On the other side of the basement, a single light bulb hung above the landlord’s white washing tub. Its harsh light cast enough rays to show me the piles of laundry laying on the rough concrete floor, sorted by colour. The landlord’s work clothes pile was easy to see. Jeans, plaid jackets and brown workpants. Perfect.

  If the landlady had been down here doing the wash, she was nowhere to be seen now.

  I stood tall to keep my armpit from getting scratched on the metal and slipped Donald’s coat over the top of the shower stall. Swinging my arm back, the weight threatened to pop my elbow as I swung the jacket forward, pointing it toward the piles of laundry. Back and forth, I swung it, until the weight had enough momentum to fly through the air and land in the pile of dark work clothes, where it would best blend in.

  At least that was the plan.

  Then, I heard footsteps coming down the landlord’s basement stairs. I quickly released the jacket. It flew, all empty sleeves and plaid plumage, and landed just short of the pile of jeans and work shirts.

  “Shit.”

  I dropped down into a squat on the chair and stripped the oven mitt off my hand. Hidden inside the shower stall, I listened.

  A humming started up in a woman’s voice. It was the landlady. I crossed my fingers, hoping she wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

  Her slippers dragged across the floor with a gritty sound. Then, the metal clang of the washing machine lid opening rang out. The plastic cup scratched the dry laundry soap inside the box. Zippers and buttons screeched on the metal drum as they were pushed in. The clicking of the dial, the slamming of the lid, and the trickle of water filling the machine, followed each other.

  Then those retreating slippers, sliding on their way back to the stairs. I waited till she closed the door to the basement.

  Then, I was inching my way up the stall. Carefully balanced on the chair, I peered cautiously over the top.

  The pile of work clothes was gone, and so was Donald’s jacket. I smiled, feeling clever.

  The walk to the store should take Magda about thirty minutes, so I had about fifteen left before she returned and demanded I leave with her.

  Carrying the chair with me, I hurried back to the bed and picked up my ancestor’s journal in shaking hands. The penmanship swirled across the tea-coloured pages, fading away to grey shadows in some sentences. Why on earth my great-great-grandfather had written in pencil was beyond me, for it hadn’t stood the test of time. Half the words could barely be read and what use was that?

  I moved closer to the window above my bed, and held the journal up towards the sun. I scanned past weather reports, the price of eggs, and the birth of family members. About three quarters of the way through the journal, I found the part I remembered from Mom’s readings.

  A new family purchased Lot 7 Concession 12 from my brother, Maurice. Scottish brothers by the name of McNab. Winona was sorry to hear they didn’t bring any wives or children. West Garafraxa can be a lonely place for a woman like Winona.

  I skipped past more gibberish about quilting bees and the cost of flour. I thought I heard a noise by the front door, lifted my head, and listened for Magda. Satisfied she wasn’t back yet, I turned a few more pages, scanning the faded penmanship for the name McNab.

  Maurice asked me to have the McNabs over for dinner in order to complete the sale of the land with paper signing. Winona’s baking an apple pie using last year’s apple preserves.

  Then a few pages after, I almost missed an entry because Gramps didn’t write their name.

  Found the Scotsmen’s manners a bit off-putting. The elder brother took a shine to Winona, showing her undue attention that embarrassed us all. I have forbidden her to speak to him again. Maurice will have to complete his transaction without my assistance.

  I spun some more pages, accidently ripping one and saying “sorry” out loud. Close to the back of the journal, I found the last entry with Angus’ last name in it.

  The McNab was here. Winona has disobeyed me. I cannot bring myself to speak to her. Together, we will seek Reverend Clyde’s guidance after service on Sunday.

  I held the closed journal on my lap. I wanted to read more about Winona and how things ended, but I was out of time and out of journals. I only had the one book, and the final entry in it talked about Parry Sound blueberries coming in on the train.

  I thought back to Angus’ comments after my landlord had left, yesterday. He’d said, “What ye and Ah have… it’s bigger than us… it’s older than us.”

  And again, back at the bar, I overheard Angus saying to Lennox, “Listen to me cousin. We are here tae dae a job. If ye cannae handle that, ye have tae return home.”

  Had Winona’s McNab been “there” to do a job too?

  Karen had found out from Angus that his family was in the land buying business, so the McNabs in my grandfather’s journal were probably legit buyers.

  I chewed on my fingernail, peeling a sliver off with my teeth.

  Patrick had said his and my ancestors had intersected hundreds of years ago. Maybe the McNabs had crossed my ancestor’s path too. Maybe there was more to this fate bullshit… Just as Angus had been claiming all along.

  Angus had told me when I was ready to hear the rest, I only had to ask him.

  Well, I was ready.

  It had been more than thirty minutes since Magda left. I quickly returned the journal to the ceiling nook and replaced the chair.

  I stripped off my nightie on the way to the shower stall, dropping it on the kitchen floor. In the shower, I soaped my legs until the bubbles stood up like clear caviar on my tanned skin. Turning my back to keep the hot spray of water behind me, I rested my foot on the shower stall at hip level. I checked the scratches for thorns or signs of infection. Concentrating on my skin helped me avoid the racing thoughts that threatened to engulf me.

  Every time I saw Angus, we took things a little farther. If I went with Magda today, there was a good chance I’d end up pinned against a wall, a table, or the floor by Angus. Based on my track record, it would be hard to resist him, but resist him I should until I puzzled out this McNab mystery.

  Maybe I shouldn’t go.

  With enough persuasion, the Highlander would be able to take me any way he wanted. Weak woman that I was, I imagined all the ways as my hand made soapy circles on my other leg.

  Suddenly, the skin on my neck tightened—a signal my bastard landlord was on the other side, counting the seconds to when he could safely try to peek at my naked body over the top of the open shower stall.

  Dropping my leg, I quickly searched the open ceiling above. No leering face peered down from the cobweb-laced rafters of the upper floor. I could try to prove it once and for all, by grabbing the edges of the flimsy walls and pulling myself up high enough to look over. However, I doubted the unsupported walls of the steel stall would hold my weight. Without a chair to stand on, I’d probably end up wet and slippery, splayed out on his floor in all my unclothed glory.

  “I know you’re there,” I confessed into the steam.

  “What?” Magda yelled from inside my apartment.

  “I know you watch me, you sick freak!”

  My ears felt alive as I listened for any sound that would confirm my suspicions. As usual, there was no response.

  The shower spray started to cool off as the hot water tank emptied. I quickly rinsed and then shut the tap off before the water became icy. Opening the stall door just enough to reach into the kitchen and grab my towel, I wrapped it around myself, then stepped out.

  Ignoring Magda, who sat by the front door, I moved to my closet and started shuffling clothes about.

  “What were you saying in the shower?” Magda asked.

  Relieved the heat was off me for a while, I threw the landlord to the dogs.

  “Freak boy.”

  I shimmied into my black, skinny jeans and a red tube top.

  Making my way to the dresser, I picked up my childhood jewelry box, a gift from my mother. After reading Grandpa Courdrey’s journal, a little sentimental feeling tugged at my heart. I flipped the jewelry box over in my hand and twisted the rusty, metal wing.

  The inside mechanics scratched in response. Putting it down, I unclasped the top, releasing the plastic ballerina to pop up in her one-legged stance. The little dancer’s paint had long since faded from her tutu, transforming her into a plastic chameleon that blended into her clothes until I couldn’t tell where she began and where her clothes ended.

  “If the landlord is being such a freak, you should move,” Magda suggested.

  The clinking of the metallic tune soothed my rare moment of homesickness.

  “Where would I go?”

  “Alright, fine. Then stay, but at least screw the guy and save some rent money.”

  In the box, my cheap second-hand necklaces, scored from dusty shops on Wyndham Street lay twisted together. I pulled two apart.

  The fine chain with the silver cross was the first to let go. I usually didn’t wear it because of how my body reacted to the religious symbol. But it was pretty, in a simple way, and there was always the possibility the pearl in the centre of the cross was real.

  Today, the way the chain had released itself from the knot seemed like an omen. I rubbed my thumb over the pearl, holding the cross in my palm and waited for my body to respond. The only rumble was hunger for a missed breakfast. I took it as a sign I was getting better, with or without Casbus’ drugs and Patrick’s celibacy.

  I draped the chain over my head and let the cross swing down onto my chest. The comforting weight of it felt good.

  Next, I untangled the golden, angel pendant. The fat cupid looked up at me as if blaming me for his broken wing. The edge was sharp, usually too sharp to wear safely, but I considered it a good thing to have in case I needed a weapon.

  Magda was still rattling on about the landlord.

  “You’re always opening your legs. Might as well get something out of it,” she mumbled.

  The jewelry box tune twanged to a stop with a metallic echo.

  I steadied my voice before I answered her. “I sleep around, Magda, but I always choose who I sleep with.”

  I turned and we locked eyes. I had never pulled “street” moves on her before. Never had to because she always backed down first. But this time, her face didn’t soften, and she didn’t hide her insult behind a giggle. I could feel the ‘crazy’ hoping Magda would push me farther. Carefully, laying the rest of the chains down on the dresser, I gave Magda my full attention.

  “You got that?” I tipped my head slightly to one side and narrowed my eyes at her.

  She held my gaze, her chin thrust out, stubbornly.

  The blood picked up speed in my veins, making me wild with beats.

  I took a step toward her. She dropped her glance. The malicious excitement coursing through my veins was over-the-top. My dark side wanted to have a go. It took all my willpower not strike her in the face.

  I turned my back on her again, and filled my chest with air. I tracked her movements with my hearing, but kept my hands busy shaking out an intricately-linked chain with a grey stone wrapped in metal wire at the end. With its release, my longest necklace, the chain ending in a hammered piece of copper, fell free from the knot.

  Cheap stuff, but I liked to imagine the pendants had been chipped and shaped by cave dwelling forefathers. When I touched them, visions of line drawn antelopes leaped in jerking stop-motion bounds through my mind. I dropped these two onto my chest as well, and immediately calmed as the raw chunks of nature tangled on my breasts.

  Looking up quickly, I caught Magda watching me, her expression laced with loathing. I blinked and looked at her again. The line between her eyebrows was gone, the twisted mouth relaxed. Maybe I was seeing things.

  “Are we going or what?” she asked.

  I picked out my curly hair, scrunched some baby oil into it to keep the frizz down, grabbed a shriveled apple from the kitchen counter, took three huge bites and chewed it all at once. Pausing by my night table, I pondered taking a pill.

  I had been doing great until the timeline thoughts played in my head, and I didn’t want Magda to know I was on anything. She had already thrown enough “dirt” at me this morning. Not to mention, Casbus was now on my “do not trust” list, until I could figure out what the hell was going on in that cassette tape recording.

  “Today, sometime?”

  I walked away from the night table empty handed and followed Magda out into the sunshine.

  CHAPTER 26: SHADOW WATCHER

  ~

  DURING THE THIRTY-MINUTE TRIP, I planned the questions I would ask to find out more about the McNabs and their purpose. There were too many coincidences, and it was time for me to get some answers.

  In no time, we were standing in front of a cheap war-time house in the “Ward” section of Guelph.

  Magda rapped on the door.

  The bare-dirt yard broken up by a few patches of dead grass stood out in contrast to the well-manicured Italian yards on the street, gardens full of frost-touched tomato plants, colourful mums, and purple kale. Every other yard and house looked lovingly cared for, while this one looked like shit, with drooping eaves, missing shingles, and paint peeling forlornly from the white-trimmed windows.

  That would be my first question, whether this lot belonged to the “land-purchasing” Scotsmen of my ancestor’s journal.

  The door opened, but instead of it being Angus, Colin stood there with a welcoming smile on his face. This was the first time I’d actually seen him without his hat. He was bald. Just as he’d been in my silo nightmare when he’d backed away from me with his hat in his hand. Bald as an egg.

  With a sense of wonder, I realized I had dreamt something I hadn’t known.

  “Welcome tae our wee hame, ladies.” The short Scotsman bowed low and kept his head down as Magda slipped past him and entered the house.

  I stayed where I was, standing halfway across the front lawn where the sun arched over the roof to kiss the ground in front of me.

  “Actually, Colin,” I called to him. “Can you come here?”

  He lifted his head like a startled terrier.

  Magda’s head reappeared in the doorway, her brows drawn together.

  I tried a disarming smile.

  “Just for a second.”

  They looked at each other, and I was sure a silent message passed between them. Then he returned my smile with a tight grin and walked down the concrete steps towards me. He took slow steps my way, his knees moving as if they were stiff.

  His shadow stretched in front of his approach, as if bowing to me in supplication. I kept my eyes on it as he approached, watching for any change in colour or texture that might tell me a bit about him.

  I didn’t care about the shape. I was looking at the colour and it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t black. It had the same vintage brown quality to it that Angus’ did.

  Perhaps it was their family shadow colour, or perhaps it was the Scottish version. Whichever, it was consistent with all of the McNabs. Even the halo around Duncan’s head from that first night in the Albion had been a faded brown colour.

  Though his shadow was lying at my feet, Colin still hadn’t reached me. He was dragging it out, but I had what I needed.

  “You smell that?” I asked him.

  “Smell what?”

  I shrugged and walked passed him on my way to the door.

  He shifted sideways to get out of my way. Why was Colin acting so fearful? And why did a spike in my belly prove I liked it.

  “Smells like bullshit,” I mumbled.

  ~

  The inside of the house was just as drab as the yard. There was a wooden table, a faded couch, and a square television, all surrounded by blank walls. There were no books, paintings, pictures, trophies—nothing to give me a clue about the people who were staying in this house.

  Colin followed me in, picked up his wallet from the table, and shoved it into the pocket of his brown cords.

  “Whose place is this?” I asked.

  He hesitated before answering, giving me that look people get once they start catching on to my odd behaviour

  I softened my features and tried to look interested.

  “Och.” He shrugged. “We’re just renting fur now.”

  “Looks pretty temporary,” I noted, remembering what Angus had told Karen about staying for a few weeks.

  Magda was listening carefully to his answers.

  “Well, ye ne’er can tell,” he winked at Magda, and was rewarded with her lovely smile in return.

  Magda interjected, “Have you heard from your friend, Lennox?”

  She watched me while Colin answered.

  “Nae.” He looked at Magda and then followed her glance to my face. “Nae a word.”

  I coughed into my hand, then pushed my fingertips into the front pockets of my jeans.

  I wasn’t surprised they hadn’t heard from Lennox. He had appeared pretty irrational about Angus’ motives. Cousins or not, there didn’t seem to be any love lost between the two. Or maybe he was still lying in the ravine.

  I pushed that thought away.

  “Where’s Angus?”

  Colin nodded to one of the doors branching off the living room, “He ain’t up yet.”

  “Wow.” Magda looked at her watch. “I thought we were bad.”

  She smirked at me.

  “Oh Angus ne’er sleeps in. He’s just nae feelin’ well.”

  Colin lifted car keys from a hook by the fridge.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

  “His blood gets thick, is all.” Colin slipped his arm through Magda’s and steered her to the door.

  They didn’t see me react.

  “Thick blood”’ was what Colin had said in my dream when he and Duncan had dragged an unconscious Angus onto the bed in the silo.

  “As a matter o’ fact, Ah wonder if ye can stay with him while Magda and Ah git some videos?” He plunked his plaid hat on his head and didn’t wait for me to answer.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29