Sharing Spaces. Nadia Nichols

is Labrador’s own brand of hooch. Rum. Powerful stuff, and he’d drunk a powerful dose, y’see.”

      Senna pictured a drunken old man clasping a drunken old woman at a classic Irish wake and inwardly winced. “What kind of business did they share?”

      “A fishing lodge. Outfitting and guiding,” Granville said. “They were just getting started when the admiral was stricken. If you read the will, you’ll see that he left everything to you.”

      The lawyer’s words struck like a bolt of lightning. “Everything?”

      “Yes, m’dear. Everything. A word of caution, there’s very little remaining in his bank account, the lodge’s construction costs took the most of it, and there are some liens that need to be paid, but the properties are worth a considerable sum.”

      Senna scanned the words rapidly. Sure enough, there it was, in black and white. Admiral Stuart McCallum had left all his worldly possessions to her. Senna sat back in her chair, dumbfounded. “May I take a copy of the will with me? I can read it more closely tonight.”

      “Of course, m’dear, and as soon as you’re ready, I’ll help you through the probate procedures. You’ll need to be legally appointed as his executor and we can start that process right now if you want to sign a few papers. Because we’re dealing with international paperwork, everything will take a little more time, I’m afraid. Do you have a lawyer you’d like me to work with on your end?”

      Senna nodded and handed him the business card of the firm who had handled her father’s affairs. “I’d like to fast-track this process and I’d appreciate your help. I’m hoping to sell his share of the business as soon as possible.”

      Thirty minutes later the legal matters were in the works and Senna was ready to leave. “Now then,” Granville told her. “You’ll need to drive to North West River and ask anyone there where the admiral’s house is. They’ll tell you.” He hesitated. “Do you have a place to stay?”

      “I plan to stay there, of course,” Senna said briskly.

      Granville paused. “The thing is, m’dear, the admiral was a bachelor and for that matter, so is John Hanson.”

      “I’m sure I’ll survive whatever state of bachelorhood his house is in, Mr. Granville. I grew up with two brothers who were the biggest slobs on earth. Really, I’ll be fine. Thank you again for all your help.”

      There was another pause. “Well, you see, m’dear, the lake-house property was part of the business, and half belongs to John Hanson.”

      “Don’t worry,” she reassured him, because he did seem genuinely troubled. “I’m sure I’ll find the half that was my grandfather’s.”

      Granville’s frown of concern deepened, and Senna wondered if perhaps John Hanson was so old as to be a little bit daffy. “You’re welcome to stay with the wife and me, m’dear. We’d love the company.”

      “That’s very kind of you to offer, Mr. Granville, but I need some closure, and I’m hoping to find it at my grandfather’s house. Besides, Mr. Hanson and I have some business matters to discuss, and the sooner we get that dialogue started the better.”

      Twenty minutes later, Senna was driving through a land that was wilder than any she’d ever seen. She was used to the rocky coast of Maine, but Labrador was much more remote and far less populated, and once out of Goose Bay there was only one road. She caught glimpses of the water through the fringe of black spruce on her right. The highway map designated this as Lake Melville. The drive to North West River didn’t take long. By 4:00 p.m. she was there, and, heeding Granville’s directions, she pulled to a stop across from the first person she saw, rolled down the window, and asked, “Excuse me, but would you happen to know where the admiral’s house is?”

      The towheaded blue-eyed boy was pushing a bike with a flat tire. His expression was lively and open, and he said, “Take the next left that leads up the south shore of the lake. You’ll hear ’em, when you gets close. The admiral’s dogs,” he explained, noting her expression. “You’ll hear ’em, but you’re too late. You missed the wake by a day. It was a good one, too, from all I heard.” Then off he went, pushing his bike along the gravel road.

      She followed the directions he’d given, and drove cautiously up a narrower road that appeared to be bereft of human habitations. She wondered, after a few kilometers, if the boy had been pulling her leg. There were tire tracks, to be sure, and she could see the gleam of the lake through thick stands of black spruce from time to time. But no houses.

      Senna stopped the car and turned off the ignition, rolling down the window again. She listened intently in the silence and heard eerie, undulating wails reverberating through the forest. Wolves, and not that far away. She felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of actually catching sight of one. There were wolves here, and one of the biggest caribou herds in the world, and the native people were called Innu and Inuit. She knew as much from reading the literature on the Air Canada flight this morning. What she didn’t know, as she sat in the rental car and listened to the wild howling, was why her grandfather had chosen to live out his last years here, far removed from the Navy’s elite social circles and manicured golf courses. Why had he chosen to live in such a remote land and why had he named her as his executor? She was hoping she’d find some answers when she reached the house, but even if she didn’t, seeing a pack of wolves or a herd of caribou would definitely make this journey north worthwhile. Her mother had been right.

      As usual.

      She started the rental car and crept cautiously forward, keenly scanning both sides of the road and hoping for a glimpse of the wolves she’d heard. She caught the flash of lake water and a bright opening up ahead in the forest of spruce. Sunlight spilled into a clearing. There was a building and a truck. Make that two buildings and two trucks. She stopped again, assessing the place. This had to be her destination, since the road ended here. The big building was somewhat of an architectural oddity, grander than many she’d seen since her arrival and resembling one of Maine’s old Rangely Lake houses. With its big center chimney and gabled roof, log construction and a spacious porch that faced the water, it had all the earmarks of a tranquil lakeside retreat.

      A second, smaller structure nestled back into the trees, was also built of logs, but had a broad, low Alaskan-style roof with deep eaves. Perhaps that was the place where John Hanson lived, since the admiral, possessing an ego the size of the Atlantic, would surely have lived in the bigger of the two cabins.

      Senna stared, trying to take it all in. The lake was vast. She couldn’t see the end of it by a long shot. There was a dock that jutted into the water, and a float plane was tethered at the dock’s T-junction. The wolves were howling again, but even as she sat there, engine idling, the noise faded. She drove a little closer, feeling foolishly timid. She had every right to be here, after all.

      There didn’t appear to be any phone or electric lines anywhere near the place, and the property looked neglected. Upon closer inspection she could see trash scattered here and there. Beer cans and bottles. She cut the ignition again and immediately the whine of hungry mosquitoes filled the silence. That, and the rhythmic wash of lake water against the dock pilings and the gravelly shore. She got out of the car, closing the door quietly and standing for a moment, swatting at the mosquitoes and wondering if it might not be a good idea to retreat to Goose Bay and come back early in the morning. She was tired and the land was unfamiliar to her. She’d like to get something to eat and read through the stack of legal papers Granville had given her.

      First, though, she wanted to make some connection with her grandfather, whom she hadn’t seen since her father’s funeral and would never see again. Besides, in this northern latitude the sun was still high. She had plenty of time to find her way back to Goose Bay. She kicked a Labatt can out of the way as she walked up the path, climbed the weathered steps and opened the screen door, entering onto the porch and peeking through a window that could have stood a good polishing. It was dark inside, and gloomy. Senna hesitated before trying the front door, glancing around and trying to imagine her grandfather living like this. The porch