upkeep."
"What kind of memorabilia?"
Waneeta asked politely, not really feeling up to digging through dusty boxes,
but for a night's lodging, she'd do it.
"Old letters and pictures. I hope
to catalogue it all."
The work sounded boring, but she needed
to keep busy. "What would you like me to do?"
"Mostly to clean."
"Can I could borrow a change of
clothes, then? Just something to clean in?"
"Oh, yes. You'll need something
warm. It's freezing in that building, but I don’t want to waste the hydro in
case the reeve rescinds his offer."
An hour later, after a cup of tea and
some muffins to restore them, she and Doris walked down to the river's edge.
Waneeta stumbled to a stop halfway down the steep driveway behind the general
store.
Beside the river stood an exact replica
of Thomas' cabin!
"Amazing, isn’t it? It was the
first building in the village," Doris informed her as she strode past. "In
1897, the lumberjacks built it to serve as schoolhouse for the local children.
It's similar to a camboose shanty."
Doris busied herself unlocking the door.
A draught of cold, stale air rolled out to greet them.
Not ready yet to see inside, Waneeta spun
away from the threshold. In the nearby river stood the skeletal remains of the
village's original bridge. The early spring melt had begun, with rushing waters
spewing past it.
The noise was suddenly deafening,
forcing Waneeta to turn and plow inside. Compared to the bright sunshine, the
cabin was dark and chilly.
"Sorry for the cold," Doris quipped.
"Like I said, I don’t want to waste the hydro."
The room was so different from Thomas’
cabin. There were boxes everywhere, some delivered up from the States, judging
from the labels, some obviously been there for some time, and several old desks
had been stacked against the far wall.
Under Doris’ supervision, and accepting
the offer of a dust mask and latex gloves, Waneeta was soon pushing heavy boxes
back against the fireplace. Soon her own body heat generated enough warmth for
her, and before long, decades of dirt were cleaned away and a basic inventory
was completed.
Doris commented on her diligence.
"I guess I have a lot of nervous
energy to burn off," Waneeta answered. "And there couldn't have been
better therapy than this."
By four o'clock, the whole cabin was
spotless. They'd swept, scrubbed, and polished their way through decades of
grime and countless generations of rodent droppings, with Doris constantly
reminding her they’d scrub themselves clean later. "Anything to come back
with us?" Waneeta asked when they were done.
"Only this box. I picked out a few
of the more interesting items for it." Doris pointed to the one closest to
the door. "We can root through it over supper."
"You don't have to feed me, too,
Doris, I’ll just go down to the diner-"
"Nonsense! I'd love the company.
And you can try calling home again to tell them you're safe."
After supper, the two of them delved
into the box from the museum. They pulled various items out and laid them on
the dining room table.
"These are wonderful!" Doris
exclaimed. "Look, we have some letters, a school register, and here's a
ledger book. Oh, Waneeta, look! There's an old school photo!" She turned
it over. "Eighteen ninety-eight. We've hit the jackpot here! That man in
the States was very generous." Doris rummaged through the box for more,
dropping the new found treasures in front of Waneeta.
She picked up the photograph.
Oh no. The room began to spin. Her eyes
dilated, making it hard to focus. Or was the photo just blurry? The man standing
to one side of the children stared out at her across more than a century. He
was so familiar, even with his sober, old-fashioned expression. Waneeta gripped
the edge of the table to stop the world around her. She needed everything to
stop. Needed everything to give her a chance to breathe again.
It was Thomas in that photograph .
Oblivious to her lightheadedness, Doris
chatted on excitedly, "With all these items
"What kind of memorabilia?"
Waneeta asked politely, not really feeling up to digging through dusty boxes,
but for a night's lodging, she'd do it.
"Old letters and pictures. I hope
to catalogue it all."
The work sounded boring, but she needed
to keep busy. "What would you like me to do?"
"Mostly to clean."
"Can I could borrow a change of
clothes, then? Just something to clean in?"
"Oh, yes. You'll need something
warm. It's freezing in that building, but I don’t want to waste the hydro in
case the reeve rescinds his offer."
An hour later, after a cup of tea and
some muffins to restore them, she and Doris walked down to the river's edge.
Waneeta stumbled to a stop halfway down the steep driveway behind the general
store.
Beside the river stood an exact replica
of Thomas' cabin!
"Amazing, isn’t it? It was the
first building in the village," Doris informed her as she strode past. "In
1897, the lumberjacks built it to serve as schoolhouse for the local children.
It's similar to a camboose shanty."
Doris busied herself unlocking the door.
A draught of cold, stale air rolled out to greet them.
Not ready yet to see inside, Waneeta spun
away from the threshold. In the nearby river stood the skeletal remains of the
village's original bridge. The early spring melt had begun, with rushing waters
spewing past it.
The noise was suddenly deafening,
forcing Waneeta to turn and plow inside. Compared to the bright sunshine, the
cabin was dark and chilly.
"Sorry for the cold," Doris quipped.
"Like I said, I don’t want to waste the hydro."
The room was so different from Thomas’
cabin. There were boxes everywhere, some delivered up from the States, judging
from the labels, some obviously been there for some time, and several old desks
had been stacked against the far wall.
Under Doris’ supervision, and accepting
the offer of a dust mask and latex gloves, Waneeta was soon pushing heavy boxes
back against the fireplace. Soon her own body heat generated enough warmth for
her, and before long, decades of dirt were cleaned away and a basic inventory
was completed.
Doris commented on her diligence.
"I guess I have a lot of nervous
energy to burn off," Waneeta answered. "And there couldn't have been
better therapy than this."
By four o'clock, the whole cabin was
spotless. They'd swept, scrubbed, and polished their way through decades of
grime and countless generations of rodent droppings, with Doris constantly
reminding her they’d scrub themselves clean later. "Anything to come back
with us?" Waneeta asked when they were done.
"Only this box. I picked out a few
of the more interesting items for it." Doris pointed to the one closest to
the door. "We can root through it over supper."
"You don't have to feed me, too,
Doris, I’ll just go down to the diner-"
"Nonsense! I'd love the company.
And you can try calling home again to tell them you're safe."
After supper, the two of them delved
into the box from the museum. They pulled various items out and laid them on
the dining room table.
"These are wonderful!" Doris
exclaimed. "Look, we have some letters, a school register, and here's a
ledger book. Oh, Waneeta, look! There's an old school photo!" She turned
it over. "Eighteen ninety-eight. We've hit the jackpot here! That man in
the States was very generous." Doris rummaged through the box for more,
dropping the new found treasures in front of Waneeta.
She picked up the photograph.
Oh no. The room began to spin. Her eyes
dilated, making it hard to focus. Or was the photo just blurry? The man standing
to one side of the children stared out at her across more than a century. He
was so familiar, even with his sober, old-fashioned expression. Waneeta gripped
the edge of the table to stop the world around her. She needed everything to
stop. Needed everything to give her a chance to breathe again.
It was Thomas in that photograph .
Oblivious to her lightheadedness, Doris
chatted on excitedly, "With all these items
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