Now in Canada, KC continues her story with this entry from August 20, 1968 (a Tuesday)

She begins with some heavy black cross-outs and then writes: 

    Pardon the cross-outs, I was just figuring something out. 

    Anyway, life in Canada is rather interesting.  Beautiful scenery, and the water isn’t bad. 

    A green truck pulled up outside one of the front doors of the store where we had stopped to get me some milk.  Sacks of potatoes were piled, one on top of another, to be delivered to the restaurant next door. 

    A short man in a green jacket jumped out of his cab.  He knocked on the door of the restaurant peering through “Ice Cream - 15¢ ” and “Home-made Bread” which was written across the glass door in white letters.  A man came out, all in white, tying a white apron behind him, looking fattish, blond, and Scotch. 

    They talked for a few minutes and then the truck driver proceeded to unload his potatoes.  Small boys, everywhere there are small boys, stood around him, offering talkative help. 

                                   The 26th Step 

    Green hills, blue hills, red roads and rivers, dust spread on the sky like lumpy-thin frosting, this is New Brunswick. 

    The first day was, to put it accurately, ghastly, for me.  I caught the virus and I had chills all the way up to St. Stephen’s.  After 350 miles of highway, shining steel and construction, and later, great blue lakes and majestic hills set with birch trees and pine, and, most beautiful to me, the grey barns and houses, built with a special architecture all their own, after all this horror and beauty, I landed on a bed in a St. Steven’s hotel disguised as a warehouse, gasping like a fish out of water.  I had a fever. 

    Daddy got sick, too, and felt as ghastly as I had. 

    Somehow that night we crawled down the 26 steps of the hotel that led to the streets of St. Stephen’s.  (Bulletin: 1 mile to Nova Scotia !) 

    It seemed that most of the inhabitants of St. S. were gathering at the local movie theater.  Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner was playing.  Not far from there was the Pentecostal Society’s place, with a big sign “Jesus Saves”.  Behind one side of St. S.’ main street was a river of sorts.  The lights of the town reflected in the water blurrily.  I felt pretty blurry myself. 

There was also a barn, and a pile of not so neatly cut wood in front of it.  

Our car was in between the house and the barn.  From all appearances Billy Malcolm didn’t have a car...