Page 35 of Patio Lanterns (The Blue Canoe Cottage #1)

Robin

From the time she started work at the crack of dawn, Robin worked hard breaking down boxes, hauling out garbage, and organizing heaps of clutter into smaller, neater piles at the back of the store.

It was good to keep her mind off the bigger things starting to stack up.

How would the celebration of life turn out?

Would it rain? The forecast now called for sixty percent showers that evening.

There was no way they’d ever squeeze a hundred and fifty guests inside the Blue Canoe.

She’d just have to keep an eye on the skies and pray that the weather gods were smiling.

And where was Rick? She hadn’t heard from him since the afternoon. How come he hadn’t answered any of her texts from the night before? This morning, she saw her previous messages were left unread. That was so unlike him. Hopefully, everything was okay.

“Whoa, slow down there,” Mrs. C cautioned. “You’re not a machine.”

Robin brushed her forearm across her sweaty brow. “Just trying to get as much done as I can before I leave for the day, but I promise, I’ll make up the time tomorrow. I’ll take the extra set of keys to let myself in. That way I can get an earlier start and stay a couple hours later.”

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” the old lady said, pulling out a chair. “Take five, and I’ll put on tea.”

“Afraid I don’t have time today,” Robin said apologetically.

A five-minute break would become fifteen, and before she knew it, she’d lose a precious hour of productivity.

She’d been proud of her discipline in setting her alarm, sleeping downstairs on the couch, and getting out of the Blue Canoe first thing without waking anyone.

She didn’t want to slow her roll now. “There are a lot of people coming tonight, and if I don’t get back soon, my sisters are going to have a conniption,” she said.

“Of course, you’ll be there too, won’t you? ”

Mrs. C shook her head. “Not me.”

Robin frowned. “But you have to. You knew my parents. You know everyone who’ll be there. So, say you’ll come. Please? For me?”

Mrs. C turned her back for a moment. “I appreciate the work you’ve done, Robin. I expect that you’ll want to continue after…”

“After the party? You have my word. As long as it takes, I will clean up the stock room, and I still have to work on getting you that new store logo. I haven’t forgotten about that being part of our deal either,” she said to Mrs. C’s back.

“It’s funny, but I never expected I’d enjoy working here so much. It’s almost fun.”

“I never expected I’d enjoy having you around,” Mrs. C told her. “You’re almost tolerable.”

Robin smiled. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we? That’s probably been the biggest surprise of all. You and me. I mean, considering how scared of you I once was.”

Mrs. C. turned her head. “Not anymore?”

“No,” Robin said, rushing out her reply a little too quickly. “Well, maybe just a little.”

Mrs. C cackled. “All you kids were scared. Thinking I was going to turn you into toads.”

“You knew about that?” Robin gaped.

“Of course I did. How do you think I kept you all in line?”

Robin laughed. Mrs. C was all right. Yeah, she was still a little spooky, especially when she gave off those witchy vibes and stared into your soul, but Robin had come to realize that her childhood fear likely stemmed from never being around anyone so elderly.

The old woman’s skeletal frame, brittle hair, and tremoring, gnarled hands still freaked her out a bit.

But as Robin had grown more accustomed to being around her, she’d begun to see beyond the physical frailty.

For someone around nearly a hundred years and who moved slower than a glacier, Mrs. C was still remarkably quick.

She turned back to the table with a leather-bound album inscribed Lake Whippoorwill Memories . “I found this after you left,” she told Robin. “Suppose it’s been buried for years under a pile of junk.”

She sat down, and Robin stood behind her, watching as she turned the pages of faded black-and-white images, each vintage photo framed with scalloped borders along its edges. Very delicate, very old school.

Mrs. C shakily lifted one of the pictures out of the book, and with a little smile, passed it to Robin for closer examination.

It was pretty fuzzy, but she could make out the faces of the couple, standing side by side, yet an arm’s width apart.

The young woman, plain but pretty, couldn’t have been much older than sixteen.

She had curly hair and a cute figure, her light-coloured dress hugging her womanly curves.

The grumpy older man next to her was expressionless, but his features were sharp and his brow stern. Probably the girl’s father.

Robin turned the picture over and read the handwritten inscription:

Mr. & Mrs. John Pelletier

Wedding Day, 1942

John Pelletier? But he was the man who built the Blue Canoe Cottage over a century ago. Her father’s grandfather. Holder of the luckiest hand in five-card stud there ever was.

“Is this…?” she stammered. “I mean, it’s the same name as…”

“That’s your great-grandfather,” Mrs. C said. “In front of what is now your family cottage. And standing next to him is—”

No. Robin was not ready to hear what was coming next.

There was no way that the wildest, craziest thing to ever pop into her twisted imagination could possibly be true unless she had walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone.

That would be totally nuts. Mrs. Crawley never married.

She was a spinster. An old maid for life, she once overheard her mother say.

But if Mrs. C was the girl in the photo, and that man standing next to her was Robin’s great-grandfather on his wedding day, then that would make her… ? Omigod.

Robin swallowed hard, peering into Mrs. Crawley’s eerily translucent green orbs. Were they actually the ghostly eyes of her own great-grandmother?

“Don’t be a twit, child. I am not your great-grandmother.” Mrs. C tapped on the photo. “This is. That’s my best friend, Rosalie. She’s the one who married your great-grandfather.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Robin held up the photo to study the couple’s faces. “But he looks so old, and she’s just a girl. Was she a child bride?”

“She was seventeen. He was nearly thirty years her senior.”

Robin’s jaw dropped. “Nearly thirty years?”

“I begged Rosalie not to marry him. Warned her that he would steal her youth. Her parents were furious that she was throwing away her future and threatened to disown her. But she was head over heels in love with the man and was determined to marry him. Nothing that I said, or that anyone could say, made one whiff of difference,” she said.

“Rosalie never looked before she leaped. Just like someone else we know.”

Robin harumphed. “Please don’t leave me hanging. What happened to her?”

“Lake Whippoorwill was not all boat regattas and campfires back in those days. People were fighting to survive. This was the Canadian wilderness. Conditions were harsh and unforgiving, especially in winter. And it was years before some areas had electricity and running water.” Mrs. C shook her head.

“Rosalie could’ve lived a pampered life of luxury, but by then, her family had completely cut her off.

She threw everything away for the love of John Pelletier. And do you know what that man did?”

“Uh-uh.” Robin shook her head.

“He died.”

Oh.

“Rosalie was widowed at twenty nine. He left her all alone in that cabin with four children, and nothing but a few dollars to her name.” Mrs. C paused, tilting her head. “Are you telling me that you’ve never been told the story of your own family before?”

Robin shrugged. “I never really paid much attention to old stories except that our great-grandfather won land in Muskoka in a poker game that he built our cottage on.”

“Typical. History brushes aside the woman’s contributions to focus on the man,” she said. “But trust me, if that’s all you’ve ever known, then you really don’t know the best part.”

Robin pulled out a chair and sat down next to Mrs. C. Suddenly, she had nothing better to do than hear the rest of the story. “Tell me more.”

“The hardship Rosalie Pelletier faced only made her stronger and more resilient. She had no choice but to pick herself up for the sake and the survival of her young family,” she said.

“Not only did she teach her children to read and write, but she also earned a certificate from the teacher’s college and opened a school right here in Lake Whippoorwill. ”

“A school? Really?”

“Used to be right next to this very store and post office that my family owned,” Mrs. C said. “Rosalie was a schoolteacher, I was a shopkeeper. Between the two of us, we ran this town for years.” She laughed.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” Robin said, flabbergasted. “That’s amazing.”

“Your great-grandmother was nearly elected to public office too, did you know that?”

Robin shook her head. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better.

“Rosalie was interested in politics, and as a schoolteacher, she had developed a commanding presence and a comfort with public speaking. She was a born leader, often the first to champion the rights of others and local causes. But when she put her name forward to serve as a member of the legislative assembly of Ontario, the big shots refused her nomination papers. Told her she was unqualified, and that she’d be better off turning her focus to family matters instead. ”

A heavy sigh passed Robin’s lips. “Naturally.”

“People were outraged, and not just women, but men too. When election day came, hundreds wrote Rosalie Pelletier’s name down on their ballots. She was the candidate they wanted to represent this region,” she said. “She didn’t win, but she only lost by a slim margin of votes cast.”

An overwhelming sense of pride surged in Robin. What a remarkable and resilient woman her great-grandmother was—a true pioneer, a feminist, a breaker of barriers. Nevertheless, she persisted , Robin thought to herself. “Rosalie sounds like a gutsy broad.”

Mrs. C nodded. “You remind me of her.”

“Me?” Robin was embarrassed by the comparison. “Oh no, I’m nobody. And I’m certainly not like Rosalie—”

Mrs. C cuffed Robin’s hand beneath her own. “You come from good stock, don’t ever forget that. Rosalie would be very proud of you, and your mother and father would be proud of you too,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears. “You know, now I kinda wish you were my great-grandmother.”

“Well, I’m not.” Mrs. C shut that nonsense down once and for all.

“Then how about if I make you like, my great-fairy godmother or something?”

“Okay, I accept.” She nodded, smiling. “I have to say, Robin, I have really enjoyed our time together.”

“So have I,” Robin said. “You know, I don’t even know your first name.”

“It’s Vera,” she answered.

“Vera Crawley,” Robin repeated, smiling to herself. That was a good name. It suited her well and sounded so much nicer than Creepy Crawley. “May I call you Vera?”

Mrs. C scowled.

Robin shrugged. “Okay, so I won’t.”

Seemingly out of thin air, Mrs. C pulled out the tarot deck again and placed it in front of Robin. “This time, you shuffle while you think of a question.”

“I really should get back to my work,” Robin said, checking the time on her phone. “It’s getting late, and the delivery truck is—”

“Shuffle,” Mrs. C commanded.

Robin picked up the deck, concentrating on the feel of the cards as they slid between her fingers and came to rest against her palm.

Her mind was in a much calmer state since she’d last touched the deck, and this time, only one question surfaced.

She placed the cards on the table and closed her eyes.

When she felt an inclination, she cut a small stack of cards off the top and flipped them over.

The Fool. “Again?” Robin whined.

Mrs. C’s eyes widened. “I’ve never seen anyone draw the same card twice in a row,” she said. “But look. This time, the Fool is upright.”

“Yeah, but a fool is still a fool, though, isn’t it? The guy’s still about to pull a Thelma and Louise and take a header over the side of that cliff.”

She shook her head. “Upright cards do not mean the same as reverse cards. And in this case, it’s a good thing. It shows you’ve been more deliberate in your choices.”

“I think so. I mean. Kinda.”

“This time, the Fool says not to bend or conform to other’s expectations. It goes out and takes the risk, explores the unknowns, embraces the adventure.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “But no matter what I do, I’m still a fool.”

“Taking risks is what fools do,” Mrs. C said. “Haven’t you heard the saying ‘it takes courage to make a fool of yourself?’ It means don’t be afraid to fail. Have the guts to go for it.”

“Have the guts to go for it,” Robin echoed. “Sort of like my great-grandmother?”

“Now you get it.” Mrs. C smiled. “You come from a long line of fools, child. Audacity is in your blood.”

Just then, the front bell dinged, summoning Mrs. C to the register. “You’ll be fine. I look at this card and see protection and help around you,” she said. “And that there will be a reward for your loyalty.”

“My loyalty?” Robin questioned. “Loyalty to what? To whom? And what kind of reward, exactly? Any chance you can see if it’s about an inheritance?”

Mrs. C slowly rose to her feet and gave Robin a cryptic smile. “All in good time, child. All in good time.”