Extensions (21 page)

“I think you should come home with me when you're discharged. You won't be up to much for a while. I can check on your apartment and bring your mail for you every few days.

“Thanks, Dad. I might take you up on it.”

No excuses for a weed in my lawn of gratitude. The prospect of cooking and doing laundry on crutches was more than I could face, especially when I wasn't big on either in my able-bodied state. It also crossed my mind — deviously — that Dad and his books would be there to consult when I did my final paper. The library texts he had brought from my place sat unopened on the night table, the fault of visitors, nurses, and sedatives, I rationalized. The cost of a couple of months rent on an empty apartment would probably be equivalent to home care and taxis if I stayed in it. And the force was good about compensation.

Dad stood up. “Smells like the food wagon outside. I'll leave you to eat your supper.”

As soon as he was gone, a nurse arrived with a bouquet of daisies. Before I had a chance to see the card, the phone next to my bed rang and I knew both were from the same person. Gail had carried daisies at her wedding and sent them for Mom's funeral.

Hearing her voice made me realize how much I missed her, again followed by the thought that Jane Hughes would probably not have had such friends. When Gail asked how I was, I surprised myself completely by announcing, “I'm going to apply for Serious Crimes.”

“Wow!” she replied. “So the shot in the foot has been a shot in the arm. How's that for a caption?”

I felt the same way. Maybe all the recent talk had made up my mind and, of course, Gail should be first to know. I couldn't explain that my great-grandmother had also played a part. How could I be so wishy-washy about taking a risk when her life was full of challenges?

“Wait 'til I tell Monty.”

“He might be inspector before it happens.”

She said she would see me at Christmas. It was their turn to spend it with her parents in Vancouver.

“Love you like a sister but a whole lot more,” I said.

She laughed. “I haven't heard that since high school, but ditto.”

“And one more thing.” An idea had popped into my head. “Could you do me a favour and find out where that picture came from? The one of Sara and her sister that I bought at the garage sale? It's a duplicate of mine and I can't figure out how it would get to Willow Point. See if any of the family members can give you some background? Would it be a huge pain?”

“Not for a budding journalist.”

I hung up just as my supper tray was set in front of me. White fish, mashed potatoes, cauliflower in cream sauce, white roll, vanilla pudding. Was the dietitian colour blind? I thought about putting the lid back on and nibbling from my gift goodies, but decided I should probably eat the fish. Soon the whole plate was clean. The painkiller had numbed my shoulder, now I had only to concentrate on getting on the crutches and out the door. When I reached the room two down and across the hall, I stopped and adjusted my crutch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a care aide standing over the bed with linen in her hand. I looked unabashedly now. The old sheets and blankets were in a pile on the floor and no one was in the room.

“Where's the patient?” I hopped to the doorway.

“Discharged.” The aide smoothed the sheet to a boardlike surface, as I once did in Depot but never since.

“So soon?”

She shrugged. “He must have been ready.”

“What was his name?”

“You can ask a nurse. All I know is someone is waiting for this bed.”

Moving aside to let her pass, I continued down the hall toward the lounge to make sure he wasn't in there. Empty, of course, so I propelled myself back to my room. Rather smoothly, I discovered. Just as I sat down on the bed, a nurse I had never seen showed up with equipment. I waited for her to take my blood pressure before asking: “Do you happen to know the name of the fellow across the hall with the cast on his leg?”

“He's gone.”

“I know, but do you know his name?”

“The tall man?” She was making it difficult.

I nodded, and she looked at me curiously until I added, “We've met before and I was embarrassed not to remember his name. You know the situation — we probably went to school together and I should know who he is.”

“Warren Wright.” She was so stingy with the information that I wondered if she was jealous. Hospital names aren't confidential and she should know I'd be able to get it if I had to.

“Was that Warren? He's grown a foot since I last saw him.” I marvelled at the ease with which I could lie recently. Maybe I was ready for the undercover unit in spite of my conspicuous height.

With an eye roll at my blood pressure reading — as if it were a polygraph — she left.

Warren Wright. His history lay at my fingertips, but how soon would I get to the
CPIC
computer again? He would be in my files, so it wasn't unethical, but it was not the kind of check I would ask someone to do for me.

Suddenly I wanted to get out of here — not only for
CPIC
access, but to put in a transfer application from Dad's computer before I changed my mind. I flopped backward on the bed and lifted the cast manually to the other side. This and the walk down the hall cost more energy than I expected. I sighed, sank back against elevated pillows and picked up a letter.

September 25, 1905

Dear Sisters and Brother,

Our mother was laid to rest in the Nanaimo cemetery
on Saturday, September 23. Thank you for your telegraph
messages. We too were sorry you could not be here to say
goodbye. She went peacefully of pneumonia in Thomas's
home. Her twelve years in Canada were filled with illness
and I wonder if she would be alive and healthy, if she
had stayed in Wales. She would tell me such a thought is
foolish because we will never know.

Thomas took care of funeral arrangements and Gomer
and family attended from Victoria. My little Llewyllyn
was disappointed that his older cousins Myrtle and Edna
would not play with him, and he was kept from playing
with his two-year-old cousin Ethan. His Aunt Thelma
was afraid he would harm her son. She does not know
what a gentle little boy he is at five and a half. Sometimes
I fear he has grown up too fast in our home.

Thank you Catherine for your letters. I am glad that
you enjoy married life. It is a blessing your husband is a
bookkeeper and not a miner.

With coal dust everywhere I am thankful I no longer
have to take in laundry for wages and hang clothes on the
line. At least it has not hurt my garden where I grow
almost everything we need
—
potatoes, carrots, turnips,
leeks, swedes, parsnips, cress, peas, beans, tomatoes, and
onions.

You will not believe me anymore when I promise to be
a good correspondent. If we ever meet again, I will tell you
all that has happened in the last ten years. I hope you will
still write now that Mama is gone.

I remain your loving sister, Jane

How I wanted to know what Jane Hughes was leaving out of her letters. She had reeled me into her world and I yearned to discover more about this woman who started our family in Canada. Besides the absence of kisses I felt sad about the line “If we ever meet again…” A new, resigned voice had taken over the young girl who had agonized over her family being so far away. I did not believe she missed them any less; rather, that she now kept all her feelings to herself. Carefully I unfolded the second-to-last letter.

March 8, 1910

Dear Sisters and Brother,

It is with great joy I announce the birth of twin daughters
Sara and Janet on February 16. They are a blessing to our
family. Roland wept when he saw them and wanted to call
one Jane, but I agreed to Janet. Llewyllyn says they were the
best gift ever for his 10th birthday four days ago. He loves
them dearly and holds one while I feed the other. So far Sara
seems more spirited than Janet. Janet sleeps a lot and gives
me a chance to do housework and even a little sewing.

I am sorry to hear of Gilbert's illness. The mine takes
the health or the lives of its workers one way or another,
whether through accident, lung disease, or alcohol. I am
glad to hear Evan and Gwynyth and Gilbert's children
have all moved to Cardiff to seek their fortunes.

Margaret is not too old to find happiness in a second
marriage at 42, if she is worried as you say. Please pass
along my best wishes for the upcoming wedding. I will send
a gift as soon as I have the time and strength to take in
more sewing. I will buy something special at the Hudson's
Bay Company in Nanaimo.

If Roland did not see Tommy at the mine I would
not know anything of our older brother. Lizzie keeps him
to herself and her family. We hear even less of Gomer in
Victoria.

Catherine, your letters are precious to me, even when
I do not often reply.

Your loving sister Jane

This letter inspired a peculiar combination of possessiveness and awe. It was the first mention of a person I actually knew. To think of my Sara bringing the same joy as a baby to someone I didn't know caused an unexpected twinge of envy. Did Jane know Sara better than I did? I felt strangely left out of the magic moment between these two women, or one woman and two babies, one of whom was my grandmother. I visualized Janet as Janetta, calm and practical.

Gradually the power of the letter became greater than my petty jealousy. How could I feel left out of a scene in which I did not even figure? It was merely a piece of brittle paper I held in my hands, though not so merely when I considered the timeline and contents. The part about Roland Hughes weeping and wanting to name the baby after his wife grabbed me, both for Jane's sake and because it was the first favourable mention of my great-grandfather.

Just then, a nurse poked her head in the door. I refocused sufficiently to tell her I was okay before picking up Jane Hughes' last letter.

March 4, 1915

Dear Sisters,

I am sorry to hear about our brother Gilbert's passing.

At least he does not have to suffer any more. Please pass
along my condolences to Constance who took care of him
so well through good times and bad. I am glad she will
be moving to Cardiff closer to her children.

At such times I must give thanks for my strong constitution.
It would never do for me to be sick and fortunately,
other than hay fever and catarrh I seldom am.

Today is Llewyllyn's fifteenth birthday. He would not
have a cake but his sisters cried until I made one. He has
become quiet and moody in the last two years. He says he
will lie about his age to join the army so he can get away
from home and out of Extension. He would rather die in
battle than work in the mine. Many younger boys already
work there and I do not know how much longer I can fight
for him to stay in school. His grades are poor and I can
only bring in so much from sewing to feed an extra man
in the house. He is tall like Father.

The girls are very sweet. I am enclosing a picture
taken of them at Christmas in a studio. Roland had four
prints made and we will save one for each of them. Sara
has the floppy bow. She can never keep still, even in the
picture. I love them beyond measure.

Thank you Cassie for sharing my letters with Margaret.
I do not have the address of our sister Mrs. Lewis Prosser.
There are now five of Mama's children left. I wonder if my
beloved daughters will ever meet my beloved sisters. That
would be my fondest dream.

Now to bed for I am very tired.

xxxxxxxxx
Your loving sister Jane
xxxxxxxxx

The kisses brought a lump to my throat. Cassie was back with Jane. If this was the end of my great-grandmother's story as recorded in her own hand, at least it concluded on a happier note. It was coincidence enough that I had two of the prints, but how did one of them end up in Willow Point? Maybe Gail would turn up some clues.

I set the letters in the drawer of the night table and lay my head on the pillow, whispering, “Now to bed for I am very tired.”