Extensions

by Myrna Dey

  “Does he know the value?”

  “No one knows for sure, but it’s the best thing Mackie’s seen since he opened up the Wellington seams, I hear. Even better, it’s close to the railroad.”

  The Irishman whistles again just as the baby rolls over in his crib. He lifts his head and looks around. Afraid to take a step on the creaky floorboards, Jane reaches toward him, mouthing her hushes. His father’s voice from the kitchen turns out to have a soothing effect and his head drops back on his blanket, eyes firmly shut. Jane wants to drop to her knees in thanks, but Lance’s words are too compelling for her to move a muscle.

  “Hargraves knows this Strong. Got a cabin he uses for butchering close to the fellow and they sometimes hunt wild boar together. Both keep sheep. He was getting firewood from Strong’s property when he discovered the coal. Told Mackie not to worry, that he’ll be able to persuade the darkie to sell. He’s already bragging about what’s in it for him. Not a word to anyone, you understand.”

  “I don’t know a thing.”

  “Better get back.” Scraping chairs are followed by another sound of glass breaking. “Let her cut her hand when she finally cleans this place up.”

  Jane still cannot move, even once the back door has slammed and the men’s voices and footsteps on the path disappear. Gradually, the paralysis seeps out of her and she walks softly to the kitchen. She sees the broken tumbler and throws the pieces away before filling a basin with water and soap. How does a man speak so cruelly of his wife, even one as silly as Stella? As if to remind her, Stella hastens through the back door just then, giggling like a tardy child. She is pleased with herself for having been included once again in a party with women she believes to be important. She recounts a story of how two fine china teacups were put with the wrong saucers, and she was the first one to notice it. Jane stops Stella’s giggling by telling her Lance was home.

  Stella freezes, as she stares at the dishes Jane is just finishing.

  “The baby and I kept quiet in the bedroom,” Jane says quietly, watching her face release some of its fear. “He thought you had taken Norman with you and never did find out I was here.”

  Stella’s shoulders remain rigid. “Why was he here?”

  Jane shrugs. “He had another man with him. I think they had a drink. The bedroom door was closed so I couldn’t hear much.” She mumbles, as much to cover up the event for herself as for Stella. She unties her apron, stuffs it in her cloth satchel. “He might tell you why.”

  “He’ll tell me something, all right. You hadn’t done the dishes when they came in?” Her voice begins to rise in accusation until a sharp glance from Jane causes her to look down guiltily. When she raises her eyes, they plead not to be left alone. But Jane has her long cardigan on, her hand on the door.

  “Oh,” she says before stepping outside, “a tumbler got broken when the men were here. I found it in the sink and threw the pieces in the waste pail.” It was the kind of thing Stella would blame her for when she found it missing.

  Jane says goodbye without looking back and bounds down the path like a deer, hardly touching the ground. She chooses the forest trail rather than the main road home to avoid meeting anyone, her heaving chest forcing her to pause in a grove of arbutus trees to catch her breath. The information is like a lump of coal smouldering inside her. If she hangs onto it, it will burn, but she must be careful where she lets it go, for it will also cause cinders wherever it lands. Mama would scold her for repeating hearsay, so she will not tell her. Maybe Tommy would do well to know, for it might take away some worries about future work. No, unlike Roland Hughes, Tommy always says he wants no part of secrets until they’re not secrets anymore. And he would think she was wrong being hidden in the Cruikshanks’ bedroom, regardless of her explanations.

  But it is not the talk of new coal causing agitation — that goes on in shops, school, at her own kitchen table all the time — rather, the words about Louis Strong hang heavy on her heart. He looked tired when she returned his clothes last time, but nothing in his manner or words hinted that Edgar Mackie had personally paid a visit to his cabin. Have the mine bosses been threatening him, or is it Lance’s rough tone of voice making everything bigger than it is, the same way he thinks of himself? Butch Hargraves is supposed to be Louis’ friend. What can she tell Louis that he does not already know? She does not want to give him more worries, especially when she is not even sure if they are justified. The word of Lance Cruikshank is nothing to take such a risk for, so she must keep this news to herself, carry on as if she has never heard it.

  Scratched by brambles she has not bothered to sidestep, Jane at last reaches home. Feathers of smoke greet her from the chimney. Tommy should be sleeping — is Mama tending the fire herself? Inside the back door, Louis Strong has deposited his bundle of clothes to be washed. Her mother is clearing the kitchen table in her good skirt and blouse with rouge on her lips and more than a normal flush on her cheeks, all signs of visitors. Mama never has callers, being too sick to have made any friends in Canada. At the sight of Jane, her shoulders slump and she sits down abruptly on a chair.

  “Louis was here?”

  “He brought the clothes. Said there was no rush, as usual.”

  “How was he?” Jane asked.

  “What do you mean, how was he? Tired, same as ever, far as I can see. He’s an old man.”

  “I just wondered. He seemed a bit under the weather last week. How was your day, Mama? You look fresh.”

  “Well, I don’t feel fresh,” she sighs. “Unexpected guests are enough to tire the likes of me.”

  “Who was here?”

  “After lunch, Tommy went in to sleep — he was working on the cupboard all morning, poor lad — and Gomer came running in from school. He told me two of his friends’ mothers were coming to pay me a visit in an hour’s time. Not a minute to gather my strength, and you not here to help me clean up or set out tea and cake before these strangers arrive.”

  “What did the women want?” Jane forces herself to keep her voice down, as much to prevent it from becoming shrill after all the other surprises as to respect her older brother sleeping in the next room.

  “They started out saying what a fine boy we have in Gomer and that he is welcome to come to their homes with their sons after school. Then they said the teacher, Miss Maasanen, was getting married next summer. I knew married women were not allowed to teach, but why were they meeting with someone like me, too sick to take part in the community?”

  As she speaks, Jane remembers this same glow on her mother back in Llantrisant after church when friends would come in for tea. Seeing it, she realizes how much she longs for Mama’s full presence in the family again.

  “Soon they come to their point. These two ladies, wives of businessmen in Nanaimo, are also members of the Southfield school board and early as it is, they want to think about hiring a teacher for the new school next year. The daughter of Louis Strong has applied for the job.”

  “Ruby?” Jane says enthusiastically.

  Her mother pauses, then speaks deliberately, illustrating how to restrain eagerness and impatience. “Yes, Ruby Strong. The one who teaches in the Cedar district. Seems she wants to be closer to her father — him alone and all — and she could be if she lived in the teacherage. Jane’s feelings scramble. She wonders if Ruby would do the laundry and take away her reason to see Louis and his son.

  “Gomer told them you do work for Mr. Strong, so that’s why they were here. They want to know my opinion of the family. I told them you consider Mr. Strong a gentleman. I told them that you have met his wife and his children, and you came home full of praise for them.” “Thank you, Mama. You did the right thing.”

  Mary Owens fans herself with her hand, feeling the heat from the stove as intensely as she feels the cold, aches, and pains — always more than anyone else. She moves her chair closer to the door. “These ladies welcomed your recommendation. They knew of Miss Strong’s fine reputation at Cedar School and were buildin
g a case against one or two fathers who might be disinclined to hire a Negro teacher.”

  Jane explodes in spite of herself. “Do they know Ruby? Do they know how hard-working and how kind she and her father and mother and brother are?” At the word “brother,” she reddens, as if speaking it will give her feelings away. “Do they really know how well-loved she is at Cedar School? That she takes children to board, gives them food and shelter there, sometimes gives them rides on her horse? She took her training at the Nanaimo Normal School, same as the other teachers, and probably learned better because she cares more about doing a good job.” At these words she feels a twinge of disloyalty to Miss Maasenen, who treated her so well.

  Mama is becoming tired and stern again. “I said what I could in favour of Miss Ruby Strong. I can’t do anything else and neither can you, Jane. I have to lie down now.” She rises from her chair and walks, slumped, to the bedroom.

  “Gomer would be blessed to have Ruby as a teacher. He might even learn something for a change.” Filled with shock and anger from the day’s events, Jane strides outside to cool her burning cheeks. She hears uneven strokes from an axe somewhere in the maple trees behind their house. It must be Gomer chopping wood. Badly, as usual. She hides behind a cedar bush and watches him. Sweat pours from his brow onto the school clothes he has not troubled himself to change. Jane considers stepping out and scolding him for causing extra washing for her, and then showing him how to chop wood properly. In the end, she decides her little brother must stick with something long enough to figure it out for himself. If only his fingers survive. Soon he tires of the effort and throws the axe down in disgust. Jane stays hidden as he marches back to the house, kicking everything in his path. Today Gomer’s carelessness is too familiar to stir her as it usually would. At the sound of the back door slamming, she picks up the axe and carries it to the outside shed where Gomer knows it belongs. Since they moved to Canada, axes and hatchets have become familiar to Jane, but this time the primitive tool feels dangerous in her hand. A shudder passes through her, as she throws it into the shed as fiercely as Gomer had thrown it on the ground. The sound of Tommy’s heavy footsteps on the other side of the wall reminds her he will want something to eat before he sets off for his night shift.

  Tommy is testing the hinges of the new cloak cupboard as she enters. Even if he is occupied at the same task, Jane can tell instantly from her brother’s manner whether his shift lies before him, or if he has just finished. On his way to the pits he has the edginess of a hawk, easy to snap with impatience at any interruption. After work, the same impatience is restrained by exhaustion and withdrawal. Gomer prattles on about a friend from school who has a newer and better axe that makes wood chopping easy. Jane is not surprised when Tommy snarls, “Nothing wrong with our axe but the person using it.”

  She quickly sets the table before Tommy sits down, stirring the thick soup of beef, barley, and vegetables she had made before she left this morning. Within minutes, the family is sitting down to a meal of Scotch broth, homemade bread, and bread and butter pickles, made from their own cucumbers in the summer. Jane lingers at the counter filling Tommy’s cylindrical lunchpail with roast beef sandwiches. She pours hot tea into the bottom and snaps the flat compartment containing sandwiches on top, just as her mother takes her chair in her best blue woollen housecoat. Jane has no appetite, and explains that she has sampled too much at the stove and is in need only of a cup of tea. She steals glances at Tommy to see if his face or movements will reveal that he knows or thinks the kinds of things Lance Cruikshank knows and thinks. Does the mine create cruelty like Lance’s, or is it miners like Lance who create poison gases in the mine? Has her brother been shaped by the darkness and the coal damp? He is bothered by the horses and mules going blind underground, something that would never trouble a man like Lance. No, Tommy could not be part of this threatening thing that has escaped, whatever it is.

  The meal over, Tommy changes to his miner’s suit in the scullery and tests the hinges on the cupboard once more before opening the door. Mama says, “Come you home safe, Thomas.” He nods, but does not answer as he leaves. Mama goes back to bed and Gomer flips pages of his school text loudly at an unreadable clip. Jane cleans the kitchen and slides the oil lamp to the end of the table. She pulls out her pen and paper from under the tea towels. Cassie, Cassie, please come over soon. What can she write to her brother and sisters without telling them all that happened today? A letter can easily go astray and Jane

  Owens, responsible daughter and sister that she is, could never be the bearer of such news.

  October 25, 1894

  Dear Brother and Sisters,

  It has been three weeks since Catherine’s last letter and I long to hear from all of you. Are Gwynyth and Evan over their colds? I am not surprised by the praise from the parents for Cassie’s conduct in the schoolroom. She has a loving manner with all children and with adults alike.

  Mama had two ladies from Gomer’s school for tea this afternoon. We do not have many guests in our home on account of Mama’s illness and I think she was the better for it, though she is resting now. They said Gomer is a fine lad and a welcome friend for their sons. Our little brother must have a different face outside, because he complains every day about walking so far to school and then about every minute inside it. He would be happy to stay home and do nothing. I would gladly trade places with him, but he would not want my jobs. The school needs a new teacher because the present one is getting married. How I wish you could be the teacher here, Cassie.

  Tommy is over his cold but does not get enough rest between shifts. There is always something for him to tend in the house and, of course, he likes a little time at the tavern with his friends on weekends.

  My hours at the other miner’s house get longer and longer, though my pay remains the same. I am tired and upset from being there and will go to bed after I put the clothes of my other generous customer to soak.

  Stay healthy, dear Brother and Sisters, until we will be together again and can talk freely.

  xxxxxxxx Your loving Sister, Jane xxxxxxxx

  “HULLO,” I croaked.

  “Oh no, did you work nights? I’m sorry, I thought you’d be up by noon.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m off. If it really is noon, I must have slept over twelve hours.”

  “That’s because you need it. I just wanted to tell you Janetta called yesterday. She’s back home and doing much better. She can’t go very far and wondered if we would like to go over again. She seems moved by your visit.”

  I remembered sitting over her hospital bed with my nose running. “Sure. When?”

  “You’re the busy one. You decide.”

  “Maybe after my next block. Thursday?”

  “Sounds fine. She mentioned the letters. Wants you to see them. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

  “Don’t rub it in. I’ll talk to you later.” I rolled over on the bed, cordless phone in hand. I was still groggy. After ten months of insomnia I now did nothing but sleep. Both signs of depression. I knew I was having wild dreams, but could not hang onto them in the morning. All that was left was a somber, overcast feeling. Of mines, misty forests, a foggy ocean. Jane Owens was haunting me. My knee knocked against the box of her letters where I had stopped reading last night with only three left. I pulled one out, and without lifting my head, began to read:

  October 2, 1894

  Dear Brother and Sisters,

  Your letter last week was a treasure to me, Cassie. Mama thinks I spend too much on postage, but I cannot wait any longer to reply. When you write, I am back in Llantrisant with you, playing with Evan and Gwynyth, hearing you and Margaret chatter. Margaret, Mama is proud that your handiwork is making a name for you, especially since it was she who taught you to sew. Cassie, by the time you get here, you will be hired as a teacher because of your skills with children. Evan and Gwynyth are lucky to have you in the home as a tutor. I am so in need of your company that sometimes I believe I will not last
. Since I left school I do not meet with any girls my own age except my employer and she is not a friend. I would stop working at that house this very day but Tommy is building on more rooms, and materials take more of his wages. He is hoping to be made timber foreman soon. He has worked hard for this promotion and deserves it.

  My only friend is my other customer. I would trust him with all my secrets except those that might hurt him. I wish more people knew how kind he is but he keeps to himself mostly. The person he sees most is the one he should not trust. Next week his younger son will be over helping him to finish off the harvest.

  Dear Sisters and Brother, I am tired and must go to bed. Tomorrow I have ten pies to bake for the harvest fair.

  xxxxxxxxx Your loving sister, Jane xxxxxxxxx

  Ten pies. I was twice my great-grandmother’s age in this letter and had never made one. And I had certainly never done anybody’s laundry but my own. I cringed to think that at fifteen, I did not even do that; I left it to my mother to push the buttons on the washing machine. Even worse, I would pout if the jeans I wanted to wear were still in the wash. As for fighting to walk to school, I grumbled when I had to get up to catch a five-minute ride with Gail and her dad. I must have inherited Gomer’s genes.

  I propped myself up against my pillows, which, speaking of laundry, could do with a wash. I thought of Jane wringing sheets out by hand and hanging them on a line to dry. Was she pretty? Was she tall? My height certainly didn’t come from my mother. I had to confess that until now I considered Jane’s life boring and pitiable, because housework all day was not my idea of fun. For the first time, I felt the full weight of her responsibility as a fifteen-year-old. Of the thousands of houses I had been in, I had seen few where a teenager was in charge. Sure, lots of kids survived drunken, addictive parents by doing laundry or cooking Kraft Dinner and pizza, but teenagers who quit school these days usually did not do it to support their family or bake pies. Social Services were just around the corner. What astonished me was the way Jane accepted her lot. You did what was expected of you back then. I still found it hard to believe that I was holding actual testimony in my hands from that century and not just reading about it in a book.