Jasper smiled sadly, turning the doorknob and leading Benny past quizzical eyes and the commotion of the day to his corner office. Once they were inside, he motioned for Benny to sit and asked if he should have a young officer bring tea. Benny shook his head.
“Two men have died because of me,” Jasper said. “First Jones and then Tony Valari.” Jasper ran a hand over his tired, ashen face. “I am not sure how to live with that kind of choice on my behalf.”
“In that much we are the same, Jasper Forth.”
Jasper rose, smiled at Benny, and extended his hand. “It was a sincere pleasure, Citrone.”
“And you as well, Detective Constable Forth.”
Jasper turned once more, with two fingers to his forehead in a slight salute, before leaving the office in pursuit of Chief Tipton.
The first voice Benny heard after he dialed the Regina detachment’s exchange number was his superior’s secretary. A moment later and he was speaking to the staff sergeant himself.
“Citrone!” the man’s voice was gruff but kind, Benny thought. “Rotten business about your cousin.”
“He saved my life, sir. He was still the Jonathan we knew; he just chose a different path, and… ”
“Enough. It does not do to dwell on his weakness. Rather, we should remember his strength. He was a singular person, Citrone. He did a great deed by ensuring you were able to come back to us.”
Benny felt an anvil lift from his chest.
“How’s your kit looking?” The staff sergeant had a one-track mind.
“I will be presentable,” Benny said, not knowing quite how he would be, but determined nonetheless. “I’m looking forward to seeing you, sir.”
“Fort Glenbow eagerly awaits your return. But perhaps you would do us the kindness of traversing there via Regina? You can see to the rest of your cousin’s effects, and I can commend you for upholding our good name even as you pursued American anarchists without jurisdiction.”
Benny couldn’t hide the smile in his voice. “Yes, sir. But, sir… ”
“Yes?”
Benny envisioned the farm. His mother. His aunt. A chance at reconciliation and to tell them about Jonathan. To let them know the truth beyond any press or stories. Jonathan: a hero. “First, I want to go home.”
The matron at the Empire was delighted to see Benny and told him his room was still available, thanking him for the small tip he had left her and reminding him it wasn’t needed. Benny assured her he was delighted anyone took the time to take care of him. In any way—big or small.
He took the picture of Jonathan and returned it to the cracked mirror. He moved to the rickety, slanted table by the window and laid out his notebooks and papers. He placed a little wire carefully tied in a Turkish knot that rivaled the staff sergeant’s own lanyard.
He asked the matron if she had an iron he might use. With a smile, his wish was granted. He set about laying out his summer kit, full regalia, on his bed. It was in a poorer state than he realized, but he saw it delicately smoothed and brushed.
He wiped his hands on his tweed pants and sat back. Then his eyes caught a slight slip of paper on the floor, peeking out from under the bed.
He opened it and a fist sunk into his chest. Jonathan’s writing.
An addendum to Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson’s Guide to the Canadian Wilderness.
The Canadian wilderness is perhaps an example of the greatest earth you will ever find. You walk through paths unsure if anyone has ever set foot there before. Perhaps you are experiencing the tang of the pine and the sun sluicing through the branches for the first time.
And you carry it with you. You can tuck it into your pocket: the coyote’s yowl and the owl’s saucy hoot. The regal antlers of the moose and the cunning ears of the silver lynx. The birds chattering and the breeze tickling are all the music your ears need carry as you meander through life. It’s a part of you, and when you’re away from its colors and smells, it pricks at your core. You try to relate to people you meet, but if they have yet to sleep under the open, starry sky with the northern lights making light as bright as day, then they can never truly understand.
In this little book of ours, we present tricks, tips, and guidelines for survival. But there is a part of the Canadian landscape we failed to include. Using this crude appendix, I would like to speak to the wilderness that is the bustling metropolis of the city. The creatures and wildlife replaced by humans, the trees replaced by grand buildings that reach to the heavens. The stars hide behind tall rooftops. And yet there is something magical about the sounds and the smells, even if you cannot tune your ear to the fox’s feather-light footfall or the bison’s snort or the wolf’s territorial growl.
Sometimes in the city, you find what the solitude of the wilderness can never give you: a sense of constant companionship. You’re connected to everyone around you and you’re never really lonely.
The Canadian wilderness provides but one kind of happiness. The greatest lesson is learning you can find other kinds of happiness. Other kinds of love.