Outcasts of River Falls (12 page)

Kathryn stepped into a world of carved wooden toys, piles of folded laundry and general mayhem as two small boys raced past her waving sticks.

“Please, have a seat.” Madame Thibault motioned to
ward the kitchen table as she wiped her hands on her smeared apron. “I have only this minute poured the water for tea. I like a strong cup so we’ll wait for it to steep.”

Before Kathryn could protest that she’d already had more than enough of the black brew for today, the cups were set out and her fate sealed.

The harried mother shooed the boisterous boys outside. “Go and play swords with your brothers. There are dangerous dragons outside and I’m sure they need slaying.”

Kathryn sat, resigned to another cup of tea, and explained why she had come. “I wanted to say thank you for the wonderful welcoming party and thought a sweet treat filled the bill. Unfortunately, my baking skills are not what they should be.” She thought ‘humble,’ (however undeserved as each cookie had been inspected and found perfect), would make her seem more approachable. Smiling sweetly, she took a dozen of the morsels out of her basket and placed them on an empty plate.

Madame Thibault laughed. “Oh, my dear child, you are most welcome. I have yet to meet a Métis who doesn’t love to listen to the fiddle and your arrival supplied an excuse to get together and rosin up the bow. It is we who should be thanking you and as for the cookies, my herd of boys wouldn’t care if they were cinders, they would still gobble them down and look for more.”

As she sipped her tea and discussed the weather, her life in Toronto, and other safe topics, Kathryn eased back to the subject she was dying to find out more about. “While I was chatting with two lovely gentlemen, I heard tell of a man who does daring exploits on behalf of the folks at River
Falls – robbing from the rich and giving to the poor; right
ing wrongs, that sort of thing. He sounded very interesting and I wonder if you knew anything about him.”

“The Highwayman, oh yes, he is a genuine hero. I shudder to think where we would be without that angel. Sadly, I don’t know anything more to tell you.”

This was not what Kathryn wanted to hear. She had given out a lot of cookies without discovering many clues. Plus, she had imbibed an ocean of tea which had led to her visiting more outhouses than she cared to count!

After her goodbyes, Kathryn was leaving when she spied another of the Thibault clan dangling from a nearby poplar. Even upside down, he was familiar and as she got closer, she realized she’d seen this particular jester before. It was the lad
with the scarlet chapeau, her Prairie Puss in Boots.

The memory of how she’d rebuffed him at the dance made her cringe. She hadn’t meant to be so rude, and to add to that insult, she couldn’t seem to dredge up his name. She tried to recall it and remembered it was something odd, like numbers or...

“JP!” She blurted rather loudly as it came back to her in the nick of time. It was an odd way of referring to him and she wondered what the initials stood for.

He immediately swung up to a sitting position on the branch he’d been hanging from. “Aye, I am that Lord of Renown, Kate, and verily, I am glad to see you again, fair damsel.”

His manner was so friendly; she decided he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. She would play along with his courtly mannerisms. “Thou art truly a kind liege, sire. And the name is Kathryn, as in ‘Kathryn’ the Great.”

An old expression used by one of the Sisters at the convent school came into her head.
Little pitchers have big ears
, meaning children often overhear from grown-ups things that they shouldn’t. She doubted this strange boy would have a problem with misappropriating the occasional kernel of information, whatever the source. “Your Majesty, I was having tea with your royal mother, and we were speaking of a fellow called the Highwayman. I don’t suppose you know anything about this auspicious knight?”

He reacted as though that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Of course. I know all the details about every one of my loyal subjects and everything that happens in my kingdom.”

Kathryn sized up the wiry lad, recognising the intelligence in his lively face. “Yes, I bet you do. Pray tell me about this Highwayman.”

“What’s it worth to you?” All business now, he folded his arms across his chest as he sat perched high above.

Kathryn was taken aback. She supposed after the way she’d refused him at the dance, she had this one coming. “What about a feast fit for a palace banquet?”

“Depends.” There was a mischievous light in his brown eyes. “What do you offer, comely peasant girl?”

Kathryn held up the basket. “My liege, I offer a prize worth more than all the jewels in your kingdom. I bring golden delicacies, prepared with the finest ingredients in the royal kitchens and they would be entirely for you, since none of your loyal subjects are around to demand their share of the loot.”

Grabbing his feathered hat which had been propped on the branch next to him, JP jumped from the tree.
Plunking himself down on a stump, he carefully placed the hat on his head at a rakish angle then beckoned her forward. “You may approach the throne and present your offerings.”

She moved closer, curtsied gracefully and opened the basket, revealing the fragrant contents.

He sniffed appreciatively and Kathryn knew she had him. You could always count on a boy’s stomach to win in a fight. Reaching out a less than clean hand, JP made to filch one of the cookies.

She snatched the basket back. “Not so fast, sire. Preceding your enjoying this bountiful harvest, I need to know what information you have.”

He winked at her and she quirked a brow at him.

“The noble knight we speak of fights for my serfs in my stead. As sovereign of this land, I am not allowed to put my life in jeopardy.”

“That makes perfect sense, your majesty.” Kathryn was enjoying the pantomime.

“He is summoned when needed and defends the down trotten.”

“Trodden
,” Kathryn corrected, allowing him to retrieve one morsel from the basket.

“Forsooth, that’s what I said,” He stood, brandishing the cookie like a miniscule shield. “And astride his midnight steed, our ebony-haired knight vanquishes his foe with his ivory hilted dagger.”

Kathryn narrowed her eyes, this was interesting. “Ivory...his knife has an ivory handle!”

“Aye; and, wrong-handed he saves the day every night.” With this the shield disappeared into JP’s mouth.

Kathryn tried to unravel what he meant.
“Saves the day every night?”

He bristled at her constant correcting before continuing in his best
ye olde English
. “Verily, the Highwayman performs these jousts under cover of darkness, so he shan’t be nabbed by Constable Dung.”

“By this, you mean Constable Blake?” She was catching on.

“He has been known in the realm by that name, but I like mine better.”

“And what do you mean by
wrong handed
, sire?”

“He uses the
wrong
hand when he throws his knife,” JP patiently explained as though she were slow witted. “He’s a lefty.”

Kathryn mulled this over. She now knew the Highwayman was not always around, and when he showed up, he rode a dark horse, carried a knife with an ivory hilt, was left-handed and had black hair.

“You are wise and knowledgeable.” She regarded him knowingly. “And methinks thou readest books...” She had his undivided attention now. “And those books have dragons and knights, wizards and witches.... Treasures beyond imagining.”

He leaned toward her and when she saw the eagerness in his brown eyes; the sparks swirling within showed her
that he coveted books as much as she. Kathryn had not ex
pected someone from these dispossessed people to have such a strong love of reading. “I have
treasures
stashed at my aunt’s house. As a reward for imparting your information to me, I would share those treasures as I know you would value them more than gold, as do I.”

He reacted like a child on Christmas morning. “Really!
Truly? You mean it, Kate?”

He jumped up from his throne so quickly, that Kathryn laughed. He was practically dancing now.

“Under two conditions...” She hesitated, waiting to see if he would accept her offer.

“Yes, sure, name your price.”

“That you call me Kathryn and...” She paused, drawing out the suspense. “I don’t think you were christened JP. I would like to know your real name.”

This made him stop.
“JP
is what I am known by and
JP
is what I answer to. ”

She thought about it, and then decided giving in was a way of making up for the slight at the dance. “Then JP is what I’ll call you.”

“Personally, I can’t stand my name and it’s one piece of information I never share.”

She bobbed her head. “I can respect that and the offer of the books stands, JP.”

“You have no idea what this means to me. Thank you, Kathryn. I’ve been reading the same two books for years now as my papa said there was no money for frivolities and to him, books are frivolities. You’ve saved me!”

Kathryn dipped into her deepest curtsey. “For my King of the Scarlet Chapeau, only the best will do.”

“I shall make the pilgrimage and promise thy wondrous book shall be guarded by all the knights in my kingdom. Adieu, fair lady.” With a flourish, he swept his colourful hat from his head and bowed, then took his leave.

Kathryn waved goodbye. Thanks to JP, she could begin her search.

It was the middle of the night
and aggravatingly, Kathryn still tossed and turned, sleep evading her. She fluffed her blonde hair across the pillow, arranging it artfully, then lay back and crossed her arms over her chest, like a beautiful, pale corpse. If she died tonight, they would find her still body, as perfect as Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince, serene in death as she never was while alive on this cursed night. After a while she gave up on the cadaver pose, punched her pillow into submission and flopped back down. The mystery of who the masked hero might be ran through her head, vexing her with the tantalizing clues she’d been given by the boy, JP. In truth, he was not such a boy, but near her own age; still, it was hard to think of her prairie puss as a young man.

She’d been comparing all the neighbours she’d met with the list of things she now knew about the Highwayman. She wished she’d paid more attention when she’d been introduced to the citizens of River Falls so she could
start matching clues to suspects. In her defence, who no
ticed details like ivory handled knives? She was sure that the Highwayman must be a Métis, as who else would so staunchly defend the Ditch People? So who were the candidates? Her mind flew back to her early days at River Falls as she reviewed the possible perpetrators.

The first deed done by the Highwayman was when Pierre had his painting problem with Mr. Campbell. He had a great motive for revenge after the hardware merchant refused to pay, but then he’d been compensated with the stolen paint and oats delivered under cover of darkness by the mysterious Highwayman.

What if Pierre broke into the hardware store and stole the goods then in order to throw suspicion in a different direction, he’d created the ruse of the Highwayman to cover his tracks? He could continue righting wrongs and no one would suspect him since he was already a recipient of the masked benefactor’s justice.

That was so clever and devious it was something Kathryn could have come up with herself.

And what of Joseph? He’d said he was always tearing around the countryside in search of ingredients for his wife’s bakery. That would allow him to gather information and be in different locations to perform his Robin Hoodish deeds with no one the wiser.

She wasn’t going to exclude Francis either. True, with his ruined right hand, he was not the obvious choice for the Bandit de Grand Chemin except Kathryn had seen how well he functioned when he hung her door. He could easily be her
wrong handed bandit.

In addition, there were those Métis who didn’t live in River Falls, like Henri Beauchamp who was saved from eating gophers by this phantom hero. No one would know what Henri was up to since he wasn’t part of the community and when he needed to steal food, what better subterfuge than to blame it on his own creation, the Highwayman. Sure, he’d passed along some of the goods, but it was a small price to ensure his family wasn’t dining on vermin.

Solving this puzzle would require someone with the skills of that popular detective Sherlock Holmes to deduce who was their culprit.

The whole thing had given her a terrible throbbing headache and exhausted Kathryn drifted into an uneasy sleep. Her dreamscape swirled with gauzy mist. Ahead, through the vapour, she saw her parents watching her. She ran to catch up, never coming close enough to touch them.
Why didn’t they stay? The more she chased them, the an
grier she became.

And then her dream world spun her into her lumpy old bed in the dormitory at the convent school. She had a crucial mathematics exam to study for, but an annoying pounding sound, like distant hoof beats, distracted her from memorizing the nine times table.