Wildwoods Child

Author Information

Copyright © D. D. Gillespie   2016

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, recording or by any information and storage retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations for a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, historical events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author has no control over nor responsibility for third party web sites or their content.

Cover art by Sherry Andrychuk

ISBN:  13:978-1522957-45-4

ISBN:  10: 1522957-45-6

Author Contact:

DDGillespie@thelostwomen.com

www.thelostwomen.com

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank R. H. (Dick) Waller Supt. Ret., RCMP, for his invaluable assistance in demystifying the everyday running of an RCMP detachment and for being so generous in sharing his ideas for contacts within the law enforcement community.

Linda Breault has generously provided feedback on the role of social workers and public health as well as reading and commenting on the story itself. I must also thank Christine and Andy Bateman whose thoughtful feedback offered valuable advice on improving tension and human interest. Stewart Brady, a knowledgeable outdoorsman who has a thorough knowledge of life in the Skeena watershed, has been a thoughtful and helpful critic of the story.

Finally, I owe more appreciation than I can express to my editor, Luanne Armstrong, whose encouragement prompted me to keep writing, and whose experience and patience helped steer me past many difficulties.

Dedication

To Stewart who has been so patient as I stumbled towards the completion of this novel.

Illustrations

Layout of Bar-T Ranch

Setting Of Wildwoods Child

1

Nora

She settled back into her seat as the Prince George railway station receded into the distance. Constable Nora Macpherson, rattling across the British Columbia Interior riding coach on the Rupert Rocket, took up the handbook she had just bought from a rack in the station:  Wild BC:The Only Guide You’ll Ever Need to the Skeena River Basin. The cover displayed scenery different from the flatlands she could see from the window. Her imagination focused on visions of the rugged geography to come. She wondered when she would see the mountains again. Determined to spend the time profitably, she opened the guide to see what it offered about the area around her new posting.

"Throughout this country, a network of gravel county roads connects the ranches of the backcountry and the dairy farms of the bottomland. These are also the roads that connect the logging bush camps and mines to the outside world. When the snows come in mid-October, the roads become accessible only to four-wheel drive vehicles that manage well-enough as long as the roads are regularly used by logging semis and ore trucks. Otherwise, they are mostly impassable until April. Spring, the season of mud, lasts well into May.

"The surrounding terrain is rugged, with snow-capped mountains whose lower slopes are covered with a mix of lodge pole pine and spruce. The valley bottoms spread out in narrow swaths along these rivers with a larger expanse of arable land at the confluence of the major streams. The creeks and rivers teem with trout, steelhead and, in the fall, salmon.

Crossing the area spanning from Edmonton to Prince Rupert is Highway 16, the BC segment of the Yellowhead Highway."

Nora closed the guide book and gazed speculatively at the forested landscape hurtling past her train window. Her first real posting! This wasn’t the Prairies anymore, certainly a long way from Winnipeg or Regina. Her mind ranged back to her graduation from the RCMP cadet-training program in Regina and her six months field coaching in Edmonton. Her first real job! She hoped she was ready for it, and they were ready for her.

She flipped open her Advisement of Posting letter. She was ordered to report to Sergeant J. Wasniki, Moose Forks Detachment in the North District of E Division – or British Columbia, as most Canadians called it.

Having graduated from the first-ever cohort of female RCMP recruits, Nora was now the first woman Mountie in this part of Canada. She hoped that this Sergeant Wasniki was a flexible, affable type. Surely, the brass wouldn’t have placed her there otherwise. Her reverie was broken as a furry brown blur crowned by an impossibly bulky set of antlers whizzed by.  A moose stood grazing at the shallow edge of a swamp.  Her mind lit up with the possibilities of what else lay in wait – cougars, wolves, bears.

Transfixed by the possibility of more wildlife sightings, Nora kept her eyes glued to the landscape until the train pulled into Moose Forks Station.

2

The Wildwoods Child

Teresa Talbot?

A startling pair of China blue eyes riveted first on the exit, and then on Mrs. Clarke’s enamel belt buckle.

Teresa, you haven’t finished writing in all the spaces here.  Come on. There. Abby pointed to blank spaces on the paper. Both your parents’ names at least. Why don’t I write the information for you, just for today, to save time? Abby Clarke saw the barely decipherable chicken scratches on the page as mute testimony to the effort already expended.  Her instincts told her some kindly help was needed.

Tess’s response, when it finally came, was surprising in its intensity. Her jaw worked, but she failed to utter a sound; her pinched face contorted as her eyes flew about the room seeking a likely refuge.  In the end, her gaze lit on the paper in front of her and rested there, stony and glacial.

For the first time, Abby considered the girl in detail. She was a bit of a beanpole really, at that ungainly thirteen-year-old stage of mostly angles and bony outcroppings. But her skin was alabaster fair, so transparent that the dark tracery of the forehead veins could be easily discerned.  Her eyes, fringed by a thick curtain of dark eyelashes, blazed an intense blue-violet and her mouth was a tender pout of coral lipstick, somewhat inexpertly applied. She had the look of a young, fairer Elizabeth Taylor waiting for National Velvet, a fragile, incandescent beauty.

I done all I could, lady.

But you must know your mother’s name?

What do you need her name for? She ain’t going to be talking to nobody here.

The girl’s voice had the curious quality of rustling leaves drifting off into nothingness; Abby leaned closer to be sure she hadn’t misheard.  She was aware of the gathering undercurrent of snickers developing amongst the other, suddenly attentive homeroom students.

Tess, that’s what you’re usually called isn’t it? I’m sure your mom will want to talk to us once she sees how well you do, once you start to feel more comfortable. I know she’s not well, but think how she’d enjoy hearing about the things you’ll be learning.  I know she’s been teaching you herself up until now and will want to know that you’re continuing as best you can.

Abby’s bag of diplomatic tricks was varied if not terribly original.  She was picking her way carefully not only to avoid any mention of Mrs. Talbot’s worsening cancer, but also to save herself the embarrassment of arousing the legendary wrath of cranky Hank Talbot, who two years before, had yanked the older daughter, Ellie, out of school permanently, citing interfering do-gooder teachers as his unshakable rationale.

This morning, before coming to her first homeroom class, Abby hadn’t picked up any new details about Tess. She assumed the thirteen year-old was finally in school now for the first time because her mother was even more ill.  Up until now, she had been kept home even when Ellie and Tim, her older sister and brother, had come in for high school. At elementary school age, Tess had been eligible for homeschooling by her mom, who had done the same for the older siblings, but now, for Grade Eight, Abby guessed Tess was being driven the ten-mile gap from their ranch to a rendezvous with the school bus. Abby thought the dark circles under the girls amazing eyes proved how long a day she had already had. She had likely been up since well before dawn just to get to town. She also radiated a pungent mixed-hay-and-manure odor of horse.

My mom won’t be wondering at all, Mrs. Clarke.  She slumped down in her seat, crossed her arms and proceeded to gnaw away at an already angry-looking hangnail on her grubby thumb.

Before Abby could inquire if the mom had been admitted to a hospital (and not before time, she thought, even given the husband’s distrust of most public institutions), Trudy Van Heusen, the most chatty, teacher-pleasing child in the room, raised her hand.

Ah, Mrs. Clarke, her mom passed away late last spring? Like many teen-aged girls, Trudy often spoke a sentence curled up at the end in question, even when none was intended. I mean, she has to come to school now whether she wants to or not, you know?

A chorus of guffaws erupted from some of the bigger boys. Abby heard disjointed mutters of cops fined him and, he planted the old lady. Tess reacted by collapsing into a bony, shuddering heap, her arms flung over her curly black head to stop her ears, her fingers clutching convulsively at the sleeves of her well-worn jean jacket.

Abby, stunned as much by her own inept handling of the situation as by the tragic content of the girl’s loss, cursed under her breath and shook her head, as if to forestall any further unfolding of the drama in her crowded classroom. Dammit! How she disliked the paperwork of the first week of school. Why wasn’t the news of the mother’s death in that school file, for Pete’s sake! She hated being out of the loop. No doubt, if she hadn’t been away all summer in Vancouver at UBC, she might have heard the news herself. More than her own ignorance, she regretted that she couldn’t bring herself to accept the ignorance – no that wasn’t it –the fierce independence of these back-country people who reckoned success in terms of cattle and hay crops and who saw kids as little more than farmhands. She felt real compassion for this delicate sliver of a child, and great frustration at having been the inadvertent cause of her public display of grief.  Maybe someday, Abby thought, she’d be able to read the warning signs more clearly, be able to walk on eggs with more dexterity.  Just now, all she could manage was to pat the girl’s shoulder as she told the rest of the homeroom class to take their break early. She smiled at Trudy and waved her out of the room as well, even though the girl’s bright eyes said she had more to offer.

With the room clear, Abby tried to make amends, hauling some tissue out of her purse and remaining quiet as the girl recovered composure. I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry, Tess.  About your mom of course, but also for not realizing just why you were coming to school.  We all just assumed your dad had realized it was time to give your mom a break from teaching you at home, because she’s been so ill.

Tess raised her head and stared in blatant confusion at the woman sitting in the student’s desk beside her.  Her astonishing eyes, thickly fringed with black lashes, no longer spoke of clear mountain lakes but of cloudy spring run-off.

You’re telling me you’re sorry, Mrs. Clarke?  My dad says you teachers never say you’re wrong.  Fact is, I can’t even read any of the stuff on this paper.  My mom gave up teaching me a couple of years ago. She said I should tend the horses. That was before she was took real bad. She relapsed into her slouch.

Abby Clarke sighed sympathetically and sought some ground for optimism.  Of course you can read, Tess.  We have all your last year’s grades from the correspondence courses in the office, and they’re pretty good ones too, as I recall.

For the first time, Tess laughed out loud, a hoarse chortling.  Sure, they’re good! Ellie ain’t dumb like me!  Her and Dad fixed it up once Mom got so bad she didn’t care what happened.  Ellie done all that school stuff, and I done the horses, she summed up proudly.

A public address announcement split the silence. All grades please report to the gym for a brief assembly that will last about twenty minutes. Dismissal will follow, and regular classes beginning tomorrow.

Dumbfounded, Abby was only dimly aware of the staccato of Teresa’s high-heeled cowboy boots exiting the classroom. Damn! Abby had forgotten the assembly was scheduled this morning. She hustled to the women’s staff washroom on her way to the gym.

The assembly would be just the usual first-week-of-school reminders and tone-setters, but the staff would be introduced, and she wanted to see if she looked as frazzled as she felt. The woman in the mirror indeed did look a bit startled: her hazel eyes peered back at her with a quizzical, slightly manic expression; the round, open face framed in curly, light-brown, shoulder-length hair featured a dusting of freckles dotting her slightly snubbed nose.  After she lipsticked her generous mouth, Abby fluffed her hair with her fingers and ruefully grinned at the slightly madcap appearance created. That’s as good as it gets, folks! She then straightened her turquoise sweater set to minimize her ample bosom before venturing into the throng of students in the hallway.

As she threaded her way towards the gym, she considered her encounter with Tess. She would have to ask around to find out what she could. The girl’s lack of hygiene and general air of fatigue were red flags for sure! And her illiteracy! Why hadn’t her skill-level been checked out? Squaring her shoulders, Abby determined to follow up.

The hubbub in the gym was the usual chorus of teens greeting each other after a summer apart. They settled onto the bleachers quickly, eager to enjoy their free afternoon as soon as possible. Abby found her seat among the ones set aside for staff in the front row of the bleachers. She waved cheerfully to teachers she hadn’t seen all summer and settled in to listen to the principal’s welcome.

Tom Cooper, his bald head gleaming in the artificial light, stood behind his podium and waited for their chatter to die down. He hadn’t been a principal too long, just three years, so the first school-wide assembly of the year was still a source of some anxiety for him. He grinned at the audience and gave the thumbs up to a few of the taller boys as they appeared. Mr. Cooper was also the basketball coach, and liked everyone to know it.

Good morning, everyone, students, teachers. Oh, you too, Mr. Lavergne. Glad you could make it!

The kids all chuckled good-naturedly. They all focused their gaze on Vice Principal Phil Lavergne leaning against the end of the bleachers. He was laughing and red-faced from running in late.

And while we’re at it, let’s show our appreciation for our dedicated teachers, back again to help you achieve your best this year. You’ve just met Mr. Lavergne, our vice-principal. He’ll help you get to class on time! The crowd erupted in good-natured laughter acknowledging the irony of his late arrival at the assembly as well as the disciplinary role for any vice principal. Next, in alphabetical order, our hardworking teaching staff, first, Mrs. Abby Clarke who will handle English Eight and Learning Assistance, then Mr. Eaton… The list was two-dozen names long. The announcement of each name was greeted variably but positively, with either polite applause or some appreciative hoots. The atmosphere of the assembly became more and more upbeat and relaxed.

Anyway, Cooper continued after the last staff member had been introduced, more seriously, I want to remind you of the important expectations we have here at Moose Forks High School…

His speech about the usual concerns – attendance, effort, and achievement – was long-winded and clichéd. They had heard it all before, and among the students, a dull undercurrent of boredom was on the verge of bubbling up into open chatter when Mr. Cooper startled everyone with a sharp fist bang on the podium.

What I am about to say is very serious! There should be no one talking except me!

When the audience settled into shocked silence, he continued, I have decided to take this opportunity to remind you about a disappearance that occurred a year ago last spring. The person who went missing was a young woman not much older than any of you. Her name was Monica. Her body was found not too far from here in Terrace, just up Highway 16. He paused for effect.  Now, we know she used to live here and moved away just before this happened. I’m sure some of you knew her. I need to remind you that her death was not an accident. She was murdered.

Cooper stopped for a moment to allow his words to sink in. He knew this wasn’t really news, but RCMP Sergeant Wasniki had okayed his idea to remind the students of the crime. The students stared back. His words, unadorned and unpleasant, echoed in the large space of the gymnasium. A few of the girls looked on the verge of tears. A couple of the older boys were smirking.

The local RCMP has asked me to remind you that the killer has not been caught. We, of course, hope whoever did this terrible crime has left the area, but we can’t be sure. So, all of you, boys as well as girls… He fixed a flinty gaze on the sulky big boys in the back row. All of you, keep your eyes open and use common sense. Particularly, and I mean this very seriously, don’t be caught hitchhiking on the highway. A bubble of objection arose from the older ranks in the back of the bleachers. I know you all think it’s no big deal. All the kids, even some adults do it, but the truth is that it’s stupid! The harsh word echoed in the rafters of the gym, hanging over the assembly like an ugly slur.  Somewhere, a nervous kid coughed, and Cooper continued, You don’t know who could be driving through! You can’t be sure until it’s too late. He raised his voice to signal his final point. "So watch out for each other and don’t give some stranger a chance to hurt you.

Okay, we have an early dismissal, now. See you all bright and early tomorrow!

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of shrieks and bantering as the kids descended from the bleachers and exited the gym.

Abby herself was in shock. She had also forgotten about that girl. She wondered if such a dire message should be broadcast on the first day of school.  It cast a pall over a normally upbeat day. Still, if she had forgotten, the kids would need reminding too. She wandered back to the office area mulling over the best person to ask about Tess Talbot.

3

Nora Settles In

Just a few minutes away across town, the Moose Forks RCMP detachment office was finally quiet. The Labour Day long weekend had been the usual hectic mix of speed traps and crash investigations. Nora had pulled an extra shift right away, with little time for orientation or social chitchat.

Her first impression was that the detachment was a tightly-run outfit, and its sergeant, Jack Wasniki, a tense guy. He had been cordial but distant during her first interactions, a bit uneasy around women.  She wondered what his background was.  He had an impressive physical presence, a barrel chest, powerful arms and shoulders, and a kind of bulldog aspect to his head. His close-cropped sandy hair was showing grey at the temples. No doubt though, his most remarkable feature was a prominent, misshapen nose whose surface was marred by pockmarks and enlarged blood vessels. Nora had to remind herself not to stare when she spoke to him; privately, she wondered if Wasniki had been a boxer with a drinking problem.

The rest of the staff in the detachment seemed friendly enough. Corporal Jed Fedoruk, her designated mentor and immediate superior, was a bit older, a ten-year veteran.  He had lived in Moose Flats for three of those years and was making it home. He had married a local girl, Marnie, and they were the proud parents of a one-year-old boy. Jed and Marnie had helped Nora find her studio apartment above the local real estate office.

At the office, Jed was second-in-command after the sergeant, and to Nora, Jed seemed easygoing but efficient. Nothing seemed to annoy Jed or be too much trouble. Although he was not handsome in the glossy movie star sense, he smiled easily with a disarming lop-sided grin that produced deep dimples in both cheeks. A swatch of soft black hair fell across a broad forehead.  He was well-groomed with a baritone so rich that Nora had to resist the urge to immerse herself in the sound. At thirty, Jed could claim physical fitness a younger man would envy.

Wasniki left the general day-to-day running of the office to Jed while he handled official liaison duties with other government agencies. The rest of the detachment consisted of eight patrolmen whose main duty was surveillance in the district. They had a fleet of two squad cars and six four-wheel drive trucks with canopies. Generally, they worked alone on all the shifts with the option of using their CB radios to call in back-up if they needed it.

Wasniki had started Nora at the central office reception desk, since their civilian receptionist, Joanie Grey, was on an indefinite medical leave. Nora had wanted to suggest some other civilian be hired temporarily or a volunteer found to answer the phone. She knew that Depot training required that all members be able to type their own reports, so she knew she wasn’t needed for steno work. Still, she hesitated to assert herself as she suspected Wasniki was merely trying to keep tabs on his new rookie.

Nora worked closely with Jed to manage the scheduling for the three shifts of detachment cruiser patrols, to handle incoming calls and to act as office clerk. She felt a bit peeved; after all, she was overqualified to be a secretary, and she bridled at the possibility of the stint lasting for long. Still, Jed had assured her that Sergeant Wasniki would no doubt change her assignment once she had familiarized herself with the community.

Turning to the stacks of paper on her desk, she began to browse through recent alerts and bulletins to acquaint herself with the situation around town. Wasniki had told her that her eventual assignment would be as the detachment Education and Community Liaison Officer. Reading the local weekly bulletin, she noted that the high school assembly had included a reminder about the case of a fifteen year-old who had gone missing the previous year near Terrace, just three hours northwest of Moose Forks on Highway 16. She pondered the implications of this unsolved case. The body had been found not that far from Moose Forks. Monica had been strangled. Given the proximity of the find, the perp could be a local. When Nora felt her gut clench, she realized the depth of her revulsion. She remembered what Jed Fedoruk had repeated to her as a matter of fact: whoever had done this was long gone. She halfway hoped he was right, but also knew in her gut that whoever had done it must be caught.

Nora turned her attention to a map showing the layout of Moose Forks. The detachment building sat on Main Street, a broad road where a variety of the town’s amenities and businesses could be found: town hall, health clinic, pool hall, restaurants, post office, federal building, and insurance and real estate offices. The street ran at right angles to Highway 16 and wound its way up the bluff behind the original town site in a general southwest direction to the new subdivision of detached, semi-detached and row houses constructed since the lumber mill had opened several years before. On the other side of the highway ran the Brightwater River, famous worldwide for steelhead trout and salmon runs.  It flowed roughly northwest towards the town of Glacier Lake and eventually into the huge Skeena River that emptied into the Pacific. The confluence of the Brightwater and Little Bear Creek had created a marshy bog less than a quarter mile south east of the town site. Jed had told her that before the area had become so populated, the early settlers sitting on their front porches had shot moose grazing on the marsh vegetation. This remarkable convenience had given the town its name of Moose Forks.

As the town grew, peopled largely after the war by immigrants from the Netherlands, Switzerland and Portugal, the settlement’s commercial district had expanded north along the highway following the Brightwater River. Here on the southwest side, was an interior mall with a supermarket and sundry small businesses. Next to it sat the best hotel in town, Jed said, the Driftwood Motel with its attached Dining Lounge for Fine Eating. Behind, backing onto the mall parking lot was the Moose Forks Pub where an assortment of town characters could be found at all hours. After arriving in late August, Nora had spent her first week staying at the Driftwood before she had moved into her apartment. Although the hotel accommodation had been comfortable, the racket drifting up in waves from the pub had been anything but relaxing.

Across the highway next to the river and on the other side of the railway tracks paralleling the highway, a cluster of brightly painted, small frame houses sat above the riverbed. Here, Jed had told her, lived the Portuguese. They had come to build the railroad and had stayed, the men to work in the small sawmills, mines or whatever labour job they could find, the women to raise babies and support the local Our Lady of the Valley Roman Catholic Church. They were a close-knit group who kept to themselves and obeyed the law. Their most serious infractions were related to the occasional sale of homemade wine or hunting moose out of season. Generally, they were homebodies who painted their houses in riotous combinations of purple, lime green and fuchsia, anything cheerful they said, to combat the dreary greens and greys of the northern landscape.

In huge contrast were the meticulous, sober homes of the Dutch and Swiss families.  These were the early founders of the town, residents who had established the successful dairy and beef herds so important to the local economy. Their success as pioneers was evident in both the lush bottomland fields of the farms and ranches dotting the valley surrounding the town, and the spacious new homes the retired older generations were building in the new subdivision on the bluff above the original town site. There they mingled with the new elite, the sawmill supervisors and other professionals – teachers, nurses, social workers – come to service the growing community. Also on the bluff was the new high school with its population of 350 students.

Noise coming from the coffee room reminded Nora that her shift was almost over. She popped into the washroom before the men came to use it after shift. There was supposed to be a separate washroom to accommodate women members, but it hadn’t materialized yet.

Eyeing herself in the mirror, she again mused that, except for her grey-green eyes, her face, with its