“Now, don’t go do anything stupid, Abraham. Why don’t you and your family come and stay with us for a while? It’ll be safer for you. Your workers can run the farm. Until we can figure out what to do about your bridge.”
“I ain’t stayin’ at your place, Frost.”
Frost did not speak for a few seconds. Then he frowned and nodded wearily and said “I see. Well, I didn’t think you would, actually.”
“You got that nigger.”
Frost put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. He turned and walked back to the horse. King and Puppy were soon there. Frost and Will grabbed their collars. Fundy chased his dogs and tried to get hold of the leashes. Soon he gave up and headed back across his field. The dogs followed. Frost released his own dogs, who waited, wagging their tails. He set Will on Beauty, stepped up onto the alder stump and mounted the horse himself.
“Getting dark” he said.
3
Blackie loped on ahead, veered into a patch of scrub, appeared again in the distance, sniffing at the ground in his zigzag way, then disappeared once more behind a mound of blackberry. He was at the dwelling when they arrived, taking in the smells of the place.
A woman sat beside Frost on the wagon seat. She was a woman of late middle age, with sad grey eyes.
Frost got off the wagon. The woman did not. “Is this all toll?” she said, nodding toward the load of produce behind her.
“Yes, it is, most of it. Not the eggs.” said Frost. “The bridge brings in a lot.”
The house was a corner of a fallen concrete building. A complete panel of quarter-inch plywood leaned against a wall, covering a hole. Its layers had separated and spread, so that it resembled a blossom of rotted and soggy veneer. There was a door hole, over which hung various fragments of plastic. Blackie stood staring at a particular point in the plastic. The plastic moved. Blackie stepped back and set to barking.
“Quiet, Blackie.” ordered Frost.
A man crawled out under the plastic. “Arf, yourself” he said to the dog as he slowly stood. Blackie wagged his tail and went forward to sniff at the man and have his head scratched.
“I could use a dog” said the man to Frost. “Could you get me a dog?”
He was old, thin and bald. But the white hair that grew above his ears hung down to his waist, as did his stringy beard. He had a wool poncho and a wool kilt but no shoes. His odour was primal and aggressive.
Frost said “I can’t get you a dog, Christopher. Dogs can fall into the wrong hands. We have to be careful about that. It seems to me I have told you this before. You couldn’t feed a dog, anyway. But I can get you some shoes. Can I send you a pair of sandals?”
“You can send ’em. But I can’t promise that I’ll wear ’em.”
“Why the hell don’t you come and live on the farm? We can keep you warm and safe and fed. This is no way to live. Out here alone.”
“I seen your farm, Frost. Too many people. Just send me a dog.”
“No dog, Christopher. Have you got something to put your produce in?”
The old man squatted and reached under the plastic flap and pulled out a dirty yellow plastic bowl. He came to the wagon.
“This is Grace” said Frost. “She’s our medic.”
“I know. You ain’t gettin’ me to no clinic, either.” He took two heads of cabbage. “No squash?”
“Not yet.” Frost filled a bucket with potatoes and carrots and turnips and dumped it on the ground near the shack, then filled the bucket again and dumped it again. He set the bucket in the wagon. He reached under the seat and took out three eggs and laid them on the ground near the produce.
“I got no fire” said the old man.
“I’ll send you a fire-maker.”
“I got no wood.”
“Look around. There’s wood. Sticks at least. Have you got a pot?”
“Of course I got a pot. What do you take me for?”
Frost climbed up beside Grace and flicked the reins, and the steer started out.
Soon they found the remnants of a road and turned north beside it, in the direction of the farm. In a while, back off the road they saw a garden and another ruined building. A man was working in the garden. He called “Hello Frost.”
Frost called back “Need anything, Chow?”
“No, I’m okay. The rain come in time.”
It was a chill day. Although it was overcast the cloud was high and the air had a deep clarity to it. The rain had put out the fire on Grouse Mountain. To the north a stack of white smoke leaned east above the burnt forest.
Grace rhythmically twisted the fabric of her poncho where it lay on her lap. She said “Are you worried about Fundy’s Bridge?”
“Yes I am.”
“What can we do?”
“I’m just afraid Langley wants Fundy’s farm. But Fundy is strong. As long as he doesn’t do something stupid. Anyway, Fundy doesn’t want our help. You know how he is.”
“Langley is unpredictable” she said, twisting the cloth.
They turned off onto a grassy trail that was almost too narrow for the wagon. Frost said “What’s wrong?”
“We should get more opium.”
“It’s not opium. It’s skag.”
“I hate that word. Langley could cut us off. We have to be prepared.”
“What you got cost me a whole load of potatoes. What — you don’t think it will last through the winter? Are we going to have a war or what? That bastard — come spring I plant my own poppies.”
They came to a building, smaller than the previous ones, but apparently whole. It was almost invisible under a burden of blackberry. Two girls were working in the garden, pulling up turnips. They were naked and were daubed with wet earth. When Blackie looked in their direction and pricked up his ears they held their turnips closer and leaned toward one another and were very still. When the wagon stopped, Grace closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths and gripped Frost’s hand tightly. Then she climbed down from the wagon, as did Frost.
A weak, ragged scream came from the darkened door. Frost lifted aside the several layers of clear plastic. They went in. There were no windows in this corner of the building, but sufficient light came through the door. There was a fire pit circled by concrete building blocks. There was a car seat on which lay a woman covered by a fragment of wool blanket and an abundance of rags. A man squatted beside her, holding her hand.
Frost placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man laid the woman’s hand at her side on the torn car seat and stood and turned to Frost and Grace. Frost nodded slightly. The man looked down at the floor. The earth was covered with plastic sheets, and on top of the plastic between the fire pit and the car seat was a small red rug with a pattern of flowers. The man shook his head slowly.
Frost said “We’ve brought something, Edmonds.”
Without looking up the man whispered “I know.”
The woman moaned. The man started to turn to her but Frost urged the man toward the door. He said “Take the girls for a walk. Take them down to the trail.” When the woman moaned again, more loudly, the man ducked through his door in a rattle of polyethylene and went out. Frost watched the man and his daughters walk through the wet grass, past the wagon. The girls were each holding a hand.
He turned to Grace. “Okay” he said.
Grace squatted beside the woman, who looked at her with eyes that were all but extinguished. Grace said “I’ve brought medicine.” She had a plastic bottle containing two inches of murky liquid. She shook the bottle with a swirling motion, watching for all the dark flakes in it to dissolve, but many of the flakes only settled again to the bottom of the bottle. She unscrewed the lid and lifted the woman’s head and trickled some of the liquid between the woman’s lips. The woman managed to swallow. Grace gave her some more, then laid her head back down and stood.