She Came From Away Read online

  “That must have been really something.”

  A minute or so later, the plane sank onto the runway, shuddering as the engines went into reverse thrust and the brakes were applied.

  “It was great talking to you Mrs. Rideout. What a fabulous welcome to Newfoundland!”

  “You must call me Ada, my dear. Be sure to come and visit, won’t you? My home isn’t far from your new house; go down the hill into Portugal Cove and take the first turnoff to the right toward Torbay. You’ll see a mailbox with my name on it.”

  “That would be lovely, Ada. And thanks.”

  Riley’s taxi took her to a hotel halfway up Signal Hill. She paid the fare, then looked around for a moment before going inside. Perched high on the cliffs, historic Cabot Tower stood sentinel over the narrow entrance to St. John’s Harbour.

  She pushed through the doorway then carried her two suitcases across the polished floor to the reception desk. A middle-aged lady greeted her with a registration card, which Riley duly filled out.

  “Thank you, Miss Barnett. I have a message for you.” She gave her a small envelope.

  Riley opened it. The message requested her to call the offices of Corcoran, Corcoran and McGrath as soon as possible for an appointment.

  “Room twenty-one,” said the receptionist, handing over a set of keys. “The elevator’s in the far corner over there. You’ll need it with those bags.”

  “Thanks,” said Riley as she picked up her luggage.

  The accommodation was like that of any other hotel, though larger and more comfortable than Riley had anticipated. It was the view that impressed her more than anything. She could see the entire harbor spread out below, with the city nestling on the north side and a dry dock containing a fair-sized freighter at the far end.

  She picked up the phone and dialed the lawyer’s office; a secretary made an appointment with Mr. Martin McGrath for ten o’clock on the following morning, Tuesday, June 20.

  A somewhat plump young woman showed Riley into the lawyer’s office. As she entered, a tall, fair-haired man, probably in his early fifties, rose from behind an opulent desk. He was wearing an off-white fisherman’s jersey which looked rather out of place. His long features broke into a smile.

  “Good morning, Miss Barnett,” he greeted, extending a hand. “Please sit.”

  He waved her to a comfortably upholstered, dark brown chair in front of the desk. She noticed that a single file folder had been placed on the red leather blotter before him.

  “Thanks,” replied Riley as she put her purse on the floor beside her. “And thanks for recommending such a fabulous hotel. I hiked up to the Cabot Tower yesterday evening. What with the icebergs and everything, the view was something else.”

  “Excellent, Miss Barnett. I’m glad you’re comfortable.” McGrath straightened the folder by a couple of millimeters. “Unfortunately, I’ll be in court all afternoon, which means the paperwork will have to wait until tomorrow. However, I have plenty of time to drive you to St. Peter’s this morning so you can inspect your inheritance while the weather’s nice. June isn’t always like this, you know.” He indicated the manila folder. “If there are any questions before we leave, I have the file here and will do my best to answer them.”

  “I can’t think of anything. Your secretary said I wouldn’t need the papers you sent me, so I left them at the hotel. I went over them again last night and they seem clear enough. The only thing that really puzzles me is my uncle and how he died.”

  Riley had decided for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint that it would be unwise to mention about Uncle Richard living under an alias, at least for the time being. It was obvious that a different name would affect the validity of the documents and perhaps her inheritance unless, of course, he had changed it legally.

  The lawyer’s face clouded briefly. “It seems your uncle died of a heart attack. The coroner’s office took long enough to decide, though.”

  “Oh,” said Riley. “Why was that?”

  McGrath ignored the question and rose. “If that’s all, Miss Barnett, shall we go? I’m sure you are anxious to see the property. The tenants have already left.”

  “It looks marvelous from the photographs, and there’s so much land.”

  Riley picked up her purse and followed McGrath to the door.

  “I’m sure you’ll be impressed,” he said.

  As they drove through the city in McGrath’s fancy, late-model Jaguar, Riley saw that St. John’s was unlike any other place she had visited. What stood out most were the clapboard houses crowded together on narrow streets. They gave the place a unique atmosphere.

  Some twenty minutes later, they were about to pass a small, rather ramshackle, corner store when McGrath seemed to change his mind. He slowed the car sharply and pulled into the parking area.

  “We’re on Dog Cove Road now,” he said, “and I imagine this is where you’ll be buying your milk and so on. It struck me that you might like to meet the owner; I have a feeling you’ll get on well with her.”

  “How far is it from the house?” Riley asked as they closed the car doors.

  “Oh, about five minutes walk.”

  Riley smiled. “I guess I could manage that.”

  There was a cheerful jingle from a bell above the door as they entered the shop. It seemed dark and gloomy inside after the bright sunshine. One of the tubes in a fluorescent light was on its last legs, its intermittent flicker giving the place a slightly eerie atmosphere.

  The door swung closed behind them. The silence was absolute.

  “She must be somewhere out back,” said McGrath. “We’ll wait.”

  Riley looked around the store. In spite of a generally run-down appearance, it seemed well-stocked, for the most part with non-perishables. However, there was a glass-fronted fridge containing milk cartons and eggs at the end of a short counter. It extended along the wall to the left of the entrance and ended at a half-open door that led into the darkness of goodness-knows-where. Without warning, the gloom was banished when a dim light was turned on. It illuminated a rather grimy passage. Footsteps clomped. A shadow approached.

  “Good morning, Doris,” greeted McGrath. “I’ve brought someone to see you.”

  The shadow materialized into a tallish, heavily built woman of indeterminable age. She had bright and cheerful dark eyes and brown hair, graying at the temples.

  “My goodness!” she answered, taking up her position behind the counter. “If it ain’t Mr. McGrath! Must be a couple o’ years since you last dropped in?”

  “All of that, Doris. All of that. But I’d like to introduce you to a new neighbor.” McGrath stood aside so Riley could approach the counter. “Riley Barnett, this is Doris Fudge. She’s the oracle of St. Peter’s—right, Doris?”

  Riley choked back a laugh. What kind of name was Fudge?

  “I don’t know about that, sir,” Doris was saying. “But when you runs a store you ‘ears all sorts of t’ings.”

  “It’s great to meet you, Doris,” said Riley. “Something tells me we’ll get to know each other pretty well. Mr. McGrath’s taking me to see Mr. Gibson’s old house. He was my uncle and left it to me in his will.”

  “So I ‘eard,” Doris replied. “But what would a young city girl like yourself be doin’ in a small place like St. Peter’s?”

  “I’m spending the summer here. A person sometimes needs a rest from Toronto. It stinks in the hot weather, literally.”

  “Did you know there’s a story about Mr. Gibson’s house?” Doris smiled, a missing front tooth adding to an already remarkable appearance. “It’s supposed to be ‘aunted; there’s a ghost that lives in the basement. But don’t worry, no one’s seed it for years.”

  “Really, Doris,” interjected McGrath. “You shouldn’t scare the poor girl before she’s even seen the place.”

  “What sort of a ghost?” asked Riley.

  “‘E wears a uniform and carries a rifle. They say ‘e’s an old soldier from the Great War. Died at Beaumo
nt Hamel ‘e did, along with all thems other fellers from Newfoundland. Used to live in an old shack near the ‘ouse. Loved the place so much ‘e couldn’t stay away, even after gettin’ hisself killed so far from ‘ome.”

  “I’ve never heard that tale,” commented McGrath.

  “As long as he doesn’t use his gun, he’s welcome to stay.” Riley frowned and turned to the lawyer. “I’ve just had a thought. Is there some kind of bus service out here?”

  Doris and McGrath both laughed.

  “Bus service, my duckie?” said Doris. “Never ‘as been and never will be. If you wants to go to town you needs a car.”

  Riley’s heart sank as she turned to McGrath. “I’d like to rent one for the summer, but I’m under twenty-five. I don’t suppose there’s enough money in the estate to buy one?”

  “I’m afraid not, Miss Barnett,” replied the lawyer. “We haven’t taken out our fees yet, then there’s the considerable cost of a new survey. The last one was done forty years ago and is doubtless inaccurate. You could always buy a bicycle.”

  Riley spluttered. “Get away, Mr. McGrath. I’m a city girl, remember? I haven’t ridden a bike since I was ten and I’m not keen to start over.”

  “In that case there’s nothing—”

  “Just a minute,” interrupted Doris. “There’s no need to get all steamed up! Charlie, that’s me brudder-in-law, ‘e owns a garage. You must ‘ave passed it about a mile back. Maybe ‘e can help. I know ‘e’s busy today, but I’ll tell ‘im about your problem next time I sees ‘im, more than likely tonight.”

  Riley brightened. “Doris, that would be fantastic.”

  “Give us the phone number of your ‘otel, and I’ll get ‘im to call first thing tomorrow.”

  Riley was about to rummage in her purse for something to write on, but Doris handed her a scrap of paper.

  “We’ll be on our way then,” said McGrath. “Good to see you again.”

  “And you, sir,” replied Doris as they left the store.

  The lawyer opened the car door for Riley.

  “Charlie Fudge is basically an honest fellow,” he said. “But don’t trust him too far. I have no idea what he might suggest, but if you have any doubts, call me at the office.”

  “Thanks, Mr. McGrath. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

  The inspection of Riley’s house was next on the agenda. She preceded McGrath through the front door and noticed a small table with a phone on it and a short passage on her left, from which the bedrooms opened. On her right, there was a living room, which was part of an L-shaped area. She could see a pair of pale brown Scandinavian-style armchairs with a matching sofa and two coffee tables.

  The lawyer showed her the bedrooms first. The smaller of the two contained a single bed, a filing cabinet and a well-stocked bookshelf. The other looked more lived-in. It had a queen-sized bed with a wooden headboard, a bedside table, a chest of drawers and a ceiling light with a stained glass shade.

  “I like them both,” said Riley as they returned to the living room. “But where’s the kitchen?”

  “Around the corner off the dining room,” said McGrath.

  Riley was surprised how spacious the dining room was with its oak table and six solid oak chairs. The L-shaped area and both bedrooms were fitted with a warm brown wall-to-wall carpet.

  The kitchen opened to the left a few feet from the end of the room where there was a patio-type glass door. It accessed a small wooden deck made out of aging two-by-fours. The kitchen was well-appointed and had a second door leading to the outside. It boasted a porch, from which a footpath wound its way through the woods to provide a shortcut to the road.

  Riley opened the deck door and they went over to the rail.

  “This view is something else!” she exclaimed as they looked across a fair-sized lawn to Conception Bay. In fact, the house faced southwest so that the deck caught the full afternoon sun; the view of rocky Bell Island through a wide gap in the trees was spectacular.

  “I thought you’d like it.” The lawyer pointed down the lawn. “Can you see where that footpath enters the woods? It leads to a splendid meadow. Shall we take a look before we go back to town? It’s not far. And I’ll show you the basement as well.”

  “You bet,” said Riley.

  As they walked around the house from the front door, she could see that the dwelling had been built into the slope of a small hillside. Because of this, the deck was about eight feet above a doorway that accessed the so-called basement. McGrath unlocked it. They peered inside. In fact, it was little more than a crawl-space with a dirt floor. Outside, the ground slanted away from the entrance for a few feet, then leveled out onto the lawn. There was no garage, but a long, gravel driveway came to an end on one side of the house with enough room to park a car and turn it around. A footpath, which was also gravel, led to the rear of the building and the front door.

  They were barely halfway across the lawn when Riley became aware of flying insects assaulting her head, one of them pinging into her right eye. A quick rub with a finger removed it.

  “I forgot to warn you this is black fly season,” said McGrath, swatting the side of his face. “They bite and are a nuisance, but insect repellent is effective.”

  “I hope so,” Riley replied. “But why weren’t there any on the deck?”

  “It’s too high. They tend to stay nearer the ground. Mind you, a mosquito coil would be a good idea if you want to sit outside on a warm evening.”

  Riley thought about this while they strolled through a hundred yards or so of woodland, then emerged into the meadow.

  At first glance it looked like an ordinary field, then she noticed a few clumps of young spruce trees about ten feet high. They broke up the green of mixed grass and blueberry bushes.

  “Newfoundland is renowned for its berries,” said McGrath. “There are mostly blueberries and partridge berries ‘round here, with enough to freeze for the winter in this meadow alone. You will also find cranberries in a bog near the end of the property. I wouldn’t mind living here myself, but it would mean building a bigger house.”

  “How large is the field, Mr. McGrath?”

  “At least three acres, I’d say.”

  Riley gasped. “No kidding! And there are sixteen more. The place is enormous. It must be worth a fortune.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but in this province land is quite inexpensive once you get into the country. Also there’s a problem with the lot. The area is classified as agricultural, which means you can only erect another building if you intend to run a farm, unless it’s a barn or something like that. Since the property is mostly rocks and bog, the land is agriculturally worthless. But you never know in Newfoundland. The Government might change the rules at any time.” The lawyer glanced at his watch. “It’s time we left, Miss Barnett. I have another appointment before lunch.”

  As they walked back to the car, Riley said, “It’s totally out of this world, Mr. McGrath. With Doris’s store so close, what more could you want? Incidentally, what a strange name, Fudge.”

  “As a matter of fact, it’s quite common here. There have been a number of distinguished Newfoundlanders called Fudge. I’m not sure how old it is, but several hundred years would be a good guess.”

  Riley said little during the drive back to St. John’s. There were many things to digest. One part of her wanted to keep the place, it was so beautiful, but another wanted to sell it. Whatever her decision, she was sure it would be a fabulous summer. Then what? She had to go back to the University of Toronto regardless. One answer would be to rent it again. There was no hurry to organize that, but if she wanted to sell, she would have to make up her mind fairly soon so that Mr. McGrath could put it on the market before winter.

  On the following morning, Riley had just finished dressing when the bedside phone rang. She picked up the receiver and sat on the bed, absentmindedly gazing at the spectacular view. Even as she spoke, it disappeared as a bank of swirling gray fog rolled into the ha
rbor.

  “This is Riley Barnett,” she said.

  “Charlie Fudge ‘ere,” said a gruff voice. “Doris tells me you wants a car for the summer.”

  “Right, Mr. Fudge, but I can’t rent one because I’m under twenty-five.”

  “I think we can do something about that. I got one you can ‘ave. We can discuss the money this afternoon, if you’re available.”

  “That would be super. I’ll get a taxi to your garage at about two-thirty, if that’s okay.”

  “No need to waste your money there, Miss. I ‘ave to come to town for parts and can pick you up at your ‘otel around two.”

  “Now that’s what I call service! I’ll be waiting outside.”

  “Very good,” said Charlie.

  Riley went down to breakfast. Afterwards, she decided to walk to the offices of Corcoran, Corcoran and McGrath rather than take a taxi. They were only about fifteen minutes from the hotel and she needed the exercise. Without thinking, she pushed open the swing doors of the hotel lobby. The blast of icy air was like walking into a fridge. Ada Rideout was right; the wind was coming straight off all those icebergs.

  Riley returned to her room for a raincoat. She was soon striding down the hill toward Water Street, the main drag through the business district of St. John’s.

  The visit to McGrath’s office didn’t take long. After the conveyance had been signed, he told her the keys would be available on Friday, today being Wednesday. Before leaving, Riley asked the lawyer if he’d met her uncle. In doing so, she did something that was normally quite alien to her. She told a lie.

  “The reason I’m so curious about him,” she said, “is that I have no idea who he was. When I asked my stepmother, who’s in Australia, she didn’t know either. I should explain that my biological mother died soon after I was born and we think he came from her side of the family.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you much,” said McGrath with apparent disinterest. “I never met the man. For some unknown reason, the will was handled in April of ‘76 by a firm in Vancouver although Corcoran, Corcoran and McGrath was the designated executor. The title search shows that Thomas Gibson bought the house in 1966 from a Mr. Squires. The conveyance was dealt with by our then senior partner, who has since died.”