Out of the Mist (19 page)

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Diane Losier

Gillian breathed a deep sigh of relief
as she lay face down on the narrow massage table. She gratefully
let herself sink under the expert hands of her masseuse, Sarah, as
she kneaded a knot on her tense back muscles. Gillian practically
ran to these weekly visits. The stress of being an elementary
school teacher was really getting to her lately. Was she becoming
less patient or were the students more difficult to deal with? She
didn't remember it always being this way; the sense of entitlement,
the constant need to be entertained, or problems accepting
responsibility.
I can't keep this up much longer
, she
thought. She tried to relax and focus on the soothing music while
Sarah’s fingers massaged a particularly hard knot between her
shoulder blades.

The weather was miserable. After a few
glorious sunny days, February's weather, now at its worst, poured
sheets of heavy rain against her windshield. It took Gillian 30
minutes to drive home from Halifax. Fanny Fluff met her at the door
expecting to be fed as usual. There was no one else to greet her
these days. Her daughter, Mary Ellen, lived in France with her
husband, and Gillian was divorced, so there was no spouse to
contend with at home.

Gillian had no energy after the divorce
to engage in a new relationship. “Too complicated! Been there, done
that!” She sometimes told Fanny Fluff that her quiet little ways
were all she could handle right now. Lately however, her solitude
seeped into her consciousness. She kept a daily journal, which was
like a drug for her, keeping at bay the reality of her deep
discontent.

Gillian barely got through the last few
weeks of school. It was her physician, Dr. Barton, who advised her
to take a medical leave of absence. She considered his advice and
decided to go away for March Break.

Cuba was heaven! Her body relaxed under
the relentless hot sun, but not her mind. She confided nightly in
her journal and each morning she recorded her dreams. Although she
was in a warm paradise, her dreams were all about cold and
snow.

3:15 a.m., March 18

Weird dream. I'm with people. Don't
know who. Against everyone’s advice, I set off to cross-country ski
into a vast white wilderness. I know it's dangerous but feel
compelled to keep going. After a while, I turn and look at where I
came from. The wind blew away all traces of where I've been. I'm
lost and I don't care. Then I notice a pulsating silver light and
head back toward it, oblivious of the uncertainties that lie
beyond.

The dream woke Gillian up as dawn
broke. It was the catalyst she needed to stop teaching for a while,
to step out of her comfort zone and leave herself open to new
possibilities.

Coming home from the all-inclusive
resort was a rude awakening. She had to inform her principal, Mr.
Wallis, of her decision, complete the paper work, and face the
anxiety of having nothing in particular to do with her days. Dr.
Barton recommended Prozac. However, Gillian deeply distrusted any
medication and decided to make a go of it on her own. She knew she
needed to keep busy, but she felt she needed a different kind of
busyness, something to nourish her battered soul. She settled on a
daily routine of meditation and yoga and enrolled in a creative
writing class. Gillian enjoyed her new lifestyle so much that after
a few weeks, she decided to quit teaching altogether. She had put
in 25 years, enough for a modest pension. Plus she had that
nest-egg from her mother's estate waiting for a “rainy day”. Well,
this was it!

Gillian slept
fitfully. She had finally decided to quit her job. Now she was
considering selling her house and moving to the country.
She
kept tossing and turning, caught between a life she no longer
wanted and the unknown. The uncertainties kept her stomach in a
knot until she finally fell asleep just before dawn.

Sunday morning dawned cloudy and cold.
Her nightly worries continued to weigh heavily on her shoulders.
She reached for her journal. It was a large sketchbook, big enough
for her bold handwriting and thick enough to last a year. She
called it her cheap therapist as she often got as much clarity from
an hour of writing as she did from an expensive session with her
psychologist. By the time she had noted the pros and cons of these
new undertakings, she was convinced that it was a good idea.

In early May, nature was transforming
and blossoming, and so was Gillian. She still struggled with the
idea of selling her house, but it felt like the right time and the
right choice.

Two weeks after putting the sign on her
lawn, she drove to the Annapolis Valley. Life untangled itself on
that glorious morning into a single stream of sheer happiness. Now
that the tough decisions had been made, she felt exhilarated by the
freedom and promise of new adventures. She surfed the Web daily for
a country house but nothing jumped out at her, so she drove around
and followed her nose, letting chance have a part in her future for
a change.

The Annapolis Valley in spring was a
veritable fairy tale. Gillian loved driving along the winding
country roads, marvelling at the beauty of the apple orchards in
full bloom. She remembered after-school picnics with Mary Ellen
under ancient apple trees, their arching branches covered with
thousands of fragrant white blossoms. They would lie back on the
blanket and gaze contentedly at the wide expanse of blue on blue;
deep blue sky over the deeper blue of the ocean below.
Occasionally, they were lulled to sleep by the drone of hundreds of
honey bees busily collecting pollen as they flew from blossom to
blossom.

She noticed the tide was out. The Fundy
tides were the highest in the world, with the water levels changing
by more than seven metres twice daily. Once, she had walked out on
the muddy ocean floor at night, with millions of stars both shining
from above and reflecting from below on the wet sand. It had felt
like walking in outer space!

After a sharp turn and a dip in the
road, Gillian came upon her favourite little harbour. Usually,
three or four brightly coloured fishing boats would either be
bobbing on the swiftly incoming tide or, like this morning, leaning
on their sides. This was the road to Blomidon, the red clay
headland made famous in Nova Scotia Mi'kmaq legends as the home of
Glooscap, the creator of the Universe.

On her way back from Blomidon, Gillian
explored a side road she hadn't noticed before. She turned right
and slowed down to enjoy the drive along the narrow winding road.
At a bend in the road, she suddenly noticed a large Remax FOR SALE
sign hidden in the brambles. She slowed to a stop, backed up, and
turned right down a narrow driveway winding down to a small glen.
There it was, her house! Gillian knew the instant she saw it.

A line of hemlocks shaded the driveway
down to the two-storey white house. A majestic maple tree towered
over the front veranda. To the north of the house, a stand of birch
trees swayed in the breeze. Gillian quickly stepped out of her car
to examine the place more closely. She noticed a pale figure
standing at one of the upstairs windows. Was someone home? Gillian
waved but as she approached the house, the figure vanished.

Upon closer inspection, she discovered
the house was obviously deserted. The porch was half rotted; the
roof and windows needed to be replaced. However, the foundation
looked solid and the wood siding was in good shape. To her delight,
she discovered a narrow path at the back that led through raspberry
bushes down to a shallow babbling river.

Gillian hardly contained her excitement
as she dialled the realtor's number on her cell phone.

“Ted Garrett here,” replied a friendly
voice.

“Hello, Mr. Garrett. My name is Gillian
Fleming from Halifax. I was driving around this afternoon and saw
your sign in front of the two-storey white house on route 221. Is
it still for sale?”

Mr. Garrett's voice brightened as he
replied, “Why yes! That's the old MacLeod farm.”

“I apologize for calling after business
hours but would it be possible to see the house before I return to
Halifax?”

“I don't see why not! It's always
business hours when you're a real-estate agent! I can meet you at
the house right after supper, say 6:30?”

“That's great! See you then.”

Mr. Garrett met her in front of the
house as scheduled. The front door creaked as it opened on its
rusty hinges. The downstairs rooms were small and dusty but Gillian
noticed the gentle beauty of the warm evening sun pouring through
the living room windows. A large kitchen was in the back with a
view of the river valley. There was a bathroom upstairs along with
two bedrooms. The larger bedroom overlooked the maple tree at the
front of the house. She imagined herself sitting at a desk in the
alcove where she would gaze at the line of hemlocks swaying in the
wind.

By the time they left the property, the
sun had dropped behind the clouds and it was getting chilly. As
they drove off, they didn't see the old lace curtain in the left
dormer window slowly rise and fall.

Someone has finally come....

On Monday morning, after a weekend of
comparing prices and other properties, she called Mr. Garrett.

“How much are they asking for the
property?”

“They're asking $35,000,” he
replied.

“That's a bit low for a property with
river frontage. Is there something you're not telling me?”

Gillian thought she heard a moment of
hesitation in Mr. Garrett's voice. “Well, this is the country,
don't forget, not like the inflated city real-estate market. As far
as I know, the house is sound. Nothing that a few repairs and a
fresh coat of paint won't fix. To tell you the truth, people find
the house too small. Plus, that house has been on the market for a
few years now and that doesn't help either.”

The agent was beginning to sound a bit
too eager and Gillian wondered if this was a good idea after
all.

“Thanks for all this information Mr.
Garrett. I think I'll hire a house inspector and get back to you,”
replied Gillian.

“No problem! Call me anytime!”

By the end of the week the house
inspector assured her that the house was basically sound.

The following Monday, Gillian e-mailed
Mr. Garrett and put in a ridiculously low counter-offer which, to
her amazement, was accepted. She never met the owners; all business
was carried out through a lawyer in Port Williams. Meanwhile, she
received a decent offer on her city house, which she saw as a very
good sign. “When you're on the right path, the Universe helps you
along.” She had read that somewhere.

It was mid-June by the time all the
documentation for both houses was complete. The first thing she did
was hire a contractor to redo the roof of her new house, rebuild
the veranda, and replace all the windows. Then she spent days
sorting through the things she had held on to since Mary Ellen was
a baby. When moving day came, two of her friends, Melanie and
Donna, offered to spend their weekend helping her settle in. By
Sunday evening, they were sitting on her new veranda at sunset,
sharing a huge pizza and beer.

Later that night, Gillian took her cat
on a tour of the house. When they came to the small bedroom, she
was surprised when Fanny snarled and jumped out of her arms into
the hallway.

The weeks after moving in flew by. In
spite of having no immediate neighbours, Gillian didn't feel
lonely. She sometimes stopped to chat with Joanne, the local post
mistress, or with the cheery young woman at the local diner.
Everyone was friendly and curious about her situation, wondering
why she had moved there and how she was getting along at the old
MacLeod place. In fact, after a while, it irked her to be
constantly asked how she was getting along. She was perfectly
capable of running a house on her own!

Still, it did occur to her that she
might be vulnerable. She found an animal shelter in Wolfville, the
university town five kilometres from her new home. What a
heart-breaking experience! Some dogs ran up and licked her fingers
while others huddled in the back of their cages, too scared or
indifferent to bother. A lab-shepherd mix caught Gillian's eye the
first time she walked around the compound. At first, the mid-sized
female stayed back but on the second turn she approached and poked
her nose through the wire cage. She looked up with sad eyes and a
sorrowful whine. Gillian decided to call her Maggie.

The following day, after all the
formalities were done, Gillian drove home wondering how Maggie
would get along with Fanny Fluff. Maggie dashed into the house,
sniffing everywhere, and as soon as the cat saw this big animal,
she scrambled upstairs. Gillian knew she'd find her hiding under
her bed. Fanny Fluff never went into the small bedroom. In spite of
this unpromising start, Gillian was confident the two animals would
eventually settle into a peaceful co-existence.

By the end of July, the field near the
house was covered with brown-eyed Susans. Gillian chose a few
colours for the upstairs area and painted her bedroom. That night
she slept in the other bedroom as the paint in her own room hadn’t
dried. The smaller bedroom still had the blue and white wallpaper
from ages ago, yellowing and peeling in some places. In spite of
the balmy weather, it felt damp and draughty. She pulled out an
extra blanket and settled in bed with her current book. She must
have fallen asleep while reading. Hours later, she awoke with a
start. The glow from the bare light bulb broke into the shattered
pieces of her dream. She reached out for her journal.

2:15 a.m., July 12

Another weird dream. Lying face-up on a
hard surface in complete darkness. No fear just sharp awareness.
Felt this presence floating over me, its face inches from mine.
Overwhelming sadness. Started sobbing deep inside myself. Woke up.
What is this?