that must be the answer right there. A child
of his own would give him unconditional love.
Still, I knew from experience that there is
always a risk with friendly, cooperative clients, that what they
tell you isn’t always the whole story. In fact they can be the
worst for covering up, or for somehow forgetting to mention the
most important details. For instance, there was something strange
about the Talbots living apart. Was Kiera being straight with me
about why? Maybe they fell into that deluded group of people who
believe a child will save a troubled marriage. But if they weren’t
compatible anymore, why didn’t Nick just divorce Kiera and find
another wife?
And there were many other questions. Say I
did have a baby for them, where would it live? How would they look
after it? Who would look after it? And, and, and …
And then I thought about that lovely blue
room. I thought about buying the lodge and starting my camp.
Really, I decided, I had no good reason not to trust Nick and
Kiera. In making assessments for the Children’s Agency I’d been
trained to have facts to back up my judgments. And the most
important fact was that the Talbots weren’t clients. So there was
no need to treat them that way.
I was no longer working for the Children’s
Agency. It wasn’t my business how Nick and Kiera raised their
child. My job would be to produce a baby and disappear, not get
involved with the details of its future.
It wouldn’t be easy of course, I did realize
that. But if I wanted the money, and I did, I would simply have to
steel myself against thinking too much.
Chapter 6
The next morning Kiera and Phoebe took me to
look around the village of Airdrie Bay. That is, Phoebe drove us
in, then followed behind as Kiera led me up and down the main
street. Besides the quaint houses there were several gift shops
full of Nova Scotia pewter, weaving and pottery, and an art gallery
offering paintings of local houses, ships and shores. Kiera seemed
to know everyone, and stopped to talk about the weather with all.
She introduced me simply as, “Lucienne, my friend from Quebec,
visiting for awhile.”
We spent most of our time in The Silver
Needle, a fabric shop in a huge old house on a side street. Bolts
of fabric and quilts were displayed everywhere from the pine floor
to the high wooden ceilings. Buttons and bindings and trims spilled
out of drawers, quilt batts stuffed wooden rain barrels. Kiera and
Phoebe wanted to choose fabric for their next project, a wedding
quilt for the daughter of someone in their church group.
They felt and discussed a rainbow of shades
and color combinations with the woman working there. “This is
Sadie,” Kiera told me, “she’s in our quilting group. If we ever get
this top made she’ll be up at Malagash to help us finish it.”
The three women talked on about the
background and the border and the backing, while I amused myself
admiring the quilted jackets and patchwork skirts and dresses
displayed in the front window. It would be nice to have something
new to wear when Nick arrived for dinner that night. But I couldn’t
afford those handmade clothes. And they weren’t really me anyway.
As for what I would choose, I hadn’t shopped in so long that I had
no idea what I’d want.
Afterwards Kiera and I had lunch in a little
cafe called Loaves & Fishes. Phoebe waited in the car.
“Good news Flo,” Kiera said to the woman who
brought our seafood chowder. “We finally got the fabric for Gail’s
quilt this morning.”
“Bout time. Wedding’s in December.” Flo
pointed at the basket she’d placed on the table. “Maritime brown
bread,” she said. “We make it fresh everyday.” She turned back to
Kiera. “Where’s Phoebe then?”
“She’s got a headache, we’ve been hours
looking at fabric.”
“That so?” Flo looked like she didn’t believe
it any more than I did. She strode back to the kitchen yelling,
“Phebe don’t feel good, Dottie.”
Kiera shook
of his own would give him unconditional love.
Still, I knew from experience that there is
always a risk with friendly, cooperative clients, that what they
tell you isn’t always the whole story. In fact they can be the
worst for covering up, or for somehow forgetting to mention the
most important details. For instance, there was something strange
about the Talbots living apart. Was Kiera being straight with me
about why? Maybe they fell into that deluded group of people who
believe a child will save a troubled marriage. But if they weren’t
compatible anymore, why didn’t Nick just divorce Kiera and find
another wife?
And there were many other questions. Say I
did have a baby for them, where would it live? How would they look
after it? Who would look after it? And, and, and …
And then I thought about that lovely blue
room. I thought about buying the lodge and starting my camp.
Really, I decided, I had no good reason not to trust Nick and
Kiera. In making assessments for the Children’s Agency I’d been
trained to have facts to back up my judgments. And the most
important fact was that the Talbots weren’t clients. So there was
no need to treat them that way.
I was no longer working for the Children’s
Agency. It wasn’t my business how Nick and Kiera raised their
child. My job would be to produce a baby and disappear, not get
involved with the details of its future.
It wouldn’t be easy of course, I did realize
that. But if I wanted the money, and I did, I would simply have to
steel myself against thinking too much.
Chapter 6
The next morning Kiera and Phoebe took me to
look around the village of Airdrie Bay. That is, Phoebe drove us
in, then followed behind as Kiera led me up and down the main
street. Besides the quaint houses there were several gift shops
full of Nova Scotia pewter, weaving and pottery, and an art gallery
offering paintings of local houses, ships and shores. Kiera seemed
to know everyone, and stopped to talk about the weather with all.
She introduced me simply as, “Lucienne, my friend from Quebec,
visiting for awhile.”
We spent most of our time in The Silver
Needle, a fabric shop in a huge old house on a side street. Bolts
of fabric and quilts were displayed everywhere from the pine floor
to the high wooden ceilings. Buttons and bindings and trims spilled
out of drawers, quilt batts stuffed wooden rain barrels. Kiera and
Phoebe wanted to choose fabric for their next project, a wedding
quilt for the daughter of someone in their church group.
They felt and discussed a rainbow of shades
and color combinations with the woman working there. “This is
Sadie,” Kiera told me, “she’s in our quilting group. If we ever get
this top made she’ll be up at Malagash to help us finish it.”
The three women talked on about the
background and the border and the backing, while I amused myself
admiring the quilted jackets and patchwork skirts and dresses
displayed in the front window. It would be nice to have something
new to wear when Nick arrived for dinner that night. But I couldn’t
afford those handmade clothes. And they weren’t really me anyway.
As for what I would choose, I hadn’t shopped in so long that I had
no idea what I’d want.
Afterwards Kiera and I had lunch in a little
cafe called Loaves & Fishes. Phoebe waited in the car.
“Good news Flo,” Kiera said to the woman who
brought our seafood chowder. “We finally got the fabric for Gail’s
quilt this morning.”
“Bout time. Wedding’s in December.” Flo
pointed at the basket she’d placed on the table. “Maritime brown
bread,” she said. “We make it fresh everyday.” She turned back to
Kiera. “Where’s Phoebe then?”
“She’s got a headache, we’ve been hours
looking at fabric.”
“That so?” Flo looked like she didn’t believe
it any more than I did. She strode back to the kitchen yelling,
“Phebe don’t feel good, Dottie.”
Kiera shook
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