Fiction

By Jennifer Rozens

The following is an excerpt from a future novel.

DRIVING through beautiful conifers on one side with glimpses of Maine’s rocky coast on the other is a great way to spend the day. I grew a bit nervous the nearer I came to Canada. I wanted to cross the border without needing to wait forever.

Trucks, RVs and small cars kept the crossing-point busy. After an hour, I’d passed through with the usual questions: Do you have a gun? Are you transporting explosives?

Soon my cat Jemma and I left St Stephen, New Brunswick, and headed for the only major obstacle between us and Prince Edward Island. Well, besides the Confederation Bridge. Traffic in Saint John could be fast and heavy, but nothing like that in New York.

Feeling good, I sniffed at the sea air. The Maritime Provinces, with their rocky, hilly landscape, always made me feel extra-alive.

Just before 2 p.m., we reached a roundabout turn to the Bridge that would take us across the Northumberland Strait to PEI. About five miles before the Strait, I’d cracked up at a sign painted in huge letters on a barn and reading “Prepare to Meet Thy Maker”. That didn’t reassure me about driving in windy conditions on a bridge high above rough water. My knuckles whitened against the steering wheel.

Seen in the distance, the Bridge loomed and twisted forbiddingly. Once on it, I felt no wind at all, so I relaxed my grip on the wheel and tried to enjoy myself. From my small car, I couldn’t see the Strait, only the red sands of PEI ahead. The tide was out, and the ocean smelled fantastic.

Thankfully, the Bridge ends after 14 miles. Soon I left it and turned onto the Trans-Canada Highway, Route One. Still with a two-hour drive to Little Sands, I decided to stop for food and gas. A sign for Victoria-by-the-Sea advertised food so I headed down to the south shore.

For lunch, I had a nice veggie sandwich at a great tea shop in the charming little village. We’d seldom ventured this far west of Charlottetown, so I decided to enjoy myself. I strolled about, ate wonderful chocolates and browsed in the galleries and gift shops. I wanted to take something to Honey, and since she loves cooking, I bought some interesting relishes and jams. I also found a lovely antique tea set. It was hand-painted and looked old. I knew Honey would love it.

By then, Jemma looked ready to depart. Reluctantly, I slid back into my car to finish the journey.

Driving on PEI is a memorable experience. Up hills and down valleys you go. At every turn, the scenery hits you in the face. Everything is green, gold, red and blue. All the roads are two-lane and full of potholes. For much of the time, I concentrated on my driving.

To a New Yorker, the Charlottetown traffic looked light, but still congested. I remembered my uncle saying how the town wasn’t properly laid out for the number of people now living there. He had a point. I took the bypass and nearly lost my way. At the last second, I remembered that I needed to go toward Wood Islands, not Souris, and saved myself.

The Hillsborough Bridge was a snap after crossing the big one. Water sparkled in the sunshine, and I decided to follow the shore road around to Little Sands. I might have saved time by cutting through what Islanders call “the hills”, but I wanted to see the water and get a feel for the place.

My drive proved lovely and uneventful. The number of cars zooming past amazed me. If this was New York, the drivers would be dead. Where were they going so fast? Maybe they rushed to the ferry, the only way to leave PEI if you disliked bridges.

Near Little Sands, I struggled to recall landmarks by the lane to the farm. Then I spotted the turn. The graveled lane needed grading, but wasn’t too bad.

As I pulled up to the side of the farmhouse, I saw Honey sitting on the back porch, looking out over the Northumberland Strait to Nova Scotia. The noise of my engine made her jump, and she stared for a bit before recognizing me.

“My goodness, Liz, you’re here.”

“Looks like it, huh? I came to see how you are, and it’s awfully good to see you.”

“You’re an answer to my prayer. I’ve been sitting here wondering what to do next. Can you stay for a while?”

“Help me unload the car, and we’ll talk about how long you want me.”

“Far as I’m concerned, you can stay as long as you want. This place is lonely, and I need someone to bounce my ideas off. Did Mother tell you I started my own restaurant?”

“She said you’d thought about it. I don’t think she knows you’ve already done it.”

“Yeah, well, I doubted the wisdom of telling her it was a done deal. I’m breaking the idea gently, I hope.”

We unpacked the car, and Honey put my bags in the same room where I’d always stayed. It faced the water and had white-flowered wallpaper. A fresh quilt rested on the iron bed. Three dressers stood in the room.

Honey plopped onto the bed as I placed toiletries in the bathroom.

“May I let Jemma roam the house?”

“Absolutely, I haven’t gotten around to getting a pet, and she’ll make all the difference. Does she go outside?”

“No, she’s a city cat, so I’ll put her litter pan in the bathroom. We’ll need to watch her when the doors are open. I don’t think she’ll try to go out, but you never know.”

Honey laughed. She looked even better than I’d expected. A serene quality surrounded her. She seemed at home on PEI, dug in to stay.

“I brought you a present from Victoria, there in that red bag. So what’s this about a restaurant? Where is it?”

“It’s going to be outside there.” Honey pointed at a barn beyond the house.

“I’m renovating our barn. Workers started last month. I hope to have it running by late June. Wow, thanks, Liz. I love this tea set. We’ll use it tonight.”

“You’re welcome. But that still looks like a barn. How’s the inside?”

“After supper, we’ll go over and see it. You can give me the benefit of all those years of design experience. I’d have asked you to do it, but didn’t know how we’d keep it from Mother.”

We went downstairs. I sat at the big, round table while she threw together a salad, some crackers and cheese before starting on an omelet.

“Is this okay for you? Are you still vegetarian?”

“Yes, but I do eat eggs. I was getting tired of munching on grains, pasta and nuts. So I vary the diet. I still can’t get my head around meat though.”

“Me too,” agreed Honey. “It’s like you have no clue where it’s been, if it was sick when it died or if it died a horrible death. I’ll need to serve some seafood in the restaurant, but I’ll keep the meat dishes to a minimum. Maybe I’ll educate palates.”

I laughed. “Sure, you will. After 300 years of eating meat, Islanders will change. Maybe it’s possible. But that’s like making Texans give up their barbecue.”

We sat down to a simple, but delicious, meal and enjoyed some where-is-everybody gossip. Later, Honey poured us each another glass of wine. “Let’s take these out on the back veranda,” she suggested.

“Great idea! I love this view. It doesn’t get better anywhere in the world.”

“That’s why I decided to live here, that and finding my family. You haven’t asked how that’s going.”

“Well, it’s because I feel guilty. Aunt Hattie sent me to stop you from wanting to find your family.”

Honey laughed. “No one could stop me.”

“I know, but your mother’s freaking about this.”

“Well, it’s too late. I’ve found my family, at least part of it.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful. How’d you do that?”

“I hired an excellent private detective from the States. But something’s wrong. He won’t or can’t tell me who my real mother is, just that I have half-brothers here. He’ll only say that my real mother wasn’t from the Island. And I don’t understand that. I know I was born here. So how’d she get here, and where’d she go?”

“Don’t your half-brothers know?”

“I only talked to one of them. His name is Wade McDonnell. He didn’t know I existed until Mr Maoris told him. He’s unhappy about it and keeps telling me that he’s not into someone from away telling him she’s his sister. You know how proud the people here are of being Islanders.”

“Well, you were born here. That makes you an Islander.”

“Not in his eyes, nor the government’s. I immigrated. Don’t tell Mother or she’ll have a cat fit, but there’s someone besides Mother and Wade trying to stop me.”

“What do you mean?”

“My lovely private detective has disappeared. He was supposed to return to Connecticut, but didn’t. He won’t answer his cell. I think even his office is getting nervous. And there’s the vandalism, of course.”

“What do you mean ‘of course’? What vandalism?”

“Stuff painted on the barn, graffiti telling me to go home, and then the letters.”

“Honey, this is getting scary. What letters?”

“You know, anonymous letters thrown into the mail slot urging that I leave.”

“I think I’d take them up on that. Doesn’t this make you want to run away?”

“No, it makes me angry. I have every right to find my family and start a business here if I wish. I went to the trouble of hiring Mr Maoris, satisfying Immigration and ducking Mother’s questions to get here. Nobody’s going to scare me off now.

“Come on, I’ll show you the restaurant. That’ll take our minds off this other stuff.”

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