A Father for Philip (11 page)

“Yes, Grant. I know that. but—”

“Then couldn’t you try to look a little
happier about our engagement?” He asked wistfully.

Eleanor forced weak smile. Never had she
felt less like looking happy. “We are not engaged.”

“Maybe not officially, but I’m confident
we soon will be. Just as soon as you’re better, I plan to throw the biggest
party the town of Fraserview has ever seen and tell everyone our plans.”

Not
if those plans include selling my son’s heritage, dispossessing my tenants, and
turning a profitable dairy farm into a golf course.

“If that happens, Grant,” she said, “it
won’t be until after I see a lawyer, get a court date, and have a judge’s
decree. That will all take time. After those arrangements have been made,
when—if—I’m free…” She broke off while racking coughs shook her, and took
notice of the fact that Grant leaned well back in his chair while she spewed
forth germs, despite her burying her choughs against the covers over her knees.

When the spasm had ended, Grant started
to speak, but Eleanor forestalled him, waving a hand for silence. “If you’ll
just be patient a little longer Grant, then if and when we become engaged you
can tell the whole world. Can’t you see it would be wrong to make any kind of
an announcement while I’m still legally married to David? Let me tie up those
loose ends first, please, and give me some time to do it. Some time to think.”
She managed a smile as she finished speaking, and he must’ve been mollified for
he leaned nearer and stroked her hair back from her brow.

“Sure,” he said easily, yet she sensed a
note of triumph in manner, as if he thought he’d secured a solid agreement from
her.

“I have to go now, Ellie. I’ve decided
to go back to Kamloops and see if I can’t get the problems up there sorted out.
There’s one politician who’s determined to block me, but”—his eyes
narrowed—“there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I’ll be back late next week
or the week after. Get better, and try to have those proceedings well underway
when I return.”

He picked up the tray to take it away
but set the glass of juice on the bedside table. “The soup, I won’t force on
you, but see you drink every drop of that orange juice. It’s freshly squeezed… None
of that frozen stuff for my girl when she’s sick.”

“You are good to me,” Eleanor said,
smiling at him, trying to show without words that she was sorry for the
argument and her inability to make a decision. “I’m really grateful.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” he
replied heavily. Then, with a change of tone, “I’ve made a casserole for you
and… Philip.” He seemed almost to choke on the boy’s name. “It’s in the
refrigerator. All you’ll have to do is put it in the oven and turn it on it
four. See you in a couple of weeks.”

He waved a cheerful hand at her and was
gone.

Philip forced down the salami sandwich,
gagging at the greasy taste in his mouth, the spicy burn on his tongue, gulped
his milk, scooped up his dog and darted out of the house without once looking
at or speaking to the man who was making himself so much at home in his
mother’s kitchen. Some of the things Grant had said to him were still ringing
in his unhappy mind. He raced his bike until he was out of sight of the house
then slowed and walked it disconsolately toward the clearing, the puppy still
in the basket. He had such a lot to think about and the salami sat heavily on
his stomach.

He slumped into the clearing and caught
sight of Jeff. His need for comfort became paramount and he dropped the bike,
puppy and all, and ran to the man, flinging himself against Jeff’s legs,
ignoring the close proximity of the horse, and the fact that it was loose, and
bawled.

Jeff dropped to his knees and held the
boy close until howling stopped. “What’s up, sport?”

“Grant came back and yelled at me to
shut up because my mom’s sick and he made me put Casey outside and he made me
eat a salami sandwich and now my tummy hurts!” Philip’s tummy, at that very
moment rebelled and in short order hurt no more, but felt distinctly better, if
somewhat empty.

“Come over to the creek and rinse your
mouth out, son, and I’ll wash off your face for you,” said Jeff. He lifted the
little boy in his arms and, cradling him tenderly, carried him to the edge of
the creek. There was a hard cast to his mouth, an oddly blazing fury in his
eyes, but he was gentle as he cared for the little boy. To take Philip’s mind
off his troubles for a few moments before he began questioning the child, as he
knew he must, Jeff said, “Did you know this creek runs all the way into the
Pacific ocean?”

Philip looked up at him questioningly.
“My mom said it did, but I walked along it one day and didn’t see any ocean.”

“Your mom was right,” said Jeff. “But it
doesn’t get there all by itself. It has help. Way north and east of here, the
Fraser River starts, far, far away, right up at the very foot of the Rocky
Mountains.” He picked up a twig and drew lines in the dirt. “See? Like this.
Here’s the Fraser. Now, these two, the North Thompson and the South Thompson
rivers come to join up with each other, then together, they run into the
Fraser. After that, our creek and a bunch of others creeks and streams and
rivers join in and all together go bumping over rocks, around mountains, and
through canyons, splishing and splashing until all the waters that joined
together finally get to the ocean.”

Philip nodded gravely. “My mom told me
that, too. She used to help me make boats and we’d float them down the creek
back by our house so that they could go all the way to the ocean. We used to
pretend that somewhere my father would find one, if he’s still alive and that
he’d wonder if we had made it and sent it off to see him, and then he’d think
about us some.” The mention of his mother seemed to upset him again. Tears
flooded his eyes. Jeff picked him up once more and carried Philip to the shade
at the side of the cabin.

When he had the child comfortable in the
crook of his arm, sitting warm and secure on his lap, he said, “Now tell me
what all this is about? Is your mom really sick?”

Philip nodded tearfully. “She was in bed
when I got home for lunch and Grant came out of her room and told me to shut
up. Then he squeezed her some oranges for juice and made some soup and put it
on a tray… With a flower,” he added disgustedly. “He did the dishes, cleaned up
the house and that’s why Casey couldn’t stay in and have lunch with me. My mom
lets him eat in the kitchen. That’s where he’s used to finding his dishes in
the daytime. He only get a water dish on the porch at night, cause that’s the
rules. I told Grant but he said that my mom wasn’t going to be making the rules
much longer because she was going to see a man after the weekend and when the
judge said it’s okay she’s going to marry him and he’ll be the boss.” Philip gulped
in air, buried his head against Jeff and wailed. “And he said when they get
married real, real soon, we’ll be leaving our house and going to live at the
hotel and Casey can’t go cause dogs don’t belong at hotels and I won’t ever see
you again and I won’t see the log cabin or give Siwash apples!”

Jeff rock the child in his arms,
fighting down a wash of deep and bitter anger. He held Philip, letting him have
his cry, then he said, “No more, my son. Don’t cry anymore. There, now… Don’t.”
He pulled a red and white handkerchief from a back pocket. “Here, blow your
nose and listen to me.”

When Philip was sitting quiet and
attentive, his eyes raised with trust to Jeff’s face, Jeff felt such a surge of
fury, of futile hatred rush over him, that he clenched his fists until the
knuckles showed white. Mixed in with that was fear, fear that what he was about
to tell this unhappy child, might never be. But Philip needed help,
reassurance, and he needed it now. To hell with the letter of the law. Laws, if
need be, could be broken, and surely no mother would deprive her son of… Philip
stirred restlessly.

“Sport, I’m promising you something. The
two of us—you and I—are going to spend lots of weekends and every summer
together in the cabin, even if your mother does marry Grant. And if he won’t
let you keep Casey, I’ll look after him for you so you can still have him when
you come stay with me. Would that make you feel better about having Grant for a
stepfather?”

“I’d rather have you as a stepfather.”
Philip sniffed.

“Just not possible, Phil, but think
about what I said, will you? You and me and Siwash and Casey, lots of weekends
during the school year, then every summer, maybe even for your whole vacation,
living here in the log cabin. Sound good?”

Philip nodded, and Jeff went on. “Then
listen to me. Your mother loves you but she loves Grant, too, or she wouldn’t
want to marry him. And if you keep on fighting with Grant every time you see
him, you’re going to make your mom very sad. Now, I know you’re sad, too, Phil,
and that’s why I thought that if we made plans to spend time together every
summer, for as many summers as you’d like, you might feel a little happier
about having your mom love Grant too. You know that doesn’t mean she’s stopped
loving you, right?”

“But she loves a ghost, remember? Did
Grant mean my real father, Jeff, when he said she was in love with a ghost? How
come big people have to love other big people?”

“I think maybe Grant did mean your real
father, Philip, but it would seem that your mom has decided she doesn’t love a
ghost anymore. And why should she? Didn’t he go away a long, time ago and never
come back? Even if he had the best reasons in the world for not coming home,
she couldn’t have gone on loving him forever, waiting for him to return. We
can’t expect that of her, son.”

“But we never had a dad in our house
before, Jeff, so why do we have to have one now?” The tears welled up again in
spite of the promise of summers together. The thought of the times when it was
not summer were overwhelmingly larger than the brief summer vacations.

“Phil, I can’t explain that to you,”
answered Jeff sadly. “But it’s true you do have to have a dad in your house
sooner or later. Your mom loves Grant and it’s up to us, to you and me, to see
that she gets a chance to be happy with him.” Jeff pushed Philip upright. He
laughed. “Hey! Look at Si and Casey!”

Philip looked over at the dog and the
horse. The puppy cavorted around the horse’s feet and Siwash had his nose down
snuffling at the noisy little pup. The big nose would bump the puppy, who would
fall, roll over and come right back for more. Philip giggled, tears forgotten
for the moment, and darted between the horse’s feet to get Casey.

“Bad boy!” he scolded. “You’re not
supposed to bite Si’s nose.” As Jeff watched, silent, tense, and alert, holding
his breath, Philip reached up and patted the horse’s nose. “Poor old Si,” he
said sympathetically. “I won’t let him do it again.”

Jeff walked over and unhooked Siwash’s
bridle from the limb where it hung. “Would you take Si into his stall, Philip,
please? He knows he’s not supposed to be out here when you’re around.”

“Oh!” For the first time Philip realized
the horse was loose and that he had patted the big beast, even walked between
those enormous feet to take the puppy away. “Jeff!” he cried, “Jeff! I’m not
scared of him! Look!” And he stepped closer once more, reached up his hand to
stroke Siwash’s neck, patting him, telling the horse he was sorry about all the
time Si had spent locked up like a prisoner.

Jeff lifted the puppy from Philip’s arms
and set it on the back of the horse. “Let’s give Casey a ride,” he suggested
easily, as if puppies rode horseback every day of the week.

“Oh, no! He’ll fall off!” Philip cried
in a panic. “He’s too squirmy.”

“Then maybe you should sit up there with
him and hold on to him,” Jeff suggested offhandedly as if it didn’t matter a
bit to him whether or not Philip deprived Casey of the pleasure of a ride. “Do
you want a saddle would you rather go bareback like the Indian braves?”

Philip shook with a mixture of terror
and excitement, but he raised his head to look with steady eyes at Jeff’s
quiet, relaxed face, then back at the puppy still held in position by Jeff’s
big hand. Casey looked awfully small way up there, and awfully alone, too, but
he didn’t look one bit scared. He was grinning his puppy kind of grin, wagging
his black brush of a tail.

“I’ll go bareback,” he said firmly.

Jeff lifted him up and, placing
steadying hands tight around his waist, instructed calmly, “Lean forward, and
hold Casey between your elbows. Put your fingers deep into Si’s mane. Go on,
hold tight. You won’t hurt him. Pull your knees up just a little bit. Squeeze
them against Si’s sides, okay?”

Tremulously, Philip said “O-okay…”

“Good,” Jeff said cheerfully. “You look
great. Now let’s take Casey for a little walk around the clearing.” Jeff led
the horse out at a slow and steady pace with Philip clinging to the mane so
tight his arms trembled. Once, twice, three times around the clearing they went,
and the horse, seemingly aware of the importance of his mission, stepped with
care over and around each obstacle on the rough ground.

“Okay, that’s all,” Jeff said, leading
Siwash to his stable. “Come on, give me Casey, then you get down by putting
your foot on the top of the door.” He took the pup and set him on the ground.
“Or,” he added casually, “do you want to go around once more by yourself?”

“With-without you holding the reins?”
Philip’s eyes were round and frightened. “I think I’ll get down now.” He slid
to the top of the lower section of the Dutch door and dropped to the ground.

“That’s the way.” Jeff smiled. “Put
Siwash in his stall, please, Phil.” Without waiting to see that Philip complied
with his request he walked off toward the cabin, the puppy romping at his
heels.

A few minutes later when a triumphant
Philip joined Jeff at the side of the cabin, he looked up to see that the roof
was nearly completed. “Can we finish it up now?” he begged.

They worked for an hour and when the
last shakes had been firmly nailed to the ridge pole Jeff said, “How about
something to replace that lunch you lost?”

Once more during the afternoon Jeff got
the boy on the back of the horse, and once more Philip rejected the idea that
he should try to take the horse alone. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said. “Today I
don’t want to.”

But Sunday was the same. He made many
circuits of the clearing with Jeff leading Siwash, even began to sit straighter
instead of leaning down in a petrified crouch. Late Sunday afternoon Jeff said,
“That’s it for today, son. I’m going to Vancouver and I’ll be there all day
tomorrow. Think you could come and give Si his oats?”

“Sure. How come you have to go away,
Jeff?”

“I have to see someone, son. It’s
important or I wouldn’t leave, but I should be back late in the evening after
you’re in bed. I’ll see you on Tuesday after school, right?”

“Right.”

“How’s your mom, really? You didn’t say
when I asked you this morning.”

“She says she’s all right, but she was
lying down on the couch when I got home for lunch and she let me make my own
sandwich. I had honey and Casey had dog food. Mom sure can cough, Jeff! She
coughs better than anybody! She sounds like the dogs the game warden brought in
to hunt down a cougar last winter.” Philip was definitely impressed by his
mother’s ability to imitate the hounds. Jeff, however, was not.

“Are Kathy and Bill home farm?,” he
asked frowning. He knew Kathy was going to have “Two little, bitty babies” and
they wouldn’t be big enough to play with Philip for a “long, long time.”

“Yup. They don’t go out much now, Kathy
says because they’re waiting for their babies. I guess they have to stay home
the way my mom does when she’s waiting for a FedEx parcel.” Philip gave Jeff a
conspiratorial look. “I hope she’s still coughing like that tomorrow so she
can’t go ask the judge to say my father’s dead. Won’t that make Grant mad?”

Jeff made his face look stern. “I
thought we agreed that if we could, we’d help your mom be happy by treating
Grant a little nicer. So we can have summers together.”