New Girl in Little Cove

by Damhnait Monaghan

  I dragged her towards the hard ice, then treaded water, pushing up on her bottom. Her front paws clawed at the ice, bits of it rasping off. I was starting to lose the feeling in my legs. The only way I knew they were still moving was that I wasn’t going under.

  Finally, with a sudden heave, Ruthie got purchase and scrambled jerkily out of the water. Then she shook herself violently, the freezing water hitting my face like bullets. Not that it mattered; I was up to my neck in it. Without a backwards glance, Ruthie charged across the ice in the direction of the wharf and Calvin.

  I didn’t watch the reunion; instead, I concentrated on my own exit. I was used to hoisting myself out of swimming pools—it was a point of pride for me to never use the ladder. So when I pressed my sodden mittens into the ice, I expected to push myself out right away. But my arms wobbled, then gave way. I tried again, but it was no use.

  My eyes darted to the wharf, where a crowd had gathered. A man in a red coat was gesturing wildly. Beside him was a bald man I knew to be a parent, though I couldn’t remember whose. I didn’t see Doug.

  My breathing quickened as my predicament became clear. My coat was soaking wet and heavy; like Ruthie with her fur, it was dragging me down.

  I shucked my mittens off, then clawed uselessly at my coat buttons. My fingers refused to work. I stretched my arms up onto the ice and flutter-kicked to try to get out. I was too bulky, too wet.

  Back at the wharf, Doug was pushing through the crowd with a coil of rope slung over one shoulder. He clambered down the steps, followed by several men. Doug lay on his stomach and began elbowing his way across the ice, the others following. Eddie Churchill and Phonse were behind him. When Doug was about fifteen feet away, he stopped, as did the others. Then each of them grabbed the ankles of the man in front of them; all the way back to the wharf they formed a human chain.

  Doug raised himself to a squatting position and threw the rope at me. It landed about a foot away.

  “I can’t reach it,” I called, trying to keep calm.

  He pulled it back towards him. The second time he threw it, the rope landed inches from me. I clawed at the ice but my fingers would not close around it. When I shook my head, there was shouting from the crowd on the wharf. Doug pulled the rope back and cinched the end of it around his waist. Eddie Churchill held the other end.

  “Rachel!” Doug sounded hoarse. “I’m going to crawl over and pull you out, okay?”

  I nodded, my teeth chattering. Doug inched over to me. His face was white, his eyes wild. He reached out and grabbed my hood, tugging and tugging until my chest breached the ice. Half strangled, I lay on the ice, breathing hard.

  “Jaysus God tonight, woman,” he said, his voice shaky. “You’re after giving us all a fright.”

  Then he untied the rope and secured it around my waist. “All right, b’ys,” he shouted. “I got her.”

  Behind him the men began tugging. I tried to crawl with the rope, but mostly I let myself be dragged. It was slow going. Doug was beside me, elbowing his way across the ice, his eyes never leaving mine. When we finally reached the steps, he pulled me up and into his arms, muttering, “Thank Christ.”

  Then Eddie jostled him aside, shouting instructions. Hands joined to form a chair and I was hurried up the steps to the wharf. Then Eddie hoisted me into his arms and carried me carefully up the path to Lucille’s. Doug and a few others walked behind us, their voices high as they replayed the rescue.

  “More guts than brains, wha?” said Eddie as we arrived at Lucille’s door.

  She appeared, all cross at the commotion until she saw the state of me. “Jaysus, Mary and Josephine,” she said. “What’s after happening?”

  “Lu-Lucille,” I managed to spit out. “I’m sorry.”

  The men all talked at once, trying to fill her in. One of them patted my shoulder awkwardly. “Christ on a bike,” he said. “Thought you was a goner.” Doug gave him a dirty look.

  “Bring her in the kitchen quick!” Lucille shouted at Eddie. “And get that wet coat off her. I’ll get some quilts.”

  Doug followed Eddie inside and fumbled with the buttons, then pulled my coat off and threw it on the floor, where a pool of red water began to form as the dye leached out. Lucille came out of her bedroom with a pile of quilts at the exact same time that Judy burst through the door.

  Suddenly, I remembered that Dad’s lighter had been in my coat. I fell to the floor and clawed at the pockets, but they were both empty. I stammered my thanks to Eddie and Doug, shoulders heaving as I held back the sobs.

  “Judy and I got her now, b’ys,” said Lucille, ushering the men out the door. I could hear Doug asking to stay.

  Judy patted me on the back. “It’s just the shock,” she said. “You’re grand.” Then she stripped off the rest of my clothes, Lucille wrapped me in quilts, and they sat me beside the stove to warm up.

  “How long do you reckon you were in the water, Rachel?” Judy asked.

  I said I didn’t know. “We won’t put you in the bath,” said Lucille. “It might be too big a shock for the system. I’ll make a hot water bottle for you.” She bent down and peered at me more closely.

  “What’s after happening to your face? It’s scratched up like a chicken pen.”

  “The dog,” I said. “Her way of saying thanks, I guess.”

  “Well, she must be feeling better, Judy,” said Lucille. “She’s got her sass back.”

  The kettle had boiled and Lucille now filled a hot water bottle for me and put it on my stomach over the quilt. “Now, let’s move you to the daybed and I’m going to fix some hot soup for you.”

  She and Judy helped me hobble over to the daybed. Judy sat down beside me while Lucille started banging pots and pans about on the stove.

  “You okay?” Judy asked.

  I nodded, shivering.

  “Thank God for that,” she said. “When I asked you to find a way to reach Calvin, I wasn’t expecting anything quite so dramatic.”

  I managed a little laugh.

  Lucille now brought over two steaming mugs of tea. Judy put her own on the floor and held mine up so I could sip it. Before I’d made much progress, Lucille filled another mug with pea soup and brought it over. I was able to curl my fingers around the handle and slowly drink it.

  “Where’s Doug?” I asked.

  “I sent him to check if the roads were cleared,” said Lucille. “He was all for getting an ambulance, but I allows you’re all right now, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  Eventually, the two women helped me upstairs to bed. Lucille piled so many quilts on me, I was rendered immobile. I lay there, listening to her walk back and forth from the kitchen to the living room every time the phone rang, which was about ten times more often than I’d ever heard when I lived there. At various points I heard Lucille using the words foolish, cracked and grand, all of which I interpreted as descriptions of me.

  When I awoke later, Lucille was sitting on the edge of the bed. I told her I was feeling much better. She gave me one of her robes to put on, then helped me back downstairs to the daybed. Then there was a shuffling in the hall, and Calvin came through to the kitchen. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, hands thrust in his coat pockets.

  “I wanted to say t’anks, miss.”

  I managed to right myself to a sitting position and patted the daybed. “Come sit down. How’s Ruthie?”

  “Ah, miss, she’s the best kind. Lying by the stove now, with me mudder fussing over her. And she’s chewing the biggest bone you ever saw.” His voice cracked. “T’anks for saving her, miss.”

  He sat down, hands coming out of his pockets. His bony wrists were at least two inches from the sleeve ends. He rubbed his hands up and down so hard on his cords I thought sparks might fly. Then he reached into a pocket and dropped something into my lap. It was an intricately carved bird. I turned it over, marvelling at the detail—the beady eyes, the richly feathered wings.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked. “
It’s beautiful.”

  “I made it.” He looked at me sideways and smiled shyly. “I likes to mess around with wood. Me grandfadder taught me.” His eyes lit up as he spoke of his hand-me-down tools and how he loved to carve wildlife.

  “You’re awfully good at it.”

  “Better than the French, right, miss?”

  “Un peu,” I said.

  Lucille had gone upstairs to fetch more blankets and now came back into the kitchen with Doug in tow. “Look who I’m after finding, lurking about in the hall, making a mess with his snowy boots,” she said.

  Doug raised his eyebrows when he saw Calvin sitting beside me.

  “Now then, Doug,” Lucille said. “How long do you think Rachel was in the water?”

  But Calvin answered first. “About five minutes, I’d say.”

  “That’s not so bad,” said Lucille. “I allows she’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

  “Plows are out in Clayville,” Doug said. “With any luck, they’ll get out this way later. I could run you home, Rachel.”

  “No!” Lucille’s voice was sharp. “She’s not leaving this house tonight. I wants to keep an eye on her. I think we could all use a cheer up, though. Rachel, are you up for a kitchen party?”

  I gestured at my borrowed robe. “I’m not sure I want to wear this in company.”

  But Lucille said she had some clothes belonging to Linda that would fit me just fine.

  “Miss,” said Calvin. “Will you play the fiddle tonight? We listens outside the Mardy pub sometimes.”

  I held up my reddened hands. “I don’t think I can tonight, Calvin.”

  I DIDN’T REALLY WANT a party, but Lucille said people wanted to come see me. The hookers came, and Eddie Churchill and Phonse, and Judy and Bill, and even Calvin’s mother, who took my hands into hers, rubbing them to try to heat them up.

  “T’anks for saving Ruthie,” she said. “She means the world to Calvin.”

  Phonse patted my head. “You must be wore out, girl. Rest up, sure.”

  Judy and Bill waltzed around the kitchen while others took it in turn to play a tune or sing or recite. About an hour into the party, Doug walked in carrying his mother in his arms. “I couldn’t fit the wheelchair through your door, Lucille,” he shouted across the room.

  “Grace!” Lucille fought her way through the crowd. The two women looked at each other for a good minute before Lucille reached up and stroked Doug’s mom on the cheek. “My God, girl, it’s some good to see you.”

  “I decided I could get out more,” she said. They made space for her on the daybed beside me, and she accepted a glass of wine. “What a brave thing you did,” she said.

  “More like foolish,” said Lucille. “Now Grace, give me a minute to pass ’round these sandwiches, and then I wants a chinwag.”

  Lucille had told me to avoid alcohol, but my glass was on endless refill of soft drinks. People I didn’t know squeezed onto the daybed on the other side of Grace to chat. Some praised my bravery; others lamented my foolishness. When Lucille returned, I bragged to her that someone had called me a chucklehead.

  “They think I’m funny!”

  “They thinks you’re stunned, more like,” she said.

  “I s’pose it’s a fine line sometimes,” said Grace.

  Then Lucille bent down and whispered in her ear. Grace nodded and Lucille called Doug over and asked him to carry his mother into the living room. “It’s been too long,” Lucille said. “We needs to catch up, and there’s too much of a racket in here.”

  I held Doug’s beer while he moved his mother. He came back and sat beside me. We didn’t say much, just sat in companionable silence. At some point, I noticed his arm was around my shoulders.

  Late in the evening Roy Sullivan arrived with a case of beer on his shoulders. “Where is she?” he asked, moving through the crowd. He put the case of beer at my feet. “Sorry about that bust-up,” he said.

  I managed not to ask which one.

  “You got some courage, girl,” he said.

  I asked Doug to open the case of beer and he handed one to Roy, who twisted off the cap and passed it to me, then opened another one for himself. It was against Lucille’s advice but I clinked bottles with Roy, then said, “You know what courage is?”

  “What?”

  “Stepping away from a family tradition that doesn’t work for you. Following your own dream. That’s real courage.”

  Doug inhaled sharply and pinched my waist, but Roy Sullivan held my gaze for what seemed like a long time. Then he nodded and took a long swig of his beer.

  26

  The day after the rescue, I felt well enough to drive myself home to Clayville. Lucille insisted on sending a food package with me—a loaf of her bread and a jar of pea soup. I told her I was good for milk.

  On my return to school on Monday, the students all wanted to talk about the weekend. When I suggested we do so en français, they were less keen all of a sudden.

  I perched the little bird that Calvin had given me on my desk beside my stapler. Calvin’s behaviour was impeccable in class these days, but never again did he participate; he endured. It was obvious to me that he wasn’t going to pass French again this year, and after asking around the other staff members, it seemed that the same held true in other subjects.

  While researching scholarship possibilities for Cynthia in the library, I found a file folder labelled “Careers.” I flicked idly through dog-eared brochures for various apprenticeships, a few universities in the Atlantic provinces, the RCMP and the Canadian Forces. Tucked at the very back of the folder was a brochure for an arts college in Nova Scotia. After reading it, I went to find Judy.

  “High school is wasted on Calvin,” I said. “He’s seventeen, he could leave if his mother would let him.” I waved the brochure at her. “I found this in the library. Did you see that wood carving he gave me?”

  Judy took the brochure and set it on her desk, barely glancing at it. “Calvin can’t go to arts college,” she said. “Not in Nova Scotia, and not anywhere else. But there’s a trades college in St. John’s where he could study carpentry.”

  “No! Calvin’s too talented to be a carpenter.”

  “I wasn’t really thinking about Calvin,” Judy said. “Calvin needs a trade so his mother is satisfied he’ll earn a good living. She needs that guarantee.”

  “Judy, you’re a genius!”

  “I know,” she said. “But can you remind Bill?”

  “So, I can look into this trades college?” I asked.

  “For what it’s worth,” she said, “you have my blessing. But that’s not the one you’ll need.”

  I phoned the trades college in St. John’s and had a long conversation with its director. A few weeks later, a large package arrived in the mail for me, and I asked Calvin to see me after school.

  He knocked on my classroom door, his face wary.

  I beckoned him in, and when he sat down at my desk, I filled him in on the trades college.

  “I think it would be good for you. You don’t need a high school certificate to apply.”

  Calvin didn’t answer. I waited until he had finished cracking every knuckle, then I passed him the big envelope.

  “Take a look,” I said. “And I talked to the director. The main focus is carpentry, but they have some courses in furniture making, wood carving and . . .” My voice dwindled away. Calvin was sitting on the chair beside my desk, holding the unopened manila envelope away from his body. Then he slid it back across the desk to me. “T’anks, miss, but Mudder wouldn’t like it. She wants me to get my certificate.”

  “You would get a certificate,” I said. “A really useful one.”

  He scuffed his shoe back and forth against my desk. I fought the urge to tell him to knock it off.

  Then he said, “It’s no use, miss.”

  “What if I talked to your mother?”

  The scuffing stopped. “You’d do that? For me?”

  “Especially for you.
”

  He ducked his head, but I thought I saw a smile. “T’anks, miss.”

  “C’mon,” I said. “I’ll drive you home. And you know what else, Calvin?”

  He shrugged.

  “They have a basketball team.”

  Calvin directed me to a small house, in a row of three, about halfway to Mardy. Mrs. Piercey was outside, brushing dirty clumps of snow from her path. She approached my side of the car and I wound down the window. “Is Calvin in trouble?” she asked. “What’s he done?”

  “He’s not in trouble,” I said. “I was hoping to speak to you about his future.”

  She beamed. “Aren’t you grand?”

  When I got out of the car, Ruthie nudged my leg. I gave her a good pat, then she raced around the car and jumped on Calvin. The pair of them headed towards a faded grey shed at the bottom of the yard.

  “That’s Calvin’s workshop,” Mrs. Piercey said. “He spends all his free time in there making things.”

  She invited me inside her home, removing a sewing basket from the table. I thought about those neat stitches on Calvin’s shirt. Her handiwork, like her son’s, was flawless. She moved quietly about the kitchen, putting on the kettle and fetching tea bags, mugs and tinned milk.

  When she sat down beside me and poured the tea, I took a glossy brochure out of the envelope and laid it on the table. “The trades college in St. John’s has been in touch with the school,” I said. “They’re looking for students for their carpentry program.”

  I slid the brochure towards her. She tapped her fingers on it, but didn’t pick it up.

  “You don’t need a high school diploma. So even if Calvin doesn’t pass”—I bit my tongue to keep from saying again—“this year, it wouldn’t matter. He could leave St. Jude’s and start at the trades college in September.”

  Mrs. Piercey was looking out the window, so I kept talking to the teapot.

  “They do some wood carving courses and there are grants for exceptional candidates. I told the director about Calvin’s nature pieces and he’s so eager to meet him.”