Come What May

EXCERPT

Come What May

EXCERPT

On they flew in the company of snow geese, and tundra swans, and gyrfalcons

Come What May Excerpts

On they flew in the company of snow geese, and tundra swans, and gyrfalcons

Come What May Excerpts

LOOK INSIDE

Come What May is told from two characters’s points of view — Rebecca Dalton and her daughter, Gene.

In the first Come What May excerpt below, meet young Gene Dalton as she embarks on a 10 week medical mission to Canada’s north. With her are her brother, Jonathan, an experienced nurse called Joan, and young pilot, Sonny Marlow.

In the emotion of her farewell, Gene could not remember the name of the co-pilot. All she could think of was sunshine.

CHAPTER 1

In the emotion of her farewell, Gene could not remember the name of the co-pilot. All she could think of was sunshine. When Jonathan introduced them, the young man had taken off his aviator sunglasses and smiled at her with soft brown eyes while his short, fair hair glinted and flattened in the downwind of twirling propeller blades. To her right sat Joan, dark-haired and dimple-cheeked, a nursing sister whom Gene put in her mid-thirties, the excitement in her eyes so palpable as if she were going on a Hemingway safari rather than a medical expedition to the edge of the Arctic wilderness.

‘Looking forward to it?’ Gene asked, practically yelling above the drone of the engine.

‘My dear, I love everything about the north except for the insects.’

‘How many times have you been before?’

‘This will be my fourth trip. Second time with your brother.’

It was pointless to talk any more. They would have days and nights to fill with conversation. Ten weeks in fact – they weren’t due back till mid-August, just before Gene’s eighteenth birthday.

Three weeks ago, when her thirty-three year old brother, Jonathan, had asked her to be his assistant, her heart had leapt at the chance. Months earlier, Morton, her twenty-year old brother, had abandoned her – that’s what it felt like – moving west to Lumsden, to start a new and very different life. Gene had been inordinately upset over his leaving. Now she was about to have her own adventure and she couldn’t be more grateful. It had been six years since she had been on holidays with Jonathan, six years since they had been airborne together, back in 1945, before he married Annabelle and became a father.

‘What I wouldn’t have given to be flying off on a three-month journey when I was seventeen,’ enthused her mother, Rebecca, when she hugged her goodbye at the Montréal Boucherville Water Aerodrome.

‘Jealous?’ Gene teased.

‘I am,’ said her mother, ‘and proud. Not proud to be jealous,’ she laughed. ‘Proud of you!’ She squeezed her tightly as she kissed her cheek.

‘Thanks, Mom.’

Gene was like her mother in many ways: the same height, the same teal blue eyes, her hair also blonde but more golden than her fifty-one year old mother’s. Today, like most days, Gene wore it in a single plait at her back. She was like her mother in other ways too. Once, when she was younger, after she’d done something she’d long forgotten but which had clearly delighted her father, he picked her up, kissed her on the cheek and said, ‘I love you, Genie. You remind me of your Mom when she was young: eager for life yet hesitant about it at the same time.’ And on that day Gene had thought, ‘That must be a good way to be.’

Now, on the first summer Saturday of 1951, she was more eager than hesitant. They were flying in a six-seater floatplane – a first for Gene and the experience a little off-putting. The plane, or rather the pilot, leant the craft to one side before lifting one float out of the water and then the other. She hadn’t been expecting that, and her sense of surprise and unease only grew as the plane motored towards the bend in the river. To her untrained eye it looked as if the plane wasn’t going to clear it. But although it was much slower taking off than the other flights she’d been on, the plane did eventually rise. Once airborne it flew slower because of the drag resistance on the floats, which Jonathan had already warned her about. As a result, they would stop more frequently than had they been in a plane with flat tundra tires. That suited Gene fine. Flying was tremendously exciting, but being cooped up for hours had its limits.

Their first destination: Amos, four hours northwest. Below her, the landscape of the Canadian shield drifted by: irregular-shaped lakes, brown bogs, slabs of quartzite, the occasional hut amidst the taiga forests of evergreen spruce, fir and pine, along with the unmistakable pale green of the deciduous tamarack. Wispy cirrus clouds brushed the sky high above on their own journey northward. Good flying weather for today but a sign of a front coming from the south.

Around twelve they started their descent into Amos. From a distance Gene could see it had a small lake next to its runway. Earlier they had taken off on a river. Surely they weren’t going to land on that small lake? The co-pilot, not Jonathan, was managing all the controls and the steering. They descended and flew low over the ground – only about two feet above the grassy surface – and then across the water, with the nose tilted up as if they could take off again at any minute. Then, when she least expected it, the floats kissed the water in a shishing noise and the plane turned around in a tight loop. Throughout the whole descent Gene felt as if she had been holding her breath. In quiet relief she exhaled. She now knew what to expect of landings and takeoffs in a floatplane.

At a table outside the aerodrome office Gene unpacked the picnic lunch her sister-in-law had made for the four of them: minced corned beef sandwiches with ketchup and onion.

‘Like the selection?’ asked Jonathan as he slid his legs under the table.

‘Hmm.’ She smiled, her mouth already full. Corned beef was possibly Gene’s all-time-favourite filler.

‘Annabelle made them specially. It might be the last time you have beef for two months so enjoy it.’

Swallowing, Gene asked, ‘What will we be eating?’

‘In my experience, Gene, it’s best to eat first and ask later,’ Joan told her.

‘Is it that bad?’ She was suddenly aware she hadn’t given much thought to this trip.

‘No,’ Joan replied. ‘But sometimes I don’t like to think I’m eating Rudolph for supper.’

‘Oh,’ Gene muttered.

As their pilot walked towards them Jonathan called out, ‘Tea, Sonny?’

‘Please,’ he said as he walked past. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Gene watched his retreating back. ‘He looks young to be a pilot,’ she whispered.

‘He is,’ said Jonathan, ‘but that young man has over eight thousand flying hours to his credit. He’s flown over fifteen different type of aircraft including Skymasters and practically been shot down by crazy-assed communists in the middle of the Cold War.’

Gene paused before she bit into her sandwich. ‘That guy?’ she asked in a tone that said, are you sure we are talking about one and the same person?

‘Yes!’ exclaimed Jonathan.

‘Where?’

‘In Berlin. Ask him sometime.’

Gene chewed slowly, contemplating that fact. ‘How do you know him?’ she asked.

‘Do you remember that first time we flew west on holiday and we stopped at Port Arthur?’

‘That place at the end of Lake Superior? The lake that went on forever.’ Gene rolled her eyes. There had been very little to break up the monotony of that endless grey water.

‘That’s right. Well, on the second day, when we were in Winnipeg, while all of you were having lunch and I was filling up our tank and doing our paper work, Sonny was doing likewise. He was in the Air Force back then but had a weekend off and was going barnstorming for the hell of it. We got chatting about the trip I did with Grandad Dalton the year before. He told me he’d been to the Arctic when he was sixteen and would like to go again one day, and next time I went, maybe he could be my pilot. And so we exchanged addresses and teed things up. He accrued his holidays and together we spent two months flying around up here. Joan came too.’

‘What year was that again?’ Gene asked.

‘1948,’ said Joan, with a beaming smile. ‘Annabelle came too. We had a ball.’

‘He flew you around?’

‘That’s right,’ said Jonathan.

‘How old was he then?’

‘Around twenty,’ said Jonathan. He glanced at Joan who shrugged.

‘Maybe twenty-one. Something like that,’ she said.

Gene couldn’t stop her mouth from gaping open. ‘You felt safe putting your life in the hands of a twenty-year old?’

‘Absolutely!’ said Jonathan, smiling at her scepticism. ‘He wasn’t your average twenty-year old. It had nothing to do with age, Gene, but flying hours. He made his first flight when he was twelve years old. His father was one of the original wilderness bush pilots. Started back in 1919 searching for bush fires. Flying’s in his blood.’

‘You talking about me again?’ Sonny asked, as he sat down. Gene lowered her eyes. She knew if she looked at him right now she would blush but, if she averted her gaze till the moment had passed, she could carry off a certain nonchalance that had come with years of practice.

‘Of course,’ said Joan. ‘You were always our favourite topic of conversation. You forgotten that?’ She elbowed him gently in the side.

‘Just reassuring Gene that you’re one hell of an experienced pilot.’

Gene looked up to catch her brother smiling at Sonny.

‘Did you tell her I was planning to use this trip to practise my aerial acrobatics?’

‘Can I have parachute lessons first?’ teased Gene.

‘Hell, you don’t need any lessons for those.’ His eyes were full of merriment. ‘You just clasp it on, jump out the plane, count one Saskatchewan, two Saskatchewan, three Saskatchewan and then pull the darn cord. There you go, there’s your lesson.’ He winked at her.

‘Have you ever had to use a parachute?’ Gene ventured.

Sonny swallowed his mouthful. ‘Once or twice.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘See, that’s proof that it works.’

Gene gazed at Sonny while she kept her dubious thoughts to herself. At least she thought she had, because till that point in her life, the only person who had ever managed to read her thoughts was Jonathan, but in the next moment, Sonny burst into song, belting out ‘I’m gonna live till I die.

Before she knew it, Jonathan had pulled her out of her seat and was throwing her around in a twist, singing along with Sonny, who was twirling with Joan and singing about dancing and chancing, flying and riding high.

The last time she had danced with her brother was two years ago at her sister’s wedding and here she was in the middle of nowhere doing the jitterbug to a Frankie Laine impersonator, living a bit and laughing a lot. When they finished she was breathless and flushed as Jonathan pulled her in close with one arm and planted a kiss on her temple. For the faintest instant Gene felt like she was on a homeward journey to herself.

Then, in the second excerpt from Come What May, join Rebecca as she share her passion for icebergs with her family.

It started with the iceberg, one of the most magnificent icebergs Rebecca had ever seen.

CHAPTER 3
It started with the iceberg, one of the most magnificent icebergs Rebecca had ever seen. At six o’clock her husband, Samuel, had rushed into the kitchen, where she and her sister, Esther, were busy preparing breakfast. He dragged her outside and up the gentle slope

to the crest where she could see the ocean to her north. And there it was, its brilliant form illuminated in early morning light. She gazed in childish wonder as if it were the vanguard for a whole fleet of icebergs.

A week before on their way to Seldom Come By, Rebecca had whispered to Samuel, ‘I wonder if we’ll see any icebergs?’

And he had replied, ‘We can only hope.’ And here they were back in Salvage being graced by one the most spectacular icebergs imaginable.

Leaving their bleary-eyed children behind, Rebecca and Samuel motored towards their second close encounter with an iceberg. Their first: an unforgettable twenty-five years ago; the summer of 1914, when Rebecca had turned fifteen; the summer Samuel had come into their lives, the only shipwrecked survivor of the schooner, Madame Nightingale.

That one, like this one, like all great icebergs, had a unique and distinguishing feature. Then: a cavern at one end. Now: two pillars supporting a natural Arc de Triomphe. Under the silent yet watchful gaze of an iceberg, Rebecca and Samuel had made love. They had to – after all, they had been thinking about it for so long! Would a chance like this ever come again?

With laughter, Rebecca had said, ‘It occurs to me, Samuel, that here we are in a boat, beside an iceberg and you still have your shirt on. Somehow that doesn’t sit right with me.’

Ignoring the cold air, Samuel had peeled his shirt off. Grinning with all his teeth, he had said, ‘and you still have yours on. That doesn’t sit right with me.’

In a rocking, panting motion they had affirmed life in a paean to their youth. In those moments Rebecca felt that her body was being kissed and adored by more than just Samuel, so heady was the sense of cachet to their union.

Later, when they returned, the children clamoured over them in excitement and anticipation. Rebecca glanced at the Salut, borrowed from a Frenchman living in the bay. It would only be able to take four comfortably. Six of them in a boat that size would be like a can of sardines. Tempting fate, she shuddered.

‘I’ll stay behind. You go out with the kids, Samuel. If we’ve got time, I can go out again later, take any others that want to see.’

‘Can I come?’ piped up Anna, Rebecca’s seventeen-year-old niece.

‘Yes,’ said Abby, Samuel and Rebecca’s twelve-year-old daughter. ‘I want Anna to come too.’

‘Anna, you live here! You can go another time,’ said her mother, Esther.

Anna looked crestfallen. Rebecca turned to her. ‘When was the last time you were up close to an iceberg?’

‘Never.’ Her voice was laced with longing. Samuel and Rebecca eyed each other. Anna had to come.

‘Jimmy, what about you?’ asked Samuel. Jimmy was Anna’s fifteen-year-old brother.

‘Nah, don’t worry about me,’ he said. ‘Only if there’s room.’

They decided to make two trips. Rebecca would go first and take Anna, Abby and Gene, their youngest daughter. Samuel would take the boys and then, time willing, she and Samuel might sneak out again later.

When they reached the iceberg Rebecca cut the motor. Immediately the girls began a tirade of endless questions: Where do they come from? Why are they that strange blue colour up close? How far below the water do they go? Rebecca was enthralled with the abundant joy on their faces. My God, that’s what I was once like, she thought. Still like!

‘Is it frozen sea water, Mommy?’ asked Gene.

‘No, love, it’s normal water.’

‘So you can eat it? Imagine the ice-blocks you could make with that!’ she exclaimed.

They had called her Evangeline, after a French woman her father had met during the war, thinking one day her name would likely be shortened to Eva or Lena or Angie. But it was her brother, Morton, who got stuck on Gene and Gene she became. Abigail, named after the wise and beautiful Biblical woman, had her older brother, Jonathan, to thank for her being called Abby. He was twenty-one and had stayed behind in Montreal this holiday because – as Rebecca had told the children  – he had his hands full with various things.

‘Yes,’ Samuel had whispered to her, ‘female things like bosoms and derrière.’

‘Were you into those things at twenty-one?’ Rebecca whispered back.

‘No,’ replied Samuel. ‘I showed great restraint. I waited till I was twenty-two.’

After half an hour of being in awe of such a dazzling iceberg, Rebecca reluctantly turned the boat for home. She glanced over her shoulder, just once, almost in a silent promise, as if she were saying, ‘I’ll be back. Soon!’ When she did she saw a dark object on one end, a seal resting on a low ledge.

The wind picked up on their return voyage. As she headed towards landfall she could see a large swirl of fog heading their way coming up from the south. She hoped it would hold off. She so wanted the boys to see the iceberg in all its glory – unobscured – in clear glittering daylight. She pressed the throttle down a bit further, her blonde hair streamed behind her; the salt spray deliciously teased her tongue and face; such an exhilarating day. Getting up close to an iceberg was the most magical event of Rebecca’s entire youth and now her children were experiencing this wonder for themselves.

Windswept and exuberant, Rebecca motored into their bay. With a whoop she leapt onto the stage. ‘I think I love icebergs nearly as much as I love you, Samuel Dalton.’

‘Lucky I don’t have to compete with icebergs that often,’ Samuel replied, squeezing her arms and smacking a kiss on her lips. ‘But, then again…’ he murmurred.

‘Come on, Dad! It’s the boys’ turn at last.’ Morton was already stepping down into the boat. It was nearly midday. After waiting all morning he and Joel were impatient to be off. There was no sign of Jimmy. Esther hurried to the house. After a few minutes she returned. ‘He could be anywhere. Go,’ she said, ‘He’s missed his boat.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Yes,’ said Esther. She pointed her head in the direction beyond Rebecca’s left shoulder. ‘That fog’s coming in fast, no time to waste.’

The women stood on the stage, waving the boys off. Her dirty-blonde-headed sons were on the front seat, eyes glued straight ahead, no eyes for their mother or their sisters or their aunt. Samuel was at the stern, one hand on the handle of the motor, one hand raised in a casual farewell. His golden eyes shone warmly at her; his smile, as always, was so captivating the way it showed all his teeth.

‘I’ll be waiting for you, Samuel. Bye, Morton. Bye, Joel.’

When they had motored off a few hundred yards, Rebecca looked away to the distance, to the grey looming fog. It seemed nearer than it had half an hour ago. She and Esther turned towards the house. They wouldn’t be back for at least two hours, three, she corrected herself. They had spent a good while staring in awe at the iceberg, circling it clockwise and then anticlockwise.

Three hours later Salvage was surrounded by Newfoundland’s infamous fog. It wafted its long tentacles across the bay, revealing rare glimpses of houses on the far side of the inlet, at one with the overhead clouds. Rebecca walked down to the jetty. She peered into the mist and listened. She could see nothing. She could hear the sway of the ocean and the odd sea bird, but mostly her outlook was void. At this rate, she thought, they’ll be another hour. No one ever motored quickly when visibility was low. She returned to the house grabbed a shawl and decided to amble up to the headland she and Samuel had walked to earlier that day.

By six o’clock Rebecca was doing her best to hide her unease. They were overdue by two hours but she knew, as her mother and Esther kept reminding her, they had to take it slowly out there.

‘Do you know if Marty’s boat had a compass stashed away somewhere?’ she asked. She hadn’t thought to look earlier. Esther sent Jimmy off to ask. He returned shaking his head.

‘Well they’re best to sit it out,’ said Morna, Rebecca’s seventy-year-old mother, who lived with Esther. ‘Save their fuel till they can see where they’re heading. That fog can be mighty disorientating.’

Like Seldom Come By, Come What May is written in Caulfield’s fluid and graceful prose. Sonny is a scene-stealing hero. Every time he is mentioned, you want to have more of him.

Karen, Librarian, Canada

Continue the Journey …

Book 1

Book 2

Book 3

Come Full Circle, the third and final book in The Iceberg Trilogy