Читать книгу Treat Us Generously - June Everett - Страница 6

Uncle Lou was taking his Chrysler convertible to New York before he lost any more freedom, he said. And Ella was not going as usual. Just him and Skip. Cary Grant and Clark Gable, taking that gorgeous car to New York City.

Up and down the rolling hills of Nova Scotia, and across bridges over rivers with fast currents, rushing toward the rough Bay of Fundy. The trip would take probably three days over a rural Maritime Province landscape and then Maine and the New England states.

The two-lane highway curved and wound through picturesque historical towns, surrounded by peaceful farmlands and vivid forests, which hugged the rocky coast of the Atlantic Ocean. Old lighthouses could be seen from the many twists of the road, often placed on a coastal island seemingly sized just for it. But the Bay of Fundy was its own showcase, the highest tides in the world, and amazing falls which reversed direction at each change of its tide as it reached the port city of Saint John.

Saint John with its grand harbor. No matter how cold a Canadian winter, its waters never froze. So the big cargo ships of America or overseas were often docked at its piers. Sailors and Merchant Marine were a common sight, and yet that town was as blue as could be. That first evening in Saint John, the bootleggers seemed to almost hand out calling cards, and Lou and Skip soon found themselves in some well-known backshop off Main Street.

Lou met Marge that night. I don’t know. I think a sister to one of the guys at that back room tavern. And Skip probably went his own quiet way. Just a smile; it was easy for him.

I was to grow to love Marge. She was warm and loving and stylish and girlish and real. But Uncle Lou was married to Ella, and though Marge followed him everywhere throughout the War, she never became my true aunt. A loss for all of us.

The day after; Maine. It really felt like southern Canada and they again rode through thick woods and terrifying curves on its coastal roads that would eventually take them through to Boston. Most folks didn’t have cars or gas to travel long distances, so the guys moved quickly through the heart of the little highway towns, a yellow car with Nova Scotia plates almost shouting, we’re going to the Big City.

Boston would have been just fine, but New York . . .