Page 83 of Patio Lanterns

“Make it five,” Lark said, fanning the fingers of her hand. “In the meantime, Dove and I will start moving everyone outside. We’ll meet you at the bow of Blue Canoe. Five minutes.”

Upstairs, Robin made a beeline for her mother’s closet and pulled out the coral dress she’d worn for her date with Rick. She loved how the silky-smooth fabric draped in all the right places, giving her an instant boost of confidence. That couldn’t have been a coincidence. It was meant to be.

“Thanks for the dress, Mom,” she whispered, deciding on the spot to keep it for herself. “And hey, I know you know I’m winging this, so if you could send some divine inspiration my way in the next ninety seconds, I’ll owe you big time.”

She tied her hair back, securing all but a few loose curls around her face, before dusting blush on her rosy cheeks and dotting a subtle sheen of gloss over her lips. Taking one last look at her reflection in the mirror, she inhaled deeply to steady her nerves. “Remember, it takes courage to make a fool of yourself.”

With guests now assembling in the backyard, the din in the cottage had fallen silent. Robin left the quiet sanctuary behind to join the party outdoors, carefully manoeuvring around people until she made her way to where Dove, Lark, and Nova were waiting.

“You ready?” Lark asked.

Robin nodded. Lark then turned and nodded to Aidan, who was standing nearby. He put his fingers between his lips and blew out a deafeningly loud taxi whistle to get everyone’s attention. A hush fell over the crowd.

“Uh, hi, everyone,” Robin waved. “My name is Robin Pelletier, and on behalf of my sisters, Lark and Dove, and Lark’s daughter, Nova, we’d like to welcome and thank you for coming to celebrate the life of our beautiful mother, Michelle, whom we all knew and loved as Micki,” she said.

“It was so nice to walk through the crowd earlier and hear so many of you sharing memories and stories about our mother with each other. Micki loved Lake Whippoorwill very much, and it’s all of you, her lake family, that really made it so special. My sisters and I were touched to learn that several neighbours had stepped up to help Mom out with the care and maintenance of the cottage, and that’s continued, even in her absence. Words can’t adequately express how grateful we are, but from the bottom of our hearts, thank you.”

Robin looked over at Lark and Dove, both smiling back at her. She took a deep breath and continued.

“This community meant so much to our parents. They were proud to own property here, and made so many lasting friendships and connections,” she said. “And while Lake Whippoorwill has changed through the years, what made it unique still remains. It’s you. It’s your families, who staked out a piece of rock in the middle of the Canadian wilderness and built a home away from home. It’s the memories we’ve shared, and it’s the stories we pass down from one generation to another.”

Robin scanned the familiar faces in the crowd. The Stanhopes. The Koskies. The Kapoors. The Nicholsons. The Waterfields. There had to be nearly two hundred people standing in front of her. Yet, among the sea of faces, one in particular caught her eye.

Rick.

He came.

Robin smiled, and he smiled back at her. Everything was going to be okay. Just take a breath, stay focused, and keep going.

“I was thinking about Mom’s favourite Lake Whippoorwill story, and it has to be about how the Blue Canoe Cottage got its name. Bear with me if you’ve heard it before, because Mom loved telling it,” Robin said. There was a smattering of laughter.

“Our dad, Marc Pelletier, was the grandson of the man who built this cottage. And I recently learned that his wife was an incredible woman, who not only raised four children largely on her own, but also built and taught at a school here in town. She was a local activist who used her voice for the good of this community. But I digress,” Robin said with a little chuckle, thinking of Rosalie and her good friend Vera. She wondered if Mrs. C had changed her mind and come. Hopefully, she’d found a seat somewhere amongst the crowd.

“One summer, our dad Marc grew enamoured with the idea of building a canoe out of birch bark and cedar. Now, keep in mind, young Marc had never built a thing in his life, not even a birdhouse. But he fancied himself an adventurer and was determined to fulfill his dream of paddling Lake Whippoorwill in a canoe made with his own two hands,” she said with a little laugh. “To borrow Red Green’s famous line, Marc was lucky the girls found him handsome, because he sure as heck wasn’t handy.

“Well, after endless starts and stops over the next two years, he enlisted a buddy to help him finally finish his project. Marc had pictured his canoe being painted a brilliant shade of red, but Crawley’s General Store had none left in stock. So, he settled on blue—the colour of a clear sky on a perfect summer’s day,” she explained.

“By that time, Marc and his college girlfriend Micki had been going steady for a year and a half. And, as lovestruck young men are inclined to do, Marc became preoccupied with proposing that summer. He figured that his brand new homemade canoe would be just the vessel in which to pledge his undying love to Micki.”

Mr. Stanhope barked out laughing, prompting others around him to laugh, too.

“Wait, wait, don’t get too far ahead of me,” Robin told him. “So, one moonlit evening, Marc suggested that Micki accompany him on his blue canoe’s maiden voyage across Lake Whippoorwill. Marc nervously paddled out into the middle of the lake. When the time had come, and the mood was right, he gathered up the courage to move off his seat into the middle of the canoe and pop the big question. With a ring in his hand and love in his heart, Marc got down on one knee… and knelt in a puddle.”

Robin was delighted to hear laughter in the crowd, and let it die down before continuing.

“Picture Marc frantically paddling for shore while Micki desperately bailed water with nothing but her tiny shoe. But there was no use. The blue canoe swamped and sank before they reached the dock, and they had to swim the rest of the way,” Robin said.

“Turns out, Marc built his canoe using specifications for a one-man boat, not two,” she continued. “Fortunately for us standing up here, our mother married that silly, romantic fool anyway, and Marc’s canoe found a home on dry land, where it’s been our cottage’s permanent marker ever since.”

Applause started somewhere near the back of the crowd and spread quickly. “To Marc and Micki!” someone hooted.

“All this to say that our family cottage played an important role in Mom and Dad’s love story. The three of us are living proof of that, because we were each conceived right here,” Robin said, laughing along with her sisters.

“I always believed our names were a tribute to Lake Whippoorwill, but I think maybe it was because Marc and Micki themselves were like a pair of Canadian geese. They mated for life, and when the time came for one of them to leave, the other was not far behind.”

She sniffled, and Dove passed Robin a tissue so she could compose herself and continue.

“As kids, we knew we were a byproduct of our parents’ great love affair with one another and with Lake Whippoorwill, and we were lucky to be part of that,” she said.

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