blossoms from Europe, India, the Pacific islands.
Camellia fictilia
growing next to hyacinth. The effort, the likely cost of such a display, astounds him.
âThis region has had a lot of names, Trask says, but Jasper is the one that stuck.
He leans forward, flicks cigarette ash on the glasshouseâs stone floor, then darts a worried glance in Elspethâs direction. He grins, gives her a stage wink.
âThe old Métis settlement called Jasper was near here. During the fur trade it was called Snow House, or Arcturus House, but some of the natives called it Jasper. Then when Yellowhead Pass was chosen as the rail route over the Divide, the town had tobe located further down in the Athabasca valley. Itâs wider there, of course, less of a grade for the railroad, and not so beastly cold. Jasper wasnât the first choice for a name, though. We called the place Fitzhugh for a while, in honour of one of the railroad moguls. When it was still just a tent city.
âJasper, Elspeth says. Iâve wondered about that. Where the name came from.
Trask shrugs.
âThatâs what the traders and Indians called it. As to why, I couldnât say. Sara, the woman who minded Doctor Byrne for us, she was here before Christâpardon me, Fatherâso she might know. But I wouldnât take it as gospel.
âWhy not? Freya Becker says.
âWell, Miss Becker, Trask says slowly, you should ask the doctor that question.
âAll right, I will. Doctor Byrne?
Byrne looks up, startled, at their wondering faces.
âExcuse me. Iâm sorry. I was admiring the flowers.
Trask grunts.
âStill mourning your lost treasures, I suppose. Thatâs the thanks I get.
âI always kept the seeds and bulbs with me, but I didnât want you to know that at the time. No offense, but your pack ponies were rather good at scraping their cargo off against trees. I was hoping toget some British Columbian specimens when we crossed the Divide.
âYou were the expedition botanist, Father Buckler says, as well as the doctor?
âNot officially. Itâs just that camp life turned out have its monotonous side.
âPurgatory, itâs been called, Trask says.
âYes. I hadnât expected that. For the first few days I was living the romance of camp life. And then at night I started dreaming about my featherbed at home. After a while the only topic of conversation around the fire was our favourite restaurants. Collecting the flowers kept my mind busy.
Elspeth rises and refills his tea cup.
âI believe Miss Becker wanted to hear more about Sara.
Byrne smiles. He will tell them about Sara. He will not tell them everything.
7
The guests drink their tea, help themselves to cucumber and orange slice sandwiches. Trask tells mountain legends and bear stories. The party lingers into the evening.
Byrne takes a sip from his cup. The tea has gone cold.
Elspeth knows the right moment. She rises and asks her guests to follow her down the stone path to the back gate. They stroll through a tunnel of thick foliage.
Elspeth unlocks the narrow wooden door and swings it open. Gelid air streams into the glasshouse. Like rubbing alcohol it lifts away the film of sweat from Byrneâs skin.
âNow this is wonderful, Freya Becker says. She stretches out her arms. Yes.
The glasshouse fills with a milky, luminescent fog, and the guests watch one another grow pale and fade. Cool droplets condense like a cold sweat on their faces and arms. Feathery snowflakes appear above them, drifting down on their heads, on the leaves of the tropical flowers.
When they have all gathered outside, Elspeth quickly shuts the door behind them.
âThe flowers donât like it as much as we do.
The conversation is revived by the cool air, the keen scent of pine and spruce. While they stand at the back gate and talk, twilight seems to bring the mountains closer around them. Patches of snow gleam like phosphors against
Camellia fictilia
growing next to hyacinth. The effort, the likely cost of such a display, astounds him.
âThis region has had a lot of names, Trask says, but Jasper is the one that stuck.
He leans forward, flicks cigarette ash on the glasshouseâs stone floor, then darts a worried glance in Elspethâs direction. He grins, gives her a stage wink.
âThe old Métis settlement called Jasper was near here. During the fur trade it was called Snow House, or Arcturus House, but some of the natives called it Jasper. Then when Yellowhead Pass was chosen as the rail route over the Divide, the town had tobe located further down in the Athabasca valley. Itâs wider there, of course, less of a grade for the railroad, and not so beastly cold. Jasper wasnât the first choice for a name, though. We called the place Fitzhugh for a while, in honour of one of the railroad moguls. When it was still just a tent city.
âJasper, Elspeth says. Iâve wondered about that. Where the name came from.
Trask shrugs.
âThatâs what the traders and Indians called it. As to why, I couldnât say. Sara, the woman who minded Doctor Byrne for us, she was here before Christâpardon me, Fatherâso she might know. But I wouldnât take it as gospel.
âWhy not? Freya Becker says.
âWell, Miss Becker, Trask says slowly, you should ask the doctor that question.
âAll right, I will. Doctor Byrne?
Byrne looks up, startled, at their wondering faces.
âExcuse me. Iâm sorry. I was admiring the flowers.
Trask grunts.
âStill mourning your lost treasures, I suppose. Thatâs the thanks I get.
âI always kept the seeds and bulbs with me, but I didnât want you to know that at the time. No offense, but your pack ponies were rather good at scraping their cargo off against trees. I was hoping toget some British Columbian specimens when we crossed the Divide.
âYou were the expedition botanist, Father Buckler says, as well as the doctor?
âNot officially. Itâs just that camp life turned out have its monotonous side.
âPurgatory, itâs been called, Trask says.
âYes. I hadnât expected that. For the first few days I was living the romance of camp life. And then at night I started dreaming about my featherbed at home. After a while the only topic of conversation around the fire was our favourite restaurants. Collecting the flowers kept my mind busy.
Elspeth rises and refills his tea cup.
âI believe Miss Becker wanted to hear more about Sara.
Byrne smiles. He will tell them about Sara. He will not tell them everything.
7
The guests drink their tea, help themselves to cucumber and orange slice sandwiches. Trask tells mountain legends and bear stories. The party lingers into the evening.
Byrne takes a sip from his cup. The tea has gone cold.
Elspeth knows the right moment. She rises and asks her guests to follow her down the stone path to the back gate. They stroll through a tunnel of thick foliage.
Elspeth unlocks the narrow wooden door and swings it open. Gelid air streams into the glasshouse. Like rubbing alcohol it lifts away the film of sweat from Byrneâs skin.
âNow this is wonderful, Freya Becker says. She stretches out her arms. Yes.
The glasshouse fills with a milky, luminescent fog, and the guests watch one another grow pale and fade. Cool droplets condense like a cold sweat on their faces and arms. Feathery snowflakes appear above them, drifting down on their heads, on the leaves of the tropical flowers.
When they have all gathered outside, Elspeth quickly shuts the door behind them.
âThe flowers donât like it as much as we do.
The conversation is revived by the cool air, the keen scent of pine and spruce. While they stand at the back gate and talk, twilight seems to bring the mountains closer around them. Patches of snow gleam like phosphors against
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