Last Summer in Louisbourg (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

The Frederic Gate was a huge wooden structure that dominated the waterfront of the fortress. Square and solid, and as tall as a barn, it framed an enormous archway, a replica of the one through which sailors from all over the world had once passed as they unloaded cargoes from sailing ships. It had been the commercial centre of this community, a gathering place for colonists eager for news from the rest of the world.

Nothing significant happened here now, but tourists liked to have their photographs taken standing in front of it. Andrea had memorized the facts about this imposing landmark so that she could answer questions when visitors asked. However, today she didn't want to talk to anyone; she thought she was going to cry. Justine and Cory had already left for a fun weekend in River Bourgeois. Andrea was still uncertain about her ability to paddle that wobbly canoe on her own. Calvin had not volunteered to give her a second lesson yesterday, and today he was nowhere to be seen. Several other crew members were there, setting up their equipment, but not him. Didn't they need a gaffer today? Where was he?

Grumpy Grundy came striding out of the fog towards her, waving a friendly greeting. He seemed to be in an uncharacteristically good mood. “Yon rising star appeareth,” he proclaimed as if he were on a stage.

“She braveth the winds of change

And the tide of time,

Her secret held against her gentle breast

And courageous heart.”

What's with this guy? Andrea wondered. He's the director, but he acts like a frustrated actor. What was he rambling on about anyway? The secret note, which was the reason—in the film—that she was making this canoe trip, was in the pocket of her skirt and not against her…honestly, what an idiot.

“I want to see a smile on that pretty face,” he continued, this time in his normal voice. “Just think, ah, Adriana, you could be nominated for Best Supporting Actress for this role. Stranger things have happened. You're a talented young lady, you…”

“My name is Andrea!” she almost shouted.

“So it is. Let's get to work. We'll begin with you paddling away from us, glancing back once or twice with your dark, anxious look. You're concerned that someone may be following you.”

“The cameraman will be, that's for sure,” Andrea muttered under her breath.

“After that,” he instructed, “keep on paddling out towards the centre of the bay. We'll do a second shoot there, only from a launch instead of the shore. And remember, if you feel uneasy about anything just give us a shout.”

“I'll do that,” said Andrea coolly.

Charlene appeared with her portable make-up kit. She dabbed more powder on Andrea's face, aimed hair spray on her bangs, and twisted a few curls with a butane curling iron.

“What's the matter with you today, honey?” she asked. “You look like you've lost your last friend.”

“I probably have,” Andrea agreed gloomily.

“I don't believe it. You cheer up now, you hear? This film's nearly done. I want outta here as much as you do.”

“All I wanted was my two days off to go to River Bourgeois.”

“Where?”

“Where Justine lives. You remember her. We did a scene together in the governor's drawing room.”

“Now don't you fret. There's gonna be other times to visit with your friends. You got your whole life ahead of you.”

“If I haven't screwed it up,” Andrea lamented.

Charlene merely smiled.

“We haven't got all day!” shouted Grumpy Grundy from the water's edge, where he was holding the canoe in place with his foot. Andrea grasped the gunnels, placed one foot in the middle of the canoe, and with the other shoved it away from the shore. It was tricky to manoeuvre her way into a canoe when she was wearing a long skirt. Cautiously she settled into the stern seat and slowly paddled away. She soon discovered that it wasn't as easy to keep the canoe moving in a straight line this time. The tide was going out and the current tended to pull the canoe to the left. She paddled hard to the right and, after every third or fourth stroke, looked back through the foggy murk towards the camera with her much-practised expression of anxiety. Finally she heard the welcome word “Cut!”

“Stay there, Andrea,” called Penny.

Andrea sat very still in the canoe in the fog. The sound of voices carried clearly in this kind of weather, and she could hear the crew talking among themselves as they loaded film equipment into a motor launch. After a while she heard the motor start. They were heading her way.

The thing about fog is that it doesn't stay still for long. Today, it wafted back and forth across the bay. One minute Andrea could see the shore and the next minute she couldn't.

“As long as it doesn't blow away altogether,” Andrea prayed, because if it did she would have to do this scene over again another day.

The launch with the crew and cameras pulled up beside her.

“Okay, brave little courier,” ordered Penny, “now we want to see you paddling purposefully in the direction of the lighthouse.”

“But I can't see the lighthouse. The fog's too thick,” Andrea complained.

“Of course you can't see the lighthouse and we don't want to either. It hadn't been built in the eighteenth century, remember? Just paddle in that direction.”

Andrea paddled diligently into the grey and blurry distance. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Another stroke. Then a backward glance. More strokes. More backward glances. Surely she had paddled and glanced backward long enough by now.

“I am royally fed up,” Andrea muttered through clenched teeth. “I have had enough. I am—”

Abruptly she realized that the engine in the launch had stopped and the crew might be able to hear her. She turned around to see what was happening. Had they changed their minds again? She could see only a dark blur in the fog where the boat ought to be.

“Andrea! Can you hear me?” came the distant voice of Penny Goodman.

“I hear you,” yelled Andrea.

“Something's wrong with this blasted engine. Better come over here till we get it fixed!” Andrea dipped the paddle in the water and started to steer the canoe in a wide arc. She soon realized she had pulled too far to the right, so she switched the paddle to the other side and stroked hard to the left.

“Dammit,” she muttered. Now she was too far to the left. She switched the paddle again, trying to remember something in Calvin's instructions about a “J” stroke. What had he said? Turning a canoe around was not as easy as it looked. She switched to the other side again and then—oops!—the paddle slipped right out of her hands and was floating away from the canoe!

She bent over and reached out to grab it, stretching her fingers to the limit, but the infuriating paddle floated away from her. She leaned out farther…just a little more…a little more…and then had to pull back a split second before the canoe would have overturned.

How humiliating! She turned to see if anyone was watching her, but the launch had completely disappeared into the fog.

Now what? The launch was back there somewhere and for a moment Andrea considered jumping overboard and swimming towards it. She was confident about her ability to swim, but how far away were they anyway? And of course she was wearing her costume! Maybe, if she took off her cape and chemise and skirt, she could jump in wearing only her bra and panties. She decided against that. It would be altogether too embarrassing to be seen by the whole crew in her underwear. Besides, the water was awfully cold, even though it was August. What if she got a cramp? She would drown for sure, because no one could see where she was. A shiver ran down her spine as the paddle drifted out of sight into the mist.

“Aaandreeeaah!” The voice sounded a hundred miles away. “Where aaaaaare yooooou?”

“Heeeeere!”

“Stay there. We're…fix…engine…” The voice died away into the clammy silence.

“Okaaaaay!” hollered Andrea. There was absolutely nothing else she could do. She was so angry at her own clumsiness. What was Calvin going to think when he heard about this? His pupil had failed. She felt so helpless and so silly and she couldn't stop shivering. She clutched her woollen cape tightly around her shoulders. What a ridiculous predicament this was. There was nothing to do and nothing to look at even. It was just as well she didn't realize the tide was gradually carrying the canoe out to sea.

Andrea began to wonder what time it was. She had had to leave her wrist-watch behind because, in the era of the film, watches had yet to be invented. It felt as if she had been drifting in the canoe for hours.

There was only one distraction—the seagulls. Every once in a while a gull glided by like a ghost.

She had never taken much notice of these common-place birds before. They had always been just part of the scenery. Now they were company. She began counting every gull, a game she used to play with her mother whenever they made a long car journey and counted the number of cows they saw, or horses, or barns, or red cars. It made the time pass more quickly. One gull, two gulls, three gulls, four…After a while—and she had no idea how long—she was up to sixteen. She also noticed for the first time that some gulls had black backs and grey fronts and some had white fronts and grey backs. Were they different species altogether? Next time she was near a library she would go in and ask for a book about birds and find out. Then she began to wonder if she ever would be in a library again.

It slowly dawned on her that a really long time had gone by. Where on earth was she—no, not on the earth, on the ocean? Where was everyone else? Had they gone ashore and abandoned her? What would her mother do when her only daughter didn't come home? Would she be angry at Andrea's stupidity? No, she would be heartbroken.

“Oh, why did I want this dumb job anyway?” Andrea sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “I wish I wasn't here. I wish I was at Justine's party.” She wept until the whole canoe shook.

The fog was growing thicker. Then finally she heard something besides the screeching of the gulls. It was a motor, but one with an entirely different sound from the launch carrying the film crew. Now she was really afraid. Whoever was driving this motor boat didn't know she was out here. They wouldn't be able to see her until they got very close, and they might easily smash into the canoe and break it into splinters. She could be hurled into the ocean, bleeding and possibly unconscious.

She sat bolt upright, uncertain what to do. Maybe she should scream, but if she did would anyone hear her? If she stood up and waved her arms she would be more visible. But no, she remembered she must never stand up in a canoe. Those were Calvin's ironbound instructions.

The sound of the engine had become a deep, sullen roar. Andrea crouched down in the canoe, gripping the gunnels so hard her hands were turning white. But what was the point of that? It would be better to shout and scream. There was a remote chance someone might hear her.

“Hey! I'm over here!” she hollered into the grey distance. “Here I am!” she screamed, sitting bolt upright, waving her cape. If only the cape hadn't been brown. If it was yellow or red the people in the boat might notice something before they smashed into her. “I'm over here!” she screeched, her throat hurting from the effort. But she could still hear the boat heading towards her.

Then, all of a sudden, the threatening roar stopped, diminishing to a low purr. Staring into the fog, Andrea saw a dim shape beginning to emerge. It grew larger until she could see the bow of a boat as big as her uncle's inching through the murk towards her.

Someone had seen her! She resisted the urge to jump to her feet, but the tears began again. This time they were tears of joy. Moments later a big grey boat slowed to a stop alongside the canoe and a smiling face looked out of the wheelhouse window.

“Hi there, young lady. Need a ride?”

Chapter Thirteen

A broad-shouldered Mountie held a coiled rope in his hands. He hurled it towards Andrea, and she grabbed it. He pulled the canoe alongside and tied it securely to his boat, then he reached out a hand to help Andrea climb aboard.

“You okay? I've got blankets on board, and a first-aid kit, and food and water,” he offered. He wore a badge on his shirt that said D. Orzechowski.

“I am absolutely fine, thanks,” insisted Andrea shakily.

A flicker of a smile crossed the Mountie's face, then he started the engine. “So, looks as if you were up the creek without a paddle, eh?”

“It's not a creek. It's an ocean. The paddle slipped out of my hands when I was switching sides. I tried and tried to reach it, but it kept floating away. I was so darn mad,” Andrea admitted.

“So that's what happened. Your pals were sure worried about you. They couldn't get their engine going, and they didn't have a clue where you'd got to. That's when they called us. How long were you out here?”

“I don't know. It felt like forever.”

“Were you scared?”

“No. Well, maybe. Just a bit.”

“Luckily our radar picked you up. The tide had carried you a fair distance out of the harbour. Bet you didn't want to spend the night out there, did you?”

“No.”

“And where is your life jacket, young lady? There are water safety rules, as I am sure you are aware.”

“I couldn't carry one because they hadn't been invented in the eighteenth century,” Andrea explained.

He glanced at her with a puzzled expression. “What kind of an excuse is that? That was then and this is now.”

“You don't understand. We were filming. I'm in a movie. It was a scene where I had to paddle across the bay carrying an important secret letter in my pocket. I had to paddle and paddle and keep looking back anxiously to make sure no one had seen me,” Andrea continued.

“They sure in heck wouldn't. Not in this fog.”

“A life jacket would have looked all wrong historically. The film has to appear authentic,” Andrea stated emphatically.

“Yeah, but they didn't have movie cameras back in those days either, did they?”

“Well, no,” Andrea conceded. This guy was missing the point. Historic films weren't about cameras; they were about history.

“Guess that explains why you're not exactly dressed for canoeing in the North Atlantic.”

Andrea had forgotten how incongruous she must have looked, sitting in a canoe dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt, a bonnet, an ankle-length skirt, and a woollen cape, all soaked by the fog. She took off her bonnet and then ran her hand lightly across her cheek, suddenly conscious of the make-up she was wearing. She was worried that the mascara had started to run while she had been crying.

“So, I've rescued a movie star, have I?” enquired the constable, one eye on her and the other on his radar screen.

“I'm not a star. I don't speak one word in this film. I'm supposed to be a lady's maid,” Andrea said, a little apologetically.

“You've got to start somewhere. Maybe next time you'll get a bigger role,” he consoled her.

“I don't think so. I don't like the film business all that much. What I'm really doing is working at the Fortress of Louisbourg for the summer. It was just a fluke that I was asked to play a role in this film.”

By this time they could see the misty outline of the shore. In a few more minutes the Mountie cut the engine and eased the boat alongside Louisbourg's public wharf, where a crowd had gathered. When they saw Andrea standing beside the policeman people began to cheer. Andrea climbed up on the dock and Penny Goodman rushed towards her and surprised her with a hug. Jackie Cormier was there too and she gave Andrea an even bigger hug. Even Grumpy Grundy patted her shoulder and actually smiled at her for the first time since she had met him.

“Spot of bad luck,” he said kindly, “but all's well that ends well.”

“Honestly, I was fine. I lost the paddle, that's all,” Andrea shrugged, trying to make light of her ordeal. She was embarrassed at all the fuss, although she was glad they cared. People had worried about her, but she was ashamed that she hadn't handled the canoe properly. She looked around to see if Calvin was there, but fortunately, this time, he wasn't.

“I'll be on my way then,” said Constable Orzechowski.

“Thanks a lot for rescuing me,” said Andrea, amid a chorus of gratitude from everyone else.

“All in a day's work.”

Jackie Cormier offered Andrea a ride back to town. Andrea climbed into her car and for a long time didn't say a thing. She felt she had ruined everything—her final scene in the canoe, the chance to attend Justine's party, and, even worse, a chance to impress Calvin by showing that she was one heck of a paddler. She wasn't. Nothing had worked out the way she had hoped.

“You weren't frightened, were you, Andrea?” asked Jackie.

“Nope. Just mad at myself.”

“I know the feeling,” Jackie sympathized. “I didn't realize what had happened. I was simply driving by…on my way back from visiting Mom in Sydney. I could see all these film people gathered together down at the wharf, so I parked and got out, curious to find out what was going on. That was when someone told me. You were adrift somewhere in a canoe and they had called an RCMP rescue unit to find you…they hoped! Luckily, they had just got news that you were on board the police boat and you would be there soon. What a relief!”

“No big deal,” Andrea shrugged. “It's not as if there was a terrible storm or anything. The ocean was as calm as a cup of tea. It was…boring, that's all. But it was starting to get kind of cold out there.”

“I'll bet.”

Andrea didn't want to talk about it any more. She wanted to forget the whole episode, and she hoped everyone else would too. She just stared out the window. Then her eye caught the name on an envelope on the dashboard of the car. It was addressed to Mrs. John A. MacDonald.

“Hey, how about that?” Andrea asked brightly. “A letter for the wife of the first prime minister of Canada.”

“What?”

“It says ‘Mrs. John A. MacDonald.'”

“Oh,” laughed Jackie. “That's my mom. I have to deal with her mail. It's one of those government forms that have to be filled out.”

“Your name used to be MacDonald? So you're not French then,” Andrea remarked. “I just assumed you were. Jacqueline Cormier. It sounds…well…French.”

“Who knows what anyone is, really? I was named Jacqueline after my dad. He was John Alan MacDonald, but everyone knew him as Jack.”

“Maybe you're distantly related to Sir John A. Macdonald.”

Jackie chuckled. “I don't think so.”

“I guess there are a lot of MacDonalds all over the place.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jackie. “The MacDonald clan wouldn't dare hold a reunion. There isn't a building big enough in the world to hold us all. Did you ever look at the Sydney-Glace Bay phone book? You've never seen so many MacDonalds. And it's the same in a lot of places across Canada.”

Andrea returned to her room. She felt depressed. It was Saturday night and she was alone and she didn't have anything to do. She thought she might phone somebody, but she got as far as the telephone in the hall and was too discouraged to pick it up. Idly, she leafed through the phone book and, sure enough, there were three full pages of people whose last name was MacDonald, or McDonald. Forty-one of them bore the first name John.

As she stood there the phone rang. It was Justine.

“Hi, Juss! How's your birthday party?” Andrea asked wistfully.

“Fab-u-luss! Lots of kids are here. Mom and Dad gave me new sneakers for my birthday. Sylvie got some too, of course. So what have you been up to?”

“Actually, quite a lot. I'll tell you about it sometime,” replied Andrea.

“Hang on a minute. Marc wants to talk to you.”

There was a pause, then Justine's brother spoke. “How's it goin'? Too bad you missed the party.”

“Sure is. Wish I was there.”

“I was just thinkin'…”

“What?”

“I'm comin' up tomorrow to drive Justine and Cory back.”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe I'll see ya when I get there?”

“Well…okay. If you bring some of that birthday cake…then we could go out for some pop or something.”

“Sounds good to me. See ya then.”

“See ya,” echoed Andrea, hoping she sounded as cool as the Atlantic fog. The truth was she suddenly felt as bright as sunshine. She was delighted. Marc was obviously a quiet guy…but…maybe quiet guys were all right. Tomorrow she would find out.