Game Four. Prior to the anthems Agnes skates up to Hanne and says, “I know about the spell. If I catch you pulling any more magical stunts I’m going to start handing out match penalties.”
Hanne looks taken aback. She skates over to her teammates and whispers the news. The whisper spreads through the team. They all look taken aback.
Kirsten skates out and sings If You Could Read My Mind by Gordon Lightfoot. The Finns stand there listening, wide-eyed, reading double meanings into the lyrics. The line about the ghost from the wishing well seems to freak them out particularly.
Josey scores four times in a 7 to 2 romp. When the game ends she’s ebullient, pounding her teammates on the shoulder and whooping it up. As she cruises past the timekeeper’s desk she gives Jacinthe a long speculative glance, then circles back, kisses her on the cheek, and skates off.
That night Jacinthe has a dream. It’s 1910. She’s part of a victorious hockey team who are gathered in a photographer’s studio to have their team picture taken. The seven players are all dressed in white woollen turtlenecks and black skirts. The photographer, whom she recognizes as her history professor, arranges them for the group portrait. Jacinthe is seated on a wooden chair in the centre. Behind her two shoulders stand Cathy Deirdre Zinck, wearing her Glengarry cap again, and Isobel Stanley in an astrakhan. Kneeling on either side of her are Josey and Hanne. Seated on the carpet in front are two of the 1939 Preston Rivulets, and that girl Bonny from grade nine. Jacinthe holds the championship cup. The group are in high spirits, and there’s a certain amount of joshing and jostling. Before the picture is taken Isobel leans down and begins to whisper advice into Jacinthe’s ear. It’s important information all about the key to happiness. Not to be outdone Zinck leans in and begins to descant equally good but completely contradictory advice.
“Ladies, please,” says the photographer. “On three. One. Two.”
The other seven players lean in toward Jacinthe and wrap their arms around her. The flash goes off.
Jacinthe awakes, and scrambles toward her desk to try to record the important advice, but by the time she gets pen to paper the admonitions have been blown away by a detonating sequence of orgasms.
That night before Game Five she watches the players circulate and wonders if she’ll ever get up the nerve, when suddenly Josey stops by her table in a spray of snow.
Josey: “You were in my dream last night.”
This reversal leaves Jacinthe at a temporary loss for words. She blurts, “I hope you realize I’m not responsible for things I do in your dream!”
“Too bad,” says Josey, skating away backward. “You were nice.”
Jacinthe sits there blushing.
Kaitlyn’s face is all dimpled from trying not to smile.
"I think it’s love.”
“Shh!”
The Finns have recovered their composure and come at the Isobels hard, forcing the white and black team into a defensive game. It’s scoreless well into the second period when Sanna takes a shot from in close, gets the rebound and shoots again, gets another and shoots a third time, and both teams begin to pile into the crease and on top of Jodi. Nobody knows where the puck is, then suddenly Marita throws her arms up and the Finns start to celebrate.
Josey, Courtney and Louise are instantly in Agnes’s face, arguing and pointing to the line.
Agnes: “It’s a goal.”
She skates toward the timekeeper’s table.
Josey, behind her, says: “Score one for Team Zebra.”
Agnes makes an about face and signals unsportsmanlike conduct.
In the box Josey says, “She wants them to win. This whole thing is about pleasing the Finns.”
“Josey, no,” says Jacinthe. “I know her. She’s got more integrity than a busload of other people.”
Josey takes this, and gives Jacinthe an approving look.
“You’re loyal.”
Jacinthe counts the penalty down and Josey bursts off on a rush.
Kaitlyn: “So totally in love.”
Jacinthe: “Shut! Up!”
The Daughters of Louhi win 1 to 0.
Later at Hunton Josey drops her hockey bag and looks down the hall toward Jacinthe is if about to say something. Jacinthe stands by her door with her key in her hand, the picture of twentyness in her Sorels and cargo pants, ancient parka with the braid hanging off, an equally old peppermint green sweater, and a headful of lank blondish-brown curls.
Jacinthe (laughing): “What?”
“You’re cute.”
(Shining and twinkling): “You’re not so horrible yourself.”
Josey clomps up close and lays her hand against Jacinthe’s cheek. Jacinthe utters a tiny sigh, then, recovering, bites Josey’s thumb. Two neighbours walk past, all eyes. Josey and Jacinthe part and retreat to their separate rooms. They toss and turn all night.
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