Chapter 42

In the last three weeks or so, beginning the last week of August, my life had been utterly destroyed. The loves of my life had literally been driven from me through the actions of one man, their father. A year of love and marriage was gone and it seemed there was no hope of ever getting it back. Riekie, my blonde wife of so much promise, had been driven away by acrimony. Carol Anne, my first love and my first wife, had been poisoned against me. Just when we were on the very brink of retrieving that, her father struck again, brutally, damaging her very soul in the process. Carol couldn't come back to us now, even if she wanted to. Carol was now irretrievably lost to me, and thus, Riekie was too.

Our rule was simple, based on our belief that it took all three of us to form the marriage. Losing one meant losing all. With Carol's soul damaged, we could no longer even hope, save for a miracle, and that item wasn't even in inventory.

After Riekie moved out, I had no direct contact with her. Her last letter told me if I called she would not answer or return my calls. If I wrote, she would not reply. I did write, but wasn't sure if she even opened them. I liked to think she did, because her leaving was not my doing, and in that last letter, she re-affirmed her love. I was devastated by Riekie's sudden departure, but could accept it to a certain extent because I knew that somewhere out there, there was a beacon of pure love that shone just for me.

My letters to Riekie always expressed my undying love for both her and Carol, and I tried to keep her up-to-date on what was happening. I didn't tell her about Bob Sr. trying to rape Carol. That would be too much for her to bear with her heavy university work load. I'm sure she would have felt guilt at not being there to protect Carol, but I think it would have happened anyway. Riekie didn't need that burden. I did tell her we came within a hair's breadth of reconciling but something terrible happened, and Carol was lost to us. Riekie never replied to my letters and eventually I stopped sending them

To add insult to injury, now the whole Scott family was moving away, ostensibly to put them closer to him, but I knew it was to get Carol away from me and to himself. Her only protection from him once they relocated, was my promise to hunt him down if he ever tried a thing like that again. He had appeared to take me seriously. Bob was watching him, and as they got old enough to understand, the little boys would too. They had seen what he did, and it scared them.

To be sure, though my life, marriage and love lay in ruins, I still functioned. I went to school and played football and worked with the cadets, but I was just going through the motions. The spark was gone.

The last week and a half of September, 1966 are a blur to me to this day. Most of the last quarter of that year except for a few notable points, is a blur.

I remember helping the Scotts pack to move. I remember Carol's haunted look; it's burned in my mind, my heart, my soul. My heart was broken, not by her, but for her. I simply DO NOT remember the day they actually moved. It is a total blank to me. One day the Scotts were in that house, the next day they were gone. For years afterward I avoided that street and that house. It's an office now, and I occasionally have business there. The interior is almost unrecognizable now, but it still haunts me.

Bob and I kept in contact by phone, but it wasn't the same. We didn't have the daily contact of school and our joint hobby projects, so our contacts were somewhat infrequent. Whenever we did talk, he gave me news of Riekie and Carol. Carol had recovered enough to more or less function, but was just a shell. She seemed to bury herself in schoolwork and had no social life. Dolly saw Riekie fairly frequently. The aunts didn't live that far from the new house in Don Mills, so Dolly was able to visit often. Bob said Riekie only came to the new house once when neither Carol nor her father were there. Riekie was doing well in university and seemed to be thriving. She didn't go out with boys, but did have a couple new friends she went to movies with occasionally.

In November, I got a call from Bob that shook my world again. Tante Kit, that beautiful, vibrant woman, was killed in a traffic accident. Did I want to go to the funeral? I hadn't seen her in over a year, but the connection with the Koorstis family was still strong in my heart, so I said I would. Bob told me to take a bus to Toronto and I could go with them. The funeral was to be held in the small town near the cottage, because she was to be buried in the cemetery where Oma and Opa planned to be interred themselves. We would all go together.

I took the bus and Dolly picked me up at the terminal. She was devastated by Kit's sudden death, and talked constantly about her. I hadn't seen any of them in over a month. When I met Carol, she still looked like Hell. She greeted me, but we had no other conversation that day. She retired to her room, coming out only for supper, and she just picked at that. Bob was Bob. We had a little fun playing with his latest slot-racers, really hot little numbers that were so fast they wouldn't take the curves in the track. The little guys were really glad to see me, and delighted in showing me their new room. Despite her grief, Dolly fussed over me like the prodigal son. Bob Sr. was cool, but civil. I felt strange and awkward and hardly slept that night. The new house was big enough they had a guest room, so I didn't bunk with Bob like we used to in the old house.

We drove to the town by the cottage the next day, all of us in the big wagon. Carol and I were forced to be in the same confined space for over two hours. She rode in the back seat with the two boys. Bob and I had the middle one, and of course Bob Sr. and Dolly rode up front. We arrived just in time for the service.

Needless to say, the funeral service was very sad. Oma and Opa looked very old. Having a child die before a parent is difficult to say the least, and I think it ages them quickly. Tante Pie and Tante Jo were obviously devastated, but Pie seemed especially inconsolable. Riekie went with the aunts. The only bright spot was when she saw me enter the church, Riekie smiled at me.

After the service, we went to the cemetery for the committal. We all gathered round the open grave. Whether someone of the family maneuvered us, or we did it unconsciously ourselves, Riekie, Carol and I found ourselves standing close together during the interment, Carol on my right and Riekie on my left, their usual positions before these bad times.

It was an extremely emotional time for everyone. Tante Pie was incoherent with grief, and had to have a chair brought for her because she couldn't stand. Tante Jo stood at her side, weeping, and held her tight. Dolly held her parents close, their bodies wracked with sobs. Carol and Riekie weren't in much better shape, Carol particularly after what she'd been through the last couple months

Without thinking, I slid an arm around each of them to offer support and consolation. Carol stiffened at the contact, but didn't move away. I pulled her a little closer to increase the contact, but she remained stiff. Her hand came up and grasped mine. She held tight, but never leaned into me and stared straight ahead. Riekie stiffened at my touch at first, too, but soon softened, and moved in closer on her own. I felt the warmth of her body next to me. She even leaned her head a little on my shoulder.

As the graveside service ended, Riekie broke the contact first, to go to the aid of Tante Pie. As she broke away with a small apology, she reached up, brushing her hand across my face. Her eyes were very sad. She kissed me lightly on the lips and murmured, "I love you." Then she was gone to attend to a completely distraught Tante Pie.

Carol maintained the stiff contact for a few more seconds then stepped away. She turned to face me, but wouldn't make full eye contact. She, too, reached and gave me a small kiss on the lips. I wanted to crush her in my arms, but knew better than to even try. She spoke softly, her eyes sad, haunted. There was no life in them, just pain, grief and despair. I'm sure the view from her side was similar.

"David, you're a good person, probably the best I'll ever know. I know you never cheated on us. I knew that before we left and wanted to make up, but something happened to change me. I'm not who or what you thought I was anymore. I'm changed, and not for the good. You deserve someone better than me. Please get on with your life."

"Carol Anne, I..."

She put her hand on my lips. We both had tears in our eyes, and not from the funeral.

"I know, David. Don't say it. I can't take it. It hurts too much."

"Then let me say this. Somehow, someway, you must at least make some amends with Riekie. You're still sisters, and you must repair that at least."

"I'll try, but we both need a little more time."

The trip back to Toronto and the rest of my stay until I left the next day were an agony for me. To have been so close to both of My Girls, My Wives, and yet so far away was almost too much to bear. I was left only with the bittersweet memory of two light, sweet kisses. If I wasn't before, Carol's words at the grave side left me totally crushed and defeated.

That was the last time I saw the Koorstis family, and the last time I saw the Scotts all together. I didn't see Carol and Riekie for another two years.

1966 drew to a close. Christmas that year was painful for me. Christmas Eve, the anniversary of our truest Old Ways wedding, I holed up in my room and cried myself to sleep, holding their old work clothes to my face. I could still smell them. And yet, even as I wept, I thought I could feel two beams of love shining faintly from the west, one a little brighter and purer; the other held pain.

New Year's 1967, was no better. The previous New Year was one of the happiest times of my life. From that time on, those two holidays, until I married and had kids, were the saddest in the calendar for me, but I still felt those faint beams of love from the west, too. Someone else was remembering with me, I think. There were other times I felt those beams: my birthday in particular. Once or twice a year, it would just be one. A certain date in June always found me extremely sad.