ection>TOM THOMSON’S LAST PADDLE
A Dani and Caitlin Mystery
Larry McCloskey
Copyright © 2002 by Larry McCloskey
Second Printing: 2003
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from CANCOPY (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), Toronto, Ontario.
This book is published by Beach Holme Publishing, 226-2040 West 12th Avenue, Vancouver, B.C. V6J 2G2. www.beachholme.bc.ca. This is a Sandcastle Book.
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts and of the British Columbia Arts Council. The publisher also acknowledges the financial assistance received from the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for its publishing activities.
Editor: John Burns
Production and Design: Jen Hamilton
Cover Art: Julia Bell
Author Photograph: Cara Lipsett
Map: Dale Taylor
Printed and bound in Canada by AGMV Marquis Imprimeur
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
McCloskey, Larry.
Tom Thomson’s last paddle
“A Sandcastle book.”
ISBN 0-88878-430-9
1. Thomson, Tom, 1877-1917—Juvenile fiction. I. Title.
PS8575.C635T65 2002 jC813’.6 C2002-910161-1
PZ7.M13355To 2002
To my mom: first Enie O’Neill from Navan, then Irene McCloskey from Ottawa, now just Enie from heaven.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the following for their support in the writing of this book: Cara, Kristen, Shannon, Caitlin, Dale, Rick, Donna, Pat, Diane, Isobell, Mary, Louise, Claudia, and Dani.
1 Famous Last Words
“I’m bored,” Dani sighed.
“What took you so long?” Caitlin asked. “I’ve been bored ever since these trees started. I mean, have you ever seen so many trees? Trees, and trees, and trees—it’s enough to drive a person insane. Trees to the left, trees to the right. Bored? Of course, you’re bored.”
“You should never be bored in this life,” Dani’s dad announced in a deep voice from the front of the van.
“It comes with the territory of being twelve-year-olds, John,” Caitlin’s dad interjected.
John ignored his friend. “Why, look at the magnificence of the landscape, the history of the area.” Gripping the wheel tightly and Ping-Ponging his head repeatedly to make eye contact with the girls in the back seat, he seemed to be bouncing with the excitement of personally introducing two preteens to Mother Nature.
Dani and Caitlin exchanged glances. They had something other than nature in mind for this trip with their fathers.
“Did you know that in two months’ time,” John continued, “along this very Ottawa Valley, we’ll be able to experience the most dramatic fall colours in the entire world? Think of that the next time you get bored. Why—”
“Sure, Dad. But remember, you promised us a real juicy mystery,” Dani interrupted, winking at her friend beside her. “That’s the reason we agreed to come on this nature tour of Algonquin Park. We want to find out about this Tom Thomson guy ’cause you said something about him being a big mystery. Isn’t that right, Caitlin?”
“Oh, absolutely. Absolutely.”
This wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. Dani and Caitlin had been working on a plan since winter to get their dads to take them camping in Algonquin—they thought they might prefer the call of the wild to their bossy older sisters, the heat of the city, and stupid boys with nothing better to do than sit around with garden hoses ready to soak them at every turn. Nature to the girls meant a fun week convincing their pliable dads of marshmallowy fine dining and daily trips into the visitor centre for gelato and magazines. It would be the perfect holiday.
The trick was to divert attention from their scheme and make it seem as if it was their dads’ idea. John and Bob hadn’t known each other very well, and neither was particularly skilled at camping. So the girls puzzled and puzzled all through the spring until they came up with the perfect reason for their dads to become friends: running! Both men were self-described “skinny, angst-ridden, obsessive Irish runner types.” Whenever they referred to themselves as such, they would laugh long and loud, even though it wasn’t funny the first time. Still, it got the job done. The men became good friends, took the bait about camping, and soon surprised the girls with their brilliant idea about camping in Algonquin Park.
But while the girls thought the camping trip was about mystery and gelato, the dads seriously seemed to think they were going to Algonquin Park to discover nature, and something about surviving in it. What fun could there be in that?
“We’ll get to the juicy part in a minute, Dani, but first you have to know something about one of Canada’s foremost landscape painters,” Dani’s father announced, perched so far forward in the driver’s seat he was mostly addressing the windshield wipers. “And he just happens to be closely associated with the place where we’re camping—Canoe Lake.”
John pretended not to hear the complaints from the girls in the back seat. Still, for all their harmonious groaning, Dani and Caitlin were not particularly alike. Dani’s eyes were green and Caitlin’s were blue. Dani’s denim overalls and greasy brown pigtails were her constant companions, while Caitlin’s many outfits and blond French braids were perfectly styled and always in fashion. Dani loved mysteries and misadventure, while Caitlin preferred adventure, and it was a mystery to her why Dani seemed to be drawn to double trouble. The girls were best friends.
“Now,” John continued, “everyone assumes Canoe Lake was named by Tom Thomson, but it was actually named by two explorers—Alexander Murray and later David Thompson, spelled with a p. Both of these men made split-cedar canoes in the surrounding area in the mid-1800s.”
Dani’s dad continued his rambling history as he glanced across at Bob, who was nodding with interest, and
