The Way of an Unlikely Soldier
by Melanie Murray
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE
July 1st, 2007
THE FIREWORKS EXPLODE in a fountain of light—orange, purple, flamingo, gold—and fade into the darkness. They’re cascading over Okanagan Lake, several kilometres away. But we can see them from the deck, through the leafy branches of the walnut tree.
“Happy Canada Day!” I raise my glass to Mica and Aaron sitting across the table from me. They arrived in Kelowna yesterday, drove down from Yellowknife after completing a three-year teaching stint at Rae-Edzo on Great Slave Lake. We clink our glasses. “Ah . . . St Hubertus Gewurtztraminer— the grapes grow on the hillside just a few kilometres from here,” I say, swirling and sniffing, “lychee and melon on the nose.”
“A hint of rose petal too,” Mica laughs, reminding me of her mother, my sister, at thirty years old—her freckled nose, dimpled chin, brown eyes, long dark hair. “And here’s to Jeff—to his safe return . . . in just a few weeks,” she smiles, the diamond stud in her nose glinting in the candle light.
Her brother Jeff is in Afghanistan with the Canadian military. When he was home for his mid-deployment leave in April, Mica got four days off and flew back to Halifax to be with him and her family. “I felt so vulnerable that I told few people about my brother being in Afghanistan,” she says. “When the six soldiers were killed on Easter Sunday, I really crumbled—not knowing the names for hours after it was first broadcast.”
“And three more soldiers killed just last week by another IED,” I say, shaking my head.
“When he was home on leave, Jeff made us feel so confident about his safety,” she says, her eyes brightening. “He said he’ll be staying in the same secure outpost—they call ‘the hotel’—until he returns in mid-August.”
The spicy scent of walnut leaves wafts in the warm breeze. We sip our wine and talk about their trip to Vancouver Island the day after tomorrow. She and Aaron will meet up with friends to hike the West Coast Trail, one of the most gruelling treks in North America. The seventy-five kilometre trail follows a rugged shoreline of spectacular ocean vistas, tidal pools, marine caves, and the tallest trees in Canada. Then they’ll drive their packed-to-the rooftop black Hyundai back home to Nova Scotia.
Their camping gear clutters the lawn below the deck as Aaron tries to organize it into their backpacks. “I don’t know, Mica,” he calls up. “Either half of your clothes stay behind or we won’t be taking much food.”
“We can eat salmonberries,” she chuckles. “Melanie’s just been telling me about the bushes along the trail laden with these juicy orange berries.”
“Yeah, and we’ll dig for gooey ducks—go native,” he grins. “No need to pack food.”
Like two kids let loose for the summer, they exude the carefree excitement that comes with being on the road—your hours and days defined by a map of Canada spread out before you.