Olivia's Mine (17 page)

The paper bird had taken flight again, given
new life, but this time it was not heading out to sea. Its
direction had been reversed, and it was making its way, gust by
gust, back up the mountainside until Lucy could see it no more.

“
That’s what I must do,” she thought to
herself, “make my life back up the mountain, step by step, making
sure I take a moment to catch my breath along the way.”She turned
around, went back up the steps and into Olivia’s house once more.
As she reached for the doorknob, she checked her face with her
other hand. Her eyes were drying. She tossed her red curls behind
her back and held her head up high and she opened the
door.

“Is it time to cut the cake?” she asked. Not
waiting for an answer she went into the kitchen where she had
earlier noticed a candle, brought it into the livingroom and placed
it in the desert herself.

Olivia smiled and lit the candle for her. “I
think it would be bad luck to do it all yourself,” Olivia
offered.

“From now on, I’m in charge of my own luck,”
Lucy said, “whether the candles are lit by myself or by
others.”

“Welcome back Lucy,” Olivia said, wiping a
tear from her own eye.

Olivia, Frank and Rudy never did learn the
significance of the tiny paper bird that night. All they knew is
that somehow, someway, the Lucy of old was returning.

McMichael stepped onto his front veranda and
sniffed the air, much like a dog would.

It was June, and all signs of winter had long
since passed. There was a warm breeze coming across the Pacific
this morning, signalling the arrival of summer. The tall, white
dogwood, which had been in bloom most of April and May, was also
losing its petals, making way for the summer blossoms.

Still, McMichael thought, there was an air of
discontent that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His home was
peaceful now, but in a few hours the daily shouting between his
daughter Christina and their housekeeper Mrs. Schwindt would begin.
Perhaps it was because Christina was a teenager and rather moody
that she raised the ire of the nanny on more than one occasion. One
would come to expect that. Christina had started insisting that
Mrs. Schwindt be referred to as the family housekeeper, not the
nanny, as she felt she was far too old for a nanny, and McMichael
thought that she was probably right about that. Mrs. Schwindt it
seemed however, preferred to be called the nanny. She let him know
that in so many words. He sensed that was only the tip of the
iceberg. More and more lately McMichael had noticed a change in
Mrs. Schwindt’s personality. True, she had always been a touch
cantankerous, but that side of her was growing now, and it was rare
that any of the McMichael’s would see her crack a smile, or laugh
the throaty cackle they had all made fun of from time to time. If
things kept going the way they were, McMichael admitted, he would
need to make a change. He was not looking forward to either the
change or the decision that would have to precede it.

The streets were empty as he made his way to
the office. The lights were already on, so he knew that Sarah had
beaten him into work that morning. That in itself was not a good
sign. Sarah was chronically late. She stayed late to make up for
it, but getting Sarah in for seven a.m. for five consecutive days
in a row would signal the beginning of Armageddon. Here it was, six
forty-five and the office was open for business. He opened the door
and found Sarah sobbing at her desk.

“What the hell is wrong with you now?” he
asked, which of course only threw her into sobbing fits as she
tried to stop but couldn’t.

“Sarah, you’re going to hyperventilate if you
keep that up,” he said. He walked over to the calendar and looked
at the date.

“Well, it’s not a blue moon month, so you
can’t be asking me for a raise.”

Someone had once told Sarah that McMichael
gave out raises ‘once in a blue moon’, so like clockwork, she
waited until the calendar would show the double full moon, and
gather her courage to ask her boss for more money. McMichael had
overheard her talking about this to a girlfriend, and he found it
quite hilarious. She would work herself up into quite a state the
few days leading up to it, so he always knew it was coming. But she
had been fine yesterday.

McMichael went into his office and began to
go through the correspondence Sarah had left on his desk. At the
top of the pile was a letter from the provincial government
thanking the community for the tremendous contributions the ladies
of Britannia Beach had made for the war effort. He had to hand it
to them, once Olivia and Lucy got it into their heads to set up a
committee to gather clothing for needy families of the men
stationed overseas, they distributed more than the groups in the
city had managed to do. McMichael had relented and let the women
use a storage room out back, and stood in awe as they inventoried
their clothing stock far better than his own stock was kept. He
made a mental note of that. Sarah volunteered to handle their
correspondence on her own time, so he had said she was free to use
the company stationary for her letters if she needed to. He
supposed that’s why the letter had arrived here, at the mine,
instead of at the post office. Still, it was nice to see the
government recognizing their efforts, and he thought perhaps he
would have Sarah organize a tea party for the ladies. Nothing
fancy, just cookies and tea, but a chance for celebration all the
same. He went back into the outer office.

“For the love of God Sarah,” he asked. “Did
someone die?”

She was gazing out the window and the tears
were flowing again. McMichael could see Sergeant Wolanski and Lucy
Bentall having a conversation on the corner.

“Is that what this is all about?” he
asked.

Sarah nodded.

McMichael had been through this with Sarah
several times as she constantly fell in love with men who at best
did not return her feelings.

“Why are all the men in love with Lucy? What
is wrong with me?” she asked.

McMichael thought about this. It was true
that most of the men in town found Lucy incredibly attractive, and
he could see why. But he himself, contrary to popular belief, did
not. He could think of other women in town who enchanted him more.
Particularly one.

“Lucy is a beautiful woman, it’s true. But
not all the men are in love with her.”

“You are,” Sarah said.

He laughed out loud.

“I am not!” he said indignantly.

“But you bought her a dress.”

“You told me to!” he shouted. “You told me it
was her birthday and I needed to buy her something to cheer her up,
so I did.”

“You bought her the dress because you love
her.”

“No Sarah! I bought her the dress because you
told me she didn’t have anything to wear since her things were gone
and that she needed something new. I like Lucy, she was a friendly
to my wife. I appreciate that. Most of the women in town were
jealous of my wife. If I loved Lucy, I would not have bought her
that dress. Lucy Bentall hates that dress. I knew she would hate
that dress. But I thought you were right, that she needed
something, and I thought it would be a nice gesture. That’s it.
Really. That’s it!”

She looked at the dress she was wearing that
was also purchased at the General store. McMichael realized he
might have put his foot in his mouth.

“Look Sarah,” he began, “that remark wasn’t
meant to be personal. That dress looks quite nice on you, it’s more
your style. You’re more demure. Lucy Bentall is many things, but
demure isn’t one of them. Now getting back to the matter at hand.
Did Sergeant Wolanski ever make any indication to you that he had
feelings other than friendliness for you?”

“Well, no…” she began, “not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” he quizzed.

“Not in so many words, no…”

“He didn’t lead you on?”

“No.”

“He didn’t ply you with alcohol and rob you
of your virtue?”

“Oh stop it,” she laughed. “Now you’re being
ridiculous.”

“Love, Sarah,” he began, “is a mutual thing.
If you don’t both feel that way, then it isn’t love. Now isn’t
there a chance that you got a little too carried away with your
crush on the policeman? Just like you did with the young red headed
miner? And the veterinarian? And come to think of it, the dead
doctor? I mean, I seem to recall you were crazy about him until you
found out he was getting married.”

McMichael took a deep breath. It dawned on
him that he was probably going to be having the same conversations
with his oldest daughter very soon, and perhaps Sarah was good
practice.

“It will happen Sarah, you just need to find
the right man.”

Sarah wiped her eyes and smiled.

“Quit looking at me like that Sarah,” he
said. “Don’t get any ideas. I am not the right man. Don’t even
entertain that idea.”

Sarah laughed.

“Then can I have a raise?”“

No,” he said. “Listen Sarah, Lucy has a way
with clothes, with fashion. Why don’t you ask her to help you, if
you’re not comfortable with your appearance. Now don’t make a face,
I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with you. There isn’t
Sarah. But maybe she can help you feel better about yourself. Why
don’t you ask her?”

“I don’t know...” she hesitated.

“Then ask Olivia. You like Olivia right?
Olivia is,” he paused, “a woman of great grace. I don’t know much
about her own family, but I get a sense there’s some culture there.
She has a certain confidence that is very becoming to a man. Who
knows, maybe she has a brother.”

This pleased Sarah.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Maybe I’ll talk to the
girls.”

“You do that,” he said. “And having solved
that world crisis, perhaps we can turn our thoughts to our overtime
budget. I need to check on the status.”

“It’s already on your desk sir,” she
said.

Sometimes, McMichael had to admit, women
could be so intuitive and surprising.

Frenchie Cates sat on the deck of the
Northern Mary; a cup of freshly brewed black coffee in his hand.
The sun had come up over the mountains earlier in what was the most
spectacular pink and yellow sunrise he had seen in quite some time.
He thought of the old adage, pink sky in morning, sailors take
warning, which seemed to be true everywhere in the world except the
West Coast.

“Tis gonna be a bonny day ‘ere, non?” he said
aloud, although no one was near.

It was still pretty quiet for a Thursday
morning. The men had already rotated from the graveyard shift to
the day shift at the mine. A little early for the rest of the
townspeople to be out and about, the streets were relatively empty.
He pulled his brown wooden pipe out of his flannel coat pocket and
lit it. His Maggie wasn’t too happy about his pipe smoking, so they
had come to the understanding he would only smoke aboard his boat,
not at her home, which he was spending more and more time at. She
had banned chewing tobacco altogether, and this was a compromise he
was more than happy to live with, rather than live without her.
Things were going pretty well between him and Maggie, he thought.
They might even have a future. He was tempted to get down on one
knee and propose. They were both mature adults and who knew how
much time they really had left together? But then he thought that
Maggie would think it was too soon, that he was only after her
money, and he decided to wait a bit longer. Maybe another year.
Besides, if he moved in with Maggie, where was Lucy going to go?
Frenchie couldn’t throw her out onto the street after all she had
been through, but the tiny house would be too small for the three
of them. No, the Northern Mary would be his home for a while
yet.

His friend Sharkey Miller’s crabber was just
coming up to the dock. Sharkey and his crew must have stayed out
all night. That was odd, given the weather had been clear and
Sharkey normally returned before sunset.

Frenchie turned his head and saw Frank
standing up the dock, watching the world go by. That too, was a bit
odd, given the fact that the morning crew had just started and he
should have been at the mine, bossing them around or whatever it
was he did. Frenchie had heard the boys saying that Frank himself
was pretty odd these days. The way they told it, the good-natured
young man with whom they had shared many a brew was disappearing.
Some said the foreman’s job had gone to his head. They never called
him Frankie anymore. Some said the grudge Frank had against Les
Ferguson was becoming an obsession. Some said he was having trouble
at home with his wife. Even the ladies were saying that. Saying he
wouldn’t even let her visit her family. He never drank with the
other miners down at the pub anymore they said, not even on
Friday.

Frenchie gave him an acknowledging wave.
Frank nodded back. That was the extent of their relationship.
Although Frenchie was quite fond of Olivia, he had never had the
occasion to get to know her husband, and that suited him fine.
Frankie was in deep with McMichael, Frenchie had heard, and that
was reason enough for him to keep his distance from Frank.

Sharkey’s boat was now in, and he was tying
her up to the dock.

“Where ye bin?” Frenchie asked. “I was
gittin’ worried when ye didn’t git in ‘ere last night. I was givin’
ye till noon befer we got a search crew out dere fer ye.”

“It was a good haul yesterday,” Sharkey said.
“We decided to take it on into the fisheries in Vancouver. They’re
paying top dollar right now. If anyone around here asks, we had
rudder problems and needed to take her into the shipyard, that’s
why we went south.”

“Gotcha,” Frenchie winked.

“You got any ale Frenchie?”

“Now Sharkey, ye know der’s ne’er bin any of
the devil’s brew onboard de Northern Mary,” he said, nodding his
head towards the top of the dock where Frank was still standing. He
lowered his voice. There would be no whispering winds carrying this
conversation up the dock.