Restoring Harmony Part 29

"You're Canadians?"

"Yes, sir."

"Got your pa.s.sports?"

"In my fiddle case."

"Come along."

I walked with the man up a rocky beach to a path leading through the woods, the dogs snuffling around at my wet feet. The man wasn't more than a large dark shadow, and I couldn't tell from his demeanor so far if he'd be nice or a rule follower.

"Don't you know that there's a moratorium on all boat crossings into Canada?" he asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I said.

"Because of the polio epidemic in the States," he explained. "You have to be examined by a doctor at a land crossing before you're allowed into the country. No boats allowed until further notice."

"Oh. I didn't know." I was glad I didn't have to look him in the eye when I told that lie or he'd probably be able to tell I was scared. "The captain never said. He just told me we couldn't land in Victoria for some reason, and the next thing I knew he was tossing us overboard."

The man led us into a tidy log cabin with a roaring fire in the stove. That's when I noticed he was wearing a RCMP uniform. He was a police officer? c.r.a.p.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Depends," he answered. "How are you feeling?"

"Ummm . . . fine." I could see him now, and he was huge and hairy. He towered over me and Michael, his wild beard and furry eyebrows practically covering his face.

"Been exposed to polio?" he asked, but he didn't sound as if he really cared.

I shook my head and Michael pressed his face into my shoulder. "No," I said. "Not that I know of, anyway."

"That's what they all say." The officer sighed. "But it doesn't really matter to me because they'll never stop it. You'd think they'd know after all the flu pandemics that having everyone camping together is a great way to spread disease. If not polio, then something else."

That was exactly what Grandpa had told me too. And another good reason to avoid the camps, as far as I was concerned.

"Wait here," he said. He slipped into a back room and came out with a couple of blankets. I took Michael into the washroom with me, but I didn't have anything to change him into, so I stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped him in the blanket. I was hoping one of my grandparents had my pack, because I didn't have it anymore. I took off my soaked jeans and made a skirt out of the other blanket for myself. When I came out, there was a plate with a piece of smoked salmon and a chunk of bread on the table by the stove.

"Eat," he said.

I dug my pa.s.sport out of the inside of my fiddle case instead, and handed it to him.

"Nice violin," he said, eyeing Jewels.

"Thanks."

He studied my pa.s.sport by the light of the fire. "Looks all right, eh? But what about your brother?"

"I . . . I . . . lost his. In the water."

He studied me. "Uh-huh."

"Really."

"Get some sleep. We'll discuss it in the morning. I'm supposed to lock you up overnight, but I've got a bunch of men in the jail already who were tossed overboard earlier. You two can sleep on that couch."

"Thank you," I said. "And thanks for the food."

"You're welcome. Don't even think about sneaking off in the middle of the night. The guard dogs are outside, and I keep them just a little bit hungry."

In the morning, the RCMP officer made us a pot of oatmeal on the woodstove. He said I could play Jewels, but I stopped after the first song.

"You really don't mind?" I asked. "She's awfully loud in such a small place."

"I like it," he said.

When the food was ready, I packed Jewels into her case and managed to talk Michael into eating a few spoonfuls.

"Where's Brandy?" he whined. "I want Grandma and Grandpa."

"Shhh," I said. That was the first time I'd heard him call my grandparents that, and even though it surprised me, I liked it. "We'll be home soon."

I washed our dishes in a tiny sink and then I sat down on the couch with Michael, ready to find out what our fate was going to be. The only plan I had was to beg for mercy if I had to.

"The way I see it," the officer said, sitting in a blue chair across from us, "your brother brother doesn't have a pa.s.sport, and you want me to look the other way." doesn't have a pa.s.sport, and you want me to look the other way."

Michael buried his head against my shoulder.

"And there's the whole polio thing too," he continued. "But we've already established I don't care much about that. However, you do have something I want, so we trade."

He looked right at me, and I squirmed in my seat. There was only one thing I had that he could possibly want. I'm sorry, but there was no way I was going to have s.e.x with that big furry man. Even for Michael!

"I'm a minor," I said with as much dignity as I could muster.

"And I'm married," he said. "I was talking about your violin."

"What?" I jumped up, dislodging Michael. "My dad gave me this fiddle. I can't."

He shrugged. "Your choice. Let's go." He stood and opened the door.

"Where?"

"Down to the jailhouse. I have to scan your pa.s.sport, and you'll both need a physical. We'll probably have to take your brother into foster care until we can verify his ident.i.ty too."

Foster care? That might not be such a bad option. Mom and Dad could come back and adopt him. Or Spill could break him out. Yeah, that was a good plan. I'd let this man take him and then we'd follow Michael and get him back. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Was I crazy? I couldn't let him take Michael.

"They're shipping most foster kids back to the mainland," the man said casually. "Would make it harder to get him back, if he really is your brother. Ferries are pretty expensive these days."

I knew he was lying. Wasn't he? He had to be. There was no reason to do that. Still . . . I glanced at Jewels' case.

The man smiled at me, knowing he'd won. Before I could change my mind or Michael figured out what was going on, I took him by the hand and we walked out the open door, leaving Jewels behind on the couch.

45.

October 8th-Everybody wants a good life. Everybody wants a family and some friends. It's just a simple truth. That's what it all comes down to in the end.

-Victor Mecyssne

MICHAEL AND I SAW OUR GROUP SITTING UNDER A tree before they noticed us, but by the time we got to the little grove of firs, everyone was standing.

"Do you want a rest, or can we get going?" Grandpa asked.

"We're fine," I said. "But what about you guys? Did you get any sleep?"

"Under the stars, on the beach." He sighed happily.

"Nice," Grandma said, smiling.

"We had a fire," Brandy added.

"Sounds good."

"Before you go," Spill said, "I need to talk to Molly in private, for a minute."

Grandpa gave him a stern look that almost made me laugh. "Don't be too long," he said. "We need to get moving."

Spill led me away from the road into the woods. The earth smelled like it should: damp, scented with pine. The needles padded my steps, welcoming me home.

"Weren't you guys freezing without the sleeping bags and stuff?" I asked. We'd left the camping gear with the Brothers.

"I had a bunch of HyperFoil blankets," he said. "And the fire helped. We weren't exactly comfortable, but we did okay." He stopped walking in a little clearing surrounded by a grove of towering fir trees. "So . . ."

"So?" I smiled and brushed a stray curl away from my face.

"I guess this is it," he said. His blue eyes sparkled, and he held my gaze.

"It?" I asked.

"Time to go our separate ways."

This was stupid. We didn't have to go separate ways. I grabbed both his hands. "Come back with us."

"Nah . . . I can't, Molly."

"Just for a little while?" I asked. "Why not?"

"Because," he said, smiling, "I want your dad to take me seriously when he meets me for the first time."

"After all you've done for us, how could he-"

"Seriously," he repeated. "You know why."

My stomach gave a little flutter. He wanted Dad to like him.

"Will you visit?" I asked.

He took my hand and held it. "I'll keep in touch," he said. "I promise not to just disappear."

I couldn't really imagine my life without Spill. I'd gotten so used to having him around. Even when I went weeks without seeing him, he was always on my mind. I threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly.

His hold on me was softer, more gentle, and I tipped my head back to look at his face, and he did the same. And then he leaned in, pressing his mouth to mine, his lips so soft I couldn't believe it. He'd lived such a tough-guy life, but his mouth felt like warm velvet. After not long enough, he pulled away.

"Time to go," he said.

I tried to hold on, knowing that as soon as I released him, he'd leave, but he untangled himself anyway and took one of my hands in his. We walked back, fingers entwined, my feet dragging.

"Where's your fiddle?" he asked.

"Oh, you know . . . ," I said as casually as I could, "the RCMP officer who put us up last night . . . he wanted a fiddle."

He simply nodded, but there was a glint of fire in his eyes. "Why didn't you give him your gold?" he asked.

"My gold?"

"In your boot."

"Oh, my G.o.d!" I said, stopping. "I forgot all about it. Let's go and see if he'll take it."

Spill held firmly to my hand to keep me from running back the way I'd just come with Michael. "It's too late, Molly," he said. "It's done."

"But, Spill!"

"Trust me. I know about these things."

I slumped against him, and he put his arm around my shoulder. "You did the right thing," he said.

"Yeah . . . I know." But doing the right thing didn't bring Jewels back to me.