Swamp Angel (16 page)

Maggie looked round the empty glade. She was pleasantly elated. “We’d need a jeep.” Was that a hope, and, if a hope, was it idle? Vera, Joey’s parents, Joey himself, a hundred
unknown small interceptions of fate might block the way. She cared, but she would not care too much. When the boys were at home again, their enthusiasm might be lost in the city’s familiar din and the intimate publicity of Chinatown. But it’s a chance, she thought, and a good chance, or his father with the good face would not have let him come. And what about Angus if Joey doesn’t come? She would settle for Angus, gladly. And would Haldar settle? She thought so.

That night, Maggie had a dream which was a nightmare. She stood again in the empty glade. Joey had gone, taking with him Angus and the three Gunnarsens. As before, she stood alone. Out of the wood, as if it had been waiting there, walked a small jaunty figure, doll-like, familiar, neat in its good suit and hat. Edward Vardoe, incongruous in the glade, dreadful for her to behold, walked toward her without sign. She fought an impulse to turn, run, and barricade herself. Yard by yard he neatly came on. She stood still. He came on. Her heart beat to suffocation but she would not move. Edward Vardoe drew nearer and nearer to her, his eyes upon her, expressionless, walking with jaunty steps over the piny ground. She clenched her hands at her sides and stood strongly; as her heart pounded she told herself “I am not afraid. I can smile. Look, I am smiling!” Edward Vardoe was within six feet of her. She saw the familiar brownish suit, the tie, the brown spaniel eyes, the face which changed as she stared from the face of a young anxious boy in a store to the face of a mink that showed sharp teeth and ran screaming into the bushes. She woke and shook herself free of her dream and lighted her candle.

This dream, induced at this moment in some subterranean course, had shown her clearly the face and person of Edward Vardoe. Never, never, from the beginning, she reflected again – and this was strange – had she been able to
summon Tom’s face. She could call to sight his walk, his manner of sitting, or turning, all characteristic of the man but disembodied, appearing as a walking, a sitting, a turning, a looking. She could not see his face. As she sat up in bed in the cabin at Three Loon Lake she tried again to summon Tom’s very face and feature; but for the thousandth time the face of Tom eluded her. And yet he, dead, not to be seen, was her reality; and Edward Vardoe, possessing neither vice nor virtue, a tissue, an interim, was at any moment visible to her and could come, even if she did not call. It’s beyond all reason, she said to herself, looking into the shadows of the cabin, but there it is.

She smoked a cigarette, dropping the ashes thoughtfully into her yellow bowl, and she knew that she was not afraid. Seeing him again, even in this fantasy – and awakened now – she was dispassionate, not shaken, and saw as from a distance her servitude as though it had been another’s, not hers. He’ll go to his reward, if any, she thought ironically, and – good lord! – so shall I! She blew out the candle and settled smoothly to sleep.

But now, as she sat on the side of her bed, the car not an hour gone, the dream yet undreamed and unforgotten, she took up the parcel which Joey had brought from the post office. She read at the top “From N. Severance.” Dear old Nell, she thought, what is it. She unwrapped the parcel and saw the Swamp Angel.

She took the revolver and regarded its small elegance of pearl and nickel and shape. She saw in the flowing script the words Swamp Angel. She opened the note and read “Maggie, keep the Angel safe for me. When I die, throw it into the deepest part of your lake. N. S.”

Maggie turned and turned again the Swamp Angel in
her hands. What has happened, she thought. What has driven her to do this. I shall not see her again. She will not tell me. I shall not ask her and I shall never know. I suppose I’ll never go back to the coast … and she saw (why?) as on a wild day, the shallow sea of English Bay torn up by the roots and flung down again, and the petulant seagulls floating, suspended high up in the wind, and tall trees on the park shore reeling in the sea wind … and I shall not see old Nell Severance. It doesn’t really matter. But what has happened?

A
lan sat between the two Chinese brothers in the front of the car, all very comfortable. All three smiled at nothing in particular because they were enjoying themselves.

Haldar had got into the back of the car with some difficulty. Vera sat beside him, and the boys had piled baggage about them. The car traveled quickly but not too quickly up and down the narrow track, slowing at the curves. Haldar relaxed. He looked at his wife.

Vera’s eyes were closed. Haldar had a rare feeling of compunction. “Tired?” he said.

Vera turned her little insignificant face to him, smiled faintly, and said “A bit.”

Haldar did what he had not done for many a day. He put his hand over hers with a rough pressure.

Oh, she thought, how good, how good. He seemed as though he had forgotten me. Almost as if he disliked me. She thought Can I speak now while he’s gentle like this? She thought Is this my chance to speak?

She thought (but not long enough) and then she said in
her folly “I wish I never had to see this place again.”

There was a pause. Haldar withdrew his hand and said harshly “You don’t have to.”

Vera sat immobile. This, then, meant that Haldar had chosen. He had really chosen the lake, and he, crippled, would willingly come back here, alone. She could stay in the town if she wished and he would be indifferent, but he would come back. How hard he was. Now, too, Maggie had restored his confidence as she, Vera, could never have done. How could she let him return, and perhaps with Maggie, and what would people say. Misery welled up in her. Why did I speak. The car proceeded, turning and turning around the bends of the high trail. Only three bends ago, she thought, only four, Haldar laid his hand on mine and he was kind, and I had not spoken, and now I’ve spoken and I’ve thrown it all away.

“Forgive me,” she murmured, but Haldar did not seem to hear, and she could not tell at all which way his feeling worked – to relent or not to relent – because he was so hard.

Vera, sitting close to her husband, crowded by a little rocking chair, a gunny sack, some cartons, thought It’s Maggie Lloyd. It seemed as though her mind reverted continually to Maggie. What is it? What does she wear, do, be that makes her like she is and different from me and better than me and all so quick. She wears a cotton dress, or a shirt and skirt, and so do I, or she wears blue jeans. Vera thought with a little satisfaction She shouldn’t wear these jeans; she shouldn’t wear slacks; she’s too big; she’s let her figure go … the sight of Maggie, happy, beloved, passed and repassed before her mind. Vera, in her frequent moods of self-pity said to herself I never had a break, did I, my mother never loved me … and now … look! no, I never had a break. She carried her childhood on her back, and could not – or would not – set it down. Jealousy, how
potent it is, the very agent of destruction, a seed that grows. No, a poison that spreads and infests every part. No, the worm that consumes and never consumes. How shall a mind be purged. Vera tried to remember Maggie’s look of pain which had reduced her to Vera’s place and made them one when Maggie said “You little damn fool, you
still
have your husband and your child!” To give Vera credit, she clung to that moment. Only the memory of the moment which reduced Maggie to past trouble endured and poignantly remembered, when sympathy had rushed from Vera to Maggie, could banish the fiend in her mind. If she could hold that moment, as with her hands, the way might be clear for her and for Haldar, for Alan, and for Three Loon Lake which – she might as well face it – was part of their defeat or part of their unity, and so was Maggie. Her heart told her that. If she, by her venom, succeeded in banishing Maggie that would not be success. She saw herself, frighteningly, and for a moment, as a jealous woman, and for nothing at all. “You little damn fool, you
still
have your husband and your child.” It was true; and if she held them too tightly she would lose them. She looked at Alan, little, growing, and hers, in front of her and felt Haldar, silent and miles away, close by her side. I must pull myself out of this, she thought frantically. Poor Maggie. But at the name of Maggie jealousy arose again, faint yet powerful.

“Oh look at Taylor’s place! They’ve got a new barn,” she babbled as the fold of a hill into a valley disclosed farm buildings.

“Wonder if Jim built that himself,” said Haldar.

“Guess they had a bee or something.”

“Jim and Stowe and Blakely built Blakely’s barn between them … Jim must be doing well … he had a good little crop last year. Yes
sir
, that’s a nice barn all right,” said Haldar, twisting
himself to see the disappearing new barn. The blessedness of common things seemed to restore the old common surface between them.

Haldar, who was single-minded and a silent man by nature, pursued his thoughts, half hearing and half responding to Vera. Maggie made a reasonable background in his mind. In every thought and plan for the future there was now included the steadiness of Maggie and, with luck, of one of the two Chinese boys who sat in the front of the car with little Alan between them. As he studied the boys – Joey whom Maggie had first seen and Angus who had appeared unexpectedly today – Haldar thought he preferred Angus. The other fella’s got a bit too much personality, he thought; too quick, too many ideas, city ways maybe. Haldar could not figure that Joey would settle down well in this country, not being born here and all. But Angus seemed to want to come, and that pleased Haldar. He was quiet, too, and Haldar liked quiet people. He looked strong.

The road dropped down into Kamloops. Joey drove them to the far end of the town to Henry Corder’s house. Henry was a widower and lived alone. They would stay with him for a time, perhaps for the winter. Vera would keep house and had a part-time job in view. Haldar would “look around.” Alan would go to school.

The boys unloaded the car, “Good-by, Mr. Gunnarsen,” said Joey, “I’ll talk to Dad and let you know.”

“You do that,” said Haldar heartily.

“Good-by,” said Angus, and nothing more, no protestations, no promises, except to himself. He hoped Joey would not want to come, for he – Angus – was determined to come back.

“I
heard that woman Henry Corder sent you was a wonder.”

“Yes she was fine.”

“Did you like her?”

“I liked her all right.”

“What didn’t you like about her?”

“Oh I liked her … sure, I liked her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lloyd. Maggie Lloyd.”

“Married or single?”

“Married.”

“Where’d she come from?”

“I don’t know. She never said.”

“‘Never
said
!
’
Got a husband?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t
know?
Didn’t she tell you?”

“No …” abruptly.

“You’d think after a whole summer …”

“I know,” with a half smile, “but she didn’t.”

“Does Haldar like her?”

“Oh sure. Haldar and Alan are crazy about her.”

“That so.”

In the evening Alma Bower said to her mother Mrs. Pratt, “I don’t think Vera Gunnarsen’s so crazy about that Mrs. Lloyd.”

“Lloyd? … Lloyd? … oh, Lloyd. What’s wrong with her?”

“Kind of a myst’ry woman.”

“Who said?”

“Well, Vera didn’t
say
, but she was sorta cagey. You know Vera … Haldar and Alan are crazy about her …”

And Mrs. Pratt said to her friend Sally Bate, “Did you hear about that woman’s been working for Gunnarsens? Kind of a myst’ry woman Vera says. Vera says …”

And Mrs. Bate said to her husband, “You know that woman that’s been working for Gunnarsens…. You saw her that time you went up to Three Loon and fished. Well they say there’s some kind of myst’ry.”

“Well she’s a humdinger. She looks good to me. She’s a nice woman.”

“Vera says Haldar and the little boy are crazy about her. Vera’s not so crazy herself. I guess she’s one of these man’s women.”

“Well I’ll say they
should
be crazy about her, Vera too … that spaghetti of hers …”

“The way to a man’s heart.”

“No,” said Mr. Bate. “I wouldn’t say that at all. I just said it was good spaghetti.”

And Mr. Bate said to Henry Corder when he stepped into the shop for a bit of a chat “Say what’s this about that Mrs. Lloyd up at Gunnarsen’s place? My wife says there’s some kind of myst’ry. Seemed a nice kind of woman. Vera don’t seem to like her.”

Henry Corder was angry and said things about wimmin.

“Well can you beat it the way wimmin talk. Make up a thing out of whole cloth. She swang that place like nobody’s business. She’s not one of these mod’n wimmin. I got no use for mod’n wimmin,” said Henry Corder who had not left the district for forty-five years but liked the movies and knew all about modern women. “She’s just not one of these gabby talkers. Myst’ry my foot! You’d think Haldar had the second ur-r-rge on um. Gabby old cats!”

Mr. Bate agreed and said that Jim Taylor’s new barn was a very lovely structure.

Maggie dropped in to see Henry Corder, as she often did on her way home from the store where she worked, to show him something.

“How d’you like this?” she said, and let fall a small object into his palm.

He pulled down the spectacles that he wore habitually on his forehead and said “A new one on me. Like a little Coachman but not a Coachman. What is it?”

“I invented it,” said Maggie. “I thought it might be a good fly up at the lake and we’ll try it out next season. I’ll call it the Little Vera. D’you think she’ll be pleased?”

“Sure she’ll be pleased … oh say, something I want to say to you. Someone was asking me where you come from and didn’t the Gunnarsens even know … you know the kinda thing … and I think if you told them a
bit …
you don’t hafta tell
me,”
he said hurriedly, and then with a cackle of laughter “I knoo a Juke up here and he was a myst’ry all right all right and the Juke only wore one soot … sittn up there in the rowboat fishn in a good brown town soot and he cast a mean fly and I knoo a countess and she had a mustash up the North Thompson but she wasn’t no fisherman and I knoo a bank
robber and that kinda put me on the spot. This big country’s a good place to get away from sassiety and if you go further north I bet you there’s lots of interesting tales. Not that …”