Who Is Frances Rain? (8 page)

Chapter Twenty

“ALEX?”

“Yeah?”

“If you have time, I guess I'd like that tow to the island.” I had to shout the last part as the wind carried me along.

“I got time, I guess. City slicker.”

He pulled close and we grinned at each other. I climbed into the boat while he tied the Beetle's rope to the oarlock. The island was bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight. I sat on the tip of the bow, my feet dragging in the water, while he rowed. When we reached the island, I stuck my foot out to keep the boat from crunching into the landing rock, and for just a second was surprised not to see Frances's dock. I shook my head. It was getting harder and harder to figure out what I was really seeing. Alex walked up the flat slope.

“Coming?”

I stood rooted to the landing rock and nodded. In the distance I heard the sad cry of a loon. Alex walked back and stood in front of me. His long fingers wrapped around my chin and moved my head from side to side. I looked up.

“Good. At least you're not catatonic. Blink,” he demanded. I blinked. “Good, good. Now open your mouth and say something.”

“Will you help me collect my stuff?” I croaked.

“Good. Voice still functioning. What did you see here? A bear?”

I shook my head.

“A snake?”

I sneered and shook my head.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You used to collect them. There's only one thing left. Persons living or dead?”

I nodded, then slumped down on the rock. He crouched beside me, arms resting on his knees.

“Is it this ghost of Tim's?”

I nodded again.

“A ghost? For real? Where?”

“I saw her at the cabin site, at the dock, on the path,” I said softly.

“Who?”

“Her. Them.”

“Her. You mean this Frances Rain person?”

“I think so.” I felt the tightness in my throat start to loosen. “It's happened twice. Two days ago and today.”

“So that's why you acted so mad last night.”

I nodded. “And today, when the cabin door opened and she —”

“Wait a second. Cabin doors opening? I've passed by this island lots of times, Lizzie. I hate to tell you this, but there are no cabins on this island. Not anymore, at least.”

“Well, there's one in the middle of the island. Where your aunt wouldn't take you. Just a few logs left. But I saw all of it when I saw her. The whole thing was standing there.”

“You saw the ghost of a cabin? In the flesh? I mean, in the wood?”

“Do you want to hear this or just kid around?”

“I'm all ears. Honest.”

“Okay. This is what I saw. I saw a cabin and five people. The guides don't really count 'cause they didn't do much. They were twins. Did you ever hear of twin Indian guides in the area?” I looked at him looking at me. “You don't believe me, do you?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I do. And are you lucky or what? What an incredible experience. What was it like? How did you feel? Never mind, I can tell. Did anyone tell you you don't suit pale green? Especially around the gills.”

“You really do believe me?”

“Sure, why not? You've never made up stories. If anything, you always tell things pretty straight out. That's why you acted so weird last night. You couldn't tell it like it was, without running the risk of looking nutty. Besides, no one could look like they've seen a ghost more than you do. Correction ... ghosts.” He grinned. “You're just not the wild and crazy kind, Stringbean.”

“No, I'm not the wild and crazy kind. I'm just plain old boring Lizzie. No imagination, dull, boring Lizzie, that's me.”

He stood up. “I didn't mean that. I just meant that you're not ... you know ... crazy. Hysterical. Nutso!” He was getting louder. “I don't even know what we're talking about half the time anymore. I say something and you jump all over me.”

I put my head down on my knees. He was right. I wasn't making any sense. Nothing made any sense. “You want to hear something really crazy?” I said to my knees. “I mean,
really
crazy?”

“Sure,” he said, sitting down again.

“The crazy thing is I know I'll put the glasses on again. I want to see more.”

“Glasses? What glasses? Maybe you'd better start at the beginning. Step by step.”

I went over the events again slowly, as much to set it clearer in my mind as to tell Alex. When I was finished, I lifted my head and looked at him. He was lying on his back, his arms above his head, long legs stretched out, black eyes watching me.

“Still think I'm not nuts, Alex?”

He gave that some long, serious thought. I hit him in the stomach. “Hey! That hurt.” But he was laughing.

“Well?”

“I never said you were normal, I said you weren't crazy. If you were normal, you'd be dull, unimaginative and boring.”

It felt good to laugh. Suddenly he was on his feet, pulling me with him. His hands were hard and dry. And the rest was flesh-and-blood real. No ghost there. He pulled me towards the trees.

“Let's collect this stuff of yours and look around.”

He walked through the flickering light towards the dreaded spot and I forced myself not to call out a warning. When I got there, he was standing over my dig, hands on hips.

“Great place for a cabin, eh? I'd love to live here. It feels ... special.”

I nodded. With Alex beside me I was almost able to enjoy the cool green stillness again.

“Would you help me put the tabletop and all the other stuff back again?” I asked. “And the moss?”

“Not going to dig around anymore?”

“Maybe later,” I said. “Right now, I want to sort out what happened to me here.”

He nodded. It took us a while to put everything back, but when we were through only the dark outlines around the moss patches showed that anyone had been mucking around.

“Where's the glasses?” he asked.

“In my pocket.”

“Put them on now. While I'm here.”

“Are you nuts?” I backed away.

“Let me try them, then.” He put out a hand.

I had to laugh out loud when he put them on. “You look like an old-fashioned bank clerk. All you need is a stiff collar and cuffs.”

“Thanks. A dull and boring clerk? How can I get into the spirit of things with you giggling? Spirit of things. Get it?”

I couldn't help a few more snickers at the frowning face behind the silly little glasses. He turned slowly around. Then he pushed them down and looked at me over the rims.

“How long did it take you to see something?”

“Almost right away. The first time, the whole place turned to autumn colours. The second time, it was spring. See anything?”

He squinted. “Nothing. Zilch.” He took them off. “Zero, darn it. How come you get to see things and I don't?”

“‘Cause you're not crazy.”

“Must be that,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Loony Lizzie. Sad story indeed.”

I was angry until I saw the wicked smile. “You poor thing. You're just jealous, that's all.”

“Come on, now I'm here, you don't have to be afraid.”

“But I
am
afraid. Maybe if we stood away from the cabin. Down by the shore. I wouldn't bump into anyone. What do you think?”

“What if you put them on right here, in the middle of the cabin? Maybe you'd be inside it.”

“And what if I can't get out?” I shivered.

“Okay, let's move over here. Will you try it?”

“Okay. But only if you stay close by.”

He grinned. “My pleasure.”

Flustered, I stumbled towards a row of pine, leaned against a tree and put the glasses up to my eyes.

“See anything?”

“No.”

“Now?”

All I saw was the sunken site ahead, the cool green light, the pile of gear, and the sparkling lake.

“How about now? Am I here, for instance?”

“Yes, you are. And stop waving your hand in front of my eyes. It makes me dizzy.”

He ran to the cabin and waved. “Now? Not even the cabin?”

“Nope.” I wasn't sure whether to feel glad or disappointed. I put the glasses in my pocket. “Funny, huh? Maybe I am nutso.”

He shrugged. “It's like seances, poltergeists and stuff like that. Bring in another person and nothing happens. Doesn't mean it didn't happen before. Let's go to your place. I'll beg dinner off Terry. We'll think things over on the way to my place. Hey, we could ask Harv about Frances Rain.”

“No kidding? That's a great idea. We can pick his brain.”

“Picking old Harv's brain may take some doing, but it's worth a try. After dinner, you can use Terry's boat to tow me back to the truck and then you'll have a boat to come back home in. That damn motor of mine is ready for the dust heap.”

As we floated away from the island, I couldn't help wondering if I'd ever see Frances again. Maybe the glasses had lost their ability to look into the past. I felt a strange sort of ache at the thought of not seeing her or the girl again.

I needn't have worried. Frances and I had a long way to go.

Chapter Twenty-One

“YOUR family's like a bunch of porcupines,” Alex said, bumping his truck around the deepest potholes on the dirt road. “Very prickly. What's with all of you?” When I didn't answer he said, “I mean, who stuffed the lemons in your mother's mouth? It couldn't have been Tim. He spends most of his time acting like it's all his fault and trying to take them out. But she keeps slapping him down. And poor Terry. I think your gran'll be glad to see the back ends of you guys.”

I looked out the truck window, only half seeing the trees as they blurred past. He was right. Dinner had been another rotten meal — Mother and Tim silent and grim, Erica tired and weepy, Evan growling over his meat. Gran had looked pretty wiped out by the time dishes were done and hadn't come with us after all, saying she had a headache. I was worried about her.

“She looked pretty tired, didn't she?” I said finally. “I wonder if she's been sick this winter and didn't tell us?”

This time it was his turn not to answer.

“Well, was she? She always writes that she's fine.”

He hesitated. “Well ... when I was helping her around the place this spring, she seemed out of breath a few times. And she was sort of a funny grey colour.”

I felt something squeeze my heart.

“I told Aunt May and she promised to get her in to see Doc Lindstrom. Doc gave her some kind of pills. Don't know what they are, but May said she'd be fine.” He gave me a searching glance. “Still, if I were you, I'd tell the Munsters over there to let up a little. I don't think she can stand the strain.”

That made me mad. “You and May knew my gran was sick and you didn't bother to write? What if she'd got really sick? In the hospital? Would you let her die before telling us? God! You'd think she was your family, not mine!”

“She is like my family. Besides, Terry told us not to tell you,” he snapped.

We drove along in black silence for a while.

The evening sun was pouring orange light into the cab of the truck. I held my hand over my eyes to shade them. It gave me time to gulp down a few self-pitying tears.

“Next time, I'll write. No, I'll call. I promise,” he said.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “Sorry. I'm always yelling at you.”

He grinned. Sunlight warmed his skin to a mellow bronze. “Hey, forget it. I haven't seen your whole family together for ages.” He paused. “About your dad. I'm sorry about him leaving. I didn't say anything last year — Evan kept saying he'd probably be leaving for Toronto to stay with your dad for good.”

“You can see how that promise came out,” I said bitterly.

“Yeah. When I saw Evan this year, I didn't know what to say.”

“You? At a loss for words? Spare me.”

“Funny.”

“Nothing much is funny, really.”

“But what's happening anyways?” he asked. “Or am I poking my big schnozz in where it's not wanted?”

I rolled down the window and let the cool breeze whip my hair around my face. I told him everything — how my dad left so suddenly, how we got short cheery notes and big birthday cheques and that was about all. And I told him how Tim had walked into the mess about three months before.

“Does your mother always act like this?”

I shook my head. “She's always been busy, but at least she used to be interested in what we had to tell her, you know? Now, it's like she's walking around on broken bottles. She always seemed so cool and organized.”

He nodded. “So she's been acting strange since your dad left?”

“Yeah. But you know what's really weird? She and Dad hardly ever saw each other. I don't think they were ... you know ... in love, anymore. He used to be away for days at a time just before he left. Mother called them business trips, but we knew different.”

“And then he went to Toronto?”

I nodded. “I guess it hurt her a lot. Evan misses him the most. I don't. I guess I'm strange.”

He flicked me a quick look. “Do you think she loves old Tim?”

“You know what? I bet she does. She seemed happier when they got married. He's so different from Dad.
He's
always around. He's crazy about her. He used to tease her and make her laugh. That was a new experience, believe me.”

“And you? Do you like Tim?”

“I don't know.”

“Yes, you do — like him, that is.”

“I guess so.”

“You should try talking to your mother.”

“Are you kidding?” I scoffed.

“No harm in trying.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence, but by the time we rolled into Harvey's yard, I'd made up my mind. He was right. There was no harm in trying. At least I'd find out what she was planning on doing about Toothy.

Harvey was waiting in his rocker on the porch of his shack. A gust of wind lifted the edges of its mismatched shingles and swirled the smoke from its chimney into the trees above. Harv rocked two or three times to get enough momentum to pop himself out of the seat and lurched down the dirt path that cut through a yard full of rusting motors, dead and gutted trucks and cars and piles of corroding junk. He pulled his baseball cap out of his pocket and dragged it over the dandelion fluff on his head.

I'd only been inside the shack a few times. All I'd seen were rows and rows of piled magazines, newspapers and books that stretched up to the wood ceiling, with hemp ropes and silky strings of cobwebs holding it all together. Harvey claimed to have read every word of those millions of pages and couldn't bear to part with one of them.

I remember seeing a mouse's head pop out of the middle of one of the dusty piles the first time I was there. He'd looked around with pink eyes before disappearing, probably to get on with his reading.

Alex and I rolled down our windows. It was usually a good idea to have fresh air around when Harvey got into a closed space. His galvanized bathtub, hanging to one side of the front door, rarely got a working out. I shifted closer to Alex to make room. His arm, which had been resting along the back of the seat, dropped around my shoulders. I relaxed against it until Harvey creaked his way into the cab, but then the arm was needed to shift gears.

May greeted us with two huge pies, oozing dark sweet juice. We ate in the kitchen, around the big worktable.

“Say, Harv,” Alex said, finally changing the topic from blueberry pies and fishing. “Elizabeth here has been poking around on Rain Island. She found some remains of a cabin. Wasn't that some woman prospector's place?”

Harvey swallowed a slug of coffee, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his scrawny neck.

“Why that would be Frances Rain's place.” He leaned back and picked his teeth. “Haven't thought about her for years.”

“Did you meet her?”

“I hung around with a boy whose father owned one of the large silver mines. I'd just come over from the old country. A kid myself. This boy's dad was always after Frances Rain to sell her claim on Pebble Lake, 'bout ten miles straight north of here. Thought she was an amateur at first. But she wasn't no dummy. She'd been trained by Rudy and Pearl Pepin. A better pair of prospectors you'd never find. I guess I musta been about twenty, twenty-one when Frances died. I've made and lost a few fortunes since then, eh, May?”

She laughed and said, “From what I hear, you still got a pile stashed away in that bank in The Pas.”

“Well,” he said with a secret smile, “I ain't gonna starve before I die, eh?” And then he chuckled. “Now, this Frances Rain you're talking about, she must've made money in her day. Most of us worked with partners. Not her. She was a mystery, that one.”

“Do you know where she came from?” I asked.

“I heard she was a teacher in The Pas for a while. She got to know the Pepins and came out prospecting with them. The last ten years or so she stayed out here all year 'round. Built that place of hers with her own two hands. Kept herself to herself. No man dared go near her or she'd of blowed his head right off. The Pepins were her only friends and their base was 'way over on Braid Lake. People said this Frances Rain got a bit queer as time went on.” He spun his finger beside his temple. “Nutty.”

“Nutty? You mean crazy?” I remembered the black-haired woman I'd seen. She hadn't looked crazy.

“Not all that uncommon around here in them days, my lovely,” Harvey said, digging into a fresh piece of pie. “Fortunes lost and found ... long dark winters. She was a city girl, I heard. Not used to the loneliness. Course, I don't believe she killed herself.”

“Killed herself?” I cried.

“So the gossip has it. No, I figure she died of exposure or pneumonia or something. The Pepins found her. Family claimed the body and that was that.”

“What family came to get her?” I asked.

“Some big shot out west, if I recall right.”

“So you never met her,” I said, feeling let down.

“I didn't say that. I just didn't know her, but then no one did. I met her a couple of times, but I only saw her cabin inside the once. Books lining every wall. Don't know how she got them there. Place was full of books.”

“You should talk,” said May. “One day, I'll clean your place out.”

“You do and you'll answer to me,” he growled. “No, she told me, that one time, that reading took the place of madness on long freezing days and nights. She was right. She had a whole set of Dickens I'd have given my eye teeth for. 'Cept I didn't have any then, neither. Reading's my only pleasure now. That and blueberry pie.” May gave him another piece.

“Can you describe her?” I held my breath and waited.

“Frances Rain? Let's see ... Tall. Black-haired. Bony — I like my women with flesh on 'em — and two of the bluest eyes you'll ever see. She had a look about her ... it was like she was burning inside with something. Guess that's why people thought she was odd. She made you uncomfortable.”

“I've been on her island a couple of times,” May said. “There's a strange empty sadness there, as if it's waiting for someone.”

I took another deep breath. “Did she ever have a sister, or a niece visit her? A younger girl? Say about thirteen?”

He frowned at the table. “You know,” he said, chewing slowly, “I do recall a little lass visiting her once. A sister, I believe it was. Can't remember exactly.” He pointed at me with his fork. “The girl was sickly. Frank Noble over at the company store said that Frances came in now and again for special things for the girl. Said her appetite was poor. Funny you should know about the girl. I'd forgotten all about it. How did you hear of her?”

I shrugged. “By the way, do you recall a couple of Indian guides from around here at that time? Identical twins?”

He peered at me through his wild eyebrows. “Now, how do you know things I'd forgotten years ago? Sure, they worked around here. The Macdonald twins. Best trappers in the district. You're something, you know that?”

“How long did the girl stay?”

The baseball cap's peak waggled back and forth. “No idea. Summer's prospecting time. No one hung around.”

“Did you ever see her?”

“No. Can't say I did. Just heard about her from Frank Noble.”

“Do you know when Frances Rain died?”

“Now that I can tell you. Same year as my partner Len and me sold our first big claim. Yep. The year she died, we hit the big time. It was nineteen hundred and twenty-five.”