A Bride at Last (15 page)

The woman lit a cigarette and Nadine was surprised to see the flame of the match tremble. She pulled in a deep drag, blew it out and then looked at Nadine. “My name is Chantelle Hayward. My brother, Gordon, used to work for Skyline. He worked with your father.”

This was it, Nadine thought. What we’ve been waiting for all this time.
Thank you, Lord. Thank you.

“My brother was hired by Skyline almost seven years ago, just a month before your father died.” Chantelle left the cigarette in her mouth as she dug into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to Nadine. “Six months ago he tried to commit suicide and failed. Before he tried he wrote a suicide note.”

Nadine glanced at Chantelle’s face and then back at the envelope.

“Go on,” urged Chantelle, shoving the envelope into Nadine’s hands. “Take it. It’s just a photocopy. I read it already. Know what it says. He worked for that company for two months after the accident and he hadn’t been the same since. I wanted to know what caused it.” She laughed. It was a bitter sound. “I almost wish I hadn’t.”

“What happened?” Nadine asked, her voice breaking. “That he tried to commit suicide, I mean.”

Chantelle shrugged. “Gordon wasn’t what you’d call scholarship material, so we were really glad when he got this job.” She took another drag from her cigarette. “But he was there when your father died and he hasn’t been able to forget it. He’d been threatened by unknown people to keep his mouth shut. But I knew you wrote articles about them and you’re not afraid to call them what they are. Cheats.” Chantelle waved the burning cigarette at the letter, the smoke wreathing between them. “Your father didn’t die because he was careless. He died because of my brother, but mostly because of Skyline.” Chantelle dropped her cigarette and ground it out with the toe of her running shoe. “The letter explains everything.” She looked up at Nadine, her eyes almost glowing in the gathering dusk.

Nadine held up the envelope and looked at it once again. “I’ll read it. For sure I’ll read it. Thanks.” She was fully aware of the passing time, and now that she had fulfilled one obligation, she was anxious to get home.

“I want to see those guys pulled down for what they did to Gordon, to your family.” Chantelle took a step forward, her eyes burning with intensity. For a moment Nadine felt afraid of what she saw in Chantelle Hayward’s eyes. “You can show everyone what they are. Now you have proof.”

Nadine swallowed. “I’ll do what I can, Chantelle.”

Chantelle stared hard at her. “I hate them, Laidlaw. I really hate them.” She pulled out her cigarette
package and withdrew another cigarette. “I hate what they do to the community, I hate what they did to my family. They’re a pack of lying, cheating…”

Nadine frowned as she listened to Chantelle rant, her anger gathering momentum.

Nadine thought of her own anger, her own sorrow. Yes, she wanted to see justice done. Yes, she wanted to see Skyline brought down just as Chantelle Hayward did. But surely, Nadine thought, she didn’t have the same deep, intense hatred that Chantelle did?

“So what are you going to do?” Chantelle asked, finishing another cigarette.

Nadine pocketed the letter. “First I’m going to read the letter and find out exactly what your brother knew. I’ll take it from there.”

“You’re not going to wuss out on me, now, are you?” Chantelle glared at her. “It’s all in there. In that letter. You read it.” Chantelle walked backward toward the gym, still talking. “I’ll call you in a couple of days and you can tell me then.” She pulled open the door, a flood of noise spilling out

“I will.” The door slammed shut, cutting off the sounds of the tournament inside. Nadine leaned back against the wall, her insides trembling in reaction and a touch of fear. Chantelle had seemed almost fanatical, and Nadine wondered what in the world was in the letter.

She glanced at her watch. Six-fifteen! She turned and began running. It would take her ten minutes to get home. The thought that Clint might be waiting
hurried her steps and lightened her heart. A date. A real date with Clint.

Her feet pounded out a steady rhythm as her breathing became more labored. Only a little farther, she reassured herself. Just a few more blocks.
Just let him be there, Lord. Let him be waiting.
She didn’t dare stop, could hardly keep going and almost skidded around the corner to her street. When she saw only her grandmother’s car and her old car in front of the house, she slowed her pace, clutching her side, her chest heaving.

By the time she got to the apartment, her breathing was slowing but her legs were trembling with a combination of the extra exertion and anticipation. She walked into the entrance, her heart still pounding.

“Hey, Grandma,” she called out, kicking off her shoes and setting them neatly in the porch. “I’m home.”

“Nadine.” Grandma’s voice chided her from the end of the hallway just as Nadine hung up her coat “Where have you been?”

Nadine stepped into the kitchen, her heartbeat finally slowing. “I had to meet someone for an interview at the school.”

Grandma stood in the kitchen, her arms folded across her chest, her head tilted to one side. “Clint has been here waiting for you. He just left.”

Nadine’s heart stopped, beat once, then began racing again, this time in fear. “What—what did you say?”

“Clint just left.”

“But I tried to phone you.”

Danielle Laidlaw looked sheepish. “I wanted to have a nap, so I turned off the ringer. I remembered at six to turn it back on.”

Nadine took a slow breath, willing her heart to still. “How long was he waiting here?”

“He came here at a quarter past five. Then someone named Allison phoned here at a quarter past six asking for you. I asked if she wanted to talk to Clint. She did and then he left.” Grandma walked over to Nadine. “What is happening? Were you and Clint supposed to have a date tonight, and who is this Allison?”

“She’s a new reporter at the
Times.”
Nadine chewed her lip, remembering how she had told Clint that she was to meet Allison at the gym. Now it looked for sure as if she was hiding something. What should she do now? “Did Clint say where he was going?”

“He just thanked me for the tea and then left.”

“I gotta go, Grandma.” She turned and ran into the entrance. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t wait up for me.” As she grabbed her car keys off the hook, she flashed a nervous smile at her hovering grandmother. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Her stomach was churning by the time she pulled in to a parking spot. It would have been just as fast to run back from her house, but the stitch in her side gave lie to that thought.

As she strode down the sidewalk, she glanced at
the vehicles. No sign of Clint’s red car. She took a shortcut across the lawn and just as she came to the corner of the gym, she heard a vehicle drive out of the parking lot.

With a sinking heart she watched Clint Fletcher’s vehicle slow and then spin around the corner and down the road.

N
adine leaned against the brick wall of the gym as she watched Clint’s car leave. Only then did the enormity of what she had done hit her.

“You still here? I thought you were gone.”

Nadine felt her heart stop at Chantelle’s all-too-familiar voice. She turned. “I was, but I was hoping to meet someone.”

“That new guy at the paper?” Chantelle rubbed one hand along the side of her pants. “You just missed him.”

A coldness gripped Nadine’s chest. “How do you know?”

Chantelle snapped her gum. “Talked to him. Told him some of what I told you. Figured it wouldn’t hurt if two people knew the story.”

Her hands felt like ice, her heart a heavy weight. Clint knew why she had come here, why she had missed him.

“He didn’t seem real interested at first,” warned Chantelle. “But when I told him that it was about Skyline he looked as mad as I felt.”

Each word she spoke added to the heaviness in her chest. Nadine nodded quickly in acknowledgment, then turned, ran to her car and jumped in. Her head ached and her side still hurt by the time she pulled up in her driveway. But no sporty red car stood parked in front of the house.

Nadine laid her head against the steering wheel and allowed herself a few moments of tears. Was the letter worth it? She didn’t know what was in it, but even if it proved that her father was completely innocent, would it change anything? She would probably not write the article. But would Clint know that?

Nadine remembered again Chantelle’s bitterness and knew that once she herself had had the same burning need for revenge. But it wasn’t solely up to her to bring justice into the world. She had done what she could and she now had to learn to let go. Justice belonged in God’s hands, not her puny ones.

But Clint.

Her stomach plunged again as she thought of him sitting here at her house, waiting for her.

Can we back up and do this again, Lord?
she prayed.
I’d like another try. I’ll make the right choice this time.
But as she looked up, the lights of her apartment extra bright through her tears, she knew she’d had her chance and had made her choices. The letter in her pocket wasn’t worth the
opportunity she had thrown away with Clint Fletcher.

She bit her lip and indulged in a few more minutes of tears. Then, palming away the moisture from her cheeks, she opened the door and trudged back to the apartment.

Nadine slipped into the apartment and, with a tired sigh, kicked off her shoes for the second time in fifteen minutes.

“Is that you, Nadine?” called her grandmother from the living room.

“Yes,” she called out, suddenly bone weary. She wanted to go to her bedroom, shove her head under a pillow and stay there until the spirit moved her to leave. Which, in her present state of mind, might be never.

“Come sit with me a minute and tell me what is going on.”

Nadine stopped at the doorway to the living room. “Nothing is going on, Grandma. I missed Clint. I didn’t know when he was coming, that’s all.”

Danielle turned to her granddaughter, her mouth drawn tight. “You leave the poor man sitting here for an hour and you say ‘That’s all’?”

“What else am I supposed to say?” grumped Nadine. She didn’t need her grandmother’s censure right now—she had enough self-disgust to spare. “I don’t want to talk about it, Grandma.”

“Well, I do. Clint Fletcher is a fine young man. He’s handsome, smart and a sincere Christian. Quite a potent combination, I’d say.”

I’d say, too, thought Nadine as she dropped into a nearby chair.

“Where were you, Nadine?”

“In the first place, I didn’t know what time Clint was coming,” she answered, ignoring her grandmother’s question.

“He said he phoned the office. Where were you?” Danielle repeated.

In answer, Nadine slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out the envelope Chantelle had given her. “I went to meet with a lady who had some more information on how Dad died.”

Danielle had opened her mouth to shoot another question at Nadine, but obediently closed it at what her granddaughter said.

Nadine waved the envelope back and forth, staring at it, wondering what it said and yet, somehow, not caring. It couldn’t begin to make up for what she had passed up. Would she be able to explain? How would it sound?
“You asked me to lay off Skyline and then I keep you waiting while I go digging for more information to use against them”?

“Is the information in the envelope?”

Nadine nodded, suddenly bone weary and exhausted.

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

Nadine sat up, holding the envelope between her fingers. “I guess I may as well. Just so that standing Clint up wasn’t all for nothing.” She ripped open one end and pulled out the photocopy Chantelle had
given her. Pursing her lips, she unfolded it and turned it over to read the tight, crabbed writing.

It felt eerie reading what was supposed to have been read only after the writer had taken his own life. She skimmed over the references to personal events, events that would matter only to Chantelle. And then, halfway down, there it was. Her father’s name. Nadine slowed her reading. As if to help, she traced the words slowly with her finger, her heart pounding with the words she read, her hands suddenly clammy.

“What does it say, Naddy? You look stunned.”

Nadine finished reading, staring at the letter. Then she slouched back in the easy chair, dropping her head against the back of it. “It wasn’t Dad’s fault, Grandma,” she whispered, letting the letter drop into her lap. “It wasn’t his fault. Just like we figured. That poor boy.”

Danielle got up and pulled the piece of paper easily out of Nadine’s limp hands. She held the letter at arm’s length, squinting irritably at it. She put on the reading glasses hanging around her neck. Her mouth moved slowly as she read the words, and when she was finished, she looked at Nadine.

“Who is this from?”

Nadine blew her breath out, her bangs fluffing up as she did so. “Believe it or not, it’s a suicide note from a young man who worked with Dad the day he died.”

“Suicide?” Grandma pressed one hand to her
chest, the other reaching out blindly for some support. Nadine jumped to her feet and caught her arm.

“It’s okay, Grandma. He didn’t kill himself. And this is just a photocopy.” Still holding the letter, Nadine led her back to the couch. She helped her grandmother sit down and then smoothed out the now-crumpled piece of paper. She glanced over it once more, rereading what he had said about her father’s death.

Gordon Hayward had been training as a faller. He had been sent out into the bush totally green. He had made a mess of the trees, and a few days later Jake Laidlaw had come in to help. Jake had told him to wait in the truck where it was safe while he cleaned up. Then a Skyline foreman had come by and sent Gordon, over his protests, back to falling. Gordon had gotten too close to Jake, and a tree he was cutting went the wrong way and killed Jake. When the foreman came by again to check on Gordon he found him crouched in front of the pickup, crying. The foreman told Gordon that he was liable and could end up paying a fine. The Haywards were counting on his paycheck, and other jobs were scarce, so Gordon signed a written statement made out by Skyline saying that he’d heard the foreman warn Jake about his work.

Gordon worked for them until he found another job. But Jake’s dying cries haunted him. The knowledge that he had implicated and killed an innocent man stayed with him and he couldn’t bear the burden any longer.

“How did you get it?”

Grandma’s quiet question jolted Nadine back to the present. She pulled her scattered thoughts together. “His sister Chantelle. I met her at the gym tonight.” Nadine folded up the letter and laid it on the coffee table in front of the couch. “I got a letter from her a while ago, telling me that she had something I should see. We finally connected a few days ago and had made arrangements to meet tonight at the gym.”

“I wish I could say I was glad,” whispered Danielle, her fingers resting on her lips. “But to think of Jake lying there…” Her words were choked off and she began to cry.

Nadine pulled her close, hugging her fiercely, her own emotions unstable.

Six years of speculation, finally answered. Her father, killed by the carelessness of an inexperienced logger, covered up by an irresponsible company. Nadine clenched her teeth when she thought of what Gordon had said about listening to the dying cries of her father.

Danielle straightened and brushed her tears off her wrinkled cheeks. She turned to Nadine and touched her cheek lovingly, her eyes still bright with tears. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find this out, Nadine. You’ve worked so hard on this, done so much.”

Nadine shook her head. “I didn’t do anything. Nothing has changed. Dad is still dead.”

“Yes, but it is comforting to know that he wasn’t
at fault.” Danielle sniffed and then got up to get some tissues.

Nadine slouched back against the couch, her hands clasped over her stomach. Her mind drifted back over the years. She easily imagined her father sitting in his leather recliner across their living room in their old house, a wreath of aromatic pipe smoke surrounding his head as he worked his way through the
Derwin Times.
Her mother would be bustling in the kitchen, putting the final touches on the meal, and she and her sisters would be sprawled over furniture and floor, books spread around them as they pretended to do homework. Home was a comfortable haven then. What would have happened if he still lived?

“I have to write something up on this.” Nadine snatched the letter off the table and strode past her grandmother. She had to do something, anything, instead of dwelling on might-have-beens. She hadn’t intended to write a story, but now she realized she had nothing to lose that she hadn’t already lost.

She switched on her computer, riffled through her computer diskettes until she found one labeled Skyline. Once the computer was booted up, she popped it into the drive, opened up a new file and began typing.

An hour later she looked up from the screen and rubbed her neck, now tight with tension. She saved the article on a disk and, just to be on the safe side, E-mailed it to the office, as well.

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed,
wondering how she was going to work the article into the paper. Editorial? Tie-in with the accident of last week?

Why do it at all?

Nadine dragged her hands over her face and sighed deeply. Why do it at all? She leaned over and clicked the mouse on the Print command. She needed to see it printed out, needed to hold it in her hand.

She read the pages as they came out of the printer, the editor in her pleased with what she had written. The article had bite, punch and flowed smoothly. It was the culmination of all the articles and editorials she had ever done on Skyline.

Nadine lowered the papers with a sigh. She had a wonderful article written with emotion and good cause. After six years her own instincts about her father’s death had been proven correct. Tonight all the questions had been answered, all the
i
’s dotted.

But as she thought of Clint, she knew the price had been too great. Her heart felt like a square lump in her chest as she looked at her article once again.

It gave her no satisfaction.

What have I done, Lord,
she prayed, dropping it on her desk and falling into her chair.
I gave up something precious just to prove myself right.
She spun her chair back and forth, back and forth, recriminations filling her head, fighting with memories of Clint smiling at her across a table, holding her, comforting her. All she had wanted as a young girl had been given to her as a gift, and she had just thrown it all away.