Dan Needles is the author of “Wingfield Farm” stage plays. His column is a monthly feature in Country Guide
Last summer, Vern and Elma Bunton made an early morning drive to the city to buy a wedding present for their favourite niece Dorothy, who had her dishes and glassware pattern registered with Birks, the downtown gift store. They bought a lovely Limoges serving platter for her, had it giftwrapped and headed back to the country. At about one in the afternoon Elma made a suggestion.
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“Why don’t we take a drive through Demeter Township and see some of the old farms?” Elma was raised on the Fourth Line, just north of Demeter Station. So when they crossed Highway 13, they meandered off to the east through Demeter, gawping at all the new houses built by the weekenders.
Suddenly, a black and white cat bounded up out of the ditch and went straight under the wheels of the car. They heard a little thump and Vern winced.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t even see it.”
“Oh dear,” wailed Elma. “You have to go back and see if it’s dead.”
Vern backed up and they saw the cat lying in the
grass at the side of the road. It was dead all right.
“We can’t just leave it there. I hate it when people do that. We have to take it home and bury it,” she insisted. Vern shrugged and looked around for something to put the cat in. “Here,” she said, taking the platter out of the Birk’s bag. “Use this.” Vern gently laid the cat in the bottom of the blue and gold bag and put it on the back seat.
They decided to stop in Larkspur for a bit of lunch at the Red Hen restaurant. Vern hesitated as he got out of the car. “In this heat I’m worried that the cat might start to smell.” So, he took the Birks bag out and set it in front of the car, just under the bumper, where there was a bit of shade.
About 15 minutes later, while they were enjoying their soup and sandwich, Vern glanced out through the pink calico curtains just as a big grey Audi sedan turned into the parking lot and pulled up beside the Bunton’s car. A very well-dressed woman got out and did a double take when she noticed the Birks bag sitting on the ground. She looked cautiously around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching her and pulled a large shopping bag out of her car. In one swift motion she bent down and swept the Birks bag up and placed it inside her own bag. Then she straightened up and nonchalantly walked over to the restaurant.
“Uh-oh,” said Vern quietly. “This is not good.” Vern was just rising to intercept her when the
woman veered off down the hall to the women’s washroom. Vern sat back down with his face in his hands. About 30 seconds later a blood curdling shriek came from the washroom. Donna, the proprietor of the Red Hen, ran down the hall to see what the matter was. She came back out shouting, “A woman has collapsed in here! Call 911!”
The Persephone Ambulance department is only a few hundred yards from the Red Hen and the paramedics were on the scene in about two minutes. They managed to get the woman to her feet and she tottered unsteadily down the hall and out the door to the waiting ambulance. While all eyes were on the poor patient, Elma took advantage of the commotion and slipped into the washroom to retrieve the Birks bag. She was just sneaking out the door, when eagle-eyed Donna spotted her and snapped, “Hey, there! That doesn’t belong to you!” She snatched the bag away and trotted out to the ambulance with it. “There you go, dear,” she said putting it in the woman’s lap.
The woman glanced around and her eyes came into focus for an instant on the bag. Then they rolled up into the back of her head and she toppled over again like a dying swan. The paramedics loaded her into the ambulance and Donna placed the Birks bag beside her on the stretcher. The doors slammed and off they went to the Hillhurst Regional.
We don’t really know what happened after that. As Vern says, “This is a small community after all and it’s a case where there just isn’t any safe way to ask.”
