Grandpère (21 page)

Jesse’s eyes get big, and he keeps saying, “Holy shit.”

Jim says we aren’t going to tell anyone else how he was cremated.

“Good thing. I don’t think you’re allowed to do that. Don’t worry about me, I can keep a secret,” Jesse says.

They tell me I don’t need to come out, but I feel as though I should, so all three of us go out to the pyre. It’s just ash now but still hot in the middle. Jesse stirs in the ashes; there isn’t much to find. I’m puzzled not to find the gun barrel, but we stir and stir, and it doesn’t show up. There are fewer bones than we found for the dog, just a round part of his skull and some small pieces of other bones. At one point Jesse finds a tooth and holds it up to me with an inquiring look.

“Not Grandpère’s,” I say. “He had no teeth left. Maybe Duke’s.”

The box is not even half-full. We shut the lid and close the hatch.

Jesse takes it to the shop and nails the lid down tightly. He asks, “What now?”

Grandpère’s remains should go up to the lookout, I tell him.

“Any place in particular?” he asks.

“You’re supposed to look around, and the right place will feel right. You leave it there,” I say. “Do you want to do it?”

“I will be honoured to take the old guy to his final rest,” he says. He doesn’t want the bike and says he will pack it up. “It is better if I walk and take Grandpère for his last walk.”

I don’t want to go with him, I just pat the box for a while and then go into the house with Jim. The telephone keeps ringing as the kids call, one after the other. They will all be down on the weekend and wonder what day the funeral will be. I tell them maybe Monday, and Jim phones to book the hall.

We hold the memorial service in the Elks’ Hall. So many people come that there’s standing room only. My boys give the eulogy; they tell stories about Grandpère’s life, and some of them are funny. People laugh, and most are not full of tears and sorrow. Clint has told them not to cry, as Grandpère’s life was long and good and he is with his family again. No one asks me anything about the cremation, and I’m glad.

When it’s over, we all go back to the house. All of us go up to the lookout and are there when the sun sets. Jim stands beside me with his arm around my shoulders. Even the little boys are quiet while the setting sun turns the sky orange. I don’t see Grandpère’s box anywhere, but I feel his spirit telling me that life goes on.

A quiet peace fills me, and when we make our way down the hill in the fading light, I echo Jesse’s words. “End of an era.”

Acknowledgments

To properly acknowledge all who contributed to this story would be to thank everyone and everything in my life. But there are some that deserve special recognition, so I thank my grandmother for making me wonder about Gitchi Manitou, my parents for teaching me values, my family for their unending support, my husband for his love and commitment, and our children and grandchildren for the blessings that children bring.

Thanks also to the late Gus Raphael for telling me stories about the giants; my friend Lynn to whom I turned to for information about abused children; elder Emma Baker for reading the draft and telling me where I strayed; my sister Rene for reading the first draft and still encouraging me to carry on; Harold Isaac; the Prince family; Edgar Ketlo; and all the others involved in the wonderful sweat lodge experience.

A big thanks to my agent Carolyn Swayze, publisher Vici Johnstone and Caitlin Press, and editors Susan Mayse and Patricia Wolfe whose insights and questions helped make this a better book.

Information comes from so many places, and I have to thank God for search
engines. It is such a luxury, having a world of information at your fingertips. The
other luxury is books. Here are some that helped me along the way;
Inkonze – The
Stones of Traditional Knowledge
, Phillip R. Coutu and Lorraine Hoffman-Mercredi,
Fort Fraser (Where the Hell’s That?)
, Lenore Rudland,
Deeper Roots and
Greener Valleys
, Fraser Lake and District Historical Society and
Harmon’s
Journal
(Touchwood Editions), Daniel Williams Harmon. All these books are
gems.