Chapter 1

A song came to Maggie, her spirit song, one Gheeju had helped compose.  Gheeju, her Mi’kmaw grandmother, had taught her many of the ancient customs, and Maggie held them all close to her heart. She sang under her breath.

Trees, 

Bend with the wind

Bask in the sun

Give shelter

To everyone.

It soothed her, reminded her that trees bend and bounce back. She needed to bounce back, get on with living. 

Strange, what the little song had meant at different times in her life. Last year, when Gheeju had passed away, it had symbolized her grandmother’s life, how she’d always been there, steady and helpful. Later, it sustained her when she decided not to take any more put- downs, and to end an abusive relationship. Divorce, she told herself, wasn’t the end of the world, but a new beginning. Twenty-seven was a good age to start over.

Maggie slowed at the sign for Blair Road, and then saw the outline of an old wooden bridge. The planks creaked and grumbled as the car passed over it. The car bumped along a gravel road lined with summer cottages, the small houses misty outlines in the night rain.

The salty smell of the sea drifted in through a partially opened window, bringing back happy memories, and it washed away some of the strain from the long ride. 

The sound of a snore brought a smile, and she glanced over her shoulder. Bailey, a mixed breed, part golden retriever, lay on the back seat oblivious to everything. 

Clouds covered the area, and Maggie couldn’t see beyond the road, but she  could hear the sea’s welcoming roar. Cresting waves caught in her headlights as she stopped the car in the driveway. It felt like coming home. 

Briny smells intensified as she got out. Bailey jumped from the back and followed, his tail wagging.  Shadowy trees, on the other side of the road, danced eerily, and she suppressed a shiver. The lonely pounding of the surf and the dark cottage made her wonder if she should have waited until morning. Gheeju wouldn’t be with her. She’d be alone.

Bailey sniffed the sand near the cottage then rushed back.

“A lot of new smells, eh, Bailey?” Maggie pulled her bags out of the back seat. 

Bailey barked and followed as she made her way up steps that led to a small porch.

Once inside, Maggie dropped her bags and took a long fond look. 

The furnishings, old and comfortable, were as she remembered, and the walls were still covered with Mi’kmaw paintings and artifacts. The Mi’kmaq, her grandmother’s people on her mother’s side, had lived on the eastern seaboard since time began. Her father was Acadian.

Maggie bent and touched the coffee table, remembering her grandmother’s pride in the collection it contained. The glass top covered a tray where Gheeju had displayed arrowheads and glass beads. Maggie felt the urge to play with them, as she had done many times, making designs or helping Gheeju with beadwork. It was hers now, the treasures and the cottage, but more than anything she longed to see Gheeju, longed to see her rise from her rocking chair to greet her, to hug her. 

Bailey barked and Maggie came out of her reverie. She gave him a pat, then lugged her bags to the bedroom, then plopped down on the bed too exhausted to care about being fully dressed. She pulled the old quilt from the bottom of the bed, and snuggled under it. Bailey gave a few protesting grunts then lay down beside the bed.

“We’ll go for a run tomorrow, Bailey, I promise.” He gave her a long soulful look, the kind that made her feel guilty, but she’d make it up to him tomorrow for being cooped up in the car for so long.

It felt good to be in her old bed, made her feel that life would be good again. Oh, she knew she could never go back, too many things happened, but being here would help. Two weeks of sunbathing, swimming, canoeing and doing nothing, not having a care, would cure the malaise she’d felt since the divorce.

Sleep came with dreams of Gheeju who laughed and hugged her, and a little of the pain she carried slipped away.

Gheeju caressed her cheek and whispered,“Come, follow me.” 

“Where, Gheeju?” 

Her grandmother smiled, turned and made her way to the beach. Maggie ran after her, but before she could get close, Gheeju vanished. 

“Gheeju” Maggie awoke, the words still on her lips. She could almost feel the pressure on her arms where Gheeju had held her.

“ I miss you, Gheeju.” she whispered.

“Come, follow me.” What had her grandmother meant? Was it a message? 

The dream wouldn’t let go. Sleep eluded her. 

Her watch read half past midnight when she got up, stretched, and moved to the window.

Outside, fog covered the sea and shrouded the neighboring cottages. It reminded her of a night when unable to sleep, she and Gheeju had rowed under the misty canopy. 

“Is that what you meant, Gheeju,” Maggie wondered, “follow you, do the things we did together?”

Bailey scampered around the kitchen as Maggie made coffee. His tailed wagged as she retrieved her jacket, and he rushed to the door before the backpack straps slipped over her shoulders.

Carrying her coffee, and with Bailey at her heels, Maggie made her way to the shed beside the house. She gulped the coffee and removed the tarp covering a small Mi’kmaw canoe; wide-bottomed and raised at both ends, with the sides curving upwards in the middle. It brought images of Gheeju paddling along the shore.

Maggie rolled the tarp and stuck it to the bottom of her pack. The canoe made of birch-bark over a wooden frame was light, and she carried it over her head as Gheeju had.

Bailey, happy to follow, barked when they neared the surf.

“What’s the matter, Bailey, afraid of the dark?”

The fog misted her skin and clothes, enfolded her like a downy blanket, and concealed everything but the sand at her feet. She lifted her face, drew a deep breath, and took pleasure in the breeze coming from the sea. 

Maggie slipped off her sandals. Bailey ran around her, and she almost fell. 

“Come.” Maggie pointed to a spot in front of a log. Bailey obeyed, head down.

“Stay.” The dog whimpered, but stayed. Maggie dropped the canoe in the surf.

Her mind went back to that magical time with Gheeju, when they’d paddled the sea in the night fog. They hadn’t spoken, the stillness broken only by the sound of the waves. The night had touched them, enclosed them in its mysterious world. The quiet, the smell of sand and sea, had seeped into her being, and along with it had come a sense of peace and wonder. Maggie wanted to feel that awe again; beauty that left room for nothing else.

“Come, Bailey.” Maggie stepped in the water. B-r-r.  As cold as she remembered. The water from the Bay never got very warm.  She got in the canoe. A growl came from Bailey’s throat, but he didn’t move. 

Maggie left him, and paddled away staying close to shore. It felt good to be here again, she thought, as she flexed her shoulders. The paddle felt smooth and familiar in her grasp. 

Bailey’s barks followed along the shore.  

What was the matter with him? Didn’t retrievers like water?

Maggie shivered as a cool wind brushed her back. She turned and looked seaward. Her paddle stopped in midair as she gazed at the eerie sight.

A large shape hovered in the fog. It was tall, huge, and at first, her mind couldn’t make it out. A darker patch of cloud, maybe, but no... Muffled creaks and groans became clearer, as she watched the dark configuration take form.

Time to leave. 

Instincts urged her to get going, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from the dark mass, couldn’t or wouldn’t believe what it was. 

Not more than a hundred feet from her canoe, the outline became visible. A galleon?  The wide prow bobbed with the waves. Three somber masts rose from a hazy deck and disappeared in the fog. Maggie was conscious of a breeze, but noted that the sails didn’t flap or move. 

On shore, Bailey barked. 

The surf pounded the beach with a steady rhythm. 

The galleon began to creak and groan, oscillating with the pulse of the sea. White-capped waves dipped, rose, and slapped against the black hull. 

Time to leave. 

Maggie forced herself to paddle away, slowly at first, then with more intensity. 

When she felt she was far enough from the ship, she took a deep breath and looked back. What was a galleon doing on these shores? 

Bailey barked, but it sounded more distant.

I will not be afraid.

The sound of breaking waves on the beach became fainter, but then another noise caught her attention. Like the ripping of cloth, soft at first, it increased in intensity, until she felt that the screeching would make her ears pop. It rose over the night noises, covered Bailey’s barking, and then as quickly as it had started it stopped. The world became silent, even the waves rippled by without making a sound. 

I will not be afraid.

Before she could put the paddle back in the water, the canoe started to move, heading for the galleon. 

Maggie plunged the paddle in the water and pulled with both hands in an attempt to get the canoe moving in the other direction. It didn’t help. She used everything she had, the strength in her arms, her feet braced to get more leverage, held the paddle straight in the water, but the canoe continued its steady advance towards the ghostly ship. 

Maggie was about five feet from the shadow when the wind stopped. The waves ceased moving, and then like a movie set on pause, the galleon began to change. Like a broken image on a tv screen, it became indistinct, wavy and fading. She watched mesmerized as it darkened, shifted to black, and then melded with the night. 

Afraid

Again and again, she paddled with everything she had, grunting, her breath coming short and shallow, but the canoe had a mind of its own. Something else began to worry Maggie, the air was getting heavier. Soon, she couldn’t breath, and had to put the paddle in the bottom of the canoe, and cup both hands to her nose and mouth to preserve some air. 

Please, please, don’t let this be happening. Let me get to shore.

Like a sailboat at a fast clip, the canoe glided towards the galleon. It felt as though it were being pulled by an invisible string. 

When she thought things couldn’t get worse, an invisible force pressed against her. Pain like exploding firecrackers coursed through her head.  A kaleidoscope of color bounced against the dark walls of her mind.  She gulped and sobbed, but it had no effect. Mercifully, when she thought everything would explode, the pain turned to blankness and she passed out. 

Images of Gheeju flashed before her; at the seashore, at the hospital, on a forest trail. The pictures moved with increasing speed until they became a blur of colors.  Her body felt weightless, able to do anything, but there was nowhere to go. 

A loud splash brought her to her senses.  She became aware of sounds; the sea tapping her canoe, the roar of the surf on the shore.

Breathing hurt and her head hammered. Around her, the night became alive. The black lifted like a film peeling from a dark picture. As the atmosphere changed, the heaviness straining against her dissipated. The wind felt like a veil caressing her skin. The tang of the sea was sharper, yet the air smelled sweeter, softer. It grew warmer. She gulped the fresh air. 

Maggie looked seaward. The ship loomed in front of her, but it appeared solid now with a more distinct form.  Sails flapped in the breeze, boards creaked and most surprising, voices floated down and mingled with the night sounds. The fog had vanished. Overhead, dark clouds passed over a sliver of moon. 

Her canoe swayed not more than twenty yards from the galleon. The sails were furled and looked like black crosses etched against the night sky. Pennants fluttered from the masts. 

Water, black and angry, buffeted the ship. Planks creaked and moaned.

Wind nipped Maggie’s face, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the galleon, mesmerized by the flurry of activity on board; the flicker of lanterns, figures rushing and milling about the rails. Instinct urged her to get away, but her arms wouldn’t move.  

A light moved on the galleon, and then a voice called out, "Qui va là?" 

She understood the French for "Who goes there?" 

A flash flickered on the ship.

“Whoosh! Splat!” A ripple next to the canoe.

They were firing at her! 

"Sauvages! Près de la rive!" A deep male voice carried on the night air. 

She knew it was French, but the meaning eluded her. 

Then somehow her mind translated the words, Savages? Natives? Near shore.  Did they mean her? 

Another crack of gunfire and a splash to her left broke her trance.

No longer anxious to discover more, Maggie headed for shore. 

She paddled as fast as her arms could move. 

‘Paddle, paddle, flap, flap, in and out in and out...’

The canoe scraped bottom. More shots rang out. Maggie plunked the paddles down and scrambled out. 

“OHHH!”

Cold water nipped at her feet and legs. She fitted the pack on her back, lifted the canoe, and headed for shelter.

Buy it on Amazon

Mi'kmaq Song

Pat Cher

Best Price $12.63
or Buy New $12.99

Privacy Information