Tag: aurora-borealis

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

Rachael didn’t answer. Maybe if she kept quiet Mrs. Milligan would keep quiet, too. Didn’t the woman know she didn’t want to talk?
“Rachael? Did you hear me, honey?”
It was too much. She turned an angry face up to Auntie Tyne’s mother and shouted, “I don’t want a candy bar, an’ I don’t want to walk with you. Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
Turning abruptly, she took off at a run, slipping and sliding on the snowy sidewalk as she ran back to the house.
She had seen the hurt, shocked look on Mrs. Milligan’s face but she didn’t care. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. She didn’t want anyone to be nice to her, because she didn’t deserve it. What she should do is go back to Harrison’s and take her beatings, and work herself to death for Aunt Ruby. Why should anyone care about her, anyway? She wasn’t worth it. She never deserved a Shirley Temple doll in the first place, so what did it matter if Lyssa had gouged its eyes out? Lyssa should have got the doll – or Lark should have. They were both better girls than she was. They didn’t drag their young brother around in a blizzard. In fact, they didn’t do any of the bad things she had done.
Reaching the back door of the house, Rachael looked around. Mrs. Milligan was coming behind her, walking so fast that she was sliding on the path, almost losing her footing. Rachael hurried to get inside. Without removing her heavy coat and boots, she ran to her bedroom, slammed the door behind her, and fell face down on the bed.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562884

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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…Michael, and John Harris, a journalist, travelled deeper into the tundra to
one of Keith’s remote summer camps. They took few supplies, expecting
to find food and warm bedding at their destination. When Ken assessed
the situation after the float plane dropped them off, he realized they were
ill-prepared for their stay, and the trek back to the lodge. The supplies
at the camp consisted of a boat, a tent with no tent poles, a large can of
dried mushroom soup, and a few bedrolls and fishing rods. To make matters
worse, the weather turned and the hot summer winds were replaced
with the chill of an early fall. The grays and greens of the tundra began
to turn scarlet and heavy rain fell, which then turned to sleet and later, to
wet snow.
Blindly, they putt-putted around the shore, searching for the river that
would lead them back to the lodge. When they found it, it was too shallow
to navigate because the waters had drained to their summer depth.
Resigned, Ken and John jumped into the water, one pushing and one
pulling the boat, while Michael walked along the shore searching for obstacles.
The cold, wet, backbreaking labour continued all day. In the evening,
they propped the tent up with paddles, lit two Coleman stoves inside
their shelter and fried the fish they had caught, augmenting the meal with
vile-tasting mushroom soup.
They pushed on for four days, the time collapsing into itself until all
they felt was cold, wet, and bone weary. When they finally made it to Ferguson
Lake they were as thrilled as though they had found the elusive pot
of gold. A helicopter circled overhead and a large boat motored toward
them. They were well overdue and Keith was relieved to find them alive
and uninjured.
When Ken got back to Toronto he had one priority. After showering at
the studio he called Karen, “How about supper tonight?”
In the week Karen had been back, she had filed for divorce. Ken told
Marsha the next day that it was over. When he told Diane about the situation
she quit her job.
Karen rented a house on Belsize Avenue off Yonge Street and gave Ken
a key. The chaos of broken relationships roared around him and he had
never been happier in his life. With Diane gone, Ken turned the entire
space into his studio and hired his lawyer’s sister-in-law, Elaine Ross, who
had a background in publicity. She skillfully kept contact with the media
who hovered constantly in the background like hungry jays.
Michael visited frequently and he and Karen became good friends.
Watching them together, Ken was often startled by the intensity of his
feelings. At times, he could hear the beating of his heart, pounding like a
steady and welcome ache in his chest.
Karen applied to write the bar exam for the Northwest Territories on…

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

Wellspring of Love

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excerpt

The early morning sun shone into Tyne’s eyes as she steered her
Chevrolet at unlawful speed through the town of Emblem, and headed
east up the hospital hill. The cloudless sky foretold a spectacular June
day, but Tyne paid no heed. Impatiently, she yanked the visor down
to shield her eyes, and through her rearview mirror, caught sight of a
police cruiser bearing down on her, its lights flashing.
“Oh no,” she moaned aloud, “I’ve no time for this.”
She pulled to the curb and stopped, and the police car pulled up
behind her. With both hands grasping the steering wheel, she lay her
head on it in resignation. In moments, there was a tap on her window.
She looked up and cranked it open to face the young police officer.
“Could I see your license and registration, please, ma’am?”
Tyne produced both with shaking hands and waited while he
examined them. Without looking up he said, “Do you know why I
stopped you?”
She sighed. “Yes, I was speeding.”
“Fifteen miles over the speed limit, ma’am. Not good.”
“I know that, Officer, but I’m on my way to the hospital. My aunt
has just been admitted and I don’t know what’s wrong, and I’m very
worried, and ….” Tyne stopped when she realized she sounded silly,
as if begging for mercy, when all she really wanted was for him to give
her the inevitable ticket and let her go.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Cresswell,” he said as he handed the
documents back to her. “I’ll let you be on your way, but please be more
attentive to your driving. It isn’t going to do your aunt any good if you
end up in the bed next to her.”
Tyne saw a fleeting look of compassion on his face, and she smiled
in gratitude. “Thank you,” she murmured as he backed away from …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327

Fury of the Wind

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He stopped abruptly as a male voice from amongst a group of
men near the door hailed him. Looking decidedly relieved, he excused
himself to Sarah and hurried away.
She stood in the middle of the room, unaware of the people moving
around her. The day was not going at all as she expected. She
wished she hadn’t come. Perhaps Ben had been smart, after all, to
stay at home. Whatever he had done to alienate the people of Nimkus
had obviously cut deeply. But she could not understand why
they should take it out on her.
She became aware of people staring at her so she walked away,
and eventually made her way outside to the fair grounds. No one,
except a little oriental-looking man, spoke to her. Struggling to
manoeuvre a table through the door into the agricultural hall, he
flashed Sarah a huge smile. “How do, missy.”
Sarah vaguely remembered the sign on a shack at the end of the
main street, declaring the presence of Pong’s Laundry. She felt the
urge to run after the man whom she knew must be Pong, and offer
to help him with the table. After all, apart from Will, no one else
had shown any friendliness towards her this morning.
With nothing better to do she decided to go back to the livestock
area and watch Dave show his animals. Picking her way through
the people gathered on the fairgrounds, she noticed a group at the
grandstand near the ball diamond. She walked over to have a look.
Young men, some in their late teens and others a little older, had
already begun a game of baseball. They wore no uniforms, and the
few baseball caps amongst them did not display any team logo so
Sarah could not tell which districts they represented.
A man leaning on the end of a bleacher seat smiled and moved
aside to let her get a better look. Sarah, interpreting his move as
a friendly gesture, dared to speak to him. “Can you tell me what
teams are playing?”
“Colson and Ryerson districts,” he said, turning to look at her.
“You not from round here then?”
“Yes, I live in the Colson district, but I haven’t been there long.
I doubt if I’d know anyone on the team. Are they the ones at bat
now?”
“No, the ones in the field. They have a pretty fair team…

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Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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They were marvelling at the line of diminutive Inuksuit that curved along
the water’s edge toward a far-off boulder that seemed to reach almost fifty
feet into the sky. The Inuksuit told a story, Ken said, and after a lunch of
fresh fried fish he led them toward the boulder. As they walked the boulder
diminished in size until they stood beside it and found it was about
three feet tall, pink, perfectly smooth, and resting on top of an immense
gray rock that had been partially heaved out of the tundra.
“This is a fishing Inukshuk,” he told them. “It tells you that this is a
good place to go fishing. How does it say that? If the fishing is good, the
Inuit take a stone out of the water and put it on top of another stone
with little Inuksuit leading the way. A passerby who had never been in
this land would know immediately that he could catch fish here. Other
configurations of stone describe what kind of fish are here. Essentially,
this is a language.”
He explained that the permafrost lurks just under the surface of the
tundra, and below that lay thousands of feet of ice. The ground above the
permafrost where the ice melted consisted almost entirely of rich humus
built up over eons by the tiny plants that grew and died there. An eightinch
tree takes hundreds of years to grow to that height in the Arctic’s
short season. The fibres of the humus stretched out along the surface and
down to the permafrost, siphoning the water from the ice and sending it
into the atmosphere. As the wind travelled across the surface of the land
in buffeting gusts, it created rudimentary magnifying lenses of the millions
of tiny water bubbles streaming into the air. The farther away you
were from an object the more lenses you were looking through and the
larger the distant object appeared.
That night after supper he walked down to the dock with a fly-fishing
rod. Arctic grayling congregated in the shallows here and after a few causal
casts, he landed a fine three-pound fish. As he unhooked it and slipped
it back into the water he noticed Karen sitting on an overturned bucket
at the far end of the dock.
“I’d like to try that,” she said.
He handed her the rod and described the process but even after all
these years he still had no idea how to explain that it was a line with no
weight and it needed to fly guided by minimal strength and energy, and
perfect timing.
She cast a couple of times and smiled. “I like this,” she said and while
the fly lay on the water, a large grayling took the bait. Ken disengaged it,
gave the rod back to her and left her to sort out the tangles and continue
casting. He sat on the overturned bucket at the far end of the dock and
watched.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

Prairie Roots

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excerpt

…after chores and supper, for a few hours of fun. When
the moon illuminated the snow on crisp, clear nights we would
run and play and wrestle on the snow banks, or in the straw piles
created by the threshing crew. After getting our fill of the night
air it would be time to thaw out with hot chocolate and finish the
evening off with a game of cards. And then the walk home to be
in by ten o’clock and to bed.
This too was an experience in the winter. After our second
house was built our bedroom was the attic itself, unheated except
for whatever warmth found its way up the narrow stairway. So
the first one in warmed up the bed and resisted sharing the heat
with whoever was to share that bed.We slept in pairs, compatibility
being established by various methods including by dictates
from the parents—when all else failed. And it failed often. Scraps
broke out on minimum provocation and disagreements could last
an hour, a day or weeks.
Piling into a cold bed with a brother who was after your hide was
risky business. You were as likely as not welcomed by a smelly fart
which stopped you from getting your face under the covers to take
advantage of body heat. Instead it was necessary to tuck the feather
tick tightly under the chin to prevent any vapours from escaping
upward, at the same time to gently lift the edge of the tick with a
foot to provide an outlet for the smell. And no touching or bedlam
would break loose and one or the other would be downstairs pleading
his case in long johns before the court of last resort, mother, to
be specific.Mother’s justice was gentle enough and, by comparison
with Pop’s justice, downright benevolent. Pop would resolve our
disagreements by following a policy of no-fault resolution or, to put
it more accurately, all fault resolution whereby we were all equally
guilty and therefore all received equal punishment. It worked. We
usually went to mother to be the mediator. At least with her we
were given a chance to develop our case.
There were many things one could not do in our attic bedroom.
One could not take a glass of water up to the bedside; it froze by
morning.One could not kick off the covers; one froze by morning.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920

Wellspring of Love

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excerpt

…moment to gaze at the peaceful faces. Susie’s light brown hair lay
entangled, partly over the pillow and partly over her freckled nose.
Just like when she’s awake, a little wild even in sleep.
Katie lay face up, her lips parted slightly as though a pleasant
dream had made her smile. Darker hair than her sister’s framed the
doll-like features in smooth waves that would probably be just as
unruffled when she awakened in the morning. Tyne shook her head
in wonder at this serene child of hers and, as she turned to leave, marvelled
anew at the difference in these children who had been formed
together in her body.
At Bobby’s door she hesitated a moment, not wanting to intrude
without knocking in case he was still awake. But when she heard his
gentle snore, she looked in. He lay, as he always did, with arms over
his head. From the light coming in from the hallway, she satisfied
herself that he was covered and sound asleep, no doubt to remain that
way until his alarm clock told him another school day had arrived.
Down the hall, Tyne heard a radio playing softly – if the songs
the Beatles belted out could be described that way. Now, now, Tyne,
don’t be old fashioned. Old fashioned or not, she thought, as she quietly
pushed open the door to Rachael’s room, I still prefer Sinatra and
Como and Pat Boone, and oh yes, Elvis is pretty good, too.
Tyne quietly crossed to the bed and looked down on her sleeping
daughter. Rachael lay face up, her arms akimbo, her smooth cheeks
smeared with traces of tears. Tyne sighed, her throat filling as she
recalled another night almost ten years ago when Rachael lay just like
this with tears drying on her face. The day that she and Morley had
to tell Rachael and Bobby their mother would not be coming home
from hospital had seared itself into Tyne’s memory forever.
But what could be distressing the girl so much at this time in
her life that she had cried herself to sleep? What had happened on
Saturday night that had made Rachael so troubled and morose as she
had been since then?

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327

Fury of the Wind

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…housewives and excited children. After checking off the names of
volunteers who manned each booth, he moved on to the next. Few
of the women had time for more than a glance and a nod in his
direction, but preparations appeared to be progressing well.
As he approached the bake sale table, an annual endeavour of the
Anglican Church ladies group, he spotted his wife working at the
table with Mrs. Carson and Mrs. McKinnon. But before he could
greet them he heard his name called. Will turned to see Mrs. Draper,
a director’s wife, hurrying towards him.
“Oh, Mr. Andrews,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve been looking all
over for you. Janet Peterson was supposed to be helping me with
the preserves booth but her husband just told me she’s sick and
won’t be here.” Beads of perspiration from her forehead were sliding
down each side of her moon-shaped face. “I can’t handle it on
my own, there’s so much coming in, and that judge from Bradshaw
doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“All right,” Will said, “you go back to the booth and I’ll send
someone over.”
Muriel Draper extracted a crumpled handkerchief from the
puffed sleeve of her cotton dress. She mopped her face, muttering
as she turned away, “And it’s already so hot. I don’t know how we’ll
survive in this building all day.”
Will thought if Mrs. Draper calmed down she wouldn’t feel the
heat so much. As he turned back to the bake table, he wondered
idly how poor Charlie Draper could stand his wife’s whining day
after day.
“Molly,” he said, after nodding briefly to his wife’s companions,
“will you go over to the preserves section and help Mrs. Draper?
Her partner isn’t coming and she’s snowed under. You know how
excited she gets.”
Molly gave him a sour look. “Really, Will, can’t you find someone
else? You know I’m needed at this table to help with pricing and
sales.”
“I’ll find someone else to come here then,” Will said firmly, “but
there’s no one else who knows how to arrange exhibits like you
do.”
Mrs. Andrews, not in the least mollified by his compliment,
shrugged her shoulders irritably, picked up her purse from under…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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…where all the things that are common in your life don’t exist. Imagine a
place where the only things that do exist are things that are uncommon
to you. You will be in a state of sensory deprivation and sensory overload
at the same time. There are no trees. There are no cities. There is nothing
– but there are vast numbers of insects so pray that the wind blows. There
is almost no night. The size of the horizon is so immense that the prairies
by comparison are claustrophobic. It will just eat away at you and you’ll
have to go through the experience of feeling a bit wobbly and perhaps
teary and that’s fine. I would be worried if you didn’t have an emotional
moment or two. You would have to be completely insensitive.”
In the weeks leading to the departure day, dozens of incidents demanded
his attention. First on the list was the long-planned show at the
Ontario Legislature buildings, which was a great success. The Premier
steered Ken from group to group, demanding that Ken tell the stories that
explained the paintings – even relating some himself that he had heard so
often he had committed them to memory.
Then Ehor Boyanowsky, his voice almost incoherent with excitement,
called him. Ken must fly out to Vancouver right away for an emergency
meeting of the Steelhead Society. There were problems with the dam
project in Quebec.
He drove into town to deliver a painting to London Life on Avenue
Road, on the day of his flight. When he got back into his car, a large
cheque in hand, he heard Peter Gzowski, radio’s “Mister Canada”, interviewing
John Fraser, who was now Speaker of the House. The interview
had almost ended. “So, Mr. Speaker,” Gzowski said. “Your life seems to be
completely taken up by your office.”
“Well, it is,” Fraser, replied.
“I know you’re a fanatical fly-fisherman,” Gzowski said. “Do you ever
get to do that?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Fraser said. “This afternoon I’m getting on an
airplane to go to Vancouver and I’m going to meet my good friend Ken
Kirkby, the painter, and I am going to be honoured at the Steelhead Society
dinner. I couldn’t imagine being in finer company. I’m just delighted.
So yes, we are actually going to steal some time – but don’t tell anybody
– and we’re going to have a few meetings to talk about some problems,
which I’m sure we’ll resolve, and then we’re going to go fishing. And the
people putting this on have some surprises for us too.”
Ken chuckled. So, that was why Boyanowski had insisted he fly to Vancouver.
He knew that Ken would never have pulled himself away from
Isumataq for a mere fishing trip.
When Ehor greeted him in the baggage area, with an immense bear
hug, Ken told him that the jig was up. Ehor shrugged. “I wondered if you
might be listening to Gzowski’s program.

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

Wellspring of Love

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She bent her back to the task again, covering the seeds she had just
planted with the rich loose loam. As she worked she let her thoughts
drift. As usual they returned, like a dog gnawing on a bone, to both
Rachael and Millie Harper. Tyne had tried, over and over, to leave
them in God’s hands. But time after time, she had taken them back
to worry over them herself, as if she could do better than God could
in making things right for them.
She felt a sudden longing to talk to the one friend who had been
her closest confidante since the day they entered nurses’ training
almost twenty years earlier. Maureen Hall, better known as Moe to
her classmates, continued to be a constant in Tyne’s life, although the
years had separated them in distance. Moe and her husband Ken lived
in the city of Calgary, where they operated their own thriving plumbing
business. Moe had left her work in the pediatric department of
the Holy Cross Hospital before giving birth to her first child. Now
Ken and Moe had two – Elizabeth and Brian – and Tyne wished the
families could get together more often.
She decided she would call Moe tonight when the kids had gone
to bed, and the house was quiet. By that time, she suspected, the Hall
household would have settled down as well.
Again she glanced at her watch. It was almost half past three and
the girls should be coming down the lane at any moment. She had
expected Rachael to hurry the twins on their way when they saw the
threatening sky. The older girl was as aware as anyone of the fury of a
prairie storm, and Tyne trusted her to be responsible.
Gathering her tools, she threw them in the wheelbarrow just as
the sky lit up with a fork of lightning. As she hurried to the garden
shed, she looked towards the lane. Relief flooded over her when she
saw Susie and Katie streaking towards the house almost as fast as the
lightning bolt. A thunderous roar overhead put even more wings to
their small feet.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327