Falling From Grace Read Online Free Page A

hand. “What do you mean?”
    â€œThey told me if we came here we could help.” She gazed at her feet and then behind her as if she’d be grateful to fade back down the trail to the road.
    â€œThey?”
    â€œThe people in Victoria. From the coalition.”
    â€œCoalition?”
    â€œI’m in the wrong place.” She blushed. “I saw your car and the trail . . .” Her voice faded to nothing.
    â€œHow did you get here?” Paul asked. We heard all the infrequent traffic on the road—forest company trucks, the odd hiker’s four-by-four. “We didn’t hear your car.”
    The woman’s face flamed crimson. Her daughter glared at us, hands on her narrow hips, and said, “We walked.”
    Walked? Eleven kilometres of logging road from the closest secondary highway? Forty more kilometres from the closest town? Three hours drive from Victoria?
    â€œYou’re kidding,” I stammered.
    â€œWe hitchhiked to the lake,” the woman blurted out. “Then we walked.” She shifted the baby on her hip. “You’re not the protest camp, are you? It must be farther. We should go.” She took her daughter’s hand and backed up a step.
    I hesitated, but Paul spoke up. “No, wait. Don’t go.”
    He walked over and sat on his heels in front of me. I could see the beginnings of wrinkles at the sun-weathered corners of his mouth, the new growth of moustache on his upper lip. “We can’t let them leave, Faye. It’s dark in an hour.”
    â€œNot our problem.” The thought of playing hostess to a trio of children made me weary.
    â€œWhere will they go?”
    I scanned the three huddled together on the trail, their ragged clothes, the inadequate bag the woman carried over her shoulder. I couldn’t ask them to bed down with the bears and cougars. “Just tonight.” I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance.
    Paul jumped up. “I’ll cook more rice.”
    He urged the three into the clearing, moved a jumble of gear off a log, and gestured for them to sit. The woman smiled shyly and her weary face transformed with a fragile beauty. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Mary.”
    â€œPaul.” He grasped her fingers. “And Faye.” He tilted his head in my direction, and then squatted in the duff in front of the little girl. “And you, madam?”
    â€œMy name’s Rainbow.” She inspected his face with her chocolate eyes as if to judge his merit. “Because one was over our house the day I was born. I was born at home, you know, in the bathtub.”
    â€œI didn’t know,” he answered, unfazed by the information. “Sounds like fun. Pleased to meet you, Rainbow. And what’s your sister’s name?”
    â€œBrother,” she growled. “He doesn’t have a name yet. We’re waiting. Until he can tell us.” She paused. “We call him Cedar.”
    â€œWas there one in the yard the day he was born?”
    She pushed out her lower lip and wrinkled her brow. “Hmmph.”
    Cedar, whose blond hair curled below his chin, hid his face in his mother’s neck when Paul held out his finger and said, “You’re in fine company. Lots of big cedars around here.” The baby, about a year old and beautiful as a Raphaelite cherub, pawed at his mother’s shirt. She eased off her pack and settled onto the log, then lifted and peeled back layers of clothing to expose a bare breast. The baby grasped the white flesh with chubby fingers and latched on to the swollen pink nipple. “Thanks for letting us stay,” Mary said.
    â€œNo problem,” Paul answered. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. I’ll help you put up your tent after we eat.”
    Mary bit her lip. “We don’t have one.”
    â€œNo tent!” I blurted out. We were on the wild west coast of Vancouver Island.
    â€œI’m sorry.”