little scheme. It was all she could do not to burst out of her hiding place and scream at the two men. Calm yourself, Harriet. That won’t accomplish anything and it’s a good way to end up like Tom. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The beginnings of panic tightening her chest.
The knowledge she now possessed made her anxious to escape the boathouse. Were they going to stand around all night? Her legs were cramping from kneeling on them, and she was lightheaded from trying to breathe under the musty canvas. Not to mention the smell of liquor that permeated the material. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, but what is the alternative. Stay strong, Harriet. Stay strong.
“What is taking so long?” Louisa’s voice cut through the men’s muted conversation.
“We are waiting a while longer to see if the woman will show up. Go back to the house, if she sees anyone around you’ll scare her off,” Martin ordered his wife.
“Just hurry up and get done what needs to be done. Next thing you know that ranger will be showing up,” Louisa grumbled. The door creaked open and shut as she left.
“She might be right. It is getting late, and I think if the woman was coming she would have been here by now,” Blecher said, clearly growing impatient.
“Go and get the thing then and I’ll be gone,” Francois said. The glowing end of a cigarette flicked through the dark and fizzled as it hit the water.
The boat rocked as someone stepped in. Harriet clutched the canvas tighter, worried it would slip enough to reveal her hiding place.
“This is strange,” Martin sounded puzzled and more than a bit worried.
“What is it?” Francois also came into the boat.
“The paddle is lying out in the open. I can’t believe my son left it like that, not with how nervous he has been of late.”
“Does it matter? Grab the thing and give it to me.” Francois was clearly annoyed and ready to be done with the whole affair.
Blecher hesitated, one hand on the canvas and then shook his head and picked up the paddle. “Here, take it. Wipe off anything that could connect us with it,” Martin straightened up and turned toward the stern.
Harriet allowed her shoulders to relax just a tiny bit. Maybe I’ll get out of this unscathed after all. Just go! Take the paddle and go! She peeked over the edge of the canvas again. Martin had his back to her holding out the paddle, the Frenchman took it and shoved it in a sack he produced out of the inside of his jacket. The boat rocked when he jumped out onto the walkway. Martin stumbled and almost fell, cursing under his breath in German. A hand on the gunwale to steady him, the man stood on one of the seats and heaved himself up onto the relative stability of the walkway.
“I will be glad when all this is behind us and we can go back to our normal ways,” Blecher said.
“As will I, although I’m not sure things will go back to what you say is normal,” Francois said.
“What is the meaning of that?” Blecher demanded.
“The big men are not happy with you or the situation here. They have ordered me to make things right, which I will, and more importantly, I do not wish them to become unhappy with me,” Francois growled.
“Meaning? Make yourself clear,” Blecher sounded less sure of himself now.
“There is talk we may have to make different arrangements for future deliveries. We will see. I cannot speak for the big men. I only follow orders and relay their messages.” In spite of the accent, the man’s voice was flat and menacing.
“You threaten me and mine?” Martin sounded ready to do battle.
“We do not threaten, we promise. You would be wise to remember that.”
“Do not threaten my family. We are not without ways to protect ourselves,” Martin spoke boldly.
“Calm yourself. There is no need for harsh words at this time. If things settle down, perhaps they will decide to continue as things are. I am only the messenger.”
“Ja, ja.”
The men moved toward the door much slower than Harriet wanted. It was going to take a few minutes before her legs would hold her. The pins and needles had long since passed into numbness and she knew from experience the sensation of feeling returning would not be pleasant.
The door burst open, just as she was sure they men were on the way out. Oh for the love of God. Now what? Just go! Desperation coloured her thoughts.
“What is the meaning of this?” Martin thundered.
The younger Blecher bent over his knees gasping for breath. “Vater...I came as fast as I could...I found a canoe tied up down in that small cove just past our cottage.”
“Whose was it?” Francois took over the conversation.
“The woman from the lodge. You know the one,” Martin Jr. huffed out the words, still trying to catch his breath.
“Hugh’s daughter?” Martin Sr. broke in.
“No, the other one. Her friend.”
“Sacrebleu,” Francois cursed. “This we do not need.”
“Did you see anyone between there and here?” Martin Sr. again.
“No, no one.”
“She must be somewhere nearby. You, go get that canoe. We will find this woman and she must be taken care of,” Francois ordered the younger Blecher who fled the boathouse with a wild-eyed backward look at his father.
“Taken care of how? I want no more on my hands,” Martin Sr. declared.
“You do not need to know this thing. Now go and search for the woman. She is hiding close by, and she must not escape us. Go!” Francois shoved the man in the shoulder blades.
Harriet huddled deeper into the canvas. There was steel behind the Frenchman’s words. Take care of her, he said. I don’t like the sound of that at all... She suppressed a shudder. If the man would just leave, even for five minutes, she could force her legs to work and flip into the water and swim away into the darkness. They’d never find her, and she’d be gone before morning. Once she made it as far as the train station she’d be safe enough and would leave a sealed message with the station master or his wife for Mark. He would take it from there, she was sure. There’d be a seat on the morning train, and she’d go east toward Golden Lake. They’d expect her to go west to Sprucedale, throw herself on her father’s mercy. Now, that is never going to happen. I’ll go to the Eady’s. They were friends of Great Aunt Lois, they’ll take me in. With a rudimentary plan in place, Harriet was a little more confident she could escape. Now if only the Frenchman would get out of the boathouse... The loss of her canoe was a sore spot, but losing the canoe was a darn sight better than getting hurt herself. Let Fraser worry about the disappearance of the rented canoe.
The door creaked open again, followed by a rush of fresh air. “I’ve looked everywhere, I can’t find her,” Martin Jr. sounded panicked.
“Go and look again, in the water, up trees. She must know she has been found out by now,” Francois ordered.
“She is nowhere near the cottage or boathouse,” Martin Sr. joined them. “Maybe she got nervous and ran away when she saw us here ahead of her.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Francois’ tone was thoughtful. “We will see. Go, keep looking. She must be found.”
“I want no more killing. It is enough,” Martin Jr. said.
“Phah, you have no stomach for what is necessary and yet you ask me to introduce you to the big men,” Francois sounded disgusted with the whole conversation.
“What is this? You wish to meet with the boss men in New York?” Martin Sr. growled. “What foolishness. You cannot return to the States until the war is over, and I forbid you to become involved with anything dangerous. You are my only son.”
“It is of no matter. This thing I will not do. Now go and find that woman. I need to be gone.” Francois shooed them out the door.
The door opening and closing followed the tramp of feet on the boards echoed in the building. Harriet listened hard, trying to ascertain if all the men left. Silence fell over the interior, broken only by the light slap of waves against the building and the bow of the boat. The vessel rocked gently, which told Harriet the wind must have come up quite a bit and ruffled the surface of the lake. Were they all gone? She was afraid to move and reveal herself if only two of the men had left. I can’t stay here all night either though, can I? Where’s your courage, girl? Where’s your gumption? You can’t stay hidden like a ‘fraidy cat forever. Harriet attempted to bolster her confidence. Mere seconds would see her out of hiding and over the side into the water. Easy peasy, as Great Aunt Lois would say. She wished you could see her watch. It was hard to determine how much time had passed since the men left. If she waited too long they were sure to come back. I’ll wait another little bit. I’ll count to one hundred twice and then I’m going, she decided. The counting occupied her thoughts and calmed her somewhat. Reaching one hundred for the second time, she took a breath and peered out of the canvas covering her.
The interior was dim, the tool bench and things on it were hulking shadows that might hide the figure of man lurking in the area. Or not. The shadows shifted with the movement of the trees outside blown by the wind. Fear and indecision kept her where she was for a moment longer. Cautiously, she pushed the canvas away, wincing at the rasping of the tarp against itself. If anyone was nearby just outside, surely they would hear it. She froze in place and listened over the beat of her heart in her ears. Nothing moved, the door stayed closed. Harriet slipped to the edge of where the deck over the bow started, kneeling on the canvas still, she waited for her legs to get some feeling back in them. Still nothing moved in the building and no sounds came from outside other than bushes scraping against the side of the boathouse. Maybe they’d given up searching for her. Could her luck be that good? On hands and knees, Harriet poked her head out of the cover of the deck. Wriggling past the steering mechanism, she slid onto the bench seat and put out a hand to grasp the walkway and keep the boat from rocking and making enough noise to give her away if someone was waiting outside. So far, so good.
She fought the urge to shake her legs to get the sensation back, afraid to wait any longer, she took a breath and slung a leg over the side of the boat. There was just enough room for her to slip into the water between the boat and the walkway. Her foot was in the water up to the ankle and she shifted in order to swing her other leg over the side.
“What have we here?” A hand grasped her collar and hauled her back into the boat.
Harriet muffled a scream; it would do her no good and waste her energy. She struggled against the man holding her, who twisted the material of her shirt tight against her throat. The man grunted as her elbow found a home in his stomach and he shook her hard enough to snap her head back and forth. Harriet turned her head and attempted to bite anything she could get her teeth on. A sharp blow to her ear sent lights dancing in her vision.
“What do you want? she managed to croak out.
“I have what I want. For you to come out of hiding, n’est pas?” Francois sounded supremely pleased with himself.
With a one armed heave he hauled Harriet out of the boat and shoved her against the side of the building. Desperate, and with strength born of fear, Harriet kicked him in the shins, she was aiming much higher, but he wisely kept himself safe from that particular tactic.
“You would be wise to not try that again. I have little patience when it comes to women. They are good for only one thing.”
His words instilled a new fear in her heart. The hold on her throat lessened and he struck a match with one hand.
“Ah, oui. It is as I suspected. The troublesome woman with the many questions.” He peered into her face before dropping the match in the water. “You are a complication.”
“I just wanted to see if Tom’s paddle was left in the boat when they pulled the canoe in. I...I wanted to keep it to remember Tom by. I meant no harm,” Harriet tried to lie her way out the situation.
Francois laughed but there was no humour in it. “You think I would believe this?”
“It’s the truth,” she insisted. She slid down the wall to land on her bottom, the hold on her collar still restricting her breathing. Her fingers scrabbled on the boards looking for anything she could use as a weapon. “Why else would I be here?”
“You could not just ask the people who own the boat if they found the paddle?” Francois toyed with her.
Harriet shrugged as best she could. “They are not easy people to approach,” she said.
“Neither am I,” Francois tightened his hold and stepped on her hand that she’d inched toward his ankle hoping to trip him into the water or the boat.
She bit her lip and refused to acknowledge the pain in her hand. “Just let me go. I’ll forget about the paddle. Winnie will be looking for me by now, I was supposed to meet her a long time ago. I wanted to give the paddle to Winnie...” Her words fell on stoney ground, and she let them trail off.
“The story changes.” He dragged her to her feet, twisting one arm behind her and increasing the pressure on her windpipe. “The Trainor woman left earlier today, I saw her on the trail, you think I do not keep track of such things? To the train she went. If you wish to keep breathing you will do as I say.”
“Just let me go. I won’t say anything about anything,” Harriet tried to reason with him.
“And I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. I am not that stupid. I know you have been hiding all this time, before we arrived. You have heard far too much. Now move.” Francois shoved her forward.
She stumbled as much as she could manage in an attempt to slow him down, but if she lost her footing he just dragged her until she got upright again. Where are the Blechers? Hugh is away, Winnie’s gone. They are my only hope and I’m afraid it’s a pretty slim one. They came out of the bush onto the narrow trail that ran between the cottages and Mowat. A wagon drawn by a shaggy pony waited by the side of the trail. Harriet’s head swam from the blow to her head and doubled over as a fist impacted on her kidneys. By the time she could breathe again, her hands were tied behind her and then also tied to the ropes around her ankles. She grunted at the impact of hitting the floor of the wagon. Her mouth firmly bound so the only sounds she could make were muffled shouts that didn’t carry any distance. The wagon bumped into motion. She blinked her eyes trying to figure out which way they were travelling by looking at the stars. Back toward the lodge, if her astronomy was correct. Then what? Turn me over to the tender mercies of someone else. Maybe those big men he was talking about? I don’t think I want to wait around for that. She wriggled toward the open end of the wagon. If she could just get off and worm her way into the deep bush, she might have a chance of finding something sharp enough to break the ropes binding her. Halfway to her goal, she jerked to a halt with a strangled shriek. The fist grasping her hair yanked her back into her original position, pulling some of her hair out by the roots. Harriet subsided for a few moments blinking back tears from the burning of her scalp.
“Do not be trying that again,” Francois warned her. For good measure he reached behind him and slapped her bringing the tears she’d refused to shed earlier coursing down her cheeks.
Where are we? There’s nothing here... The wagon came to a stop. Francois jumped out of the driver’s seat and came around to the open end of the wagon. He took hold of Harriet’s feet and yanked her toward him. Once he had her upright, he slung her over his shoulder and moved toward the shelter of the close grown trees. His shoulder dug into her midriff making breathing difficult. Her scalp still stung and a trickle of something ran down her cheek. Sweat? Blood? At the moment Harriet didn’t care. If the man would just put her down maybe she could head bunt him, or drive her shoulder into him and knock him down...
The man came out of the bush onto a narrow trail and turned up it. He grunted a bit as the land rose under his feet. A lightning blasted pine tree snag came into Harriet’s peripheral vision, and she suddenly knew where she was. This was the trail to the Mowat cemetery. Where they’d buried Tom and where he had been exhumed. Fear threatened to turn her bowels to water. The place was a bit creepy even in the middle of the day. The big birch tree seemed to hover over the two graves, keeping watch and warning that no one should disturb the rest of those souls buried there. Most locals said it was hogwash, but Great Aunt Lois’ mother was a Campbell and Aunt Lois claimed she had the second sight. The ability to see the future, and to see ghosts at times. Harriet shuddered and earned herself a painful pinch on her leg.
“Be still or I will drag you up here by your hair,” Francois growled. He struggled up the last few feet of incline and dumped her on the ground near the spreading branches of a large spruce tree.
Harriet lay where she was dropped, frantically trying to wriggle her wrists through the ropes. The Frenchman wiped the sweat from his forehead and drew something small out of his jacket. He seemed to be contemplating something, and she lay quite still, not wishing to draw his attention. Maybe he’ll just leave me here and hope the bears or wolves will take care of things for him. Francois rummaged in a different pocket and did something with the thing in his hand. It was dark under the trees and Harriet couldn’t’ make out what he was doing. At the back of her mind her common sense was telling her just what was happening but somehow her rational brain refused to believe it.
Francois held the long nosed pistol up and screwed something onto the muzzle. He leaned over Harriet. The lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. She’d seen that look in the eyes of a rattlesnake she’d come across last summer. “No one will even hear this, ma petite. Thanks to Hiram Maxim’s little invention.” He stroked the extension on the gun.
Harriet shook her head and attempted to spit out the gag. Her pulse raced, the rush of blood in her ears almost overwhelming the man’s words. Digging her heels into the soft earth she pushed herself back under the protection of the tree until she was pressed up against the resinous trunk. Dead needles showered over her brought loose by her progress. Dear God in heaven, help me. In her terror she lost whatever words she was planning on praying next and she stared wide-eyed through the screen of sweeping branches. Her head and shoulders scraped down the trunk and hit the bed of needles when Francois grasped her ankles and yanked her out.
“You can run but you can’t hide,” his voice sing-songed. “Any last words?” He laughed. “I guess not, then.” He brought the pistol up in his hand.
Harriet shook her head as hard as she could manage, tears leaking down her face into the gag. He isn’t actually going to use it, he’s just scaring me so I’ll keep my mouth shut. Someone will hear the shot and come looking...or maybe that’s what that thing on the end of the pistol is for? It can’t just end this way. It can’t...
The man moved suddenly, looming over her in the shadow of the spruce. There was a flash and bang simultaneously and then the world went black. His voice followed her down into the darkness.
“Say goodnight, sweetheart.”
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Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I do. I should have left well enough alone and let Mark handle things. But hindsight is twenty-twenty as they say and here I am. I suppose there are worse places to spend eternity. It didn’t hurt. That surprised me at first. I sat in the branches of the spruce looking down at what used to be me. Other than the gaping hole in the side of my head, I looked oddly peaceful, which was comforting in a strange sort of way. I must have turned my head when he fired, so at least my face in intact. As if that matters.
That was a long time ago and I’ve come to terms with what happened. My only regret is that I can never tell anyone what really happened. Only you, gentle reader. The Frenchman buried me under the spruce, digging through the roots into the sandy soil. He covered the evidence of his activities with leaves and needles. Not far from where the disturbed earth showed where Tom was buried and presumably exhumed. And here I have stayed.
The huge birch tree guards me from the little cemetery and seems friendly now, not menacing at all. The large spruce tree hovers over my resting place. I imagine that Tom is here still as well. Perhaps not his body; but given my suspicions that he may still lie under that crooked white cross just outside the fence, certainly his soul lingers here in the place he loved best.
If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m dead. Or at least my spirit has left my earthly remains, but it appears I am still here. Perhaps I am not ready to go on yet, or perhaps it is because I feel I am already in heaven here on the lake I love so much surrounded by the woods I cherish. If you’re thinking someone will be questioning where I have gone, the gossip going around is that I had a change of heart, packed up and left in the middle of the night and went off to merry old England to marry that fop Featherswallow my father trotted out. I hear the gossip of course, you know how sound travels across the water. Certainly, my family, especially my father, will not be inquiring as to my whereabouts and my sister, Amelia, is too firmly under Father’s thumb to ever dare go against his wishes, so no one will be looking for answers. I suppose I’m okay with that. He buried me in the dark of the moon quite near to where Tom was originally buried. And so, there I will lie for all eternity, while my spirit goes where it will, visiting my old haunts, painting ghostly sketches, and paddling my canoe as the mists rise from Canoe Lake. I wonder if Winnie will join us when she passes? I’m sure her heart will always be here where she was so happy with Tom.
So, if you’re out on Canoe Lake in the early morning or near dusk, you might see two canoes paddling across the still water, a man and a woman, but too far away to see clearly through the mist rising from the water, it just might be me and Tom. Perhaps, someone will recognize our canoes when you relate this experience. We’ll raise a paddle to you in acknowledgement and then slip back into the mists.
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Klages, Gregory The Many Deaths of Tom Thomson Dundurn Press Toronto 2016
Clemson, Gayle I. Algonquin Voices Trafford Publishing 2007
Death on a Painted Lake url below
https://canadianmysteries.ca/sites/thomson/portraits/artistspatrons/indexen.html
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Nancy lives in Castor, Alberta with her husband and various critters. She is a member of the Writers Guild of Alberta and board secretary of the Canadian Authors Association. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference, at the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference, When Words Collide and Word on the Lake. She has served as judge for the Writers Guild of Alberta – Alberta Literary Awards- YA Category. She has publishing credits in poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. Her work has been included in Tamaracks Canadian Poetry for the 21st Century, Vistas of the West Anthology of Poetry and The Beauty of Being Elsewhere. Her poetry is also being included by the University of Holguin Cuba in their Canada Cuba Literary Alliance (CCLA) program. The self published Touchstone was reviewed in A Shower of Warm Light by Prof. Miguel Angel Olive Iglesias. Nancy is an avid horsewoman and a retired equestrian coach. She enjoys fostering rescue animals and gardening.
I have been a member of The Canadian Authors Association since August of 2021. Prior to that I was a member of The Writers Union of Canada for six years and often volunteered with them. I am also a member of The League of Canadian Poets.
