Bishop's Road (32 page)

“You're joking, Ruth. There's no way that woman is a ghost.”

“I didn't come here to argue. I'm delivering a bird feeder. That's it. Believe what you want but, as old what's-his-face said,
there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy
blah blah blah.”

Caroline is fascinated with Ruth and her ramblings. Wants to meet Eve next time she comes around. Tells her husband they should plan to stay awhile.

Dr. Kamau has been travelling for six days. He might have been here ages ago but there are dozens of small towns along the way and he can't resist a visit to each of them. There are even more places off the beaten track and so far he has clocked 2400 km on a 1500 km trip and not even halfway done. He has been sitting around with fisherfolk and truckdrivers. Farmers and steel-workers. Today he had lunch with a handful of nuns who grow lettuce for a living. Fifteen different kinds with no pesticides and they charge a small fortune for them at the market on Saturday morning. A few times he has forgotten where he's going until someone asks and then he drives all night to make up for lost time. He's not so much absent-minded as easily led astray. Not unlike that daughter he never knew he had.

There are tiny fish that come ashore each year. Called
caplin. They are much like smelts but mostly in size. You can eat them fried fresh or dry them for later or use them for bait to catch bigger fish. In some places people dig them into their vegetable gardens as fertilizer and the smell is awful for a few days but worth it in the end. The caplin come to spawn. Millions of them. On the tide. Find out when it will be high and go to the ocean. If you look out a little way you'll see them, a dark cloud in the water. And then they are rolling on the beaches. Gleaming silver. A flood of silver in the sun setting. You can fill a bucket in a minute. They are especially delicious cooked in butter with the tiniest new potatoes - boiled - and some steamed turnip tops or dandelion greens.

Following the caplin are the codfish in a good year and whales. Cod is tasty too and the whales are better than a circus any day. Take cold beer and sandwiches and a friend and find a grassy spot on a hill overlooking the ocean. You won't need binoculars, they are that close. If you are lucky enough to know people with a boat, go out with them. The whales might play with you. Might let you touch their tough wet skin.

Dr. Kamau happened upon a crowded beach just before sundown one evening and had to investigate. Someone handed him a colander and he helped fill a wheelbarrow with the wriggling silver. Minnie Osborne had never seen an African man before except on television and invited him home for tea and he ended up staying in the twins' bedroom for the night and they were sent outside to sleep in the camper trailer which suited them fine. And the next day Minnie was drying the caplin and he had to watch the process. Then they all went out to the beach to pick mussels for the fundraiser at the church hall that night. He ended up staying for three days and had a marvelous time.

Ginny Mustard is very unhappy. She is thin as a rail except where the baby grows. She looks like a brown egg on stilts. If only someone would listen to Joe Snake as he pleads on her behalf. If only someone could help her out of this sad and dreary mess. If only. She has been listening to Ella pray all day every day for months and might get down on her own two knees if it seemed to be helping at all. But Ella is as pathetic as ever. Moaning and crying out to her Lord and Savior. Begging forgiveness. If she would shut up for a minute she might hear the answer. Or not. Even God must tire of repeating Himself.

When Ginny Mustard had her first encounter with Alice Paine she didn't have anything to say. Alice was sweet and almost pleading but Ginny Mustard has given up talking. Only the baby hears her anymore and there's no need to speak aloud for her. Alice tells the warden that Ginny Mustard is suffering from severe depression and that she fears the worst. The warden doesn't really give a damn. She's been running this show for long enough and is planning early retirement. She and her husband have finally finished the cottage that's been under construction for twenty-odd years and she spends most of her time building a Web page to show it off to the rest of the world. She was never interested in that pack of criminals to start with. This was the first job to come along when she and Bill decided they needed a summer place. Every cent she makes goes into it. Their home is a shack by comparison. She will put in her notice as soon as the trout pond has been stocked. Ginny Mustard is of no more concern than the rest of this sorry lot.

The food around here is inedible again. Ginny Mustard takes no care and more often than not most meals go into the garbage barely touched. Some of the inmates are talking riot but they're too hungry to pull it off. They complain to the guards who complain to the warden but she's at the computer most of the time with her door locked. “Some of those cows can stand to lose
a few pounds,” is all she says.

The guards have been spoiled. Ginny Mustard is the best cook to come along ever. They are none too happy with the warden's response. Mae Foley says, “You know, now that I come to think on it, Ginny Mustard is not looking all that good these days. Do you suppose there's something wrong with her? She looks awful. And she never opens her mouth any more. It doesn't surprise me her cooking's gone all to hell. We're going to have to find someone else to take over the kitchen but do you think we should get the nurse to check her out? I don't know what they're doing putting a pregnant woman in this place. We've got enough on our hands as it is without having to watch out for her. What if she goes into labour one of these nights and the nurse is not around? I don't want that kind of responsibility. I find it real stressful, myself. I don't know about the rest of you but I think something ought to be done about this. We don't get paid enough to be liable for whatever happens to her, do we now. I wouldn't mind her being here after that youngster is born but this isn't sensible.”

The problem with travelling this time of year is moose. They are everywhere. The yearlings have been turfed out of house and home to make way for the spring crop and they haven't a clue where to go. So they wander aimlessly, often on the highways and straight toward your car. Dusk is the worst time because you can't see all that well and perhaps they can't either. How else to explain the number of collisions between car and beast every year. Mrs. Benoit is adamant about getting off the road long before sunset and there is no point arguing though Lucy gives it a good shot anyway.

In the lobby of a motel, which turns out to serve a mean
hot turkey sandwich, they run into a very tall African man also looking for shelter. Someone in the last town he visited told him all about moose but it wasn't until he saw one clambering out of the bushes and up over the shoulder of the road toward him that he really believed the stories. He waits patiently while the Benoits check in, observing that they are native and hoping to get a chance to pick their brains later. Hears them ask if the dining room is open and decides he is hungry as well. Waits until they are settled before taking a table next to theirs. Mrs. Benoit thinks he must be lonely and a long way from home since the only other black person she has ever met is her daughter-in-law. They are as scarce as hen's teeth around here. Besides, the room is empty but he's practically sitting in their laps. He must be lonely. And so she strikes up a conversation, bewildering the poor man. He's come to expect fast talkers on the island but she can outdo the best of them. It will be some time before he gets a word in to find out what these people are about. No matter. The food is good and she will have to wind down sooner or later. He shares his wine and listens to her ramble while Lucy fills in the blanks. Mr. Benoit sits quietly for the duration and when he heads outside with his pipe, even though the waitress says not to bother, there's no one else around and she loves the smell of tobacco, Dr. Kamau is on his heels.

Getting Francis Benoit to talk is almost as difficult as convincing his wife to stop but Dr. Kamau is persistent and hears the history of his people as Mr. Benoit knows it. The myths and stories, the trials and triumphs. When the others are long gone to bed they are still at it but inside, with brandy and coffee and cigars, what the hell. Mr. Benoit has many friends. The men he has lived with and worked with all his life. Good neighbours. But they sometimes take themselves for granted. Easy enough to do in a small town. Not often does someone come along to make you really look at who you are deep at the bone, so that you remember with pride a little something special that sets you apart from
others. It's a cheerful man who snuggles down next to his wife that night.

Mrs. Miflin is sitting on the front porch of the house on Bishop's Road when Ruth comes back to visit. David and Caroline were adamant that she join them for dinner this evening. Joanie and her parents have explained to Mrs. Miflin several times in the last few days that the house is not for sale right now and that they will contact her as soon as it is. But the shrewd bird doesn't trust them. Will sit on her perch every day until the house is hers again. They had considered calling the police and having her arrested for trespassing but really, she's not doing any harm, just filling up space and making it difficult to get by. They have taken to using the back door more often than not.

“Well old trout,” says Ruth. “You don't give up easy, do you? Why don't you just find yourself a nice little house some-where else? Or two. God knows you can probably afford it. And do you really think you should be carrying all that money around with you?”

Mrs. Miflin has been looking at pictures in the magazine she uses to cover her stash and now shoves it back in the bag. “I don't know that it's any of your business, Ruth. This is my house and I'm having it. And don't you think for a minute you'll ever get your nose inside of it once I do, Missy. You can die on the street for all I care and that's the truth of it.”

“Whatever,” says Ruth as she struggles past the little round woman. Calls out, “I'm here,” as she opens the door.