Green Mountain Academy, page 18
When she came back to the game, she was smiling.
“What are you smiling about?” Meredith said.
“Can’t I smile?”
“You can smile. It’s just that you usually…”
She plopped down on the rug. “Sorry, Lucy, I went in your upstairs room,” she said.
“You don’t look very sorry,” Lucy said.
“I’m not.” Her smile widened to a grin that I had never seen on Grace’s face. “I checked my email. Soleil answered. She wants to come back.”
* * *
We didn’t finish our game of Yahtzee. Lill made a little speech and we celebrated with glasses of apple cider and pretzels. Everyone was too excited to sleep, but when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I went down the hall of the old wing to Danny’s and my bedroom, still hearing the soft voices of Lill and Lucy by the fire, working out room assignments for the new students.
The room felt empty without Danny. Tired as I was, I didn’t sleep for a long time, but lay watching the patterns of moon shadows moving across the wall.
It was eleven before I woke up the next morning. I had never slept so late on a Christmas morning. But I didn’t jump out of bed. The smell of coffee and baking told me the others were up. Meredith had said she’d make cinnamon buns this morning. But still I lay there. I would not think of Christmas, I decided. Instead, I remembered that Lucy had promised we’d skate on the creek again today. I focused on that—the push off and the slice of skate blades gliding on ice in the clean, cold air, the surrounding pine trees weighed down with snow.
I heard a car coming up the hill to the school. As far as I knew, we weren’t expecting guests, and I wasn’t in the mood to talk to strangers. Maybe I could stay in bed a little longer, hope it was just someone looking for directions.
But I heard car doors opening, then shouts of surprise.
I would have to get up and be polite.
I dressed and gathered my hair in a semi-tidy ponytail. Fresh air wafted down the hall as I headed to the great room. But it was not strangers who stood stomping their feet on the mat.
It was Aunt Sissy and Mom. The smile Mom gave me was a Christmas present I hadn’t imagined.
* * *
That afternoon I would show Mom the trail to the creek, the bent pine, the tracks that rabbits had made in the snow, and the place below our skating rink where water gurgled out and continued snaking under a speckled shell of ice to the valley below.
Mom would lace on a pair of school skates, and when she wobbled onto the ice, I would see her laugh for the first time in a long time.
The End
Acknowledgements
The story for Green Mountain Academy came to me from two sources. Many years ago, on my first date with David, whom I would later marry, we hiked into the mountains and came across the wreckage of a plane crash. It was recent. No one was at the scene, but otherwise, it looked very much like what I described in the novel: luggage, some of it unopened, was strewn on the ground. The images have never left me. Some time later, I dreamt of a plane crash near the grounds of a girls’ school. I don’t know how I knew it was a girls’ school, but when I woke from the dream, I “remembered” that detail. My friend Anne McDonald, who is also a writer, asked me when I would be turning that dream into a novel. Thanks for the encouragement, Anne! I finally found the place to tell it.
The idea for the Sasquatch Caves stems from stories David shared with me about caves he played in as a child when his family lived near Hope, BC. David is a member of the Stó:lō Nation in British Columbia, a region where Sasquatch lives. Many First Nations in British Columbia have traditional stories about Sasquatch, who goes by many different names. My portrayal in the book doesn’t attempt to tell those traditional stories.
Ideas for campfire songs were provided by Anna Draper. I’m also grateful to Anna’s family, Sophia, Jay and Barb Johnston, for their unwavering dedication to my writing life.
The Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild’s retreat at St. Peter’s Abbey has been a mainstay of my writing career, providing invaluable opportunities for me to get work done in a quiet, supportive environment. I thank the Guild and the monks of St. Peter’s profoundly. I’d also like to thank the Banff Centre Leighton Artist Studios, Dorland Mountain Arts Colony, the Naramata Centre and BC Arts Council for the writing time and space their programs offered.
I’d like to acknowledge the inspiring contributions of my father-in-law, Dan Joyce, to my knowledge of all things outdoors. If I have a question about the British Columbia wilderness, he can be counted on for the answer. Surandar Dasanjh and Marcy Trotter at Okanagan College also patiently answered my many questions. Likewise, I appreciate the thoughtful feedback from Frances Bolton and Terrena Buck.
Denise Bukowski, my agent, is always on my side, and I thank her deeply for years of guidance and support. Thank you to my editor at Penguin, Lynne Missen, for her sensitivity and patient suggestions that helped to shape this story. And thanks to Linda Pruessen for careful copy editing.
My family, Anne, Mary, Pat, Barbie and Neil, continue to ground me with their love and wisdom. I’m grateful to have them to turn to when I have doubts about my direction, both in life and in writing.
Thank you, Khal Joyce, for your love, for being an avid reader, and for enthusiastically sharing my books with other readers. To David Joyce, my partner in this writing adventure and all my adventures: I have endless gratitude for your love and stories that inspire and nourish my work.
Frances Greenslade, Green Mountain Academy
