‘So the whole tribe must descend on them! That still doesn’t explain why I am here.’
‘Oh, Angus! You must Make Allowances. You’re so rigid. I wanted you here.’ She reached up to kiss his nose. He smiled. She was easy to forgive.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the boards of the steps. They sprang apart.
‘Are you people coming or not?’ Then, suspiciously, ‘What are you two doing in here?’
‘Trying to open the hideabed,’ shot back Angus.
The old man’s face crimsoned. He stepped forward, administered two strong blows to the seat cushion. A hidden mechanism clicked, and the bed opened easily. Monaghan glared at Angus. His contempt was clear, but so was his triumph. You may think you know a lot with your fancy education, but you know squat about how things work. Probably never worked a day in your life. ‘Come on, now.’ He led them to the lodge.
Supper was pumpkin soup, pork and beans, and sugar pie. All ate voraciously, especially Simon. Angus patted his stomach. ‘Un repas vraiment habitant, typiquement quebecois. Delicieux et remplissant en meme temps. Merci, Tante Agathe.’ Aunt Aggie smiled. Celine’s eyes sparkled approvingly.
‘Come again?’ said Simon.
‘He’s “praising the cook” and “flattering the hostess.” But he means it,’ said Celine.
‘Mais ouais, ben sur!’ Angus agreed in joual: ‘Et pour l’ matin des tranches de toast avec beurre de pinotte! ’ The women laughed. ‘T’as raison, c’est ca!’
It was all lost on Simon. Angus helped him. ‘Paying the rent, Simon,’ he whispered.
Aunt Agathe shooed everyone but Celine out of her kitchen. Sadie went to put the two children to bed. Angus, Simon, and the old man sat in the living room bounded at one end by a massive stone fireplace with a fire crackling in the grate and at the other by a wall of glass: floor-to-ceiling windows with sliding patio doors leading out to a deck, beyond which autumn colour rioted in bright yellow, flaming red, orange and shades of brown, lit up by the westering sun nearing the horizon. Some older maples nearer the house had resisted the call to lose their leaves and remained stubbornly green. Down a gentle slope behind the house, a beach of dry sand, so pristine that it might have been trucked there, led to a tranquil lake bathed that evening in a silver light, reflecting a milky sky. Simon crossed to a patio door.
‘Pretty nice place you got here. Is that Sandy Lake below?’ Simon slid the patio door and its screen open and left them open, apparently unaware of a cloud of small insects dancing in the warm air of the deck.
‘No, Sandy Lake is two miles up the road from here. That there’s Monaghan Lake you’re looking at. Registered in my name now.’
‘Really? Has it been in the family for years, then?’
‘No. My family were poor Irish. Starved out by the English, then and here, too. That’s my lake. All you can see out there is mine. Bought and paid for with sweat and tears. Close the screen.’
