BooksBarbecue
Back The Trickster Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

Katie sat bolt upright, her eyes wide open with the scream of her son. It was a scream that could make a mother’s heart stop: not the cry of a child dreaming of the bogeyman, but one of excruciating torment. Her hand shot instinctively out to Sam and met an empty pillow.

Billy.

Sam.

She leapt from the bed and ran to his room. Jess was already crying, but she ran past her door, burst in on her son and slammed on the light.

His tiny figure was huddled in a foetal position against the wall under the window, eyes staring open, mouth ready to scream again. She ran to him, scooping him up in her arms and held him close. The boy was soaking in sweat.

‘My darling. My sweet, sweet lamb. Shhh now. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.’

He was gulping for air, his eyes rolling madly in his head as he gasped out the words.

‘Don’t let him in me, Mom. Don’t let Dad in me. He mustn’t touch me.’

She froze.

‘Shhh. It’s okay. Mom’s here, lamb. Shhh.’ And she held him pressed to her like that until she realized with a heart as heavy as an anchor that Sam wasn’t going to come to Jess’s cry. That Sam wasn’t in the house at all.

It must be given and not taken. And of course, it was given. The boy in Wild’n’Free, Alberta Ltd, had handed over the display tent, the axe, the shovel and the big serrated hunting knife to Calvin with a dreamy and kindly smile. He would pay for them out of his wages. He knew he could. The tent was less than half-price and they wouldn’t have shifted it until spring anyhows. The old guy really needed those things. And that delicate gentle lemon smell of the sweetgrass he brought into the store with him made him think of camping with Angela. Oh that smell. He was there again, deep in the valleys between the mountains, with the larks singing in the sky a million miles above them, trilling as they lay in that sweetgrass and kissed.

He’d watched the old Indian go, longing for him to stay so he could carry on filling his nostrils and his heart with that sweet lemon-scented memory. But even when the glass door swung shut, and the bell stopped tinkling above it, he could still smell it. He smiled and sat down on the boot-changing bench to dream.