Winterlude

1

The boarding house was still when he woke. Apart from himself, the newcomer, there was only one other lodger, old mister Janus and the friendly, grey haired widow who ran the place. He stood at the window, half dressed, a young man at a loose end in a small town on the Canadian border.2

He ran one hand over his face, then used both hands to comb the sleep out of his dark, curly hair.3

The man fetched behind his back for his other shirt sleeve, then leant against the window frame, looking out over the front garden, which, mantled in snow, dressed dead plants in false, white blossom. Icicles hung from the roof gutter, they glinted in his eyes, reflecting the sunrise.4

Beyond the picket fence, a pale faded blue like the wooden house, the mainstreet. Snowfall overnight had softened tyre tracks and no new ones had yet been made. From the near distance, a motor coughed and started, a farm generator, he guessed. To the left of his view, the sign of the Texaco station and local service garage, where his old pick-up truck sat, waiting for a spare part from out of town. He reflected on his situation, his cash balance, not yet desperate but dwindling. His lack of a clear plan did not bother him unduly, he responded to life's changes and challenges as he met them, freewheeling the border towns, playing his guitar in bars for a meal, maybe a bed and taking casual jobs when found or offered.5

After breakfast, he pulled on his boots and walked out into the crisp morning air. His footsteps crunched along the snowy street, the vapour of his breath fading in his wake as he glanced around at bright colours, parked cars, a red painted shack, set off against the town's coat of white. He had in mind inquiring after work around the town, a little capital before taking to the road again once his truck was fixed, when he saw her.6

She had a hand raised, shading her eyes and was gazing up into the sky, a petite figure, slim, in a long black coat, black stockings and a rainbow woollen hat. He followed her gaze as he neared her but all he could see was the light blue winter sky and a few clouds hanging. She dropped her hand and turning as she noticed him, laughed. He smiled at her, attracted to her pretty, open face, hazel eyes.7

"D'you see," she said, pointing, "that cloud, it looks like a camel." He stopped and looked up.8

"I can see one like a whale," he responded. "No, not that one." the young woman said laughing. "There." She drew closer, leading his vision with her pointing hand. "My," he said,"a winter camel."9

They both laughed. "Hi, stranger," said the girl,"you passing through, yeah?" "Just passin' through ma'am," he replied, "and glad to make your acquaintance." He told her about his truck and asked did she know where he might find work in the town. She mused on the question as they walked slowly into the town itself, a few shops and bars, the town hall dome bewigged in snow, and suggested, on learning he was a musician, that he try the bar across from where they had now stopped. "Thats the place for live music here," she advised him, "I go there sometimes, but you'll have to come back later to ask Red if he's interested. He's the owner," she added. "He's O.K."10

She looked into his face and smiled. "Well, stranger, maybe see you before you split, who knows?"11

she said and skipped away across the street, kicking up little snow flurries as she went.12

By noon, an icy wind blew and was sweeping fallen snow through the border town. The man, having postponed his search for work, retreated to his lodging and lay on his bed. He listened to the keening wind and thought about the girl.13

The morning was calm and still and sun sparkled on the town. The man had noted the name of the bar and Mrs.McGinty let him use the phone to call Red. The bar owner was interested and invited him down to his premises for an audition. Bob walked into Red's place, guitar case in hand and introduced himself to Red. "Well," said Red,"there's only two regulars in at the present time. In fact, I'm not sure they went home last night." The regulars guffawed. "So, if you dont mind playing for me and them for free, we can do it right here." The young musician clicked the guitar case open, withdrew his instrument, a polished, dark stained acoustic guitar, and sat to tweak his tuning. He played and sang a country song, a blues ballad and a song of his own composition. Ending his set with a flourish, he looked inquiringly at Red. "You're hired, Bob," said Red. "Wednesday at eight O.K. for you?" Bob shook Red's hand and smiling at the regulars as he passed them, left the bar.14

It was midway through his performance at the Moose, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw her, sitting alone at the side of the dais. Her hair, now free of her hat, he saw, was shoulder length and auburn. She made a small wave to him as he took a drink and he nodded. He played an instrumental number and announced his rest break to ripples of appreciative applause. "Howdy, little miss." said Bob, standing by her table, "another drink?" She invited him to sit by her when he brought their drinks from the bar. "You're good," she told him,"kinder on the ears than some of the groups that play here." "Why, thank you..?" he said. "Oh, Lou, my name's Lou." she replied.15

He learned a little of her life as they chatted and sipped their wine. She was an only child, her mother had died last year, her father ten years ago. She worked as a teacher in the town school,16

"The little ones," she explained. He figured she was in her late twenties and realised too, that she made him feel good, her humour and poise, the playfulness she had exhibited at their first encounter and now, her charm, the beauty of her bewitching eyes, her small, exquisite hands, had cast a spell on him. He remembered he had to finish the set and rose from his seat to return to the dais and play.17

He walked her home that night. They left the bar after the audience had dispersed, cars and wagons growling off into the dark. In the porch of her house, he kissed her and she pulled him gently to her, the taste of her lips sweet on his mouth. Then she slipped in through her doorway and he was alone in the snow covered garden, turning to see the moon shine over the sleeping town. He trudged back to the boarding house down the street of frosted snow, with measured tread, his heart singing within. He thought me might stay awhile, maybe take her riding out in his pick-up, once it was repaired. Take her out in the Spring, to the mountains, when the ice thawed and the promise of resurgence bubbled and sang in the meltwater brooks. 18