Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (21 page)

“Is Nat working late?” asked Jake, his warm voice revealing his affection for Violet’s husband.

“No. He’ll be here any minute. He doesn’t often work late – it’s Laurie who does most of the overtime. She’s younger, and full of energy. Make yourself comfortable, Jenny. I’ve got coffee on – or are you full of coffee?”

“I’d love some. We left the coffee pot on the stove when we went ashore the other day – it got so terribly burned that Jake and I are plotting throwing it overboard and buying George a new pot.”

“It didn’t start a fire?”

“No,” Jake explained. “It’s one of those enclosed Dickenson stoves.”

Violet bestowed a smile on Jake, making Jenny realize that the older woman thought they were lovers. She glanced at Jake, but he seemed intent on examining a magazine that was lying open on a coffee table.

Jenny couldn’t help feeling she was being swept along, given a part in a play over which she had no control. When they were alone together in the living room, Jenny started to say, “You and Monica—”

“We’ll talk about Monica another time,” interrupted Jake swiftly.

He looked uncomfortable, even guilty. Just how honest had he been with Monica about his intentions – or lack of intentions?

What if she went back? Would Jake take her love and turn it into an award winning film? She laughed bitterly, but couldn’t tell him why when he asked.

Over dinner she watched Violet gently teasing her husband. Later, while they relaxed in the living room listening to music, the pilot, Luke, arrived with his wife, Laurie.

Lovers. Jenny was surrounded by lovers. Luke’s eyes never seemed to leave his vivacious, dark haired wife. Laurie became involved in a heated discussion with Jake about media coverage of the recently publicized Haida land claims, but her eyes kept moving to her husband as if in a silent communication.

“I want to interview you, Jake, about this film you’re thinking of doing,” said Laurie when she learned about it.

“It won’t be started until next year,” Jake told her. “But you should interview Jenny, not me. It’s up to her whether we do it or not.”

“You are doing it, aren’t you, Jenny?” Laurie twisted on the stool she was seated on, her lively eyes turning to Jenny. “You’ve got to – it’ll make a fabulous film! We’ll do a series on it at the radio station. Everyone will be interested, because you’re doing a film about us all.”

Jenny glared at Jake, resenting this kind of indirect pressure. She said, “Time will tell.”

Laurie glanced searchingly at them both, then changed the subject.

“I hope you do it,” said Luke suddenly. “I don’t get to hear Laurie on the air very often since she got promoted. I miss her voice when I’m flying.” Then he explained for Jenny’s startled look, “I’ve got a broadcast radio in the Beaver.”

Jenny couldn’t help envying them the love they shared. Then, somehow, she got herself involved in a conversation with Laurie, speculating on the form a film about the islands might take.

She glanced at Jake, saw something like victory in his eyes. Getting Jenny planning the film was a big step towards victory.

The next day, Jake borrowed Violet’s car and took her to the Haida village of Skidegate, where he showed her the inside of the band council building, a modern construction following the style of the old Haida longhouses. One end of the building – a wall of glass – faced the ocean.

“What a place to work!” breathed Jenny, seated in an office chair that looked straight out onto the ocean, listening to Jake talk with the band manager.

This wasn’t at all what she had expected. These villagers were politically and socially aware. They knew the world outside their islands. Many of them made regular winter holiday trips to Hawaii. Yet, despite the way they adopted the white man’s trappings with enthusiasm, they retained a beautiful individuality that showed in their art, their pride in their heritage.

Jake took her farther up the coast, stopped at Saint Mary’s Spring, where he urged her to drink the water, warning her, “The legend says that if you drink here, you’ll always return to the islands.”

So she drank, for how could anyone visit these islands without dreaming of returning again some day?

“Tired?” he asked hours later as they drove along the highway back to Queen Charlotte.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Walked out, talked out, exhausted.”

“I’ll take you to the beach at Tlell. You can relax there.”

Miles of sandy beach. Another memory, she thought, shaking her head to clear a welling of tears as Jake took her hand and led her out onto the sand, to a big old log that made a perfect back rest for two tired people.

The surf swept in over the beach, repeating its pattern with hypnotic regularity. Jenny let herself lean back, hardly aware when her eyes drooped. Then Jake shifted and she came sharply awake.

“Sorry, I’m dropping off,” she said nervously, sitting up, watching him, wishing he would touch her, kiss her – and afraid that he would.

She was terrified that his probing eyes knew exactly what she was thinking. Then he said casually, “Make yourself comfortable, Jenny. Have a nap, then I’ll take you for dinner.”

He slipped his arm around her and she found her head resting against his shoulder, her eyes closing again.

She opened her eyes later and found Jake’s face only inches away, his eyes closed. Was he sleeping? She lay very still, comfortable yet troubled. Jake shifted in his sleep, his other arm closing around her, drawing her closer.

She should pull away.

How was she ever going to overcome her love for him if she kept letting him close to her like this? She was waking up every morning from dreams of Jake in her arms. She’d been planning her own career only days ago, a plan that didn’t include him. Yet now she was becoming firmly entangled in his life, in his plans for her.

George would be out of the hospital soon, then perhaps Jenny could get hold of herself, make plans that didn’t include Jake.

Later, when he was back in Vancouver, she would talk sense to herself. But right now…

Right now she didn’t want to.

She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the pleasure of his arms around her, drifting off to sleep again.

When she woke, she found Jake’s jacket rough under her cheek. She sat up, disoriented, brushing sand off her clothes, looking around and finding Jake’s tall form outlined against the water as he stood at the edge, just above the tide line, looking out on a stormy sea.

He turned just as she stood, walking towards her without speaking. She picked up his jacket from the sand, shaking it out and handing it to him.

“I must have slept a long time.”

His eyes followed the curve of her breasts under her shirt. He said absently, “Not long. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know.” She pushed a nervous hand through her hair. “I’m still half asleep.”

“You’ll be wanting food by the time you’ve woken up. Which would you prefer, Chinese or Canadian? There are only two choices in Queen Charlotte this time of day.”

“Chinese, I guess,” she decided, taking refuge in the details of small talk. “Then I should have a look at your films. You must have taken miles of pictures today.”

“You can look them over another time and see what you think – but not today. You need to sleep. We’ll have dinner, then I’ll take you back to
Lady Harriet
. Incidentally, why isn’t it
Lady George
?

She leaned against the car to brush her feet free of sand, then put her shoes on. “It was already named when George and Scott bought it. George says it’s bad luck to change a boat’s name.”

“Lots of people do it. Come on, hop into the car. You’re shivering. That jacket can’t be very warm.”

As he had promised, Jake fed her and delivered her early to the boat so that she could get a good sleep.

She slept very poorly, however, lying awake, telling herself she was crazy to let Jake get her into this project; then admitting that – regardless of how crazy it was – she wanted to do it.

Would he be involved with another woman by the time they started filming? Or was he still seeing Monica despite his intention not to marry her?

What if she made a play for Jake herself? He wanted her. He’d wanted her for a long time. She’d seen his eyes on her, pretended not to notice, to care.

She smoothed her hands over her heated body, imagined they were Jake’s hands. How many nights? How long before he tired of Jenny and turned away for someone else?

Her skin went cold and clammy, shuddering with the desperation of Jake’s walking away, leaving her.

If he stayed here much longer she would be lost. Much longer and her lips would open and the words would spill out, love words she knew better than to say to any man.

George might be out of hospital by the time Jake left. She’d developed a slight cough and the doctor was cautiously insisting she stay under his care until he was sure there were no ill effects from her bout with the clams.

Meanwhile, there was no excuse for Jenny not to go with Jake on his tour of the islands, and she admitted to herself that even if she had an excuse, she would probably be climbing into the Beaver the next morning, setting off for the abandoned villages to unearth overgrown totem poles and search for the ruins of old longhouses that had once been filled with living people.

They had a picnic lunch on Anthony Island amongst ancient and restored totem poles. What a film this was going to make! Jake was running through memory cards at a furious rate, and she was taking pictures to remind herself of details rather than for any artistic purpose. Jake would do the filming on this production.

“Are we going to do it, Jenny?” he asked late in the afternoon, coming up behind her as she stared out at the water from the abandoned village site of Skedans.

“Yes, we’ll do it,” she told him, not knowing when she had reached that decision. She didn’t turn to look at him, but she heard him sigh. Having committed herself, she was suddenly frightened, wishing the words back.

She walked away from him, picking her way carefully down the hillside towards the waiting seaplane.

“Where now?” asked the pilot as they settled back into the Beaver. Today their pilot wasn’t Luke, but one of the other pilots who worked for his charter company.

“Back to Queen Charlotte,” said Jake.

Their takeoff was bumpy in the swell that was running in from Hecate Strait. Jake took her hand as they lifted from the water, opening her clenched fingers.

“I’ll be fine once we’re up,” she insisted, but she left her hand in his. “Just talk to me about something, would you?”

“What would you like?” He smiled, holding her gaze and making her forget they were airborne. “History of the islands? I’ve been holding forth on that for the last two days. Did I tell you about the cows at city hall? Yes, of course. You were there at the time. What I’d really like is to tell you—” He broke off, a flush spreading over his face. Then he said ruefully, “I guess I’ll have to tell you about my unruly childhood.”

And he did, talking about his summers on fishing boats, his apprenticeship to his grandfather, the carver. She had seen the children in the village, and she could picture him there, but beneath his words she heard more.