Grandpère (13 page)

“This won’t last, so we’d better make the most of it while
it’s here,” I say.

“Springtime never comes in February,” Grandpère
agrees. Sure enough, by Friday the wind starts blowing, the temperature plummets and a
snowstorm brews up and dumps another six inches of snow to usher in March.

I plant the seedlings in their containers, and everything germinates but
one package of leaf lettuce. I always mean to write the year on the seed packets when
they arrive but seldom get around to it, so I don’t know how old the seeds are. Too old
is my guess, and I add leaf lettuce to the list of seeds that I need to order from the
supplier. The last to germinate are the peppers. I like to grow the red-hot chili
peppers that bear the pods above the plants. They’re pretty and dry well for storage.
Sometimes I store the seeds, but because the plants are hybrids, the seeds don’t always
grow the same plant as the ones they’re harvested from. These ones are from the seed
company.

Clint and Patty phone and say they will come down from
Edmonton for Easter. They’ve been up to visit Darcy, Faith and the girls, and they’re as
much in love with Angel as the rest of us are. Easter is in April this year, and the
week before is the children’s school break, so they plan on coming on the Wednesday.
They’ll have to leave on Easter Sunday.

“No worries,” I tell them.
“We’ll have Easter dinner on Saturday.” I love it that they always try to come for
Easter.

After they hang up, I call Parker and Kristen and ask if
they can come for Easter too. Parker says they’ll try, since it isn’t too busy at his
job in the sales department of a big car dealership. His company has laid off some of
the salespeople already, he says, and they’ll be happy to give him some time off. He
says Kristen is really busy in her office. “The tougher times get, the busier she gets.”

When I phone Jesse, he says they just can’t make it this year.
Jesse has already been laid off, and Jessica doesn’t want to take any time off because
they’re having a hard time with only one salary. He doesn’t get as much on employment
assurance as he made when he was working. When I ask if he needs a loan, he laughs. “We
aren’t destitute, Mother, we just have to watch our spending a little more. Nothing to
concern yourself with, we’re a long way from needing a handout.” But I think I hear a
little worry beneath his bravado, and before he hangs up, I tell him how much I love
him.

Before the receiver has cooled down from my talk with Jesse,
Darcy phones and tells me the girls have made a plan to travel down on the bus so they
can spend the whole week of their school break here. Will that be all right with me and
Grandpère? I assure him that it’s more than okay with me, it’s a wonderful plan. He
tells me how well Angel is doing in school. She’s so bright that the teachers say she’ll
be caught up to the rest of the class before the year ends. I’m pleased to hear this,
and I’m so eager to see my girls that I’m fairly dancing with excitement when I get off
the phone.

The next weeks pass quickly. The temperature rises
again, and all the greenhouse soil needs to be turned. I do it with a wide shovel,
double-digging to bury last year’s topsoil underneath and bring the underlying soil to
the top. I sprinkle bone meal on top, and Grandpère stirs it into the soil with his
walking stick. It feels exciting to get the soil ready, and I’m full of anticipation to
see what the new season brings.

My old dog seems to be getting
worse. His hips are not moving easily, and he has trouble getting to his feet. I read in
an animal health journal to give him Tylenol to help him move more easily, so I start
giving him a couple each morning, and it seems to help. Grandpère tells me that he
thinks I should give him a couple each morning as well. “If it works for an old dog, it
will probably work for an old man.” So he takes them along with the dog.

“Do you need yours tucked inside a wiener?” I ask him, because that’s the
only way I can trick Duke into taking them.

“No, I think I can
swallow mine with water. No need to be sneaky with me,” he replies. It seems to help him
too.

I start all the other plants in the flats in the bedroom and
add a halogen light to the room. The tomatoes and peppers are big enough to pot, and
they need the extra light. It is so bright that I put on sunglasses when I tend to the
indoor garden. Grandpère thinks this is hilarious, and he says the sun is shining
brightly inside even on cloudy days. The ballast for the light makes quite a loud hum.
We can hear it anywhere in the house but soon get used to it and after a few days don’t
even notice it. The plants are all doing well. When they start to get crowded in the
flats, I transplant them into plug trays, so that when I set them out in the garden they
will have strong, healthy roots. Tending the tiny plants takes a lot of time, but they
hold the promise of warm weather and garden bounty. It’s something I really like doing,
too, so it’s more like play than work.

The soil that I brought in
hatches fungus gnats, and the annoying miniature flies are taking over the house. They
seem to enjoy flitting in front of our faces while we’re playing cards, eating or trying
to do anything. I get some sticky traps to hang around the room, and pretty soon the
flies are under control. The sticky trap papers are covered with tiny fly bodies, but I
am glad they work, because the alternative is spraying insect killer, and I don’t
believe that’s good for people to breathe. I phone The Bug Factory on Vancouver Island
and ask them to ship me some bugs that control fungus gnats so I can mix them in the
soil in the greenhouse before I plant the rest of the crops.

Chapter Eight

The month passes by quickly,
and before we know it, April is upon us.

My mother’s cousin Alphonse from Saskatchewan comes by to visit. He brings his dad, my Uncle John, with him. Uncle John is one of Uncle Tree’s children, the only one still alive. He is eighty-two years old and has been living with Alphonse since they went to the prairies. He looks a lot like Grandpère, small and alert with twinkling brown eyes. We are happy to see them. They didn’t phone and tell us they were coming, just stopped by as though they were living next door. I didn’t know who they were till I opened the door, alerted to the fact that someone was here by the dogs baying.

“Well, for heaven’s sake,” I greet them. “Didn’t know you still knew how to find us.”

“Dad got restless this winter, and I promised him a trip back to the old stomping grounds before spring planting,” Alphonse tells us, then adds, “I knew you were here, because we didn’t hear otherwise. No news is always good news, you know. Bad news travels fast.”

“John, how good to see you.” Grandpère hugs them both, and I go to make something for lunch. They sit in the living room, and I can hear them laughing and talking a mile a minute. I have leftover meat loaf and some boiled potatoes in the fridge. I spread the meat loaf in the bottom of the pan, pour a can of cream corn over it and slice the potatoes thinly on top. I stick it in the oven and make a salad. By the time the salad is made and the table is set, the dish is heated through. I call them to the table, and they all come to the kitchen.

Alphonse is a nice guy who makes everyone feel good, and today is no exception. “That’s the best meal we’ve had for two days since we left home, Cousin,” he tells me.

“Leftovers! You’re just getting leftovers, nothing special.”

“It might be, but it is still good.” Uncle John confirms Alphonse’s opinion. “We stopped a lot along the way. I am already tired of hamburgers and fries. Never thought I would see the day I was tired of French fries, but today is the day.”

They are heading back up to the old Fort, where two of Alphonse’s sisters still live. They say the snow is just about gone from the prairies, and it looks as though it will be a good spring for planting. It’s been too dry for the last two years to have a good harvest, but with the eternal optimism of prairie farmers, they’re expecting it to be a good season this year. “If it remembers to rain,” adds Uncle John.

“Surely you can do a rain dance when you get back,” I tease him.

“If a rain dance would help, it would have helped last year and the year before. Dancing, praying or threatening, nothing seemed to budge the rain out of the sky. The clouds would build up, then pass us by and go rain on Ontario, where they really don’t need all that rain,” he says.

I ask Alphonse where his wife is. “She couldn’t come. She had to stay and look after the cows and the chickens. She isn’t much of a one for travelling. She told us to take pictures, and she will look at them when we get home.”

That makes me laugh. It sounds just like Pearl. It’s a wonder he talked her into moving to the prairies at all, and I don’t think she’s been back since they moved. Alphonse gets his camera from the car and takes pictures of me and Grandpère, then takes one of the room full of plants, then goes outside and takes one of the dogs. “That old dog looks like his hips are giving out,” he tells me when he comes back in.

“I know, he is pretty old.” I do some quick calculations in my head. “He was just a pup when Sarah was a baby, so he must be near on to fourteen years old. In dog years he must be the same age as Grandpère.”

“Yeah, we walk about the same speed,” Grandpère says.

They can’t stay long, as their family is expecting them before supper, and we’re soon saying goodbye. We wave at them from the step till they’re out of sight, and when we turn to go back in, I’m surprised to see tears in Grandpère’s eyes.

“It’s probably the last time I’ll see that old bugger,” he says.

I don’t ask whether he’s feeling his own mortality or John’s. I ask him if he would like to play some crib, and he wins all the games, so he’s in a good humour again long before supper.

“Sure was nice of them to come by,” he says quite a few times, so I know their visit has touched him.

Rose calls and says the garden beds are almost ready. Would I come by next time I’m in town and have a look at them? I have to go to town anyway, so the next day I stop by to see the progress. The home is built in a U-shape, and they have built the garden beds in the space between the wings that’s sheltered from the wind. It is warmer than most places, a great location. The beds are well-built of posts squared on three sides and have dovetailed corners. They look great. Rose wants to know what soil they should get to fill the boxes.

“You can order a dump-truck load of compost from the Reimers,” I say. “They have really nice compost.”

“Oh, good idea.” She grins. “I’ll call them this week. Is it too early to start planting?”

“In this sheltered location we can start salad greens next week,” I tell her, “as long as they get covered at night with garden blankets.”

“Where can I get garden blankets?”

“I’m going to the feed store. I think I can pick some up there.”

Rose tells me to save the invoice and bill one hour for my time today. She also reminds me to keep track of my mileage for coming to town.

“But I had to come to town today anyway,” I say.

“Whenever you come here, you bill us for the mileage. It doesn’t matter what else you do in town while you’re here,” she tells me with a smile. “We have a big budget for this project, and it’s one of the good ones, so don’t be bashful.”

The feed store has garden blankets just the right size, so I pick up two. I notice dog food for “senior dogs” at the store, and I ask what the difference is. The clerk tells me it has been fortified with special ingredients that help old dogs’ bones and muscles, and even though it’s fifty dollars for an eighteen-kilogram bag, I buy one, hoping it will help old Duke regain his strength. Suddenly I feel in a huge rush to get home, but I don’t know why. I race through the grocery store and don’t stop to gas up the car, even though it has only a quarter-tank left.

When I get home, the door to the house is wide open, and Grandpère is sprawled on the porch. I throw the car into park and run to the house. He is passed out, just like last summer, still breathing but unconscious. I try to lift him, but he’s too heavy. I roll him onto his back, then get him into the house by lifting under his arms and half-dragging him over to the couch. For such a small guy, he sure is heavy. I get him up on the couch, but he is still out to the world. I bring a cool, wet cloth and sponge his face for a while. I cover him up with blankets and light the fire, for the house has cooled off. I think the door has been open for a while. His breathing is deep and even, but this is more than just sleep. It doesn’t sound right. I wonder if I should call someone, but just as I’m deciding, he thrashes around a bit and starts to wake up.

“What the hell? What the hell?” he keeps muttering.

“Grandpère, you just had another spell,” I say to him, but he doesn’t seem to understand. I keep sponging his face till he pushes my hand away. He focusses on my face and smiles.

“Annie, my Annie, I thought you were gone,” he says to me.

“I’m right here with you,” I tell him.

He sits up. “Clementine, my love, get us a cup of tea,” he says to the air beside him. “Look, Annie has come home.”

I am totally flustered by this time, and I tell him just to wait, I’ll be right back with the tea. He keeps looking at me with a tender smile as I race around getting tea ready. He sits on the couch, his hands in his lap, and watches me. He takes the tea. His hands are shaking. He takes a couple of gulps, then in a distracted voice says he thinks he will have a little nap. He lies back down on the couch, and goes to sleep. I know he is just sleeping now. The soft snoring reassures me that he’s over his fit, and I think he’s going to be all right.

I go out to the car and realize I never even turned off the ignition; it is still purring away in the yard. I unload the groceries and dog food, trying to do everything very quietly so I don’t disturb his slumber. I remember last year when this happened; he slept for a long time and woke up fine. I water all the plants in my grow room and make supper. He finally wakes up and asks what time it is.

“Suppertime,” I say. “Let’s eat in the living room.”

I set up two TV tables, and we eat side by side on the couch. He picks at his food, then says he thinks he’ll make an early night of it. He wonders where his stick is, so I get it from beside the front door.

“How did I leave it there?” he wonders, but I answer him with only a smile.

I watch him closely as he goes into the bathroom, then into his bedroom. He is a little shaky and slower than usual, but he is doing okay. When I hear the bedsprings creak, I heave a big sigh and realize how tense I am. I start crying and cry till I feel like a snotty, blubbering fool. If tears can fix things, I have done my best, I tell myself. I stay up late reading a book and check on him every little while. He is sleeping soundly, and I finally make myself go to bed.

In the morning everything is back to normal. If he remembers anything about the day before, he doesn’t mention it, and neither do I. I tell him the girls are coming on the bus today, and he says he thinks he will come with me to pick them up. I have no intention of leaving him home alone while I go in, so I’m glad he decides to come of his own will.

The bus is late, and we wait in the café at the bus stop till it arrives. A young woman with a tiny baby is waiting to get on the bus. Her baby is fussing, and she’s trying to get it to take the soother, but the baby keeps spitting it out and crying. She looks tired, and I feel sorry for her. I ask if I can hold the baby for her. She looks as though she’s going to say no, but then she changes her mind and says, “If you want to. He’s not happy and won’t settle down.” I take the baby from her, put him on my shoulder and start rocking him back and forth. I hum a little tune that’s always settled down my children and grandchildren, and he rewards me by wiggling close and going to sleep. She sits down at our table, and Grandpère asks if she’s hungry.

“A cup of coffee would be nice,” she says, and Grandpère waves over the waitress and orders one.

“Where are you headed?” he asks her.

“I’m going to my mother’s. She lives two hours south of here, and I’m going to stay with her for a while. She hasn’t seen my baby yet. He’s only two weeks old.”

“He is a very nice-looking baby,” Grandpère tells her.

She explains that she’d been living here with her boyfriend, but he has a camp job at a mine up north and won’t be home for a month, so she’s taking this opportunity to visit her mother. “I never knew how hard it is to look after a baby. He hardly ever sleeps, and Mike can’t stand it when he cries. I hope he learns to sleep better pretty soon.”

Just then the bus arrives, and we all get up. The baby stays asleep while I transfer him back to his mother, and she thanks us and makes off for the lineup forming in front of the bus.

The girls are the first ones off, and they make a beeline for us, laughing and talking and hugging us both. Angel looks nothing like the bedraggled girl who arrived on our doorstep a few short months ago. Her skin is clear, her hair is shiny and she looks happy. The three girls pile their bags in the trunk and climb into the back seat, talking non-stop the whole while.

I keep glancing at them in the rear view mirror, hardly believing that they’re all in my car and ours alone for one whole week. They’re animated, talking over each other, telling us about Angel trying to skate, laughing about how many times she crashed, all the while Angel protests that she really did turn out to be a good skater. Her cousins tease her, “Yeah, but only when Ryan, the handsome Ryan, held her hand to keep her upright. But maybe she just tried to be wobbly so he would help her.”

Grandpère says to me between snorts of laughter, “How are we going to be able to hear ourselves think for the next week, with this flock of ravens croaking steady?”

Squeals of indignation come from the back seat. “Grandpère, can’t we at least be pretty birds, maybe songbirds?”

“Yeah, maybe robins or bluebirds?” says Tammy.

“Maybe hummingbirds?” says Sarah.

“I think we might be majestic eagles, soaring high above the clouds,” says Angel.

When we get home, they want to all sleep in the same room. “We each have our own rooms at home, but lots of times we all sleep in the same room. Dad and Mom don’t care as long as we get our homework done, and it goes faster if we help each other,” says Tammy. “I’m the oldest, so of course I help these little girls with theirs.”

More squeals from the other two.

“And how would you have passed math if Angel and I didn’t help you?” exclaims Sarah.

They want to go outside as soon as they get their stuff stashed in the bedroom, and we go out to the greenhouse. Grandpère putters along behind us. When Angel sees how far behind he is, she goes back and walks with him. Tammy and Sarah immediately tell me how much fun it is to have Angel living with them. “She’s more like a sister than a cousin. Everyone at school likes her, and she’s so pretty that all the boys want to go out with her, even some of the ones in our grades.”