Coppermine (46 page)

Keeping the cue in one hand, Creed felt for the big man’s pulse and found it. The skull was bruised but not cracked. He’d be all right. Creed put his jacket around Angi and lifted her up in his arms. She was light. He turned toward the door and made his way out into the street. As soon as the door closed behind him, the fiddle music began again as if Creed had never entered.

NICOLE OPENED HER UNCLE’S DOOR
to the two military policemen. Their officious manner amused her, but she was gracious toward them and knew her uncle would welcome them with the special warmth he reserved for any English visitors. Although he was a nationalist, Canadian-born and proud, Nicole was certain that the captain’s clipped English lilt would be a pleasure to Justice Harvey’s ears.

She escorted them into the parlour, where her cousin Harold and his friend Richard Wilkerson were smoking with her uncle. She introduced them. The captain explained to the Justice that they were in Edmonton on army business. He suggested they talk alone, but Justice Harvey assured him everyone in the room was trustworthy.

“We’ve come to Edmonton to arrest a man by the name of John MacKay. We are to escort him back to London and then Belgium for court martial. You know him by the name Jack Creed.”

Nicole put a hand to her mouth. “Jack Creed? What has he done?”

“Murder, I’m afraid, and desertion.”

“Good God. Not Jack,” Harold said quietly.

“There must be some mistake,” Nicole insisted.

“I’m afraid not, miss.”

“Murder? Desertion?” Justice Harvey repeated. “I can’t believe it of Jack.” He was watching his future plans for the boy dissolve.

“I’m afraid the evidence against him is very strong, Justice Harvey. He strangled his commanding officer to death in front of an eyewitness.”

“What had the officer done?” Nicole asked evenly, though she was deeply upset.

“Not at liberty to discuss it, miss. How well do you know Mr. MacKay?”

Nicole was suddenly cautious, hiding her distress. She could not help Jack if Crosswell suspected she was his lover. She answered with the casual air of one who has only a passing interest. “He’s one of a number of friends I see from time to time. Chums with my brother and uncle. Seemed a decent fellow. I have to admit I’m shocked.”

Harold, Justice Harvey, and Richard Wilkerson stared at her in surprise at her deception.

“Looks can be deceiving, miss. He’s a very dangerous man. We’ve been to his hotel room and have men there, at the detachment of course, the courthouse, and now here. The Superintendent has extra officers out looking for him. Would any of you know another place we might find him?” After a moment’s silence the captain continued. “And please do realize, we will find him sooner or later. I strongly recommend your assistance. Please understand, delay will only make it worse for him.”

Justice Harvey dismissed his concerns. They would cooperate.

“No, of course, Captain. If what you say is true, you will have our complete co-operation. Mr. Creed—or MacKay—must face up to what he’s done.”

“But you have no idea where he could be? A friend’s house, a tavern, a church perhaps?”

“Can’t think of any place offhand,” Harold told him earnestly. “Nicole?”

“No, nothing comes to mind other than the places you mention.”

The captain’s voice betrayed some impatience with their lack of information. “If you hear from him, could you contact me at the detachment?”

“Yes, of course, Captain. We will.”

“Good day to you, then.”

When the soldiers were gone, Nicole sat down, tears only then brimming. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Justice Harvey sat beside her, gave her a handkerchief, and took her hand. “I’m so sorry, my dear. This is a terrible turn of events for you. But we must co-operate. I hope you’ll agree.”

Nicole wiped her eyes and nodded.

“I will use all my influence to ensure he has a fair trial. But Nicole, this looks like a very serious matter. I can’t see how it could possibly end well for him. Or for you. You should prepare yourself.”

“We have to give him a chance to tell his side of the story. You’ve seen trumped-up cases before, Uncle. I don’t trust that captain. It could all be some kind of cruel fabrication.”

“But you know,” Richard Wilkerson offered lightly, “I always found something odd about Creed. Something just didn’t add up for me.”

Nicole stood. “Why don’t you just shut up, Dick!” And she stormed from the room.

Richard raised his eyebrows in a gesture of innocent surprise. “Well, I did.”

Twenty-Five

Creed carried Angi through the back streets and stuck to the shadows. A few of his colleagues on patrol passed them by and twice he turned away to feign an amorous embrace with her until they had gone by. In this way they made it back to the hotel without discovery or challenge. He knew the military police would be looking for him at the hotel, making it the most dangerous place. But if he could get to Angi’s room, they’d be safe. The eye of the hurricane, he thought to himself. Keeping his head down, he entered through the crowded tavern and skirted the crowd at the bar.

The barroom was loud with the spirited conversation of men feeling their drink, and it distracted those who might have looked twice at a man carrying a young woman. Creed put her down, letting her stand unsteadily for a moment. His battered face was a natural disguise as the bruising came to full bloom. Mainprize, surrounded by other journalists, was holding court against the bar, and through the cacophony a repeated phrase finally caught in Creed’s consciousness: “commuted to life.” There were many here who knew him from the courtroom and he avoided their eyes, but he asked a young stranger: “Did they stop the executions?”

“Yes! A telegram from the Prime Minister. The mayor announced it.”

Creed’s heart felt suddenly lighter. At least there was that. He listened a moment to the conversation. Keedy and his Harvard students were there, scheduled to leave on the southbound train the next morning on their way home to Boston. Keedy spoke to several of the press, including Mainprize.

“No, the first verdict was quite a shock, revealing the faults of the prosecution and the subjective effect of the defence tactics, but it worked out well in the end. And now this pardon from execution I believe is the right decision. Don’t think it’d ever happen in the States. Two good trials, though. An altogether satisfying study. Stone Age man meets modern law, and the law has been satisfied. It’s given me quite the paper to write.”

“Damn good case,” Mainprize agreed. “Just wish there was a love story.”

Keedy laughed. “Can’t have everything.”

Lifting Angituk up tight to his chest again, Creed hurried out of the bar and down the back hall to her room.

HER MEN’S CLOTHES
were still on the floor as she had left them. Makeup dusted the dresser. He locked the door and laid her down on the unmade bed. She moaned, eyes closed, and murmured a few words of Copper. He gave her some sips of water from a carafe on the bedside table, and she took what she could and lay back again, eyes still closed. He looked at her and listened to her breathing for a moment, then he slowly, gently took off her stained dress. He smiled, despite his worries, at the red nail polish she had applied. He never thought there’d come the day he’d see scarlet nail polish on Angituk’s fingernails, these fingers that gutted a fish or skinned a muskrat with such quick and practised skill. Then, smiling at how foreign they too seemed against her smooth brown skin, he unsnapped the garter belt and unclipped the stockings, rolling them down her long, slender legs. He wanted to bring back the Angi he knew.

She began to shiver in the cool of the night. He left her in the silk undershirt and the pretty lace undershorts she had bought and put the covers over her. He had her sip some more cool water and then brought a bowl of warm, soapy water to gently wash her face clean of the makeup. She was calm now, sleeping, her breathing shallow but regular, lips slightly parted, eyes lightly closed. He caressed her face again with the warm towel, then he placed the palm of his hand against her cheek, his thumb tracing the fine high bones. She licked her lips, her eyelashes stirred, and suddenly her eyes opened, slowly focused, and looked up at him. She frowned at his swollen cheek and battered nose.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Had a disagreement with one of your boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends? Oh.” It was coming back to her, along with a pounding in her temples. “Oh, my head. Are you all right?”

“Yes. But Angi, I have some things to tell you. First, they’ve commuted the death sentence. They’re not going to hang them.”

“That’s wonderful!” she said, her face beaming for a moment, and then her relief turned to concern. “But what will they do to them?”

“They’ll put them in jail for twenty years.”

“Twenty years!” she said, stricken. “They will prefer to die. Uluksuk will not last twenty days.”

“Well, I know. But it’s a start. I couldn’t live with myself if they were hanged.”

Angituk thought for a moment about the new fate of her friends. “What else were you going to tell me?”

Creed wondered where to start. “I’m in trouble, Angi. There

are men who have come from the army. They want to arrest me and take me back to the wars for a trial.”

“Like Uluksuk and Sinnisiak.”

“Yes.”

“You white men like trials.”

“Yes.”

“What do they say you did?”

“They say I killed someone.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Who was he, the man they said you killed?”

Creed stood on the threshold of the memory he had tried so long to bury. He hadn’t told the story to anyone. He dredged up the memory of his crime, and with it the faces in the trenches, the useless slaughter, and the soulless survival of living for months in mud and misery.

“My name then was Sergeant John MacKay, and I was second-in-command of “A” Company, Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry in the Second Battalion.” Creed realized how little any of this would mean to her, but he was telling it also for himself. He spoke as if he were explaining not only to Angi but to Justice Harvey, Nicole, Worsley, Cowperthwaite, and the others at the detachment. As if he were making this first attempt to explain himself, to confess to the world what he had done. Angi listened quietly, intently.

“My third-in-command was Corporal Frank Banes, a farm boy from Omemee that I’d known playing hockey. We had joined up together. Banes was a good hockey player, and the finest soldier I ever served with. He had played on the first team with my brother, Charlie, and they were friends. They could talk about hockey for hours, describe the blow by blow of obscure games from years before. It had a way of putting the war in perspective. He used hockey terms like ‘taking the game to them,’ ‘playing your position,’ and ‘put the puck in the net.’ Frank, my big brother, Charlie, and I had one leave together near Neuve- Chapelle. I sang all night long at the estaminet with my brother. We talked about everything.” Creed smiled at the memory. “When Charlie had to leave to go back to his unit in the morning, he told me if anything happened he would come back and find me, and I told him the same thing. And we shared tears without shame because we knew what our chances were. Six days later he was killed by a sniper.”

Angituk was shocked by this, but Creed said it without emotion. He was long past the emotion. He took a deep breath and continued.

“I had a unit of good, seasoned men, those that were left. A few months before, we had held the line in front of Ypres against a German offensive in what they later called the second battle of Ypres.

“When our battalion first marched through in the spring of ’15 on our way to the front line, Ypres was a beautiful little town with gardens and fountains, an impressive cathedral, and the Cloth Hall. Civilians walked the streets. But then, after we stopped the Germans it became the favourite target of their long-range, fifteen-inch artillery. The citizens flooded the roads leading west. By the fall, Ypres had become a bombed-out ruin. We had saved the town only to watch it be destroyed behind us. This childishness didn’t surprise me. We did the same. The whole massive show was a childish, vindictive squabble. Except people died in very large numbers in horrible ways.

“Our new trenches north of Ypres were good—deeper, fortified, and reinforced. We moved in and began to organize trench raids against the Germans.

“On this one warm night in October, the plan was straightforward. British and Canadians would lay down a short thirty-minute barrage from our heavy trench mortars that had been brought into position. Then at 1:30 a.m. the shelling would stop and a large raid would be made through no man’s land—crawling on our hands and knees—to the German trenches. They were only eighty yards away.

“My commanding officer, a very smart French-Canadian lieutenant from New Brunswick who had commanded us through Ypres and Kitcheners’ Wood, had been shot in the head the day before by a sniper. We all respected him deeply, but we also agreed that there’s a bullet out there for everyone. When it happens, it happens.

“The replacement for our lieutenant arrived that morning. He was a young British-born captain, an officer in the Canadian army but impatiently awaiting transfer to the British forces, and he made little pretence of his contempt for ‘colonials,’ as he called the Canadian troops. He was accompanied by a batman, an Irish corporal named McFee, who felt the same way. The captain, whose name was Blackborough, worried me. He had been transferred away from his original regiment for a reason. He issued orders that were redundant, and his voice rose suddenly in volume at the end of each command, as if expecting a challenge. He avoided looking at me directly, but the few times I saw his eyes they were filled with either contempt, accusation, or fear. He was always sweating and he had a sickly sweet smell that to me indicated illness. I guessed he was doped up on morphine, as a few of the officers on the line were. I didn’t trust him.

“I knew my men well and my philosophy was to get as many of them as possible through each day alive, while still obeying orders. Apart from the back-and-forth attacks and the constant sniping, the Germans continued to throw a lot at us. The mortars were straightforward. You heard a gentle ‘thunk’ from their lines and you had a few seconds to take cover. The whiz-bangs were nasty little shrapnel bombs that whined like mosquitoes as they came for you, and if they landed in a confined trench they could shred several men at once. Then occasionally, arbitrarily, they’d fire their fifteen-inchers, artillery that sounded like a locomotive coming and could take out an entire length of trench and everyone in it. From the fifteen- inch, there was no escape.