My experience of Alberta is limited to two family weddings, and a fast-paced week at the Calgary Stampede. I’ve visited the Rockies, and canoed Lake Louise. And of course, thanks to the wonderful world of technology, I am an Athabasca University student. So when I came upon the novel, Lauren’s Eyes, by New Brunswick-based romance writer, Norah Wilson, and was transported to the foothills of Alberta, the read was an interesting experience. And a rewarding one.

Prompted by a paranormal vision of murder, East Coast veterinarian Lauren Townsend finds her self bound for an Alberta dude ranch. On a mission to save Marlena, the mysterious woman in her vision, Lauren encounters the rugged, handsome and complicated, Cal Taggart.

The two soon find themselves embroiled in a passionate physical affair, and, fighting it all the way, a deepening love affair also. But there’s a problem. Cal could very well turn out to be the murderer in the vision that has led Lauren west. He has the motive. He has the opportunity. But soon, he also has Lauren’s heart.

Cheering for the heroine is easy in this novel. Lauren is smart, confident and strong. But Wilson also portrays her as very ‘real’. She worries about relating the secret of her visions for fear of losing Cal. She has past pain and heartache to contend with. Wilson has created a heroine the reader can relate to. Lauren has hopes and fears, problems and victories, like all of us.

A very intriguing secondary character in Lauren’s Eyes, is the beautiful, yet troubled, Marlena. I liked this character, Cal’s ex-wife, very much. She is a woman down on her luck in the world. She made some wrong choices in her life, and deserves a second chance. So, I found myself cheering for her also, hoping that Lauren would save her in time, and too, that she would ultimately save herself from her own destructive behaviour.

Not only does Wilson paint a beautiful and vivid picture of the Alberta landscape, she captures the reader into her novel and doesn’t let go–making us cheer for the protagonist, fall head over heels for the cowboy, and keeping us wrapped in the mystery throughout.

Lauren’s Eyes is a very entertaining and satisfying romance read with believable characters, wonderfully written (hot and spicy) love scenes, and page-turning suspense. Norah Wilson is an award-winning writer, and it’s easy to see why.

“The cupboard’s empty, Lord.”

So often Scully and his wife had spoken the words throughout their lifetime together. Now, bitterly, he recalled the familiar prayer.

The cupboard’s empty, Lord.

Scully and Bethie had knelt together and spoken it the very afternoon before she died. The Lord had filled the cupboard – Scully’s railway pension cheque had come early and they had stocked up on groceries. But the Lord took Bethie that night while she slept in Scully’s arms. The old man awoke to find his wife dead at his side. Like a thief in the night, the Lord had taken her from him.

Now the cupboard stood empty.

He had to face another morning without his love of more than five decades. How he despised the rising sun.

Scully dressed slowly – buttoning his shirt to the top and at each cuff, folding the handkerchief neatly for his front pocket. Bethie had always liked him well dressed. “Spiffy”, she had called him. “I want my man looking spiffy.” She had bought or made all his clothes, embroidered all his handkerchiefs, and knitted all his socks, since he was seventeen years old. Some had thought they were too young to marry, but Scully and Bethie knew they’d be together always. Nothing could pry them apart. “God willing, we’ll be together forever,” he had always said.

But God had not been willing. God had robbed him of his wife, and now he had to face life without Bethie. And Scully would never forgive the Lord.

“Damn you.” Scully spoke through clenched teeth. “Damn you to hell if I could.” His hands shook as he fastened the last button on his grey flannel shirt sleeve.

Habitually, he reached for his coffee mug. “First Place 2001” – the print was barely readable now. Bethie and her little friend, Paulette, had won it for him at the powwow that year with their dreamcatcher design. Scully was always annoyed by the chief’s talkative, pestering, little daughter Paulette. But Bethie had adored her and enjoyed her company. Many days Scully had come home to find them baking in the kitchen or plotting to play a trick on Scully.

“There’s something very special about her.” Bethie use to say. Scully smiled at the memories until once again he realized that’s all he had now – memories. Memories and bitterness.

The cupboard was empty. There was no coffee. There was no food. Fine. He’d go hungry. He’d starve to death before he’d ask God for anything. Scully would rather go without than ask Him for another damn thing now — ever. He tossed his empty coffee mug into the sink. It broke in two.

Another long, hungry day stretched before him. He looked around for something, anything, to do. Finally, Scully sat in the rocker by the window. It creaked familiarly with his weight. Scully had wanted to get a new rocker years ago, but Bethie wouldn’t hear of it. Now he never would. He stared at a row of fish baskets she had weaved. Everything remined him of her and the life they once shared. He shifted his eyes to the wooden cross that hung over their bed. It angered him. They had had such faith in God.

His knees ached.

“The cupboard’s empty, Lord.” How often they had prayed this!

They hadn’t asked for much out of life. They hadn’t needed much. The two had lived their lives quietly in their tiny cabin on the edge of the Wattern Reserve. Sometimes the kids down the road would come up with thick alder branches and beg Scully to carve whistles for them, and all the youngsters on the reserve loved to have Bethie tell them stories, and of course Paulette was a familiar face. Other than that, they were alone – happily, contentedly alone. Just them and their God.

His stomach growled.

He rose to look one last time in the cupboard. Was there anything left? Anything at all? Maybe he missed something. It was empty. Not so much as a can of tuna and a dry biscuit. Funeral expenses, visiting relatives and a suit for him to wear to bury his wife, had cleaned out the savings. The railway pension cheque was not due for another week.

He could pray. That’s what Bethie would do. But Scully would be damned damned if he’d ever talk to the Lord again. He slammed the cupboard shut.

The knock at the front door startled him. Scully didn’t expect company, but that it would arrive uninvited and unexpected wasn’t a great surprise on the reserve. He ignored the persistant pounding. The door was locked from the inside. No one would be barging through.

“Old Scully, you in there?”

He recognized the voice. It was Paulette. She’d been around a few times since Bethie had died but Scully wouldn’t let her in. He did not want to see her. Not yet, not ever.

“Mama says you’re in there, Old Scully, and that I’m suppose to knock until you open the door. She says that I need to visit you so that you’re not alone and so that she can go down to the falls with Dad and the boys. I’d just fall in again. Mama says if I were to give you these pussywillows you’d know how to make them keep forever.” She added a kick to her pounding fists. “Come on, Old Scully, I know you’re in there.”

“Damn it.” Scully said, realizing the only way he’d be alone was to tell her to go. She wouldn’t be ignored away this time.

“I’m just not in the mood for company Paulette.” He said, finally opening the door and stepping out. The sun assaulted his eyes. It had been days since he’d left the cabin. “I just want to be alone. You go home and tell your mama to take you with her.”

The little girl stomped a red-sneakered foot and crossed her arms for dramatic effect. She looked at him with dark, astonished eyes. “Are you serious. Like, hello! They won’t let me have a net and I cut myself on the bellies of the boy fish when I tried to catch them by hand last time. See?” Paulette proudly showed him the cuts on her palms in hopes he’d understand.

Scully didn’t answer for a moment. He looked at the trees, the dam, anything but the girl. “Paulette, I just can’t take you today.”

She sat on the bottom step of Scully’s cabin. Paulette sighed. Her pussywillows drooped to the ground. She wasn’t use to rejection from Scully.

Her back was to him when she finally spoke softly. “You still mad at God, Old Scully? Mama says you’ve been mad at God ever since Bethie died. She says you shouldn’t be though.”

Scully’s patience ended with her bluntness. Wide eyed he looked at her. The veins in his neck strained against the collar of his buttoned shirt. His angry, hungry stomach growled. His jaw tightened as he spat out the words.

“Your mama don’t know squat. The Lord took my Bethie. He stole her. You couldn’t know … she was all I had, and He took her. I’m just an old man alone now. An old man in an empty house with an empty cupboard. So damn it, don’t tell me who I shouldn’t be mad at.” Scully raised his hand to steady himself against the house. How dare they! Paulette was just a child. Her mother had no idea. What the hell did they know about being alone? What did they know about long days and empty cupboards.

The little girl sat quietly, drawing pictures in the dirt with the end of a pussywillow.

“Yeah, but Old Scully, Mama said God took her. That’s true. But, like, didn’t He take her to Heaven? I asked Mama where Bethie was, and that’s just what she told me. ‘Bethie was in Heaven.’ So it’s not like God stole her, it’s kind of like He … kind of like God’s just looking after her for you until you get there.” Paulette smiled at her wisdom. She was sure Scully would understand now. “Aren’t you glad, Old Scully. I mean, that the Lord took her to Heaven to wait for you. I think that’s so cool. That way you can be together forever.”

Scully stood there looking at the little girl. He felt stunned. He felt slapped. The sun burned hot on his head. He felt weak with hunger.

From his pocket Scully pulled a handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Bethie had given it to him their last Christmas together. He knew what was embroidered on it even before he read the words. He gently fingered the golden-threaded letters. “Whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Scully stood there for a minute trying to decide what to do. How he wanted to be angry. He started to take a step back into the cabin, but his feet wouldn’t move. He opened his mouth to curse, but the words wouldn’t form. He put his hands into his trouser pockets, and then pulled them out again.

And then Scully cried. Tears raced for release down his weathered, dark face. They dampened his shirt. They fell onto the step. Scully held his head in his hands as he wailed with grief and understanding.

Paulette was silent while the old man cried. She made no attempt to leave, but stayed beside him. She waited until he was ready. Finally, Scully, blew his nose, and wiped the last of his tears away.

“Paulette, you’re a smart little girl, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” she flashed him a big toothless grin. “Mama says so too.”

He sat down on the step beside her, folded his hands, and bowed his head. The sun warmed him now. Scully swalllowed and took a death, shuddering breath before he spoke. “The cupboard’s empty, Lord.” He sighed the words out.

“Bet its not. Bet you’re teasing me, Old Scully.” Paulette jumped up and ran into the cabin to look in the cupboard. She was sure Scully had a surprise in there for her. Scully let her enter.

“Look, Old Scully,” Paulette returned beaming with excitement. “I found this big molasses jug in there. Bethie and I filled it with cattails last year for you. Remember? You really liked it.” She nodded her head up and down to emphasize her words.

“Why, that’s just perfect for pussywillows,” Scully said as he stood and slapped his knee with enthusiasm. “Grab me my jackknife and I’ll show you how to trim the stalks so those pussywillows will keep forever.”

They sat together on the porch perparing the flowers. Paulette sang and told bad jokes. Scully clapped along and laughed at even the worst of them.

It was noon before Paulette’s mother came to get her. “Hey Old Scully,” she said. “The gasperau are running. I brought you a dozen and some fresh buttermilk bread. We got about two hundred more fish in the truck. Scully, if you want to smoke them for us, we’ll split them with you.”

The cupboard was full again.

I was happy when Mother told me she was marrying Mr. Cooper, and that we were moving to his farm. He was such a nice man. He always brought candy to the Easter parade, and not just the cheap stuff either. He gave me five dollars on my last birthday. Everyone thought Mr. Cooper was fun. And I thought so too.

“Now Lori, Mr. Cooper is quite smitten with me. You be a good girl, and he’ll love you too,” Mother said. She fingered the diamond ring that he had given her. It was small, but Mother didn’t take it too kindly when I pulled out the magnifying glass to get a better look. Mr. Cooper just smiled. It was a good smile — all white and friendly. I thought for sure he would love me. I just had to be a good girl.

And I was always a good girl. I did well in school and paid attention in church even when I was really bored. I did my chores at home. What more could a man want from a daughter?

So when Mr. Cooper and Mother came back from their wedding trip, and I returned from Aunt Betty’s, I was more than ready to do whatever it took to make Mr. Cooper love me.

“You’ll be taking care of the pigs, Lori.”

I was thrilled when Daddy Cooper (Mother told me to call him that; she thought it would make him love me sooner) gave me such an important job. There were two pigs. I wasn’t suppose to name them. But it seemed silly calling them ‘hey pigs’ all the time. So I named the big one ‘Tiny’ and the little one ‘Bermuda’.

Twice a day I had to feed and water the pigs, and muck out their pen. It wasn’t so bad. Daddy Cooper gave me real farmer boots. They were too big for me, but I didn’t complain. He even put my new name on them with black marker: ‘Lori Cooper’.

“The pigs like you,” Daddy Cooper said with a Daddy Cooper smile.

I was thrilled. Bermuda and Tiny liked me. But more importantly, I thought Daddy Cooper did too. With renewed enthusiasm that night, I mucked out their pen. And I gave each pig two sugar cubes that I snitched from the kitchen. Then I worried that maybe pigs were allergic to sugar or that it would give them diarrhea or some thing. But they were fine.

I had been looking after those pigs so well, Daddy Cooper soon gave me another chore.

“Watch this, Lori,” he said. He turned to the pigs, smiled, and in a gentle voice said, “Come hear and let me stick you.”

Tiny and Bermuda both came running over. They rolled onto their backs and stretched out their chins. Daddy Cooper chuckled as he petted the soft flesh of their necks. He cooed to them. “Good piggies. Pretty piggies.”

I started to giggle. He looked up at me and smiled. It seemed silly for a grown man to be sweet talking a couple of pigs.

“That’s an old farmers’ trick,” he said. “I want you to start doing that twice a day, Lori.”

“I don’t get it.” I scratched my ear, dislodging a blackfly that was feasting there. “Why?”

“Come October when we slaughter these two, it’ll be a lot easier to stick them if they think they’re getting a good old scratch on the neck.” He patted me on the back. His hand felt warm and safe.

I watched Daddy Cooper walk away. He had just about reached the house, when I remembered what ‘stick’ meant. My friend Nancy had told me, but I really hadn’t believed her until now. At slaughter time, Daddy Cooper would ‘stick’ a knife in the pigs’ throats. That’s how they slaughter pigs; they stick them.

My heart sank. And in the July heat, my feet felt very warm in my new farmers’ boots.

It wasn’t a surprise to me that we would have to kill them. In the back of my mind I had known all along that Bermuda and Tiny would become bacon and ham. Yet, I didn’t want to pet their necks and pretend. But desperately, I wanted Daddy Cooper to love me.

“Come here and let me stick you,” I said. Tiny and Bermuda raced to me and rolled trustingly onto their backs. I scratched the white flesh of their necks. Then I raced to the house after Daddy Cooper.

I kept it up. Every day, I would tend to the pigs and play this trick on them. “Come here and let me stick you,” I would call, and they would rush over.

I knew it was my job — looking after them. But I thought perhaps they might love me a little. And Daddy Cooper said I was becoming a pretty good farmer.

But it wasn’t all work on the farm. One day I was playing with my Barbies in Mother and Daddy Cooper’s closet. They had gone to town and left me at Nancy’s house. She and I had gotten into a big fight while dividing up the cherry Pez, and, after assuring Nancy I would call her later, I had stormed out. ‘Storming out’ was one of our favourite things to do.

Daddy Cooper and Mother weren’t back from town yet when I arrived home, so I decided to sneak my Barbies into their closet. It was large enough for me to hide in behind the long winter coats. I was there when I heard Mother and Daddy Cooper open the front door. I wasn’t suppose to be in their room at all. I sat very quietly and held my breath. But I was sure they could hear my heart pounding.

They were laughing.

“I think Gordon is quite taken with Debbie,” Mother giggled the words. I could hear her crossing the floor to the dresser, and two gentle taps as she set her earrings down.

Daddy Cooper laughed.

“What does Gordon do?”

“He sells insurance. Pays more than farm work.” Daddy Cooper’s voice was light. I just knew he was grinning lovingly at my mother. I heard him walk across the floor and join her.

“Gordon’s such a sweetheart,” Mother said. “I bet Deb “?”

The smack of fist startled me. Mother screamed and even though I quickly covered my ears, I could still hear the thud of her body hitting the floor.

“Tramp!” Mr. Cooper yelled. The bed springs creaked as he threw my mother down. “I saw the way you looked at him.”

He hit her again.

Mother cried. Silently, I prayed he’d leave her alone. And finally, I heard Mr. Cooper walk out of the room.
When she stopped crying, I ventured a peak from beneath the tangle of coats. I didn’t want Mother to see me. But I needed to see her.

She sat on the bed. Her ankles and knees were locked together. She worked the wedding ring around her finger. My mother was looking ahead, but not looking at anything. She seemed to be inside of herself. It was as if a part of her had just died. Beside her on the bed was a wedding photo. It was the one I had liked the best. All three of us were in it. Mother was dressed in the softest blue. She was beautiful. I tried to look serious, but the photographer had made me giggle. And Mr. Cooper was there of course. Tall, handsome, and smiling as always.

That night it was quiet at supper. Mother had washed the tears away. I didn’t ask about the bruise. But she quickly told me she had banged into a door. Mr. Cooper laughed and nodded. He put a hand on mother’s shoulder and squeezed gently. He grinned so wide I could see his molars — black and boney.

It was dark when I left the house. The pigs saw me coming and ran to greet me. I opened their gate. At first they wouldn’t come out. “Here piggies,” I called over and over, but they just looked at me curiously and waited by their troth.

Then I had an idea. “Come here and let me stick you,” I said about twenty feet from their pen. Bermuda and Tiny ran to me and rolled onto their backs. They trusted me. I scratched their throats. “Good piggies. Pretty piggies.”

I ran further. “Come here and let me stick you,” I called again. They followed me to the edge of the property. Then, finally aware of their freedom, ran into the woods on their own.

I knew Mr. Cooper would find them in a day or two. Or the pigs might come back. I knew, no matter what I did, he would stick them.

I also knew I could never tend the pigs again. And that Mr. Cooper wouldn’t smile at me anymore. But that was fine. I didn’t like old farmers’ tricks.