 
DAVID SHATH SQUARE Epilogue - 18 months later
We buried Thoreena in the glen under the aspen trees, where we had conceived our daughter, Hilda.
Thoreena had loved that glen, the rustle of poplar leaves in summer, the merry song of the little brook that filtered down the middle of the small valley in spring. Her grave was marked by an elaborate wood cross the Swede had carved as an act of contrition, his last earthly act in remembrance of his daughter. We buried him beside her three months after her death at George Lake.
The jitney raced along the tracks, its new engine full of life, like a youthful combatant ready to conquer the world. Lee Chang, his pigtails blown by the wind, was at the controls. He was proud of the rebuilt jitney and he loved to drive it at speed.
My father and Myron Mann sat beside each other on one of the new cushioned bench seats. My father, who held Hilda on his lap, was engaged to wed Marge Holden, who had accepted Hilda into her family as one of her own. For that matter, the entire population of Pointe du Bois had taken to Hilda. She was the most coddled infant in town. Even Ravin' Craven, after seeing her, had promised to attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings in Lac du Bonnet as retribution for his attack on Thoreena and me.
I was on my way to Winnipeg to finish my high school education at a boarding school. My father said I should see more of the world and try to think less about Thoreena's death. I would return home to visit Hilda on weekends.
My grandfather, who sat in the seat behind Lee Chang, kept his eyes on the track for signs of trouble. Suddenly he called out.
"Whoa, Lee Chang. What in hell's bells is that up ahead?"
Lee Chang throttled back, applied the brakes. As the jitney came to a halt, I could discern a large animal standing in the middle of the rail line. From where I sat, it looked like a big moose, a very big moose.
Shadow, who sat beside me on a bench set began to bark. I had to put my hand around his muzzle to keep him quiet.
"Holy Mary," I heard my grandfather say, "if that ain't the very same animal that caused all this trouble in the first place."
"How you know it same animal, Mr. Jeb?"
"I'd know that homely face anywheres." My grandfather was about to climb down from the jitney to confront the moose, when I stood up and politely nudged him out of the way.
"I can handle this, Jeb." He looked at me.
I advanced within two paces of the moose, pointed my index finger at him.
"You've changed since we last met. You're still homely. Then, what moose isn't? But you've grown. Your antlers are bigger, your stature has increased, and I suspect your pride has too. Why don't we call this a truce? I'll turn around and walk back to the jitney. In return, you clear the tracks so we can all get on with our lives."
As I turned my back on the moose, I heard Hilda say, "Dada talk to big moo." The men on the jitney laughed. The moose followed me for a short distance, then stepped over the tracks, walked down the gravel embankment into the tamarack bog on the north side of the rail line. It continued for about 100 yards before it turned to stare at the jitney.
"Would you look at that," my father said. With his keen eyes, he had discerned a yearling calf grazing on willow twigs at the edge of the bog.
"It's unusual for a male moose to stay with a calf. I wonder where the mother is?"
We all peered into the forest. In a glade, beyond the tamarack bog, I could see the female moose. Her coat looked golden in the afternoon sunlight. She seemed content to feed on dogwood, watching her calf from the haven of the green glade.
After a while, Lee Chang restarted the engine and the jitney gathered speed as we continued our journey. THE END
To Chapter Forty-two
Copyright © 2001 David Square/Log Cabin Chronicles/06.01 |
