She Came From Away Read online

  Central Avenue Publishing Edition

  Copyright © 2012 D. Edward Bradley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This edition is published by arrangement with D. Edward Bradley

  www.centralavenuepublishing.com

  First electronic edition

  Created and distributed by Central Avenue Publishing, an imprint of Central Avenue Marketing Ltd.

  She Came From Away

  ISBN 978-1-926760-90-2

  Published in Canada with international distribution.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Meghan Tobin-O’Drowsky

  Cover Photography: Courtesy & Copyright Photoxpress: .shock

  For RB

  She Came From Away

  Chapter One

  The Letter

  The front doorbell rang. Riley jumped to her feet from a seat at the dining table, slopping her cup of coffee but averting disaster—just. She rushed down the bare wooden staircase from her two-bedroom, second-floor apartment. Riley had a thing about doorbells and telephones. If the person left, or the phone stopped ringing before she could answer, she wouldn’t sleep until the mystery was solved.

  Riley blinked in the bright April sunlight as she came face to face with the postman, his Canada Post cap tilted back a little. He was holding a large bulky envelope with “registered” written all over it.

  “Sign here, please.”

  “Who’s it for?” she asked as the dark-haired young man offered a clipboard and ballpoint.

  “Riley P. Barnett. I guess that’s you.”

  “Now why would anyone send me a registered letter?”

  “Maybe you won a lottery.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve never played one and don’t know how.” Riley had exchanged a few words with the postman on a couple of occasions. He wasn’t much older than she was and seemed okay. “Thanks for the thought. Have a nice day.”

  “You too.” The young man turned toward the next house on the crescent in a residential area of eastern Toronto.

  Before shutting the door, Riley glanced at the big white envelope. It was embossed in dark red at the top left-hand corner with the words, “Corcoran, Corcoran and McGrath, Lawyers, 15 Water Street, St. John’s, Newfoundland.” The postmark was dated March 28, 1978, just a week earlier.

  “What on Earth could they want with me,” she muttered. “I’ve never been to Newfoundland in my life.”

  Riley closed the door and made her way back upstairs to the apartment, which she shared with Joni Dubois, a fellow student at the University of Toronto. Joni had long since departed for a late morning lecture. Joni was a little on the moody side, but they got on quite well together. She was doing chemistry while Riley was majoring in French.

  Returning to her seat at the small dining table, she pushed away the half-empty coffee mug across the well-worn, polished surface.

  She stared at the letter in front of her. “Weird,” she murmured and reached for a knife that had been left over from breakfast.

  The wad of papers inside seemed to spread itself out on the table as if propelled by some unseen hand. The first document that caught Riley’s eye was entitled “The Last Will and Testament of Thomas Frederick Gibson.” It was a photocopy, consisting of two pages stapled together. A single sheet of headed notepaper peeked out from beneath it. Riley extracted the letter.

  Dear Miss Barnett,

  We regret to inform you that your uncle, Thomas F. Gibson, passed away on March 10, 1978. However, as the legally appointed executors of his will, we are obliged to provide you with a copy of that document since you are the sole beneficiary. You will see that the estate consists only of the house and property known as Lot 24, Dog Cove Road, St. Peter’s, Newfoundland. Please also find a copy of the deeds to this property.

  We would be most grateful for early instructions regarding the house, which is currently occupied by a Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Coffin, under the provisions of a short-term lease. We should inform you that apart from a little cash, there are virtually no other assets in the estate. However, under the terms of the will we are permitted to rent the house to generate funds. Tenants are subject to one month’s notice as you will see from the attached rental agreement.

  Yours faithfully,

  Martin McGrath, Barrister

  Riley realized she had stopped breathing and exhaled violently. It appeared she was now the proud owner of a real-life house in good enough condition for people to actually live in, never mind that it was somewhere in the boondocks of Newfoundland.

  “Wow!” she whispered. “I can sell the place! I’ll be rich!” But what sort of a house was it? She leafed through the deeds. Unfortunately, they said little about the building itself other than that it was a rather small, white, clapboard bungalow. There was, however, an aerial photograph attached to a survey map. It was these two items that made the room rock beneath her feet. The house was at the front of a piece of land consisting of no less than nineteen acres of unsullied Newfoundland countryside.

  Riley stood, gawking with open mouth at the mess of papers before her.

  “This,” she cried to the world, “calls for a big celebration!”

  Then she remembered that there was no one to share it with. The recent departure of a young man named Trevor had left her without a boyfriend. Even her parents were out of the picture in faraway Australia, where her father was working with a firm of chartered accountants. They weren’t due back until the following spring. As a last resort there was, of course, Joni, who usually emerged from her moodiness after a couple of drinks. She would have to do.

  Riley spent the next hour or so going through the various documents in case there was something important that she had missed. There appeared to be no snags in the will. The deeds consisted of a dreary legal description of the building and its exact location on the lot. This was in the form of a strip of land almost half a mile long. The lawyers had also enclosed a road map of the area with its position on Dog Cove Road marked in bright red ink. The distance to the center of St. John’s was approximately eight miles. Dog Cove Road petered out into an unpaved track leading to a secluded beach on Conception Bay. This body of water stretched thirty miles or so in a north-south direction to the west of the capital city of Newfoundland and Labrador.

  Riley was about to return the papers to their envelope when she heard a key in the front door, which opened directly into the large living room. Her roommate was back.

  Riley jumped to her feet. “Hey, Joni! We are going to celebrate tonight!”

  “Oh, we are, are we?” Joni replied, pushing aside the blonde hair, which framed a rather long face. “May I ask why and where?”

  “The why is—God, you won’t believe this! I’ve inherited a house!”

  Joni dropped her book bag in surprise. “What? You’re kidding?”

  “No way! It’s true. An uncle I’ve never even heard of has died and left it to me.” Riley held up the envelope. “It’s all here, will, deeds, everything.”

  Joni dropped her lanky form onto the pale beige settee. “What sort of house is it? A fancy place in Rosedale?”

  “Um…not exactly. It’s near St. John’s in Newfoundand.” Riley’s generous mouth broke into a smile as she sat beside Joni. “But it’s on nineteen acres of land. Come on, be a good friend and we’ll go out for a binge,
on me, of course. I really need someone to celebrate with.”

  “Well…since you were stupid enough to dump gorgeous Trevor, I guess I’ll come. Where are we going?”

  “There’s a neat place called The Windsor somewhere near Bloor and Spadina. How about that? I’ll see if we can get a table.” Then Riley had a thought. “What time is it in Australia?”

  “God knows! You mean you haven’t called your parents yet?”

  “I’ve only just finished reading the will and stuff.” She indicated the envelope. “But they’re sure to know about this mysterious uncle and I’m dying to find out about him.”

  “Why don’t you talk to them while I have a shower? Book a table first though.”

  Riley called the Windsor, then she checked the directory. Australia was thirteen hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time. It was now six a.m. in Canberra, much too early to wake up Marion and Dad. Besides, there was no real hurry. Her stepmother was home all day, so Riley could phone Marion when she and Joni returned from the restaurant. Back in the living room, she decided to shower as soon as her roommate had finished.

  When Joni came out of the bathroom, her elegant body was barely covered by a dark gray towel. “Any luck?”

  “We’ve got a table okay but it’s too early to talk to my folks.”

  “When do we eat? I’m starving.”

  “Six-thirty.”

  Joni groaned. “I’ll never last.”

  “There’s a nice bar,” Riley replied. “I’ll throw in a drink and some nuts as well.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” said Joni.

  After a quick shower, Riley stepped out of a rather grubby cubicle in the windowless bathroom and dried herself in front of the mirror, at the same time assessing the state of her hair. The face that looked back wasn’t beautiful. For one thing the mouth was too big, but when she smiled the effect was startling; her countenance exuded warmth and a certain degree of bewitchery. Trevor had commented on this many times, adding that it was Riley’s smile that had hooked him in the first place. As for the hair, there was no problem. It was almost black, shoulder-length, straight and didn’t need any attention. In fact, Riley looked just like the mother she had never known with her pixie face and dainty form, the exact opposite of Joni. She decided to wear a blue blouse to match her eyes, along with a beige skirt.

  A few seconds later there was a knock on the bathroom door.

  “Hurry up!” cried Joni. “My stomach’s grumbling.”

  “Ten minutes,” Riley answered.

  In fact, twelve minutes had passed when they stepped out of the house into the deepening twilight.

  A little after midnight, Riley curled up with the phone on the pink and green floral comforter that covered her bed. She dialed and waited for the connection to Australia. After a few buzzes and clicks, her stepmother picked up on the second ring.

  “Hi, Marion! It’s me!”

  “Riley, darling, it’s lovely to hear your voice. Is everything all right?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine. In fact, I’ve been out celebrating. It seems an uncle I didn’t know about has died and left me his house!” Riley described it and explained exactly where it was.

  “An uncle?” said Marion, completely ignoring the house. “What was his name?”

  “Thomas F. Gibson. How come I’ve never heard of him?”

  Silence. Riley heard Marion clear her throat, then more silence.

  “Marion, are you there?”

  “I’m sorry, darling. We always meant to tell you about him but somehow never got around to it, probably because it was a painful subject for Daddy. It’s a long story, so I’ll fill in the details when I write. The gist of it is that your uncle’s name wasn’t Thomas Gibson but Richard Bloombury. He was your mother’s brother. Uncle Richard disappeared in Denmark a week or two before Christmas in 1949. Petra and Daddy tried to find him but got nowhere. This Gibson person has to be him, it’s the only explanation. Why on earth he was living in Newfoundland under a different name is a complete mystery to me.”

  “Wow! What a puzzle! Look, Marion, I’ve had an idea. Why don’t I go there for the summer? Like I said, the house is rented and I can’t move in just like that. Besides, there are my exams to think about, which means there’s no way I can get on the first flight to St. John’s, no matter how much I’d like to.”

  “Well…you’re twenty-two, Riley. You can make your own decisions. But I think it’s a good idea. I’m sure Daddy will agree.”

  “I’ll call the lawyer tomorrow. Maybe he’ll have some more on this uncle. What was his name, Richard?”

  “Right. I’d very much like to hear if you find out anything but I have to go now. Take care, and don’t let this interfere with your exams.”

  “I won’t! Bye, love you!”

  Riley hung up then lay back on the pillows with a sigh. As far as her parents were concerned, she was beginning to wonder if this whole business hadn’t opened up a large can of worms.

  Just as her thoughts began to organize themselves, Joni knocked on the door and walked in.

  “Any luck?” she asked, sitting on the bed. “Did your mom solve the problem of the mysterious uncle?”

  “Sort of,” replied Riley, propping herself up on an elbow. “Judging from the way Marion was speaking, it sounded like he was the black sheep of the family; she wasn’t keen to talk about him.”

  “Hmm…the plot thickens, doesn’t it? Whose brother was he anyway, Marion’s or your Dad’s?”

  “Neither, Joni. The guy was my real mother’s brother. Marion’s my stepmother, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot.” Joni clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. “I know I shouldn’t pry, but we’ve been sharing this apartment since Labor Day and you never told me what happened to your real mom. Did the family split up or something?”

  “Nothing like that. She was killed in a car crash soon after I was born.”

  “Oh, gosh! I sure put my foot in it, didn’t I?”

  Riley sat up. She covered Joni’s hand with hers. “It’s okay…honestly. I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite a while. Marion was driving Mom along the 401 after a shopping trip. Her name was Petra, by the way.”

  “You mean Marion knew your real mom already?”

  “They were close friends. It’s all a bit complicated, so I’ll start over. My parents emigrated from the UK to Vancouver in 1951, then moved here soon after. As far as I can figure, Mom’s brother was Dad’s best friend at boarding school, but he hardly ever mentioned him. He seems to have disappeared in 1949 and hasn’t been heard of since—until now, that is. As for the accident, Marion was just passing a tractor-trailer when something went wrong. It jackknifed. Mom was killed but Marion was okay, just bruises.”

  “God! How awful! What about you?”

  “I was at home with Dad. Naturally, he took it very badly. On top of that, Marion was convinced it was her fault, which, of course, it wasn’t. At the time, she was planning a visit to the UK for a year but canceled. Instead she helped Dad with the baby, me.”

  “And eventually they fell in love and got married?”

  “Right.”

  Joni stood. “Compared with yours, my background’s deadly boring. Mom and Dad live in North Bay, always have and always will, I guess. They first met in high school. But what on Earth are you going to do with the house?”

  “Dunno for sure. Sell it, maybe. I’m going to Newfoundland at the end of the semester. I’ll think about that when I see it.”

  Joni went over to the door. “I’m heading to bed now. Thanks for the binge.”

  “Thanks for coming. It was fun.”

  Chapter Two

  St. Peter’s

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking. Please fasten your seat belts in preparation for landing at St. John’s, Newfoundland. We estimate our arrival at the terminal to be in about fifteen minutes. Thank you for flying Air Canada.”

  Riley had been lucky enou
gh to get a window seat. She blinked in the bright sun of a June afternoon as the giant L1011 Tristar emerged from a layer of fair-weather clouds. Almost immediately, the aircraft banked and she found herself looking down on a sight that made her gasp. Directly below was the rocky coast of the Avalon Peninsula. Awesome enough in itself, its grandeur was dwarfed by dozens of giant icebergs that dotted the Atlantic Ocean as far as the eye could see.

  “Amazing, aren’t they?” said a slightly quavering female voice from beside her. “This is only the second time I’ve seen them from the air.”

  Riley turned. The voice belonged to an elderly lady with white hair and sparkling eyes. She had joined the flight in Halifax an hour and a half ago and slept ever since.

  “Are there always so many?”

  “Good Heavens, no! This spring is exceptional, but we’ll have a cold July with all that ice out there.” The old lady paused to adjust her seat belt. “Welcome to Newfoundland, my dear. My name’s Ada Rideout.”

  “And I’m Riley Barnett.”

  “What brings you to St. John’s, Riley? Are you here for a vacation?”

  “Not exactly. An uncle of mine has died and left me his house.”

  Ada Rideout’s eyebrows rose. “My goodness! Then you must have some Newfoundland blood in your veins.”

  “I don’t think so. My uncle came from the UK.” Riley went on to explain about Uncle Richard’s disappearance so long ago and how she planned to spend the summer at the house on Dog Cove Road.

  Meanwhile, the aircraft had flown out over the icebergs before swinging around on its final approach to Torbay Airport. Riley spotted a fishing boat, dwarfed by a massive cathedral of ice floating beside it.

  “Wow!” she said, her voice raised with excitement. “I had no idea they were so huge.”

  Ada leaned over to take a look. “When I was a child, I saw a big one turn turtle.”

  “Why would it do that?” Riley queried.

  “They melt below the surface and lose their balance,” Ada replied. “A large piece broke off when it went over. I shall never forget the sound—like thunder it was.”