“Can you come much farther?” I called, running down the steep bank towards the sound.
“A little way yet,” Cade called.
“Help me turn the cart, so we can follow them, Ned,” Papa shouted now.
As the track was very narrow there was no room for the stallion and cart to turn. We had to unhitch the horse, swing the cart around by hand, and hitch him up again.
“I'm pleased they're this far up, with that strong current against them,” Papa said, grinning with satisfaction.
“Can you get much higher?” I called, again running down the bank towards the stream.
“Sure,” Sam shouted. “We're going right to the mill.”
I kept going until I could see the two rafts, Sam and Jeremiah on the lead one, Cade and Elisha a short distance behind. The rafts were of white pines, to be squared for walls and cut into boards, and on top of each lay some cedar logs for the shingles. Sam tossed me a rope that was attached to his raft, and leapt ashore. Together we hauled the raft round a bend while Jeremiah steered with the rudder. We kept going along the winding creek until we were close to the swift waters which frothed below the mills. From here we could quite easily carry each log, and would not need to use the cart. We were already removing logs from the raft when Papa joined us.
“I'll take the stallion home. We won't need him,” said he.
I went to help Cade and Elisha with the second raft, and we hauled it along until dusk. Tying it securely to some trees, we walked home for the night. We were back at dawn, pulling it and taking turns manning the rudder. By the time we got as close to the mill as we could, there was no sign of the other raft for all the logs were piled outside the mill. We were not long in demolishing the second raft and carrying the logs to join those from the first.
Mr. Coleman bustled about giving orders. Hired men heaved the first log in position in front of the saw and started squaring it. Other timbers followed, then they started cutting boards, for floor and roof. While they prepared the wood, we were back at the cabin building a fieldstone chimney for the middle of the addition. That way one chimney would provide fireplaces for both the guest bedroom and the parlour. We felt pressed for time with so many other things to be done, but neighbours rallied round as they always did when a house or barn was being raised. With many extra hands and our horses we soon had the frame up and were lifting timbers. Once the lower ones were in place Papa allowed for a window in each room.
We used wooden pegs to fasten the timbers. Iron nails rusted too quickly. Next came the roof boards. Then Cade and I made a trip to the sawmill for cedar shingles. We had no time to lose, for we had to finish all the planting both on our land and in the garden if we hoped to have enough food stored before winter. We did not expect to resume work on the great timber raft until after Uncle William's arrival, which might be quite soon now.
After we laid the floor of the new wing, Papa took the cart and drove off on a mysterious errand. When he returned he had a large square package wrapped in burlap. “Glass from Buell's store,’ he said proudly. “Enough for the new wing and the old part, too.”
As could be expected, Mama was overjoyed. The ugly greased paper panes we had put in when we built the cabin kept out flies and mosquitos, but they did not let in much light. Papa made frames for the new windows, and fitted the glass in them before he exchanged the greased paper for glass in the old ones. Cade, Sam and I nailed panelling on the inside walls to make the two rooms snug against winter's cold. Before the end of May the addition was finished though bare. Papa and Cade went to do the planting on our land, leaving Sam and me to work on the furniture and help put in the garden.
“Mind, you two, no quarrelling,” Papa warned us. “And, Sam, I don't want to catch you leaving too much for Ned to do.”
“I won't, sir,” Sam said cheerfully. “Woodworking's something I enjoy, much more than the shop.”
We got along better than usual until before breakfast on the morning of June 4th. Sam said he was going to Buell's Bay for the day, but he wanted it kept a secret. Of course that made me ask why.
“The militia's drilling for the King's birthday, the way they do every year, and I want to be there,” he said.
Now I understood. Sam was not quite sixteen, and Mama would not want him to go. Cade would probably be coming from our land, but only able-bodied men over sixteen and under fifty had to turn out. “Will Papa be there with Cade?” I asked Sam.
“He turned fifty on his last birthday, in case no one told you,” Sam replied. “He's quite a lot older than Mama. Now, just say you don't know where I am if she asks you.”
“I won't lie for you, Sam,” I said firmly.
“That won't stop my going,” Sam retorted angrily.
In the end I need not have worried. Mama remembered what day it was. As we were seating ourselves round the butternut table to eat, she said, “Cade will be at Buell's Bay today, for the drilling. But I don't suppose he'll have time to come home before he returns to the estate.”
I sighed with relief. Sam would not dare disappear now, for Mama would know without asking where he had gone. Both of us did a good day's work on the furniture. We planned a chest, some chairs, a commode, a small table, and a bed for guests. Mama had collected lots of feathers for a mattress. Uncle William could not be expected to make do with straw like the rest of us. Our work lacked polish, but Mama was pleased with our first chairs, and she thought the chest really quite nice.
June was galloping by at an alarming rate. The best part of each day was helping Sam school our yearling filly. Some of our neighbours thought we were fools to spend so much time just breaking in a horse.
“We know better, don't we?” Sam said. “As Papa tells us, love works so much better than force. Sometimes I wish he'd be as gentle with me as he is with his horses.”
By the end of the month we thought Uncle William might arrive at any time and we redoubled our efforts to finish the furniture. The days turned unbearably hot—the kind of sticky heart that sapped our energy. Mama suffered the most for her time was drawing close. We tried to be extra thoughtful, and Elizabeth took over running the house. The heat was still intense when Elizabeth asked me to fetch Mrs. Boyce, whom Dr. Jones had arranged to have stay with Mama during the birth. He sometimes delivered babies himself, but since he lived about ten miles away in Augusta, one of the village women helped unless he happened to be nearby.
“Hurry, Ned,” Elizabeth urged me. “Mama's pains are quite close together.”
“I'll ride the mare to our land and fetch Papa,” Sam said. “The colt will follow her so he can feed.”
“Please do, Sam,” Elizabeth said. “I know Papa will want to be here as soon as possible.”
When Mrs. Boyce arrived, the first thing she did was order everyone except Elizabeth out of the house. (With the new wing I no longer thought of it as a mere cabin.) Sarah refused to budge, even though Elizabeth wanted her to keep an eye on Robert.
“I'll watch over him,” I said. “And, Sarah, if you don't come out this instant, I'll come in after you.”
Just then Mama moaned, and Mrs. Boyce murmured soothing words. Terrified by the sound Mama had made, Sarah came running out, hands clasped over her ears.
“Let's have a swim to cool ourselves off,” I suggested.
I led all of them well below the swift waters at the base of the mills, where I knew of a safe spot. There was some beach, and the current was not strong. I would have preferred the swimming hole farther downstream, but it was too deep for Robert to paddle. We stayed a long time, our thoughts on what was happening to Mama. My head, and Smith's, too, kept turning to look back in the direction of home, but Stephen and Robert splashed and laughed. A very subdued Sarah sat on the bank wiggling her toes in the cool water. Just about the time I thought we ought to return to see how things were, I heard Elizabeth calling us. I ordered the three boys out of the water, and we climbed back up the bank.
Elizabeth met us at the edge of our holding, sm
iling happily. “A girl,” she announced. “Now you lads only outnumber us two to one instead of three.”
“Maybe she won't be at all like Sarah,” I whispered.
We did not have to remain outside waiting for long. Mrs. Boyce soon appeared in the doorway and beckoned to us. “You may come and see your mother now.”
I was glad I had taken everyone swimming. The boys looked shining clean. Sarah had not washed, but she never got as dirty as they did. Elizabeth was in the lead, and I brought up the rear as we crowded into the ground floor bedroom. Mama lay looking pale and tired but contented, propped up on pillows, in her arms a tiny bundle wrapped in a piece of fresh linen. From the top peeked something beet red.
“She's beautiful,” Elizabeth said softly. “Come closer, Sarah, and have a better look.”
Sarah moved in, but shut her eyes and shoved some fingers in her mouth. Smith and Stephen also looked unhappy, and I felt uncertain myself. I tried to remember Robert when I first saw him. I had forgotten how small and ugly a newborn can be. I thought Elizabeth was only saying the little red thing was beautiful to please Mama.
“What will you call her, Mama?” I enquired hoping to cover up my feeing of embarrassment.
“Papa and I have decided on Margaret, as long as the rest of you like the name,” Mama said, her voice soft. “And, Ned, I can see you don't think much of her. Just wait a few days and she'll look prettier.”
“The name's fine,” I said gruffly, even more embarrassed.
Papa rode in on the stallion late the next day, followed by Sam on the mare, the colt running behind her. Cade was staying on our land because many vegetables were waiting to be picked before they got past their best. While I helped Sam rub down the horses, Papa went to be with Mama.
“I had sensed your time was near,” he was saying when we joined the powwow in the bedroom. “I was thinking of coming home when Sam appeared.”
For a few days Robert's nose was out of joint. He had been sleeping on a mattress on the floor of our parents' bedroom since he had outgrown the cradle Papa had made. Now Margaret lay in the cradle, and Robert's mattress went between Elizabeth's and Sarah's. There he would not fall out of the loft if he rolled off his mattress, and he would not be disturbed if the new baby cried in the night. All the same, he resented the newcomer in his cradle. To make up, Mama cuddled him as much as she could.
We were all watching for Uncle William when Cade joined us. He had come floating downstream, the bateau filled with early vegetables from our land. We made several trips with the cart to Buell's Bay to bring them all home. The wooden furniture was ready, and Mama thought it looked quite presentable. Elizabeth was braiding a rug for the new parlour when Mama could spare her.
Sarah had worked a sampler to hang on the wall. In the centre was a pictuure of a cabin that resembled ours without the new part. Across the top she had embroidered the words “God Bless Our Happy Home”, and along the bottom “Sarah Seaman, May 1st 1791”. I thought, how absurd that Sarah should spend so much time on that motto. She was so often the cause of breaches of the peace in our household.
On the first day of August, Mr. Coleman came home and informed Papa that a brigade was unloading at Johnstown. It was carrying passengers from Albany, and ought to reach Buell's Bay the next day. Papa resolved to meet the boats, but late in the afternoon a customer ordered five scythes and some other tools. He was in a rush because he wanted to depart for his land, in a back township, before any more of the summer was gone.
“Ned,” Papa told me. “You'll have to meet the brigade. Take the stallion and cart. Your uncle's bound to have some baggage. I can't go, nor can I spare Cade or Sam. I can't afford to let such a fine order go to another blacksmith.”
“Wouldn't it be more polite if Elizabeth came, too?” I asked slyly, knowing how much she would like to escape from the house for a while.
“If Mama can spare her,” Papa agreed.
Wonder of wonders Mama could. “William will recognize her for she looks so like Mother, and she can bring some things I need from Buell's.”
We wanted to leave right after breakfast, but Papa said noon would be soon enough. He needed me, and Mama had plenty for Elizabeth to do. We were disappointed, but even if the brigade came directly from Johnstown it could not arrive much before midday. After an early dinner we took our leave, scrubbed faces making up for decent clothes. Elizabeth sighed happily. How nice it seemed to be by ourselves for a change, away from the rest of the family.
Buell's Bay had only five houses, a few other buildings, the all-important store, and the jetty. Still, because it was the landing place, people were always coming and going. Near Mr. Buell's we saw Jesse Boyce driving a cart loaded with boxes and hailed him.
“Has the brigade come?”
He drew up. “Yes, and moved on.”
“Did anyone get off here?” Elizabeth wanted to know.
“Five passengers,” he reported. “And if one of ‘em ain't your uncle from New York, I'll eat my hat!”
“Does he look like our mother?” I asked, but Jesse only cast his eyes heavenwards and slapped the reins.
“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth murmured. “I hope Uncle won't be affronted because none of us were waiting when he arrived”
“Let's hope Jesse's right, and Uncle did come with this brigade,” I said, slapping the stallion out of his sedate walk. “So Mama's long wait will be over.”
Chapter 5
Uncle William
Three men were standing on the jetty, but I knew immediately which one was our uncle. He had to be the neat, elegantly clad dandy striding back and forth, the picture of agitation. The tight fitting pantaloons and elagant coat marked him as a man of fashion. How out of place he appeared in the woodland clearing that was Buell's Bay. He looked as though he belonged on the streets of Montreal or Quebec, I suspected, though I had not seen either city. So, that was why Jesse promised to eat his hat!
We tethered the horse to some fencing, and marched up to him wondering how to break the ice. His mouth was set in a pout. Daintily he flicked some dust from his sleeve, pursing his lips when he noticed that the ruffle poking from it was less than snowy white. Above all, he looked very out of sorts, and I sensed a storm brewing.
“Mr. William Jackson?” I queried, bracing myself.
“I am he,” came the chilly reply.
“Uncle William?” Elizabeth showed more presence of mind.
Now he stared harder than ever, and I faltered, very conscious of how scrubby we looked. Clearly here was a state of affairs that called for Papa. Even when shabby he had an air about him that could overawe. Fortunately Elizabeth was on her toes.
“I'm Elizabeth Seaman, and this is my brother Nehemiah. We've come to meet you. Our father has some work that is urgent or he would be here himself.”
Uncle paid scant attention. As soon as my sister paused, the dam burst. What a dreadful journey! What frightful blockheads he had met along the way! Were there no civilized folk west of Montreal? How could anyone bear to exist in such a howling wilderness? It was inhabited by wild beasts and uncouth scalawags! We stood dumbfounded, wishing he would lower his voice. A small crowd had been attracted by the spectacle he was making of himself—and us.
“Are these yours, sir?” I asked, pointing to two large portmanteaus and a leather hatbox. The sooner we left the better. Some rough bumpkin might decide to cool our elegant kinsman by dunking him in the river.
“Yes,” he replied. “Have you a carriage waiting?”
Merciful heavens, a carriage! Hadn't Mama told him anything about life here? A snicker behind me showed that the mood of our audience had changed for the better.
“No, sir,” Elizabeth said apologetically. “Because we don't have any decent roads. We've brought our cart, though, and you may ride in it, along with your bags.
Each of us picked up a portmanteau, leaving the hatbox for him, and started towards the stallion and cart. Again Uncle was not pleased.
“Ride
in that?” he exclaimed. “I'd rather walk. But first I must have some refreshment. Is there a tavern anywhere near?”
“No, sir,” said I. “But you can get rum or hard cider at Buell's store. We're to stop there for some things Mama wants.”
For the first time he looked at us with a hint of approval in his gaze. “At least you don't call your parents Pa and Ma. It's so vulgar.”
“They don't like it either,” Elizabeth explained. “Let's leave the bags in the cart. Buell's store is this way.”
He shrugged and allowed himself to be led there. Hard cider improved his disposition somewhat. Elizabeth bought a loaf of sugar, two pounds of tea, a gallon of rum, and some sweetmeats. We would be living better than usual in Uncle's honour. Everything went on our bill, which Papa settled in services to Mr. Buell if he was short of cash.
“How far must we walk?” Uncle asked peevishly while I was leading the stallion.
“Just three miles,” Elizabeth said brightly.
He fixed his mouth in a thin taut line. His highly polished boots, we soon discovered, were no match for our moccasins. After the first mile he decided the cart did not look so uncomfortable after all. We had to boost him aboard, for in those tight trousers he could not spring up on his own.
We finished the walk to Coleman's Corners in dreary silence. Was this visiting uncle going to look down his snooty nose at everything he saw in our settlement? At least he would be impressed by our house, with its new wing.
“Here we are,” Elizabeth said when we were within sight of our place.
“Where?” Uncle cried, looking in every direction but the right one.
“Right there,” she repeated, pointing.
Uncle William clutched his forehead and shuddered. “Not that pitiful hovel?”
That made my blood boil, but I remembered one of Papa's sayings, “least said soonest mended.” Let Mama handle her bad mannered brother. How dare he be so insulting? At that moment Papa came out of the shop, waved, and ran into the house. By the time we had helped Uncle William climb down from the cart, the whole family had come pouring outside, except for baby Margaret. For the first time Uncle's face lit up.
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