Finding Home (6 page)

“Oh, Nick didn’t say anything very specific,”
Kiera told me. “Just that you’re independent and gutsy. I guess he
was always sort of in love with you, back in high school? And he
seemed to think meeting you again was some kind of an omen, almost
a godsend.”

“That’s so strange. I had that feeling too,
about Nick, that we were meant to meet that day in Montreal. Weird,
eh?” I remembered how creepy I’d felt before I knew it was Nick
watching me. “But it was pure coincidence. Anyway, tell me about
you. Nick said you live here most of the time?”

“Yes.” Kiera looked up almost defiantly. “I
moved down last spring. I simply couldn’t take Toronto anymore. Our
life there seemed so pointless, for me anyway. It had become one
long furious pursuit of Nick’s business contacts. Everything we
did, everywhere we went, everyone we saw – it was all geared to
advancing Nick’s career. I just got so fed up frittering my life
away lunching and power shopping and playing the perfect
hostess.”

“I don’t blame you!”

Kiera flashed me a grateful smile. “I guess I
should have taken a job or something,” she said, “gotten a career
myself, but the only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do is act. I
did have some parts when we were first married, but I never really
made it.” She studied her hands, which were folded in her lap,
before going on in a disappointed voice. “And I never really fit
in, either. I wasn’t edgy enough. A lot of actors resented me
because I didn’t have to wait tables to get by. Some even suggested
I should move to the suburbs and do amateur theater. Then, when I
didn’t get pregnant, my doctor recommended I give it all up. The
pressures were so immense, you know, all the auditioning,
rehearsing, performing, not to mention the strain of working with
theater egos and the terrible hours.” She unfolded her hands and
lifted them to smooth her hair. “So I took his advice because I
wanted children more than success. And I guess in my heart I knew I
wasn’t really all that good. That’s when I came down here. I’d
given up the only thing that kept me going in Toronto.”

“But it didn’t help?”

Kiera sighed deeply. “Oh, I feel a whole lot
better. But no baby. So I’ve taken up quilting. Phoebe’s an
excellent teacher and it helps me stay calm and not worry about
getting pregnant.” She kept fussing with her hair, which was the
color of cornsilk, cut chin-length and swept to one side over wispy
bangs. Finally she tucked it back behind her ears, in which she
wore tiny pearl studs. “And then, over the summer, I flew back and
went to the Clarington Clinic and had all the tests.” She paused
and sighed before saying, very softly, “And I found out I can’t get
pregnant anyway.”

“I’m so sorry. It must be dreadfully hard to
accept.”

“Yes. I’m an only child and I’d always
planned on having a large family. Actually though, I’d almost
resigned myself to doing without even one baby, and was thinking
about going back to the theater. But Nick just can’t come to terms
with it. The need to have a child is tearing him apart.”

“And that’s where I come in.”

“If you think you want to – ” Kiera began,
but was interrupted by Phoebe bringing the tea. “Fresh scones! Oh
thank you Phoebe,” she gushed, as if we’d been discussing nothing
more than the weather. “Phoebe’s baking is addictive,” she said,
“and this is her famous strawberry-rhubarb jam.”

I was amazed at what was spread before me.
Silver tea service, crystal jam jar and butter dish, Blue Willow
china. Vera Wemble would have had a fit over such a show of
opulence. She thought proper people should own nice things, but she
didn’t believe in using them. She kept her own good china locked
away in a cabinet, only taking it out for Christmas and Easter.

“This is just heavenly,” I said. The simple
life of the lodge was my ideal. Much as I wanted a home, I’d never
been much interested in material things. But right then I longed
for this life, just for a few months. Could I justify living in
luxury at Malagash though? Wouldn’t I feel constantly guilty,
thinking about the homeless? But then, I wouldn’t really be selling
out if I only stayed here during my pregnancy, would I? “So,” I
said, “did you spend a lot of time here as a child?”

Kiera poured the tea. “As much as I possibly
could, which was every summer, and over Christmas. My mother hated
it though. Too far from New York City and her social set. She
refused to stay more than a weekend at a time. So Phoebe looked
after me, and my father came up as often as he could, for the
sailing. Then when I was older and began to disagree with him – he
was a very opinionated, stubborn man – we grew apart and I never
came here at all. But I still kept in touch with Phoebe. She lives
down in Airdrie Bay with her son, who incidentally is my doctor
here.”

“Oh really?” I sipped at my tea. “So you must
have known him as a child? She told me her little boy used to come
to work with her.”

“Oh yes,” Kiera said fondly. “Angus was my
childhood best friend.”

“And what’s he like now, your doctor? I mean,
if his own mother disapproves, well, what does he think of our
plan?”

Kiera blushed, which made her look even
prettier. “He’s a very good doctor and I hope you’ll feel
comfortable with him, if you decide to go ahead. He’s not
paternalistic or anything. He’s quite sympathetic actually.” She
kicked off her patent leather heels. “God, these shoes pinch like
mad,” she said. Her sheer stockings showed toes shaped like tiny
fingers, with nails the same shell-pink as on her hands. “And of
course as a physician, he’s concerned with the medical as much as
the moral aspects.”

I tucked my feet, which in my work socks were
rough and callused from going barefoot in the woods and over rocks,
under the settee. “But he must know there’s a lot of controversy
about surrogate mothers. He’s not worried about being
involved?”

“Not greatly. You see we feel, that is, Nick
and I feel, and Dr. MacLaren agrees, that our situation is
different.” She rose and wandered over to the French doors at the
side of the room, which faced extensive gardens. She stood looking
out, her back to me. “I suppose that’s not very convincing.
Everyone thinks their case is special. Why should we be unique? But
what I was going to say before Phoebe came in, is that I’m not
going to beg you to do it, although Nick might. But if you think
you can, then I’m one hundred percent behind you, and I’ll do
anything to make it work.” She turned to me then, her eyes
glittering with tears. “And I think that if you do do it, you’d be
doing more good in a few months than most people do in an entire
lifetime.”

“That’s quite a declaration.” I drank some
more tea, trying to keep from shouting,
Yes, yes, yes, I’ll do
it!
I felt I might bite right through that fragile cup. How
could I say no to the chance to do the ultimate good deed?

But I knew I’d have to protect myself every
step of the way. “If I were to do it,” I told her, “I’m not sure it
would be for such a noble reason. It might be purely selfish. You
would have to understand it might be just for the money.”

Kiera busied herself clearing up the tea
things. “I honestly wouldn’t care why,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask
any questions. I would just be so happy, so utterly ecstatic, to
have a child.” She looked away dreamily. “I know I’m a very
fortunate person. I grew up with every advantage and I have more
money than I’ll ever need. I have Nick and I have this house. So
you see, I won’t be suicidal or anything if you don’t want to do
it. I’ll go on living and try to forget ...”

“Yes?”

“Oh hell. What I meant to say is, I don’t
want to put any pressure on you. There is absolutely no reason to
feel sorry for me.”

“I understand that.”

“But please, take as long as you need to
think it over. Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Oh yes, I’d love to.”

I was too jittery to take in very much as
Kiera pointed out the kitchen and back stairs, the dining room,
powder room and library. But my overall reaction was an even
greater longing to stay in that magnificent place. We climbed the
wide spiral staircase of golden pine in the front hall, and Kiera
showed me her room, the bathroom, a spare bedroom used as a
quilting room, a guest room, and finally, what would be my
room.

Angled into a corner between two wide windows
stood a wooden spool bed, painted a soft blue, the headboard
stenciled with vines and roses. Covering it was a quilt worked in
deep rich blues and greens, which I couldn’t resist rushing right
over to touch.

“That’s copied from a quilt Phoebe’s mother
made years ago,” Kiera said.

“You made it?”

“With Phoebe’s help. We’ve only just
finished. The pattern’s called Fox and Geese, or sometimes Crosses
and Losses. Anyway, we don’t eat dinner until about eight, so
you’ve plenty of time to look around or take a walk. Please make
yourself at home – feel free.”

She left me then, and I stood there admiring
the room. The walls were papered in a tiny blue and white print,
the windows dressed in white ruffled curtains. One window faced
north to a rocky cove edged by a strip of silvery sand, which
glistened in the afternoon sun. The other overlooked the circular
front drive.

I found the room so welcoming I wanted to
move right in It even had a fireplace, with a basket of logs and
kindling ready on the tiled hearth. I pictured myself going down to
the library for a book, then lighting the fire, climbing into the
high spool bed and pulling the delicious quilt up over me. I
imagined reading like that for hours on a winter night with the
baby curled up inside me.

The baby?

What was I thinking? I had to force myself to
break the spell. It would be ridiculous to go and have a baby just
because I liked this house and this room. What I needed was to go
for a run. I changed and stuffed my clothes and pack into the pine
armoire.

After stretching, I followed the driveway
back to the road to Airdrie Bay and ran until the village was in
sight. How charming and inviting it looked. Then I turned and ran
back, this time passing the Malagash gardens, taking a path that
led down through some sea-stunted firs to the shore.

On this, the south side of the point, there
was no sand, only mounds of lumpish gray rock, barnacled and
blackened with wet around the edges. The outgoing tide had exposed
slimy masses of greenish-brown seaweed tangled around bits of
garbage. The air smelt of iodine and dead fish. I perched on a rock
to rest, watching screaming gulls swoop to attack whatever
unfortunate sea creatures the tide had uncovered.

I thought about Kiera and everything she’d
said. Should I trust her, just because I liked her? Should I even
trust Nick? And why was he so desperate to have a child anyway? He
hadn’t been such a happy kid himself. His mother had run off when
he was only three, and he’d been raised by his bitter bully of a
father. But of course that must be the answer right there. A child
of his own would give him unconditional love.

Still, I knew from experience that there is
always a risk with friendly, cooperative clients, that what they
tell you isn’t always the whole story. In fact they can be the
worst for covering up, or for somehow forgetting to mention the
most important details. For instance, there was something strange
about the Talbots living apart. Was Kiera being straight with me
about why? Maybe they fell into that deluded group of people who
believe a child will save a troubled marriage. But if they weren’t
compatible anymore, why didn’t Nick just divorce Kiera and find
another wife?

And there were many other questions. Say I
did have a baby for them, where would it live? How would they look
after it? Who would look after it? And, and, and …

And then I thought about that lovely blue
room. I thought about buying the lodge and starting my camp.
Really, I decided, I had no good reason not to trust Nick and
Kiera. In making assessments for the Children’s Agency I’d been
trained to have facts to back up my judgments. And the most
important fact was that the Talbots weren’t clients. So there was
no need to treat them that way.

I was no longer working for the Children’s
Agency. It wasn’t my business how Nick and Kiera raised their
child. My job would be to produce a baby and disappear, not get
involved with the details of its future.

It wouldn’t be easy of course, I did realize
that. But if I wanted the money, and I did, I would simply have to
steel myself against thinking too much.

The next morning Kiera and Phoebe took me to
look around the village of Airdrie Bay. That is, Phoebe drove us
in, then followed behind as Kiera led me up and down the main
street. Besides the quaint houses there were several gift shops
full of Nova Scotia pewter, weaving and pottery, and an art gallery
offering paintings of local houses, ships and shores. Kiera seemed
to know everyone, and stopped to talk about the weather with all.
She introduced me simply as, “Lucienne, my friend from Quebec,
visiting for awhile.”

We spent most of our time in The Silver
Needle, a fabric shop in a huge old house on a side street. Bolts
of fabric and quilts were displayed everywhere from the pine floor
to the high wooden ceilings. Buttons and bindings and trims spilled
out of drawers, quilt batts stuffed wooden rain barrels. Kiera and
Phoebe wanted to choose fabric for their next project, a wedding
quilt for the daughter of someone in their church group.

They felt and discussed a rainbow of shades
and color combinations with the woman working there. “This is
Sadie,” Kiera told me, “she’s in our quilting group. If we ever get
this top made she’ll be up at Malagash to help us finish it.”

The three women talked on about the
background and the border and the backing, while I amused myself
admiring the quilted jackets and patchwork skirts and dresses
displayed in the front window. It would be nice to have something
new to wear when Nick arrived for dinner that night. But I couldn’t
afford those handmade clothes. And they weren’t really me anyway.
As for what I would choose, I hadn’t shopped in so long that I had
no idea what I’d want.