LITMIR.BIZ

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      CHAPTER FOUR

      My first impression of Miramichi wasn’t all that great. Mom had told me it was a city, so I was expecting something a lot different than the small town we’d just left in Ontario. But from the train station, which was on a hill overlooking the place, I could see right off that it wasn’t very big. There were no skyscrapers to be seen, just a bunch of houses on either side of the tracks.

      “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked Mom. “It sure doesn’t look like a city.” We’d been to Toronto a few times and I’d imagined our new home would look something like that, only on a smaller scale.

      “This is it, all right.” Mom took my hand then, as if I were going to get lost in the big crowd of about twenty people. “Let’s get our luggage.”

      I followed along, trying unsuccessfully to tug my hand away from her. It’s kind of embarrassing to have your mom holding your hand when you’re twelve years old.

      The luggage she’d referred to was an old set of four battered suitcases that stood out among the others on the cart. Once we’d picked them up Mom went to call a taxi.

      The driver was a small old man who looked bored. He asked, “Where to?” without any sign of interest and seemed annoyed when Mom didn’t answer right away.

      “We’d like an inexpensive place to stay for the night,” she said at last.

      “Yeah? There’s a hotel not far from here, pretty cheap.” He glanced in the rear-view mirror questioningly. “Wanna go there?”

      “That will be fine.”

      A few minutes later we were deposited at a hotel and Mom arranged for a room.

      “Well, then,” she said brightly, in a way that told me she was forcing herself to be enthusiastic, “first we’ll shower, change, and get some breakfast. That will leave us the whole day to go exploring and see what we can accomplish.”

      I felt a bit better once my hair was washed and I had clean clothes on. When Mom was ready too, we went for a walk and found a restaurant called the Goodie Shop.

      A friendly waitress served us bacon and eggs. Mom asked her about the street we needed to find.

      “Wellington Street? That’s over in Chatham.”

      “I understood it was in Miramichi,” Mom said, confused.

      “It is, only most folks still call it Chatham. You’re not from around here, huh? Chatham, Newcastle, Douglastown, and all the small places around here became Miramichi a few years back.”

      That explained things! We hadn’t moved to a city at all, just a bunch of towns that had been joined together.

      “Where are we now?” Mom inquired.

      “This here’s Newcastle. To get to Chatham, you have to cross the river and take a left at the lights. Or you can use the new highway if you want, but the Morrisey Bridge is closer from here.” She pointed in the general direction.

      “We don’t have a car,” Mom sighed. “I was hoping we could walk there.”

      The waitress startled us by turning and yelling to a man seated alone at a table across the room. “Hey, Stan, you going to Chatham?”

      “Yep.” He smiled and nodded vigorously.

      “Give these folks a lift over, would you? They’re going to Wellington Street.”

      “No problem.” He turned his nodding, smiling face toward us. “Let me know when you’re ready. No hurry.”

      Mom looked like she wanted to protest but couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew she felt dumb to be bumming a ride from a stranger. Still, we couldn’t be throwing around the little money we had left on taxis. As it was, we’d need to hire a cab to get back to our hotel.

      About ten minutes later, Stan led us to his car and we were on our way. As we drove, he asked a bunch of questions about where we were from. Mom seemed a bit put out by his inquisitive nature but she answered politely.

      “So, you’ve moved here. That’s great, then.” He nodded approvingly, as if we’d done something wonderful. “And you’re staying in Newcastle for now, are you?”

      Mom allowed that we were.

      “What time will you be heading back, then?”

      “I, we, I really don’t know. We were going to take a look around for a bit.”

      “Right.” He smiled and his head bobbed up and down again. “Well, I’ll be going back to Newcastle this afternoon. Be glad to meet you somewhere and give you a lift if you’re ready around three.”

      “I’m not sure…” Mom’s voice trailed off.

      “Tell you what. See this here corner store?” He motioned at a Petro Canada station. “I’ll swing by at three and if you’re here I’ll take you back to Newcastle. Now, whereabouts were you needing to go on Wellington?”

      Mom recited the address.

      “Just up the road a bit.” For a few seconds there was silence as Stan looked at house numbers. Then he pulled the car over, announcing, “Here we are.”

      “Thank you so very much.”

      “Don’t mention it.” He was squinting at the house we were in front of. “Say, that’s old Sarah Wentworth’s house, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, it is.” Mom stepped out of the car quickly, clearly wanting to avoid any more questions. “Thank you again.”

      “No trouble.” Stan smiled and waved as he drove away. It was only after he’d gone that we turned to really look at the house.

      A moment passed, then another. Both of our mouths had fallen open, but neither of us spoke right off. The place was enormous! Pillars stood on either side of the cement steps leading up to the door. The entrance was set back in the centre between two sections, each graced by a large bay window. Four more windows looked out from the upstairs and beyond that two smaller ones peeked out from what must have been a third floor or an attic.

      I found my voice first.

      “Are you sure this is the right place?”

      “It has to be.” Mom sounded as unconvinced as I felt. “The address is right and the man who drove us here even knew it had belonged to Aunt Sarah.”

      When I could move, I walked to the side, where a driveway led to another door on the right of the house. Beyond that entrance, there was what appeared to be another small house attached to the main one. It too had its own door.

      A sudden movement in one of the windows startled me. I jumped, thinking someone was inside and that they’d wonder what we were doing, gawking at the place. A nervous giggle escaped when I saw a furry face peering out.

      “Just a dumb old cat,” I said aloud. Then I realized that this was our cat now and I felt a bit guilty for calling it dumb. Mom wandered off around the back of the place as I stood watching the cat lick its paw and rub the side of its face.

      “Hey!” shouted a voice, tearing my attention away from the cat. “What are you doing here?”

      When I turned, I saw a boy who looked to be a few years older than me. He was staring at me in a way that suggested he thought I was some kind of criminal planning to rob the place. His tone had been so harsh that I couldn’t find my voice right away. Before I could answer, he spoke again.

      “You can’t hang around here.”

      “Says who?”

      “Says me.” He took a step forward. “I’m taking care of the place.”

      “Yeah? Well, my mother and I are the new owners,” I announced haughtily.

      “No

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