One Year in Coal Harbor (11 page)

I looked at Miss Bowzer as if she were from the moon. I never expected her to be on the side of the loggers. Never in a million years. And what did
Dan
have to do with it? Maybe the torturous choice between Dan Sneild and Uncle Jack had fragmented her brains.

“Anyhow, I’ve got pierogies to make. It’s pierogi night,” she said.

“
PIEROGI
night?” I said.

“Dan’s Ukrainian,” she said, and shrugged.

She never changed her menu for anyone, except for the one dish she’d added for Uncle Jack. And pierogi night was a much more serious commitment than air-dried
beef with lentils. She was devoting a whole
night
to it. Miss Bowzer must have fallen back in love with Dan Sneild! She’d probably want to become Ukrainian herself next! This was terrible! I tried to imagine Miss Bowzer in a long colorful dress and boots and a scarf, doing wild dances with a lot of other Ukrainians, as I had seen on TV once. Could Uncle Jack continue to love her through such a metamorphosis?

“I suppose now she’s going to put sauerkraut in everything the way Evie does mini marshmallows,” I said to Ked, who had pulled me nervously outside.

I had a vision of an all-Ukrainian menu and that reminded me that I hadn’t passed on any fake French food comments from Uncle Jack in a while, and I told Ked to wait for me a second while I dashed back into the kitchen of The Girl on the Red Swing and said, “Miss Bowzer, by the way, Uncle Jack said that a real cook could make
coq au vin
.”

“Coq au vin?”
Miss Bowzer put down the pork roast she was carrying from the freezer.

“Yeah,” I said, and then dashed out. I decided it was best just to let this simmer.

Outside, Ked was standing where I’d left him but had been joined by Bert and Evie.

“PRIMROSE!” said Evie in her wildly enthusiastic way. Sometimes she reminds me of a puppy, the way she greets people. And then, as if to be sure he didn’t feel
left out, she added, “AND SHE’S HERE WITH OUR FAVORITE BOY, KED!”

She would adopt him in a heartbeat, I thought. What kinds of responsibilities could he possibly have that would keep him from living in Coal Harbor? That would send him back to the kind of life that kept jettisoning him into foster homes?

“What are you kids up to?” asked Bert. “We’ve been to the library.” He hefted two big bags of books to illustrate.

“To use the Internet!” said Evie proudly.

“You went on the computer there?” I asked.

“We got some help from that nice librarian,” said Bert.

“Ms. Andersen,” said Evie.

“The one with the long hair.”

“And the glasses.”

“She showed us how. We were looking for cockapoo breeders.”

“We found all kinds of sites.”

“They’re called sites. Like building sites, the places where you go.”

“There’s more breeders than you’d think.”

“Are you getting a new dog?” I asked. This was surprising news because they were so broken up about Quincehead that I’d have thought it would take much longer until they were ready.

As if reading my mind, Evie said, “We know there will never be another dog like Quincehead.”

“Evie thought if Quincehead ever died it would be years, maybe never, until she could get a new dog.”

“That’s what’s so amazing,” said Evie.

“Because we realized the big hole Quincehead left in our lives.”

“And Evie said to me, Let’s get a dog.”

“But that’s when we decided to do lots of research first.”

“Because Quincehead was a fluke.”

“We didn’t research or nothing to find Quincehead. He just fell into our lap and he was the perfect dog.”

“We’ll never see his like again.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“So it’s only fair to try and find a nearly perfect dog.”

“Because it wouldn’t be fair to the
dog
if we didn’t.”

“He’s got so much to live up to as it is.”

“So we’d even drive to Alberta to get a perfect one.”

“How can you tell if it’s the perfect dog before you know him?” asked Ked.

“Ked’s so smart,” said Evie to me.

“He hit the nail on the head. He’s got us there, Evie,” said Bert. “You can’t.”

“You can’t tell at all,” said Evie. “Not really.”

“But you can guess,” said Bert. “We’d be guessing, really.”

“We just feel, you know, compelled to do our best,” said Evie. “To find perfect candidates and then visit them. I think I could tell if I picked one up.”

“You could tell with Quincehead, Evie.”

“Because he snuggled into me. First time I picked him up.”

“He snuggled.”

“Not that the perfect one might snuggle next time.”

“Not that there will ever
be
a perfect dog again. But we owe it to the new dog to get one nearly perfect.”

“Because of Quincehead.”

“And his perfection. Now, what are you kids doing in town?”

“We were going to get my uncle’s signature on this petition to save Mendolay Mountain,” I said.

“We’re going to the council meeting after supper. That’s on the agenda. We’ll see you then. Are you going inside with Primrose?” Bert asked Ked.

“Because I thought we’d have an early supper,” said Evie. “So we have time to digest before the meeting. I’m making Tater Tot casserole.”

“I’ll go back with you,” said Ked, and he took both book bags from Bert, who looked frankly relieved. Bert was pretty short and I imagine it took more muscle than it would a taller person to keep the bags from dragging on the ground.

“Does Tater Tot casserole have mini marshmallows in it?” Ked asked, rather nervously, I thought.

“It does if you want it to!” said Evie.

“Wait a second,” I said to Evie. “Can you just stay here one second so I can get your recipe for Tater Tot casserole?
I’ve got my notebook. I’m collecting recipes for the cookbook Ked and I are writing.”

So Evie stayed behind and I took down the recipe and Ked and Bert trotted home with the books.

After I had finished writing, I said, “Would you adopt Ked permanently if he wanted it?”

“Of course, Primrose. But you know, honey, that that isn’t going to happen. He has a home. This is just temporary.”

“But don’t you think he would be happier if he could just be in one place?”

Evie thought a second. “I’m trying to remember what the social worker said. She said he was actually anxious to get back to his own home.”

“But what kind of home can it be if he’s hardly ever there?” I asked.

Evie put her hand on my wrist. “Well, you know we’ve talked about these things before. Some of these kids are ashamed of their families. The social worker said Ked didn’t want anyone to know about his family but she’d tell me anyhow if it would be a help to us and I said to her, ‘Dearie, I don’t need to know nothing he doesn’t want me to know.’ And maybe the way I think of it would help you, too, Primrose. I think of it as having this moment in time with him and doing anything I can. Maybe we’re just like a vacation spot in the schedule of his life—like a little spa trip. Someplace he can be warm and dry and fed. And maybe part of that for him is being someplace where
everyone doesn’t know where he came from. Like we’re a little vacation from shame. Anyhow, honey, I gotta go make dinner. I’m glad you’re getting on so well with Ked. He needs a friend, that’s for sure.”

But that didn’t even begin to cover my feelings about it. I wanted to keep him
safe
.

She moved on and I crossed the street and went into Uncle Jack’s restaurant.

There were plastic sheets hanging all over the place and plaster falling everywhere and things didn’t look any further along than they had the last time I’d been there. Uncle Jack was in the back, covered in white plaster dust and looking distracted and furious. I held the signature sheet out to him.

“Save Mendolay Mountain?” he said, signing it. “Sure, sure. You know that’s on the agenda for the council meeting.”

“Are you going tonight? Ked and I are.”

“If I can get away from business. Right now, between the restaurant and a bunch of irons in the fire down island, I’m working sixteen-hour days,” he said. “Hey, you and Ked haven’t borrowed any change out of the change jar the last couple of weeks, have you?”

“No, I would have told you,” I said.

“I know, I know,” said Uncle Jack. He sounded tired and discouraged. “Maybe I’m mistaken but I could swear about a third of it is missing.”

“Wow. Who would take all your change?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think one of the hockey players is stealing. It’s not the change. It’s feeling taken advantage of after I trusted them with the open door. I’d hate to tell them they can’t use the gym anymore unless I’m around to open and close. I guess I’ll have to talk to them. I don’t want to make any accusations when I don’t know anything for sure.”

“What if no one comes forward?”

“I don’t know,” said Uncle Jack, and there were huge bangs from the back room. “Hey, watch it back there!”

“Miss Bowzer wouldn’t sign the petition. She
wants
them to log the mountain!” I said. It was as well he knew what a pretty pass things had come to since he had neglected his courtship of her.

“Of course she’ll sign the petition,” said Uncle Jack, who was busy writing something on a clipboard.

“No, she won’t. I just talked to her.”

“She’ll sign. She’ll find somewhere to sign where it won’t get back to us she signed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she do that?” I argued.

“There’s more here than meets the eye, Primrose,” said Uncle Jack, and he winked at me. “But don’t worry. I’ve got plans and I’m sticking to them.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. By plans, did he mean his restaurant? Did he mean he was going to keep building it even if it drove Miss Bowzer into the arms of
Dan Sneild? Didn’t he see that she was worth more than a business enterprise?

I decided to try another tack. “Have you noticed that Dan Sneild is always eating at The Girl on the Red Swing?”

“People have to eat somewhere. I imagine he gets tired of the haute cuisine up at Miss Clarice’s.”

“She likes him.”

“Miss Clarice?”

“NO,
MISS BOWZER
!”

“So I hear.”

“They knew each other in high school.”

“I knew a lot of people in high school, Primrose, what’s your point?”

“Yes, but this is romantic.”

“Is
it
romantic, or are
you
?”

“Well, somebody better be,” I said meaningly. “Did you know tonight was
pierogi night
? Miss Bowzer never had pierogi night before.”

“So?” said Uncle Jack, tapping on timbers and writing on his clipboard. It was getting on my nerves.

“Dan Sneild is
UKRAINIAN
.”

“It’s a free country,” said Uncle Jack, laughing.

“You’ll be laughing out of the other side of your mouth when Miss Bowzer starts dressing in dirndls and making great vats of sauerkraut.”

“I think you’re confusing the Ukraine with Bavaria,” said Uncle Jack, still scribbling away.

“Miss Bowzer thinks Dan Sneild might be here to buy the B and B. When they were younger it was their dream to own it.”

Now he stopped writing.

“Miss Clarice’s B and B?”

“Well, of course it wasn’t Miss Clarice’s then. Miss Bowzer has always wanted it. It’s her dream.”

“I thought The Girl on the Red Swing was Miss Bowzer’s dream. She certainly gets prickly if she thinks it’s been insulted.”

“She’s
proud of
The Girl on the Red Swing, she
created
The Girl on the Red Swing, but her heart’s desire is the B and B! All her life she has wanted to live there. She spends all her free time decorating it in her head.”

Uncle Jack put down his clipboard and looked at me straight on for the first time since I’d come in. “Well, well. Now, this does make things interesting. I’ve always thought a B and B was a two-person business.” He looked thoughtful for a minute. I was hoping he would say something heroic like, Then there’s no other choice—I will have to run Dan Sneild through with my saber, but when he finally spoke it was crushingly disappointing. “Let’s hope she gets it, then. Everyone should have their heart’s desire. You, me, even Miss Bowzer.”

“EVEN?”
I protested.

“Now,” he said, shuttling me toward the door, “as much as I love these little tête-à-têtes, let’s shoot you back
outside while you still have a
tête
.” As if to illustrate, a plank fell from the ceiling, and Uncle Jack bellowed, “WATCH IT UP THERE!”

Then he clapped me on the shoulder and pushed me gently through the door, saying, “Thanks for looking out for me, Primrose, but let’s just say I’m not worried about that particular problem.”

He had disappeared back inside before I could reply, but I was sorely tempted to say, Well, if you’re going to get worried I’d advise doing so before the first of their twelve children is born.

W
HEN WE ENTERED THE
town hall, I was still sulking. It is very annoying to be putting everyone’s life to rights without any help from them or those around them.

There were long backless benches set out, which could get very uncomfortable if the meeting dragged on too long. My dad said once that he suspected that was why they were used. My mom and dad and Evie and Bert were down at one end of a bench with Ked and me at the other. Miss Connon was sitting in the row in front of me and waved to me cheerily as I came in. Miss Bowzer didn’t come at all, which was surprising. She usually closed the restaurant early if there was a town meeting. But maybe she had to keep it open all the time because, as she had said, it wasn’t doing so well. Or maybe she was embarrassed to come to a meeting where so many people
had signed a petition she refused to. You could count on most everyone showing up for these things. Aside from the movie theater, which only changed its movie every six weeks, it was, entertainmentwise, the only game in town. There was a loud buzz of excited conversation as people came in and greeted, like long-lost relatives, acquaintances they’d seen not two hours before. There was a kind of festivity to these gatherings that really called for cake. I looked around hopefully but apparently this was to be a pastryless event.