Beholden

By Lesley Crewe

The author of Relative Happiness—now an award-winning film—“shines a light on the secrets and lies that bind generations of Cape Breton families” (Toronto Star).
 
The story begins with Nell, the “spinster on the hill” near St. Peter’s, Cape Breton. Scarred by her own childhood, she swears she could never love a child and that she will never marry, denying herself a life with the man she loves. She’s proven wrong when a baby is born just down the road from her. Her love of little Jane, despite herself, propels us forward through generations trying to untangle their own traumas and secrets. Eventually, we meet Bridie—joyful, kind, capable Bridie—and see her struggling through the echoing pain of those who came before her. Her choices, her bravery, her “nest of wonderful women,” and her ultimate refusal to settle for anything less than love, eventually redeem her and everyone around her—even the spinster on the hill.
 
“Beholden takes place between the 1920s and 1970s in Sydney and St. Peter’s. It’s a story about four characters, redemption, loyalty and how secrets can reverberate over years.” —Cape Breton Post

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781771086578

Book preview

Praise For Lesley Crewe

Mary, Mary

A funny and charming story of a dysfunctional Cape Breton family, and the irony of the white sheep who stands out like a sore thumb.

—Atlantic Books Today

Amazing Grace

"Amazing Grace is a fast-paced novel written in Crewe’s breezy, chatty style as if Grace were talking over tea in her trailer...Crewe has a gift for creating delightful characters."

—Halifax Chronicle Herald

From the first page to the last, the novel is warm-hearted…It’s also funny, alive with Lesley Crewe’s trademark wit and ear for dialogue.

—Atlantic Books Today

Hit & Mrs

Crewe’s writing has the breathless tenor of a kitchen-table yarn…a cinematic pace and crackling dialogue keep readers hooked.

–Quill & Quire

"If you’re in the mood for a cute chick-lit mystery with some nice gals in Montreal, Hit & Mrs. is just the ticket."

—Globe & Mail

Relative Happiness

Her graceful prose…and her ability to turn a familiar story into something with such raw, dramatic power are skills that many veteran novelists have yet to develop.

—Halifax Chronicle Herald

Also by Lesley Crewe

Mary, Mary

Amazing Grace

Chloe Sparrow

Kin

Her Mother’s Daughter

Hit and Mrs.

Ava Comes Home

Shoot Me

Relative Happiness

Copyright © 2018, Lesley Crewe

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

Vagrant Press is an imprint of

Nimbus Publishing Limited

3660 Strawberry Hill Street, Halifax, NS, B3K 5A9

[phone] nimbus.ca

Printed and bound in Canada

Cover design: Heather Bryan

Interior Design: Jenn Embree

NB1391

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and places, including organizations and institutions, either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Crewe, Lesley, 1955-, author

Beholden / Lesley Crewe.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-77108-656-1 (softcover).

—ISBN 978-1-77108-657-8 (HTML)

I. Title.

PS8605.R48B44 2018 C813’.6 C2018-902861-0

C2018-902862-9

Nimbus Publishing acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities from the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts, and from the Province of Nova Scotia. We are pleased to work in partnership with the Province of Nova Scotia to develop and promote our creative industries for the benefit of all Nova Scotians.

For the grandmother I never knew, Bridget O’Gorman

Prologue

1950

It was habit now, that George switched off his car’s headlights when he turned from the main highway and travelled along the dirt laneway to Nell’s house at the top of the hill.

No one needs to know our business, she’d say. The town gossips seek fuel for their fire every morning, and I won’t give them the satisfaction.

It was nearly nine o’clock, and the stars were beginning to peek out from behind the clouds on this warm night in mid-September. George had spent the day fishing in one of his favourite spots just outside St. Peter’s, Cape Breton. Whenever his busy medical practice allowed it, he’d leave his family in Sydney and travel back to his hometown to spend a day or two by the river.

River water was the finest water there was, as far as George was concerned. Always moving, breathing life and carrying momentum along its journey to the ocean. Sometimes it would slow and calmly gather in soft pools, where tranquil fish would hide under the rocks away from prying eyes. At other times, the gush and force created by strong winds and rain would create white foam as it gurgled and roared past.

A river was the only place George found peace.

A river, and Nell.

He knew the laneway by heart and drove the car around the house and parked in the back. Usually Nell had the outdoor light on, but tonight it was dark. She knew he was coming, so that was odd. He was a little later than he’d intended, but she always waited up for him.

George got out of the car and walked up to the back door, giving a quiet tap as he opened it. He eased his way through the screen door into the kitchen and turned on the light.

Hello?

She didn’t answer him.

Her supper dishes were still on the table and her beast of a cat, Cat, was licking his chops in the middle of the mess.

Do you ever stay off the table, Cat?

Cat gave him a grim look and continued to lick his paw and rub his face with it.

Nell was not a good housekeeper. She said that was for drudges. But there was a fascinating beauty to her parlour, which wasn’t a parlour at all.

Why would I keep a room for company, when I have none?

It was her dressmaking studio, with rolls of fabric standing in groups at every corner and against the furniture and her wide work table. There were two dressmaker’s dummies at opposite ends of the room, which always made George uncomfortable. They looked like they were staring at him. Condemning him. And always, her fragile paper patterns were blown about in a chaotic order that only Nell understood. Her large black sewing machine was in the middle of the mayhem.

George quickly looked around, then started up the stairs. Nell. Where are you?

No answer.

And then his eyes rested on the gin bottle by the open front door. He slowly pushed the screen door wide and stood on the covered front porch. Nell was sound asleep in her big rocking chair, a wrap around her shoulders and an empty glass on the floor beside her.

She always denied she drank and would cut him off if he pursued it. It is none of your concern. You don’t live here.

He looked down at her face, so hard and soft at the same time. She wore her auburn hair as she’d always worn it, in a messy bun to keep it out of her eyes. She had no time for combs and toiletries. A lot of vain nonsense. I can think of better ways to spend my time than prancing about trying to impress a man.

George knew if she was in her rocking chair, she was worried about something. She said that chair was her friend. George understood what she meant. What was troubling her? It bothered him that she was always alone with her demons, but drinking gin wasn’t going to solve anything.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to her room, shutting the door behind him with his hip. He placed her on the unmade bed, took off her shoes, and loosened the top buttons on her blouse. Undressing in the dark, he covered them both with a sheet and snuggled into her back, with his arm draped over her breasts, his face buried in her soft curls. She always smelled of sunshine and ironed linen.

He was asleep in minutes.

His eyes opened to the far-off rumble of thunder. The bedroom looked dim and gloomy even though it was sunrise. He’d be driving home in the rain. George turned over, expecting Nell by his side, but she was already up. A tinge of disappointment fell over him. He got up on his elbow and called out, Nell?

Yes? She sounded like she was in the kitchen.

Are you coming back upstairs?

No. Get dressed.

George flopped back on the bed. She didn’t sound like herself. He wondered what was going on. So much for being together this weekend.

His shoes sounded loud on the wooden steps. He ducked going through the kitchen doorway. Nell was sitting at the head of the table, presiding over the mess.

No breakfast? Would you like me to rustle something up?

No, George. Sit down. I have to talk to you.

Before he pulled up a chair, he leaned over and kissed her full lips. I’ve missed you.

She didn’t respond.

George’s brow furrowed. He reached in his jacket pocket and took out his pipe and pouch of pipe tobacco. Okay. Let me light up first. I think more clearly through a cloud of smoke. He gave her a saucy grin and lit his pipe with a stainless-steel lighter, taking long drags to make sure it caught. When he snapped the lighter shut and returned it to his pocket, he said, Shoot.

Nell reached up and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. You are going to do something for me, George. Whether you like it or not.

Okay.

You may find this request outrageous, but I have my reasons for it. I think you’ll agree that I’ve never asked you for anything in my life. True?

True.

I’m asking now. Look out the kitchen window.

George took a few puffs of his pipe before he got up and went over to the sink. What am I supposed to be looking at?

There’s a girl in your car.

George’s head leaned forward. She was right. There was a young girl sitting in the front passenger seat of his station wagon. His head whipped around. What’s going on? Who is she?

Her name is Jane and she’s fourteen years old. I want you to use your resources to find her a good home, make sure she continues her education, and then find her a job so she can support herself and she never has to come back here again.

George put his hand to his head. A wicked migraine was peeking around the corner of his inner eye. He sat on the nearest chair and took a deep breath. You want me to kidnap a child and take her from her family?

She has no family.

Why don’t you take her in?

She deserves more than I can give her. I don’t want her in this town.

Nell, do you know what you’re asking?

Yes.

How am I supposed to explain this to Mavis?

Nell jumped up impatiently. Do I have to do all your thinking for you? Tell her she’s a cousin who lost her family and you feel an obligation to protect her.

And this child is going to go along with that?

What choice does she have?

George shook his head. This isn’t right, Nell. You’re playing with people’s lives here.

Nell pounded her fist on the kitchen table. You will do this for me, George. You owe me. Or are you just a man who gets his thrills by cheating on his wife?

A visual aura exploded inside George’s brain. He knew what was coming next so he lurched to his feet, slammed open the screen door, and headed around the back of the house to vomit in the long grass. It didn’t make him feel better. For a moment he thought he was dreaming, but almost instantly he was in the middle of a downpour, and that was real enough. He ran back into the kitchen, shaking the rain off his clothes, and went to the sink to rinse his mouth out. Nell was where he left her, standing defiantly, although it appeared she was shaking. With outrage? Fear? He wasn’t lucid enough to figure it out.

There’s got to be another way. This is ridiculous.

If I could think of another way, I would, but I can’t.

Call the authorities.

They won’t listen to me.

I find that hard to believe.

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, do you? Well, I’ve tried, and it’s no use. This girl has been neglected for almost her whole life. George, you may never understand why, but I’m asking for your help. I’ve never asked anyone for anything in my entire life. I want you to trust me when I say that this child needs a second chance.

What could he do? There was no use standing here arguing with her. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to change her mind.

If I do this, he said, I don’t want you to contact me. I’ll ring you.

I never have contacted you. Why would I start?

Because now I’ll have someone you care about. Do you need to say goodbye to her?

No. We did that earlier.

I better go then.

Yes.

The worst part was not kissing Nell goodbye.

He ran to the car and got in the front seat, slamming the door behind him. A very young-looking girl stared at him with big blue eyes. He held out his hand. I’m George.

She kept her hands firmly on the carpetbag in her lap. She nodded. I know.

Did Nell tell you what’s happening?

She said you were going to make everything better.

George winced and gripped the steering wheel as he started the car and headed down the driveway. The windshield wipers whipped back and forth, trying to get rid of the torrent of rain. As they turned onto the highway, George put the headlights on. A voice in his head said to turn back, but he couldn’t. He was stuck.

As the miles rolled by, his head pounded to the rhythm of the wipers. The girl didn’t talk. He wondered if she was slow. Every so often she’d squirm in her seat, but she spent most of the time looking out the rain-streaked side window.

George wondered if this was the worst day of his life.

And then, suddenly, it was.

He didn’t see the buck until the last second. He swerved violently and instinctively threw his arm across the girl’s chest as the car skidded across the waterlogged road and careened off the edge, disappearing.

1

Nell

1915

The worst day of my life was when I was five years old and my parents told me we were moving into town to live above the store my father bought.

But there’s no grass.

What do you need grass for? my mother said. You’re not a cow.

I ran out the door and disappeared into the woods behind our house, down to the brook that bubbled through our property. All my imaginary friends lived there. There was LouLou the good fairy, and old Hank, who lived under the mushrooms by the juniper tree. A family of moles liked to come by and nibble at my toes if I was very still. The wind would rustle the leaves above my head and the sun would play hide-and-seek with me through the birch trees.

I’d made a kitchen with flat rocks as plates and twigs as cutlery. There was a piece of bark hanging off one of the trees, and that was my stove. I would mix up grass and mud and acorns and put it on a rock and bake it in my oven. The Forgetful Sisters would eat all my cakes and tell me stories about how they forgot their way home and had to live in my woods.

I cried for a long time, and in the end I didn’t tell my friends I was leaving. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because it was quite dark when I heard my mother yelling for me. When I eventually emerged from the trees, I saw her march towards me with a switch in her hand. She grabbed my arm and hit the back of my legs with it, over and over again.

You ungrateful child! Scaring me half to death. You come when I call you. Do you understand me? Now get in that house and stop causing trouble.

Living over the store was everything I’d thought it would be: miserable. My parents worked every moment of the day and I was left alone to play in my room. I wasn’t allowed to play with other kids, for no reason I could figure out. It just made life easier for my mother not to have to look for me. I spent years with friends I made out of rags and buttons and old socks. I’d line them up on my bed and we’d play school, or princess, or witches. I liked the witch stories the best. Princesses were a lot of trouble, but being a witch was powerful.

By the time I was fifteen, in 1925, I spent my weekends washing down the store windows inside and out while the rest of the kids at school came by and bought candy bars or pop, or picked up a can of corned beef or a chop for their moms. The girls usually travelled in groups of two or three. One girl, Myrtle, always gave me a bright smile.

Not going out today, Nell? Too bad, you’re going to miss my dance party. She’d snicker and the other girls would follow suit. I’d daydream about lassoing her with rope and tying her to a railroad track.

The boys were just as awful. It was like they could sense I was different and had to come sniffing around to see for themselves. Three of them surrounded me in the schoolyard one morning.

How come you don’t talk, Nell? Ain’t you got nothin’ to say?

I won’t waste my breath on the likes of you. I tried to push pass them, but they blocked me. Angus reached out and tugged my hair. Bet you never been kissed, Miss Nell. Why don’t I show you?

George Mackenzie pushed his way between us. W-w-why don’t you leave her alone?

The other boys started laughing. W-w-w-w-why here’s the mighty stutterer, George, comin’ to the rescue. Looks like you got an admirer, Nell.

I reached out and slapped Angus across on the face. He pushed me and then George and the other boys went at it. The teacher came out then and we all stayed after school. George got the worst of it, with a black eye and bloody nose. I swore I was going to get Angus back someday by putting a personal hex on him.

My arms ached washing those darn windows every weekend, and standing on a stepladder that high up wasn’t easy, but it gave me a perfect view of George flying down the hill on his bike one morning. His brown hair was every which way and his shirt was untucked. He looked like an unmade bed, and he was going much too fast by the time he reached me. The bike slid from under him and he jumped off just in the nick of time, creating a great cloud of dust. As it cleared, I saw he’d managed to keep his fishing rod in hand.

I waved my arms around and coughed. Thanks, George. Now I have to do this window over.

S-sorry, he panted. His eye was now deep purple and a sickly shade of yellow.

I pointed at it. That hurt?

Nah, I’m good.

Climbing down the ladder, I put my cloth back in the soapy water and twisted it to wring it out. George watched me. I finally looked at him. You’ve got nothing else to do?

Gotta get some shoe polish for my dad.

You’re not going to get it out here.

D-do you want to go fishing with me?

At this point I would’ve done anything to get away from that window.

I’ll have to ask my mother.

We went into the store and my mother was behind the long wooden counter, gossiping with a lady. That’s all she did. Never stopped talking long enough to catch a breath. The only time I ever saw her smile was at someone else.

I didn’t dare interrupt her, so George and I stood there like statues until she finally looked up and scowled. What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?

May I go fishing with George? I’m almost done the windows.

Certainly not. You have work to do.

Knowing the answer ahead of time doesn’t make it any easier. I turned on my heel and left George standing there, then went back to my ladder and soapy bucket. He stayed behind, presumably to buy his shoe polish. When he came out, I couldn’t look at him. He picked up his bike and straddled it.

I’ll see ya, then.

Just go, I screamed in my head.

Off he went.

For the next year, we’d chat during lunch break at school, but that was about it. It would be a long time before he’d ask me to go fishing again.

On June 27, 1927, my seventeenth birthday, I had to make supper early for my parents because they were going out that evening, so I was responsible for closing the store. They never told me where they were going and never said goodbye when they left. All I know is that we had a lot of customers that night, and I never did get a chance to eat my own birthday supper.

It was a hot evening, and I lay on my bed with the window wide open, listening to people walk down the street laughing and a couple of dogs barking in the distance. There was even an owl hooting quite close by; I couldn’t imagine why it decided to leave the comfort of the woods to sing its song for me, but I was grateful.

The next thing I knew, there was a loud banging on the back door that led to our apartment. I didn’t know what time it was. I waited for my father to go down and see who was there, but no sound came from my parents’ room.

The knocking continued. I lit a lamp, went downstairs, and opened the door. It was the chief of police and Dr. Mackenzie. George stood behind them. Something wasn’t right.

Hello, Nell. May we come in?

What do you want?

We need to speak to you.

Still groggy from sleep, I wasn’t connecting the dots—but by the time we walked up to the kitchen, it was dawning on me that my parents weren’t home.

The three men filled the small kitchen. I was aware I had on only my nightdress. I clutched the front of it, holding it up to my neck. What’s the matter?

Chief Graham took off his cap. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Nell, but your parents died in a car accident tonight.

They waited for me to respond.

Where? was the only thing I could think of to say.

Just five miles from here. If it’s any comfort, I don’t think they suffered.

Father always drove too fast, but he never listened to me.

Dr. Mackenzie reached over and guided me to a kitchen chair. This is a terrible shock, Nell. I want you to know that we will help you in any way we can in the days ahead.

I’m all right.

There are a lot of details that need sorting, Chief Graham said. I’ll be back in the morning to give you a better idea of where we go from here.

Would you like a cup of tea? George asked.

I’d forgotten he was there. Okay.

George set about putting the kettle on and his father gave him a grateful look. I brought George because he said you two were friends. I thought it might be easier.

I’m fine.

Dr. Mackenzie gave Chief Graham a knowing look. Was I not doing this correctly? What did they want me to say? I’d like to be by myself now.

I don’t like to leave you, Dr. Mackenzie said. You’ve had a nasty shock.

I’ll stay with her, George volunteered.

I found myself saying, Yes, George can stay with me.

Eventually they left, saying they’d be back in the morning. The doctor gave me a shot of something to help me sleep. George said he’d sit in the parlour, but if I needed him, all I had to do was shout.

I lay on the bed and waited but I couldn’t close my eyes. Eventually, I called out and George poked his head in my bedroom door.

I can’t sleep. Would you lie with me?

George looked around as if to ask someone permission before he entered the room. Are you sure?

I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.

I turned my back to him and faced the wall. He lay down beside me, as stiff as a board.

Put your arm over me, George.

He complied, and though it felt very odd, at least I wasn’t alone. We didn’t say anything, just breathed in the dark. My owl was still hooting.

My eyes got heavy, but before darkness overcame me, I know I said, I’m glad they’re dead.

People who had never before given me the time of day were all over me at the funeral. It was quite an event for the town. Two well-known people who had owned the best store around were suddenly gone in the prime of life, leaving an only child behind. I was a big deal for a change.

But I could see right through them. They didn’t impress me with their promises of help. I’d seen enough of their behaviour all my life. Pious types who were all smiles when they chatted together at the store, but the minute one of them left, the other would turn to my mother and regale her with the latest gossip. I didn’t believe a word they said.

Dr. Mackenzie’s wife, Jean, came up to me after the service. I insist you come to dinner with us, dear. It’s been a long day and you looked peaked.

I said yes because George would be there.

We sat down to a ham and scalloped potato supper, with lemon meringue pie for dessert. I’d never had such good food. We’d only ever eaten out of a can. So, this was something else I could blame my mother for. Never caring enough to put on a good meal.

George’s house was very cozy. It looked lived in. The only word I could think of was full. It was filled with things that mattered, like family pictures and china ornaments. Items that meant something to those who lived there. As soon as I went in I saw George’s fishing rods and baskets in the corner of the back porch.

I marvelled at the rugs on the floor and the doilies on the backs of the chairs and settee. There was flowered wallpaper in every room and embroidered curtains on the windows. Everything gleamed. I wanted to live in this house.

The only damper on the evening was George’s brother, Donald. I didn’t know him well, as he was younger, but I knew he had a reputation for being a handful. I’d heard that one day while I was scrubbing the store floor.

Jean Mackenzie better watch that youngest boy of hers, a neighbour had said. He thinks he’s the cock of the walk.

The way he smirked at me across the dinner table was all the evidence I needed.

So, what are you going to do now, Nell? The world’s your oyster.

His mother put down her fork and knife. What a ridiculous thing to say, Donny. And on the day she buried her parents.

Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I was just wondering what she’s going to do.

Dr. Mackenzie put a piece of pie in his mouth. That’s her business, he mumbled.

You must have some plans.

George leaned forward and glared at his brother. It’s not your concern.

That’s all right, George, I said. I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’m selling the store and moving back to my father’s old house.

That’s probably the best idea, Dr. Mackenzie said. You’re too young to handle the store by yourself.

I could run it as well as my parents, Dr. Mackenzie. But I hate it with a passion. I never want to step inside that store again.

Jean looked concerned. Will you cope in that big house by yourself? It’s farther from town.

That’s why I love it. I’ll be fine. I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life. It won’t be anything new.

When they exchanged glances, I noticed. The rumours are true. My parents never wanted me. They only ever had time for each other. They didn’t love me, and I didn’t love them. I’m happy they’re gone. If that makes me a terrible person, then I guess I’ll be burned in hell, but since I’ve already been living in hell, I doubt I’ll even notice.

Jean put a napkin to her eyes. Oh, dear child.

Donny was actually shocked into silence. Dr. Mackenzie stared at his plate. Only George gave me a sympathetic smile.

At that point, I knew dinner was over. Thank you, Mrs. Mackenzie. I better go.

George jumped out of his seat. I’ll walk you home.

His father looked up. Nell, I’d like to help you with the sale of the store. I have a lawyer who can deal with the business side of things. I want to make sure everything is done properly. I don’t want to see you taken advantage of.

I hesitated at first, but George’s father seemed to be a nice man. And he was a doctor, so being trustworthy was his job. He’d probably come in handy in the days ahead. I appreciate that. Thank you.

George and I didn’t talk much on that walk home. I was comfortable with him; he never judged me. He never judged anyone, come to think of it. He was an old soul. I’d heard that somewhere and knew instantly George fell into that category.

We were halfway home when a car honked as it zoomed by with a chubby girl hanging out of the back window. She yelled, Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry!

The car had disappeared by the time she got to the end, but we saw her waving frantically before they rounded a turn.

I looked at him. Was that Eileen?

George smirked. Yeah, my crazy cousin. She’s a rig.

I didn’t know she was your cousin. That must be nice. I don’t have any.

When we got back to my kitchen, I was ashamed of it, after all the cozy fullness of George’s house. It looked like we’d just moved in. Tears started to fall down my cheeks and they wouldn’t stop. George put his arms around me and let it happen. Later, we sat at the table and drank cocoa, even though the weather was warm and humid.

I suppose I shouldn’t have said all that to your parents.

Don’t worry about it.

I really didn’t hate my parents, you know.

I know.

I’m not glad they’re dead.

I know.

I’m just sorry I’ll never get the chance to ask them why they didn’t like me.

I’m sure they loved you. Some people just don’t know how to express it.

That was the moment I fell in love with George. Not that I told him that. But it was a nugget of warmth that I held close to my chest after he left. I wasn’t quite so alone after that.

I’m not sure what I would have done without George’s dad. He set up meetings with interested buyers and negotiated a good price for the store and apartment above it. Then he took me to the bank and had them explain the best option for me, as far as the income from the property.

This is your nest egg, Nell. This is what we call your capital, the banker said. We don’t have to touch that. You can draw on the interest this money will make for your everyday expenses. And once you’re married, you won’t have to worry. Your husband will look after you.

I’m never getting married, I told the banker, who looked at Dr. Mackenzie with amusement. Why did men always do that?

Now, I’m sure a pretty little girl like you won’t be on the market for long.

Dr. Mackenzie stood up and held out his hand across the desk. Thank you for your time.

I think he was afraid I was about to say something rude.

He was right.

George and his mom, Jean, came with me to open up my father’s house. It was a good mile from the centre of town and about half a mile from George’s house. It was back off the road and up a steep hill. There was a small cottage near the highway on the left-hand side. It didn’t seem occupied.

Trees enclosed most of the house, but it was the alders that made the house look like it was being swallowed. It was larger than I remembered it. An almost perfect gingerbread house, with elaborate finishing on the eaves, its dormer windows and wraparound porch. The shingles were peeling and the front steps looked crooked, but on the whole, it seemed sturdy enough.

All I wanted to do was run into the woods to see my brook, but I had to save that for when I was alone. I put the key in the lock and walked into my childhood. But it wasn’t the way I remembered it. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs, with dead flies and mice and stale air rushing out to greet us.

Oh dear, Jean said. This is a huge job.

I don’t mind. I’ll do a little at a time.

I’ll help you, George volunteered.

Jean continued to rummage around and walk through the rooms. We’re going to have to make sure the chimney is still in good working order and that the roof is sound. I just don’t know how you’re going to manage here in the winter. You’ll never get shovelled out.

Don’t worry so much, Mrs. Mackenzie. I like a challenge.

Jean turned around and put her hand on my shoulder. You’re still very young, Nell. You have no idea what awaits you. I just don’t know if this is a good idea.

I love this place. This is my home. Just wait until I fix it up. You’ll love it then.

It was nice of Mrs. Mackenzie to want to help me, but for a moment I balked at being told what to do. I’d had enough of that in my lifetime, with my parents controlling every move I made. And it didn’t stop there. Jean and a few of her friends came to help me set the place to rights, even though George and I said we were fine on our own. I noticed that the ladies did their best to make sure we were never alone in the same room.

I think they don’t trust us, I said. Are they afraid of what people will say?

Most likely. They’re just being mothers.

I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have a normal mother.

George didn’t like it when I talked like that, but he never told me to stop. He’d just frown or make a face. As much as he thought he understood, he’d never know.

The woods were grown in and I had a hard time finding my old hideaway, but once I located the brook, it all came flooding back. I belonged to this place. It was happy to see me again. My friends were still here, although I’d never tell a soul about them.

When I ran into Myrtle and her gang one day over the summer, they wanted to come over and see the place. There was something mystifying about a girl living by herself.

Sorry. I don’t invite people home.

Myrtle laughed. Why ever not? What’s so special about it?

I get to do what I want now, and that includes keeping awful people away from my door.

"You’ve always been a stuck-up snippet,