July: Confidence

By Jan Fancy Hull

Newspaper publisher Tim Brown is in the seventh month of his sabbatical year, 1999, which has turned into a year of 'delving' and solving mysteries. He and his friend, Rob, take a rare vacation out of the province and a remarkable opportunity comes up for Rob. It is so very good...might it be too good to be true?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moose House Publications
• Release date: Sep 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781998149650

Jan Fancy Hull

Jan Fancy Hull lives in a log chalet beside a quiet lake in Lunenburg County, Nova Scotia, where she has written non-fiction, award-winning poetry, short stories, and novels. In former lives, she worked as a radio broadcaster, arts administrator, sailing tours skipper, and employee benefits broker. During the winter, Jan watches snowflakes fall as she writes. In warm months, she carves Nova Scotia sandstone into sculptures. She enjoys the occasional round of golf, and drifting on the lake in her little boat, which she claims is a great place to edit.In 2022, Jan received the Rita Joe Poetry Prize for her poem, "Moss Meditations."

Book preview

OEBPS/images/image0001.jpg

July: Confidence

© 2024 Jan Fancy Hull

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication for purposes of training artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text, including without limitation technologies that are capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

Cover design: Rebekah Wetmore

Editor: Andrew Wetmore

ISBN: 978-1-998149-65-0

First edition September, 2024

Moose House Publications

2475 Perotte Road

Annapolis County, NS B0S 1A0

moosehousepress.com

[e-mail]

OEBPS/images/image0002.png

Moose House Publications recognizes the support of the Province of Nova Scotia. We are pleased to work in partnership with the Department of Communities, Culture and Heritage to develop and promote our cultural resources for all Nova Scotians.

We live and work in Mi’kma’ki, the ancestral and unceded territory of the Mi’kmaw people. This territory is covered by the Treaties of Peace and Friendship which Mi’kmaw and Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) people first signed with the British Crown in 1725. The treaties did not deal with surrender of lands and resources but in fact recognized Mi’kmaq and Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) title and established the rules for what was to be an ongoing relationship between nations. We are all Treaty people.

Also by Jan Fancy Hull

Non-fiction

Where’s Home?

Short stories

The Church of Little Bo Peep and other stories

Inquire Within

The Tim Brown Mystery Series

January: Code

February: Curious

March: Enigma

April: Sweetland

May: Façades

June: Trespasses

August: Treasure (coming in spring, 2025)

To those whose gain does not depend on others’ loss

This is a work of fiction. The author has created the characters, conversations, interactions, and events; and any resemblance of any character to any real person is coincidental.

July: Confidence

July 1, 1999: Canada Day

July 2: Comparisons

July 3: Showtime

July 4: Moving on

July 5: Clamouring

July 6: Some beach, somewhere

July 7: Reunited

July 8: Dollars

July 9: Thinking

July 10: Knock-knock

July 11: What’s there?

July 12: Nothing

July 13: Key words

July 14: Habits

July 15: Ears to hear

July 16: Beach calls

July 17: Friends

July 18: Let him hear

July 19: Echelon

July 20: Yanni

July 21: Zeroes

July 22: Chaque jour

July 23: Silent letter

July 24: Princess

July 25: Warming tray

July 26: Q2

July 27: Non troppo

July 28: Parade

July 29: Whether pigs have wings

July 30: Talk Time

July 31: Public secret

Sneak Peek into August: Treasure

Acknowledgements

About the author

July 1, 1999: Canada Day

Thursday

By the time he was driving at speed on Highway 103, heading to Halifax, Tim Brown had already been up for hours. He had packed his new car with everything he could think of that they would need, everything they might need, and some things he hoped they’d never need, but would be glad to have if the need arose.

Just go, Tim, he’d finally told himself. People go away all the time. I hear the staff talking about it at work. Just don’t lock yourself out. Take your wallet. Make a coffee to take. Go.

He made a quick stop at his newspaper office in downtown South River to distribute sticky notes about things that his staff might not need reminders for, but they’d thank him for it if they did, he thought, momentarily overlooking the fact that he was on sabbatical this year and staff had been operating successfully for months without his helpful reminders.

It was unlikely that any staff would be at work this holiday morning, other than Elaine Fong, his interim editor at The Times. She was as devoted to her desk as he had been when it was his. Prior to the present day, Tim had always worked on holidays.

Today was the first vacation of Tim’s life.

Which is why he had needed to take this sabbatical.

The hour-long commute was easy, especially since today was a holiday. Soon, he pulled up in front of Robert’s south-end bachelor apartment, opened the trunk and all the doors, and rang Robert’s doorbell.

The puzzled expression on Robert’s face made Tim laugh.

What happened to your car? Where’d you get this?

This is my car now. Like it?

Oh boy, do I ever! It’s so big! I could even stretch out in the back seat to sleep!

"You will not sleep. I need you to be my navigator. You wanted the back seat clear so you could lay out your tux, remember? You will sit up in the front seat and talk to me, please and thank you. We’re on vacation—I am, anyway, and you will be after your concert. The road beyond the airport is pretty much terra incognita to me. I could easily take a wrong turn and drive off the edge of the earth! Let’s get your stuff on board and go. PEI, here we come!"

~

This was Thursday; they had last seen each other on Monday morning, but once they crossed the Halifax Harbour bridge and were on the highway to the airport and beyond, they talked as though they hadn’t seen each other for a very long time. Eagerly, they recounted details of everything that had transpired since Monday, repeated with embellishments conversations previously spoken, and imagined what they might see and do on this vacation.

Their coffees had cooled and nothing remained of their sugary treats but crumbs, quite visible in Tim’s new car’s dark blue velour interior.

Where’s the next rest stop? Tim asked.

Truro, I guess.

How far is that? I’ve been drinking coffee since long before dawn.

Robert unfolded and re-folded the map of Nova Scotia and asked, not for the last time, Where are we? I wasn’t watching.

A sign indicated they were about thirty minutes from Truro. By the time they reached the coffee shop near the exit, they were both in urgent need of the washroom.

Much relieved but none the wiser, they bought fresh coffees, returned to the highway, and immediately resumed conversation.

Whoa! Other lane! Robert shouted. We have to go left here! Left-left-left!

Tim’s head swivelled as he braked and pulled the wheel to cross lanes to the New Brunswick exit instead of following the near lane to Cape Breton. The car skidded a little, but they made it safely. Traffic was still light.

Don’t yell at me, Rob! You’ve got to give me more warning than that. Geez!

You’re the driver. The sign couldn’t have been any bigger. Sheesh!

Tim drove the long curve to access Highway 104 in silence, and when he resumed highway speed again, he said, Sorry, I’ve never been—

Robert interrupted, My bad. I’m supposed to be the navigator.

Congeniality restored, Robert now read aloud every road sign they passed, and constantly checked their progress on the folded map.

Tim marvelled at the Tantramar Marshes between Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. As a lifelong community paper editor, he had seen photographs of many places, but seeing them in person was as exciting to him as if they were the Seven Wonders of the World. These marshes were a wonder, to a great extent, as they were all that made Nova Scotia a peninsula and not an island.

They reached Aulac, New Brunswick near lunchtime, but neither was hungry and they didn’t see any place to stop other than a big gas station diner, so Robert instructed Tim to turn right toward Prince Edward Island.

Do we keep on this road until we reach the bridge and PEI? Tim asked. How far is that?

Robert studied the map. Not too far, he said. Got plenty of gas?

Oh, yes, my new chariot only needs a fill-up once a week, ha-ha. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on that. Still over half a tank.

Their primary purpose for this trip was that Robert was to perform the inaugural concert on the newly-installed pipe organ in the imposing Saint Mary’s Church in Indian River, near Kensington.

Tim knew well that Robert’s nerves were tightly wound prior to any performance, but that sharp exchange leaving Truro was very unusual for them at any time. But Tim was wound up, too, never having driven so far.

Neither had he left his business in the hands of others, especially after quite a stressful month. He had gotten himself embroiled in a situation despite his being on sabbatical, and after much careful work by his newspaper staff and others, it was revealed in a big front-page exposé yesterday. While Robert’s stress was ahead of him, Tim’s was in the past—except for any repercussions. They just needed to keep a quiet, safe space between them.

We’ll be okay, he thought. I just need to remember that Rob’s mind is on his music. It’s time I learned to read the signs myself. New roads, new skills.

Tim attempted to keep their chatter flowing until it appeared in the distance, rising up over the Northumberland Strait: the impressive Confederation Bridge.

Look, Rob—the ‘Fixed Link’! It’s—it’s curved! I need to pull over.

Tim parked on the narrow shoulder of the road and they got out to stretch their legs. He was slightly woozy from the long drive, and he needed to steady his own nerves before steering the car up that steep slope and across thirteen kilometres of narrow bridge.

‘The longest bridge in the world crossing over ice-covered water,’ Robert read from one of the brochures Tim had brought from the South River travel agency. Opened in May 1997. Just two years ago; I guess they’ve had time to find any flaws in it by now.

Don’t tell me about flaws! It’s way longer than the two Halifax harbour bridges put together, and those are plenty long. What if the car breaks down in the middle?

Robert looked up in alarm.

Oh, sorry, no, that’s not going to happen. My old jalopy mightn’t have made it all the way across, maybe not even this far. When I took it in for a little last-minute service, they told me it was in pretty bad shape, that’s why I agreed so quickly to lease this beauty. No sir, this limo will take us up and over, smoothly and safely. Oops, there’s a No Parking sign here. Let’s get going.

Their crossing was smooth and safe. Tim gripped the wheel tightly and looked straight ahead to ensure he didn’t scrape any of the twelve kilometres of concrete guardrails that kept them from plunging off the bridge deck and into the Northumberland Strait. The guardrails were at a height that prevented sight-seeing for the driver anyway, but Robert managed to get a good look at the waters of the Strait, and announced that there was no ice currently under the bridge, but there were two boats.

Safely back down on terra firma, they pulled into the PEI tourist bureau and picked up an armload of brochures. Robert asked the attendant for a map showing the routes in greater detail, specifically to today’s destination and then over to the north shore, where their post-concert accommodation was.

He had arranged to meet the concert organizer at the church at four o’clock today for a quick orientation. They had time to stop for lunch, so they headed for the only diner in the area, but it was closed because today was a holiday.

This is Holiday Island! Robert exclaimed. How can they be closed today or any day in tourist season? Don’t tell me we’ll have to eat from the coffee trough again. I’d rather do that than waste time searching for a place that’s open, though.

After bowls of chili and tea, both were full and sleepy. I need a walk, Rob. Coming?

The sky was overcast and the breeze off the Strait kept the air cool as they walked. Tim started off at the same pace as when he walked the two-bridges loop in South River. Robert was not similarly conditioned and his legs weren’t as long as Tim’s, so Tim zig-zagged while Robert walked in a straight line.

They returned to the car at the same time, with clearer heads.

All right, let’s head for the church. Did you get directions, Rob?

Yes, I did. I don’t know what she meant, though. She said to go up to that intersection and turn west. Do you know which way is west?

Can’t say that I do. Let me see your map. I’d guess west is left. We’ll get to the intersection and follow our noses. If we miss it, we’ll just turn around, okay? I won’t pull across lanes of traffic this time, you can be confident of that.

They pulled out into the street and proceeded toward the nearest intersection. It came too soon for Tim to cut across lanes of traffic again, and their light was green, so he continued through.

Should I turn around at the next intersection, Rob?

Robert was still researching, his nose in the map.

Hey, maybe this road will take us there, Rob. Look, the sign says Malpeque. That’s close to where we’re going, isn’t it?

Mm-hmm.

Okay, turning left. This might even be a shortcut. See if you can find us on the map.

Slow down, willya? I can’t read these tiny lines when the car is bumping.

Show me. Tim pulled over.

We went through that intersection and drove a bit and then turned at the first left…I think that’d be here, Rob. He pointed to a spot in the network of lines on the map. There should be route numbers. See if you can find one, and I’ll tell you what signs I come across.

In this fashion they passed an increasingly tense half-hour, frequently turning left or right at intersections, on roads lined on both sides by potato fields as far as the eye could see.

Left on 225 coming up, then right on 111, Robert announced.

Okay, here’s 225, but I don’t see any 111, just a sign for—

Take it. Then left at 8 onto 109.

Freetown Road?

I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Then right at Freetown, and a quick left crossing 108 to 109 again, I think.

Don’t think. We could be trapped here forever. Coming up to 109. Left or right, Rob?

Left, through Mill Valley, then—oh, get this: 109 ends at 107, we turn right on 107, then left, where 109 reappears. Then we’re into Kensington.

Robert lifted his head for a brief glance, but quickly returned to his finger on the map.

Now slow down, Tim, because 109 goes in two directions here; we want to curve right, get onto number 2, which may also be known as Broadway and/or Highway 20.

Goodness. I guess it’d be easy if you lived here, but all these switcheroos are certainly confusing. Kensington’s a nice little town, I think. Okay, we’re on Broadway. Whew! What’s next?

At the intersection with Highway—and I use the title loosely—104, turn left.

Then what?

Robert folded the map and peered through the windshield. They both saw the tall spire of the huge white church at the same time. It was situated in the midst of a patchwork of fields with the sparkling waters of Malpeque Bay nearby.

Good job! they exclaimed to each other, once again reducing the tang of stress from their trip.

Tim had no idea how he’d get back to wherever they had to get back to, but someone in this beautiful building would surely know and direct them. He assumed there was a more direct route, if they hadn’t flubbed the initial turn.

Robert was out of the car almost before it came to a stop, reached in the back for his briefcase, and hastened inside the church’s open doors. Tim checked his watch: it was a quarter to four, fifteen minutes to spare. He parked and locked the car and strolled around the churchyard for ten minutes before going inside.

Robert had arrived at the scene of his performance, and everything would roll out in familiar and predictable fashion for him from now until showtime.

Tim had arrived at pretty much his first-ever destination, with a few near-misses but nothing to deter him from attempting it again, knowing now what kind of preparation would be helpful. That’s what’s called experience. I’m glad to be gaining some.

~

The church’s massive round white tower and red roof looked like a jewel in a gorgeous setting. The interior was no less spectacular, with tall windows on three sides letting light into the bright sanctuary. The organ console was situated front and centre, where Robert was conversing with a man who Tim assumed was the festival organizer. He walked halfway up the long aisle and slid into a pew to wait.

When Robert began playing the organ, the man came down the aisle to Tim, introduced himself, and suggested they go to the church entrance to talk.

Sorry, Tim said when they were standing outside on the solid sandstone steps. I didn’t catch your name when Robert was playing. I’m Tim Brown.

Hi, Tim. Robert asked me to look after you, which I’m happy to do. I’m Jeremy Grillon; I’m the lucky guy who gets to run these events in this place. They shook hands. And I’m also in charge of hospitality, because I want our performers to be comfortable and happy. Did you get my message about tonight?

Message? Not me. You likely called Robert?

Probably his office. I was too late, I suppose. I left a message this morning, but you were on your way by then. I have a large house nearby in Kensington—an old inn, actually—and I like to host our performers there when I can. I have a room available. Are you booked somewhere?

Yes, at a motel in Summerside.

Will you stay with me, instead? We’ve invited some friends tonight for Canada Day. You can indulge and recover in time for Saturday evening. Do you eat seafood?

Sure, we both do! That sounds delightful, Jeremy. I’m sure Robert will enjoy that. He’s quite a force in the kitchen himself, and often cooks to relax before a concert. Is there a phone so I can cancel our reservation? I doubt they’ll give a refund this late, but no matter.

Just give me your res info and our office will take care of it. You’re our VIPs now.

Tim retrieved the travel agent’s booking sheets from the huge glove compartment. Jeremy took them inside and quickly returned.

I’m going home now, he said. Do you want to ride with me and let Robert come when he’s finished?

That’s kind of you, but I’d better stay here with him. Robert sometimes doesn’t know when ‘finished’ is, and he may expect me to tell him. Besides, he navigated and I drove here; neither of us knows how to retrace our steps without the other. PEI roads certainly are challenging.

I’ve heard that. Well, here’s the address, right on the main drag. Come over in time to unpack, have a shower, relax, whatever. He’s booked tomorrow for more practice time. It’s a beautiful instrument, and we’re delighted to have him inaugurate it.

~

They had more confidence in navigating back to Kensington. Driving here’s like a local language, someone observed around the convivial dinner table that evening. Once you have some vocabulary and syntax, you can figure it out.

They certainly knew the vocabulary and syntax of the dinner table. Tim had brought an extensive selection of wines for this trip, and contributed two bottles to the table.

Their host said it would just be a ‘simple supper’, by which he meant boiled lobsters, potato salad, fresh rolls and butter. Tim, Robert, Jeremy and three other guests made a congenial group, and the conversation flowed easily.

The three other guests were representatives of the organ manufacturer from Quebec. The festival had acquired the instrument for a dollar from a deconsecrated church in New Brunswick. They had engaged the manufacturer to transport, refurbish, and install it, and all were counting on Robert to show it off, both for the musical presentation itself and to inspire donors.

Robert planned to play through his entire program tomorrow in the afternoon, and the technicians would hover, ready to make any last-minute adjustments to tuning or timbre that might be needed. He was glowing, a little with the wine and food, but mostly with anticipation of a pinnacle musical experience.

Courtesy of Jeremy, they had a pleasant room on the second floor of the old inn. They fell into bed, an apt cliché. All the pinch points of the day soon fell away.

July 2: Comparisons

Thursday

Tim, the habitual early-riser, had slept like another cliché, though the log wouldn’t have had such interesting and enjoyable reasons for being tired as Tim had experienced yesterday, right up to the late bedtime at the end of a delightful evening. He knew that most people wouldn’t consider a five-hour road trip any kind of personal victory, but he did.

What woke him was Robert arriving with an espresso and a glass of orange juice.

They have espresso here? Don’t tell Gloria! Tim said of their espresso-maker in South River. They regarded her as a somewhat domesticated creature capable of scalding with steam or dribbling lukewarm water, depending on her mood. I wondered if we’d get any good coffee over here, and here it is! Thanks, Rob. What’s happening downstairs?

Breakfast, when you want it. Jeremy’s working here this morning. I’m leaving soon to go back to the church with the techs and Jacques from Frères d'Orgue. Jacques is in charge of their programming.

Robert sat on the foot of the bed. He told me this morning that whenever they’re presenting a new or refurbished organ anywhere in North America, they try to hire an organist who knows how to get the most out of their instruments. And they’re looking at me, Tim.

Tim sat up. Of course they are! Who better than you? How do you feel about that? Don’t let it make you nervous, now. You’re already great, so don’t try to be greater. Not today.

I’ll try not to try. It’s a win-win, though. During today’s rehearsal, if they suggest a different voicing for a passage, I’ll try it. If I like it, I’ll incorporate it. If I don’t, I’ll say why. It’s their organ, but I’m not their monkey, not yet!

Robert left laughing.

Tim showered and dressed and descended to the main floor, where a warm buffet breakfast was set out on the kitchen counter.

Jeremy was in the dining room, working on some papers. Good morning, Tim. I trust you slept well?

Sure did. I haven’t slept like that in I don’t know how long. I can’t blame the food or wine: I’m accustomed to copious amounts of wine, I confess. Perhaps it was because I hardly breathed all day, and finally asphyxiated myself!

Really? Why not breathe?

Because I’m an unworldly forty-year-old on my first real trip away from home. I flew over here once before, and went from the airport to the inn by limo, so that doesn’t count. I’ve been caught in the family-business treadmill since I was an adolescent, and was never able to break away until now. But I’m much recovered, thanks to that lovely mattress, and now I’m ready to relax.

He pointed to Jeremy’s papers. Or help, if I can. What’s all that?

This is what you do when you run a not-for-profit arts organization. The Executive Director title means that you proofread and print the programs and sweep the floor and do whatever our staff aren’t doing. I’m not complaining, but it would be nice if we had more funds for, oh, everything. Anyway, you’re on holiday, and I’m glad you chose to come here for it. Help yourself to breakfast.

Tim lifted the cover