One Year in Coal Harbor (10 page)

“What are those black animals out there in the field?” Ked asked, pointing.

“Buffalo. Miss Clarice’s raising water buffalo and making mozzarella but we’re not at that part of the story yet. So Margaret keeps the farm going alone until her death in the 1940s. The people who inherited it tried to sell it for a thousand dollars but no one wanted it. Can you believe it? My mom said that Miss Clarice paid eight hundred thousand for it so someone would have made a lot of money if they’d bought it for a thousand. Anyhow, Miss Bowzer wants it desperately. It’s always been her dream to own it someday. It’s all that history. I think it should go to someone who grew up around here, you know? Someone
who has the love of this land in their bones. My mom said that in her family they had this rule about the stuff in their house. She grew up in this beach house that everyone in her family loved. She said they all loved everything about it, the dishes, the tablecloths, the vases, the pictures. And when someone moved out, if they really wanted a piece, they got to take it if they were the one who loved it most of all. Loving it most of all was kind of a claim to ownership.”

“So Miss Clarice owns all these mountains?”

“No, she just bought the original cleared homestead. The surrounding mountains were bought by Blondet and Blondet Logging.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ked, squinting his eyes and looking over the large orange sun sinking behind those protective mountains. “Well, better enjoy it now. That must be why those guys are camped outside town. I’ve seen it happen in other places I’ve lived. Mendolay Mountain is going to be logged.”

W
E RODE ON MORE
or less silently after that. In town we split up. Ked took the bike back to Uncle Jack’s and I went home. I was surprised to find my mom already there.

“You got home early,” I said. “Ked and I were just on Jackson Road but we didn’t see your car pass, just Dan Sneild’s. Ked thinks Mendolay Mountain is going to get logged.”

My mom was stirring something on the stove and looked distracted. Her face suddenly clouded. “Yes, I heard there may be a clear-cut in the works and some people have come to organize a protest. How could a decent human condemn our mountains this way? And I don’t like that Dan Sneild. I think he’s up to something. Where did this ersatz gravy come from?”

“Ked and I were here earlier. I’m teaching him how to cook.”

My mother just nodded. She seemed really tense and annoyed.

“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked.

“No, it’s not that, Primrose,” she said. She banged around in the cupboard, looking for something. She was banging a lot harder than strictly necessary. “I got a letter back from Miss Honeycut. She doesn’t want to use the money to help the Fishermen’s Aid.”

“Why not?”

“I have no idea. It was a
form
letter.”

“She rejected you by form letter?”

“Well, clearly she anticipated a lot of requests.” My mom crashed a pan lid down on a pot.

Dinner was surrounded by the cranky darkness of my mother’s bad day.

“Really, John, what could be a fitter thing to do with that money? If she doesn’t want to help the fishermen’s families, how does she think she
can
help Coal Harbor?”

“Who knows?” said my father. He was eating his soup.

“Well, even if she got a lot of suggestions for using those funds, none could possibly be as suitable as this if she really does want to do something for the town. After all, fishing
is
the town. I just don’t understand.”

My mother stayed in her dark mood the rest of the night, but I could not be drawn in. I had my own worries.

“Honestly,” said my mother to herself as she and I washed the dishes. She banged the counter with her fist and a plate bounced off and crashed on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” I said, picking up the pieces for her. “I have a feeling everything will come out fine in the end.” It had occurred to me that if the mountain was clear-cut the view from the B and B would be ruined and that wouldn’t be good for business. Maybe Miss Clarice would even sell it. But would Miss Bowzer still want it without a view? Still, despite all the protesters gathering, I couldn’t believe anyone would strip all the trees from these mountains. They felt as much a part of who we all were as the ocean. They were members of the town, silent, but just as full of life. They had been standing for hundreds of years. They would be here hundreds of years more, I was sure.

“Well, as much as I’d like to believe in your feelings, Primrose, what the fishermen’s families need is cold hard cash. I should write Miss Honeycut again. Maybe my first letter wasn’t strong enough. I should tell her about the Harrison family, with no money coming in this winter and five mouths to feed. Their oldest boy is talking of quitting high school and getting a job on one of the boats and I think Mary’s entertaining letting him. They have to eat. And what does Miss Honeycut mean, ‘Thank you for giving this matter your attention but I prefer to explore other options’?” asked my mother, rereading
Miss Honeycut’s letter and waving it around. “What other options? Who else has written to her?”

She looked forlornly at the broken dish as I swept the china crumbs into the dustpan. “And as far as I’m concerned she owes us a plate!”

My mother stomped off to knit and I could see by her furrowed brow that she was tied up in knots over her impotence to save all the lost fishermen and their families and ease the tide of suffering in her corner of the world. “Money, money, money,” she said. “A little bit of extra money can fix an awful lot in this town. It all seems to hinge on a little bit of money.”

“My grandmother used to say it’s not a real trouble if it can be fixed by throwing money at it,” said my dad from behind his paper.

“It is if you can fix it with money but you don’t
have
the money. Those unfortunate people just need a little cash to feed those children through the winter!”

“And they’re darned lucky to have you looking for it,” said my dad.

“Well, it won’t do them much good if I don’t find any,” said my mother. Then she got up for pen and paper and sat down to write Miss Honeycut again.

My mother wasn’t the only one writing Miss Honeycut. The protesters had gotten wind of the Honeycut fund and were hoping to secure it to launch a full-scale
protest against the logging. And it wasn’t just the Hacky Sack kids who came to town after that. There were some older professorial types and environmentalists and a whole lot of other people. The motel filled up quickly and some of the protesters were billeted about town. None of them seemed to be the type who could afford rooms at Miss Clarice’s B and B and when she was asked to donate some housing she refused. This surprised nobody.

The protesters did presentations in the schools to gain student support. They wrote our member of Parliament to protest the clear-cut, and the Hacky Sack kids tried to get as many people in town as they could to sign the letter.

Miss Connon posted the letter on the bulletin board during recess and when I went to add my name, she put a hand on my shoulder and said, “The poor, poor trees,” and there were tears in her eyes. I found this a little unsettling. Seeing your teacher cry is like seeing one of your parents cry. But she quickly wiped her eyes and said, “Don’t mind me, Primrose.”

In their school presentation the protesters showed us that even if the trees were replanted, the forest would never come back the same. When trees die naturally and are allowed to lie where they fall, they rot and the rotted wood seeps nutrients back into the soil so that the forest replenishes itself constantly. The protesters
showed pictures of small trees growing out of the fallen large trees, something I’d seen many times but never really thought about. You cannot re-create an old-growth forest. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. But really, they didn’t have to get so scientific. Just the thought of the surrounding mountains treeless was enough to galvanize all of us into action. So I volunteered to collect signatures.

After school Ked and I met at my house to continue working on recipes for the book.

“What do you think it should be called?” I asked him.

“
Coal Harbor Recipes
?”

“Maybe something snazzier. We should go ask Miss Lark for publishing advice.”

We got our bikes and rode out but when we got to her house, Miss Lark opened the door and glared down at us. Ked quickly took two giant steps back. Miss Lark was wearing a large man’s mackinaw over a nightgown. Her feet were bare. She had a stocking cap on even though she was inside.

“What?” she barked.

“Hi, Miss Lark,” I said. “I’m Primrose Squarp. This is Ked. You came to our class. I thought you might remember me.”

“I don’t know what class you’re talking about. I go to a lot of places,” said Miss Lark.

I thought this very odd but I forged ahead anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Miss Lark, we’re writing a book,” I began. “And we need some advice.”

“Don’t!” she barked, and slammed the door.

“Do you think we should ring the bell again and ask if she wants to sign the petition?” I asked, because I had brought that, too.

“No,” said Ked, turning around and walking back to the bikes. “I don’t want to collect signatures. I’ll ride around with you while you get them but I don’t want anyone to
see
me doing it.”

“Why not? There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me nervous, okay? In my last foster home I was helping to build a set for our school play and I accidentally bonked a teacher with a piece of wood I had over my shoulder, and he immediately thought I was ‘becoming violent.’ If you collect signatures, you’re aiding the protest. If I collect them, I’m looking for trouble.”

I don’t think people in Coal Harbor are that narrow-minded but I guess he had a right to be nervous. I couldn’t imagine getting picked up and plunked down, never knowing what was going to happen next. You can’t make permanent friends, you can’t make plans, you can’t join teams. And why was his home available to him and then unavailable? What was the deal with his parents? He must have had some if he went home between foster homes. Was he from a family of
career criminals
? I was sure I had heard of such things. I knew I shouldn’t pry into his life
but I was so curious. I cast around for a question that wouldn’t be too intrusive.

“Do you think you’ll be in Coal Harbor long?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet Evie and Bert would keep you permanently if they knew you wanted to stay.”

“Well, I don’t,” he said tersely.

This floored me. “Don’t you like it here?”

“Yeah, I like it, Primrose. I like it a lot, but I’ve got things to do elsewhere. You know, responsibilities, people counting on me.”

“But you must hate just going from place to place.”

“I don’t mind so much.” He shrugged. “I’d like to know how long I’ve got places, though. That would help.”

“Can’t you ask?”

“It depends on forces beyond my control. Listen, I don’t really want to talk about this anymore, okay?”

It is very odd to find yourself in the position of trying to help someone who has other plans.

Since we were headed to town, I decided to get signatures at The Girl on the Red Swing first.

“Hello again,” said Miss Bowzer to Ked as we came in the front door.

“Again?” I asked Ked. “Were you here earlier?”

“I can’t sign it!” interrupted Miss Bowzer when she saw the sheet. “I’ve had six people in here already asking.”

“You don’t want to save Mendolay Mountain?” I
asked. “But you love that mountain! The Hacky Sack kids say that once the loggers start, they’ll do the whole coast.”

“Scare tactics,” said Miss Bowzer. “Listen, the logging company is only planning on that one mountain. That’s it. I know that for a fact. And that’s jobs for loggers, too, you know. It’s fine to say they should stop logging but that’s practically the whole economy of B.C. Anyone think of that? Besides, Dan’s staying at the B and B and he says he doesn’t think the clear-cut will much affect the view.”

“But the B and B
faces
Mendolay. Its porch looks onto the mountain.”

“Yes, Primrose, but there are
other
mountains. Mendolay is only
one
. A little clear-cut will get lost in the vast range that the B and B faces. I doubt you’ll even notice it.
Dan
doesn’t think people will.”