Dollybird by Anne Lazurko Page B

to become wives,” he said. He sat at his desk and smirked up at me.
    â€œI’m not looking for a wife.”
    â€œOkay. But you have to sign these papers so it’s all up to snuff. And there’s only a small fee.”
    He was a shit of a man.
    Walter looked out the dirty window. “Look, you won’t make it without a woman. Not with a kid out there.”
    â€œI know.” I wanted to turn and walk out, but it was as though one foot was already snared in a trap. “Somehow I thought I’d just get a homestead. Never figured it all out.”
    â€œWell, figure it out quick. The weather’s warming up and others will start asking about that quarter.” He looked at me hard. “I might even have to give it to that bastard Gabe, if you can’t decide.” His eyebrows shot up as though I would be solely responsible for this travesty if I made the wrong decision. “This here’s the last piece of decent dirt this year. And you need the dollybird.” He shrugged. “But it’s your choice.”
    â€œAll right. All right. How do I get fixed up with her then?”
    â€œAlready done. Just have to sign here. Hope she can handle a miserable young bugger.”
    â€œYeah, yeah.”
    I pulled my hat down to cover my face when I stepped out into the street. I’d showed up in this town alone with Casey and right away chose to ignore the sidelong glances, the women whispering as though I didn’t know their gossip was about my motherless child. And now this plan, this dollybird. There’d be more talk, the town so small an outsider was their only source of entertainment, proving those from elsewhere could never measure up. Then again, why would this place be any different from Arichat?
    I wasn’t even sure I cared, the infernal cold winter making me crazy to get out of my shack, out of Ibsen. I wanted land, to be my own boss, crazed and selfish and greedy for expecting anything at all, yet wanting it all the more. Wanting too much was how I lost Taffy. The memories were always lurking, creeping over me like a harbour fog, clouding up every thought until I couldn’t move. If I hadn’t made her go to Halifax, if we hadn’t committed the most mortal of sins.
    At the Ceilidh I’d watched the dance and clapped along or sat looking at my scuffed shoes, embarrassed as Taffy’s father wished me to be. Until Taffy danced by, her slim white legs flashing. She fixed me with a smile that raced over my skin and fluttered in my stomach; the crowd, her father’s glare, all of it gone. She loved me. She was quiet and gentle and sweet and she loved me. My throat ached watching her.
    We left without a word to one another, just looked across the room and nodded, time to go, as though we’d agreed to something and there was no going back. Outside near the back porch, we grabbed hands and ran towards the harbour. The wind was loud and driving, a storm coming off the water. We stood looking out over the edge of the rock. It was deep dusk, that time when the black of night hasn’t quite come down, but nothing has the shape it takes during the day. Everything was just shadows dancing against the rocks. The waves crashed below, roaring in the darkness.
    Taffy was afraid. So was I, if I’m honest.
    â€œThis way.” I leaned in close so she could hear, smelled her damp hair, felt her ear against my lips. She looked at me excited, eyes shining, face specked with spray. “There’s a cave.” I grabbed her hand tight, pulling her along the edge of the rock.
    It wasn’t a cave, only a hollowed-out face of stone worn smooth by water and wind and sand. We tumbled in and Taffy looked around, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
    â€œIt’s beautiful in here,” she sighed. “And what’s this?” She pulled an old grey wool blanket from a crevice.
    â€œIt’s. I...” My face was hot, but my teeth were