Coppermine (42 page)

Twenty-Two

The shop was in a prestigious section of Jasper Avenue. The sign hanging outside, on a spearheaded pole over the glass-panelled door, was a deep green with gold letters: McANDREW’S FINE FURS. SINCE 1901. PROPRIETOR: ANGUS McANDREW. It was a very nice store, she thought as she tried to calm her pounding heart.

She was drawn toward the door of the shop but held back. She was wearing her brown suit from the court. A young, fashionably dressed couple went inside and the man turned and held the door open for Angituk. She hesitated a moment, and then entered behind him with a nod of thanks.

The store was all rich, dark colours and textures: oak panelling and racks of fur jackets and full-length coats reflected in long mirrors that gave the rooms the expansive illusion of infinity. She had never been in such a place, but the fine furs made her feel at home, safe and warm. She liked the good animal smell. Her father must have been a good hunter and trapper and therefore a good man, because the spirits would never help a cruel or selfish man. Angi did hear a man’s voice near the back. It must be him. It all made sense. She moved closer and listened to the warm voice, deeply resonant, muted by the walls of fur, a soft Scottish rolling burr, and quiet, almost reverential in its tone as he discussed styles and cuts with a lady customer. Angituk could have stayed there all day among those beautiful furs listening to the kind voice.

Angituk peered around a rack of coats made from Arctic fox to try to see him. He stood only a few feet away. He was a tall man with red hair and bright blue eyes, slender and handsome with some grey in his trimmed beard. He was just as her mother had described him. He was coatless in a shirt and vest with a yellow measuring tape around his neck, and a warm smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. She moved close enough to him to enjoy the pleasant scent of his lavender and tobacco. His pinstriped shirt sleeves were rolled up, and it was then she saw it. On his left forearm. The mermaid tattoo! Just as her mother had described: the long hair, the smile, the full breasts, and the shell necklace. Angituk stared at her father, breathless with fear and excitement.

“May I help you?”

The sharp, disapproving voice seemed to come from among the furs. Angi turned to find a little woman staring expectantly at her. She had a wide face with all her features crowded into the middle. Angi looked back at her father to find he had not noticed her presence at all.

“Is there something you want here?”

“Yes. No. I was looking at the furs. They’re very nice.”

“I’m afraid we’ll be closing soon.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I guess I should go.”

“Yes.”

The little woman gave her an unpleasant smile full of sharp little teeth like a marten. Angituk looked once more at the man with the red beard, still intent on his client. She yearned to have his smiling attention on her for even a moment, but she was too scared and the woman was gesturing with her guiding hand. Angituk retreated toward the exit. The little bell on the door rang, announcing her departure as it closed behind her. Out on the street, she gazed back at the store. She had found her father. But now she must find the courage to speak to him.

ANGITUK RETURNED
to the courthouse in a state of exhilaration. Maybe just to know he was there was enough, she thought. Maybe to introduce herself would somehow ruin it. The jury was still deliberating in the evening and the crowds were cooling themselves out on the commons. Angi found Creed with Wallbridge, Cowperthwaite, and John Hornby.

“Where have you been?” he asked her with a tone of accusation.

All breathless, she wanted to tell him the news about her father. She wanted to share her feelings and ask his advice. “Can I talk to you?” she asked, but Creed was distracted.

“Angi, they could be out any minute. Don’t you realize how important this is?”

“Yes, I understand,” she responded coolly.

Angituk turned and walked away from the court and from Creed and went back to the detachment.

ANGITUK REMAINED WITH ULUKSUK
and Sinnisiak at the cells for a little while. A doctor came to examine Uluksuk. He was shocked at his physical state, but there was little he could do as Uluksuk would not eat. When the doctor left, Uluksuk turned to Angituk and smiled, his voice a thin reed in a swollen river.

“It’s all right. I am ready to die.”

“But they were going to send you home.”

“They are still. A spirit can travel much faster.”

“But a spirit cannot embrace your children.”

“How do you know? Maybe it can. Whatever it is, it will be better than here. You go now, Angituk. Get something to eat. Go to your nice room in the hotel. Go to Creed.”

Angituk’s voice lowered and she came close to the bars. “Uluksuk, I have a secret.” Uluksuk did not rush her and she savoured the moment before announcing the news. “I have found my father.”

“Here in this camp?” Uluksuk asked with interest.

“Yes! He has a store of many fine furs and a house.”

“He must have been happy to see you.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Uluksuk studied her face for a moment. “You must go and see him. What are you sitting here for?”

“I am afraid. What if he does not want me?”

“He is your father. You will bring him great joy.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course! I would consider it a huge treasure if you were my child.”

Angituk smiled at the old hunter. Uluksuk reached through the bars and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Go to him, Angituk.”

THE CLERK OF THE COURT
finally announced that the jury would not return a verdict until morning. Later, at the detachment, Cowperthwaite took Creed into Worsley’s empty office and brought out a bottle of Hudson’s Bay rum and two glasses. As Cowperthwaite told a long, funny story about a blind prostitute, they set about the task of finishing it.

ANGITUK STOOD UNNOTICED
on a little rise behind a row of mature cedar shrubs and looked down through the expansive bank of windows to see into the McAndrew parlour. This was her father’s home. Inside, an attractive woman, his present wife, she assumed, was telling two other women who wore cloth caps what she wanted done. They were cleaning and moving furniture. The present wife directed the other two around; she could hear her orders through the screen windows, and they obeyed—a little rude by Eskimo standards, but this was sometimes how white people talked to each other. Angituk counted three children in the room. A boy, perhaps nine years old, was lying on a sofa reading and two girls, about four and seven, were having a tea party on the floor. Angi was close enough to see their expressions clearly. These were her brother and sisters! This was her family!

The beautiful wife suddenly, with slight impatience, clapped her hands and the little girls began to put the toy cups and saucers away in a box. Angituk’s father walked into the room. He wore a suit coat and tie as the white men in the city wore, and kissed his wife on the cheek. He went to the girls and, bending down, kissed their heads, then shook the hand of his son, who marked and closed his book. The boy stood up for the helpers to move the sofa. Angituk was enthralled as she watched all of this through the window.

Although she wore her jean trousers and plaid shirt again, Angi had brushed her hair and reddened her cheeks and lips just a little as the ladies did and left the fedora behind, determined to present herself as a daughter. It was a relief. Perhaps this was the beginning of never being a boy again.

Angituk heard a wagon pull up out front and also an automobile. The doorbell rang. The wife ordered an inspection in the parlour and the children lined up. She made a few adjustments to their clothing and hair and then, with a smile and kiss, sent them toward the front of the house to greet the guests. She followed them with an expression of pleasant anticipation.

Angituk made her way along behind the cedar row until she had a good perspective on the generous circular porch where guests were starting to arrive. The McAndrews were having a party. Some guests carried gifts in their hands. Maybe it was a celebration of some kind. And then, like a flash, it crossed Angi’s mind. Perhaps they knew! Could Corporal Cowperthwaite have told them she was coming and these people had been invited to welcome her? She had made him promise not to, but he still might have told them. Could it be? Another automobile and a carriage had arrived.

Angituk took her position on the porch just behind the last family, who were waiting to be greeted and ushered inside. The father of this family gave Angituk the once-over. His teenage daughter with protruding teeth and tiny eyes did the same. Angi brushed her hair back from her face with her fingers and wiped her nose thoroughly with the back of her hand. She straightened her plaid shirt and brushed off the bits of cedar from her trousers.

Laughter and loud conversation drifted from the foyer ahead. The two maids were stationed at the door, the children just behind them, greeting the guests as they entered. The children were addressing the guests by name, the girls with curtsies, the boy with a smiling handshake and slight bow. When the family in front of her had gone through the rituals, Angituk presented herself with a huge, self-conscious smile. All three children and the maids stared at her for a silent moment in wonder. Finally the boy spoke, his question congenial.

“And whom may I say is calling?”

At this, Angituk looked at the younger of her sisters and went down on one knee in front of her. She held out her hand and the little girl squeezed it without hesitation. She took the second girl’s hand in her other and smiled into the eyes of each of them.

“You are all very beautiful. I’m so happy to meet you finally. My name is Angituk McAndrew.”

“That’s our name too,” said the seven-year-old.

“I know. You see … I am your big sister.”

“Sister?” was repeated in unison by the two little girls, with hesitation and then delight.

“Yes, I just dress as a boy for now.”

The brother remained silent behind an expression of apprehension.

One of the maids repeated, “Sister?” with a tone that implied there were deep troubles ahead.

“Yes, yes, it’s true.” Angituk looked up and assured them, “Angus McAndrew is my father.”

The younger girl embraced her and smiled into her face with open enthusiasm. “I’m Cleo and this is Portia and that’s George.”

Portia came close and looked at her in amazement, a smile coming slowly, breaking wide. “You look like Daddy!” Then she hugged her too. “I always wanted a big sister.” There was joy in her expression too.

“But who was your mother?” George inquired, looking very unsettled by all this. The maids hovered in the foyer, having no idea what to do.

Before Angituk could answer, Cleo took her hand and drew her inside. “Let’s go and show Daddy.” Portia claimed her other hand to lead her forward and present her to the party.

George and the maids exchanged deeply alarmed glances, but they made no attempt to stop them. Holding her hands tight, the girls led Angituk proudly into the parlour, followed tentatively by the brother and the maids.

Cleo and Portia brought Angituk right up to Angus McAndrew, who was standing with his wife and speaking pleasantly with guests on either side. A maid called out to Mr. McAndrew gently but with enough note of warning to catch his attention. He looked up at her, smiling, then quizzical, and then at the stranger who was being presented to him by his daughters. Cleo made the announcement.

“Daddy! You didn’t tell us we had a sister!”

The room fell into a profound silence.

“I beg your pardon?”

Angituk smiled and nodded first to Angus and then to Mrs. McAndrew. “Mr. McAndrew. Mrs. McAndrew. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your party. But it’s true, sir. I am your daughter.” Tears of love came to her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Angus said tonelessly.

“My mother’s name was Kunee. She was your friend during caribou season in our hunt camp east of the Mackenzie delta near Paulatuk. She died five years ago, but she told me all about you. Tall and thin with a red beard and hair.”

“This is ridiculous.” Angus McAndrew looked at his guests and his wife. “I was never in—”

“Paulatuk,” Mrs. McAndrew said evenly. “I’ve heard you speak of Paulatuk.”

“We passed through briefly Just a trading post. We provisioned there. This was many years ago.”

“Eighteen,” Angituk told him helpfully. “You have a mermaid on your arm.” McAndrew’s hand went instinctively to his sleeved forearm. “My mother described the mermaid to me, with her smile and the shell necklace.”

Mrs. McAndrew’s expression hardened and there was frost in her tone. “Why don’t you show her your mermaid, Angus?”

“This is ridiculous!” McAndrew insisted. “There was no woman in Paulatuk.”

Portia repeated her earlier observation. “But she looks like you.”

He turned toward the maid and pointed to the door. “How could you let her in here? Escort her out!”

“Father?” Angituk spoke the sacred word.

“How dare you!” He turned to the others. “Don’t you see what she’s doing? She found out some information, saw the tattoo, and is using it to make up a story. She wants money, that’s all. She’s a lying little half-breed gold digger. But it’s not going to work. Now get out!”

“I don’t want any money,” Angituk told him, her voice breaking.

“Her eyes are blue like yours, Father,” George said, hazarding, he knew, his father’s wrath.

“Shut up, George!”

Angus McAndrew took Angituk by the arm and escorted her through the foyer and out the door. She tripped and fell on the porch and he pulled her to her feet. He walked her down the steps and out to the road, where he pushed her away.

She turned to face him. She wiped her eyes and studied the man whom she had dreamed of meeting. They looked at each other for a moment.

“I waited all my life for this,” Angi told him quietly.

Her father’s fury had dissipated. “It can’t be true. You’ve made a mistake.”

“Do you believe that?”