That was a miserable night. I felt so strange and alone in that car. The chattering of all the other people gradually faded away, to be replaced by snores, but I couldn’t sleep. By the time we pulled into Montreal the next morning I was almost faint with exhaustion, but our trip was far from over.
In Montreal, we had to rush to make the change onto another train. I shared a compartment with Mister and Missus Bradley on that one. Missus Bradley had a basket with provisions and she offered to share them with me, but I felt so strange and awkward in her presence, not to mention Mister Bradley’s, that I said I was not hungry. Mam had provided me with bread and cheese in my bundle, and I managed a nibble of that at one of the stops when Missus and Mister Bradley got off the train to walk on the platform. But I had spoken truly. I really wasn’t hungry. I was too tired and miserable to think of food.
We arrived at Prescott in the afternoon. We had more time there, and Mister Bradley was able to check on James and the dog and their baggage. Then we left for Ottawa on yet another train in the early evening, and arrived here well after 9 o’clock. In spite of the late hour, there were people everywhere, and everyone seemed to be in a raging hurry to be elsewhere. The air was heavy with a horrible smell of smoke. Mister Bradley hurried Missus Bradley off, but I was jostled and bumped on all sides. Then James appeared with the dog, and to my horror didn’t he give me its rope to hang on to while he organized the luggage. I stood as still as I could and tried not to look at the beast, but it was determined to follow Mister Bradley and kept tugging after him. In spite of myself, I was pulled down the platform until I was right up beside the master. He was not pleased.
“You should stay out of the way, Rosie,” he said, “until we have everything put to right.”
I just muttered a “Yes, sir,” and tried to yank Brutus away, but that infernal dog was having none of it. It was like trying to move one of the train cars themselves. Fortunately, a carriage pulled by two fine black horses pulled up and we all piled into it, including Brutus, who sat squashed up against my legs and drooled all over my best dress.
When we pulled up in front of the house that was to be the Bradleys’, I could not believe my eyes. It is a very modest wooden building, with but two floors and a garret of sorts. It sits right on the street, if street it can be called. The road is an unpaved sea of mud. We were all so tired by that time that we wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. I helped Missus Bradley unpack some linens and I made up their bed, then I bundled myself into my little room and finally fell asleep.
How to describe this house? It is as unlike the grand house the Bradleys occupied in Québec City as it is possible to be. There is no garden to speak of and it sits bare and ugly all by itself. The next nearest house is farther down the street and is no better. I could see Missus Bradley’s face fall when she got her first look at it. Inside, all was cold and damp and dark, and very unwelcoming. It is so much smaller than the Québec house. The furniture had arrived and was crammed and jammed in everywhere, but there was nowhere near enough room for it all.
The kitchen is large, but the wood stove needs a good blacking. I expect that will be one of my first tasks as soon as we are more settled. There is a long, wooden table with stools around it and a sink with no sign of spigots for running water. When I had a chance to explore a bit, I discovered some outbuildings in back and a shed for a horse. James’s room is back there as well. I do not think he is happy with that!
Worst of all, I think, is the smell. The air is ripe with it. The same smell of smoke as struck us at the station, but added to that, the house stinks of dirty drains and heaven only knows what else. The first morning we were here I got a fire going in the stove and unpacked some pots and dishes and managed to make a soup, but Missus Bradley was having none of it. She stayed in bed with a headache for most of the day.
Not a very good beginning.
Friday, May 18th, 1866
You would think that things could not get worse. You would be wrong.
Monday, May 21st, 1866
I am so tired. We are still unpacking and trying to arrange the furniture in some kind of order and I am kept hopping to the nearby shops to buy supplies. A brief respite yesterday because it was the sabbath. Mister and Missus Bradley are Church of England but, to Missus Bradley’s dismay, when we arrived she found that the only church of that persuasion is away over on the other side of the city, so here they are holding services in the courthouse, of all places. Missus Bradley was certain she could see prisoners looking down at them through their barred windows. She was most upset about it.
I was allowed to attend Mass at St. Joseph’s. I was overcome by the number of very fine people there, but I kept to the back and made myself small. No one noticed me.
Missus Bradley is beyond unhappy with this situation. I overheard Mister Bradley trying to comfort her, and saying that they are just renting this house, and promising that he would build her a fine house as soon as they were confident that the capital of the Province of Canada would not be moved again. It has moved so often, but usually between Québec City and Toronto — both civilized towns. I don’t think anyone is happy about this, but of course we must obey the Queen.
I have just been able to catch glimpses of the Parliament Buildings up on the hill, built here to house the government of the United Province of Canada. The buildings are said to be magnificent. Miss Edwards told me all about them and I cannot wait to see them up close, but all is at sixes and sevens here and I fear it will be a long while before I get a day off for my own pleasure.
I cannot help thinking about Mary Margaret, who is at home and happy with her Donny and her wedding plans, while I am here in this miserable town, so far away.
It is not fair!
Wednesday, May 23rd, 1866
Order is beginning to be established, but there is still much too much to fit into this house. Missus Bradley and I have worked from dawn to dusk trying to get everything organized. At least she is coping better with things, and I think is beginning to get used to me, but I am afraid all is not well between her and Mister Bradley. He is off to his duties in Parliament every day and she is getting fair knackered. She was very short with him when he came home late last evening and he was in a temper. I am not a very good cook and I had burned most of the dinner at noon. That did not help matters at all. Missus Bradley hardly touched the food and, even though she tried to hide it, she sicked most of it up afterwards.
She is not a very strong person to begin with, though, and I am beginning to suspect she might be in the family way. I hope it was that, and not my miserable cooking.
I was right to worry about the lack of spigots. There is no running water in the house. We’re to buy barrels of water for fifteen cents a gallon off a delivery cart that comes round to the door. There are only primitive wooden drains for the water, and no facilities for sewage at all. I have to empty the chamber pots every morning and that is a disgusting job. For myself and any other servants we might get, there is a smelly outhouse in the back.
There is no garbage collection, so the contents of the chamber pots and the scraps from the kitchen are just tossed into a pile at the back of the house, as close to the bushes as I can get. It seems that the pile of refuse is collected once every spring. I surely hope that they haven’t already done the collection for this year.
My own family’s little house in Québec City might have been humble, but even it was far better than this!
Friday, May 25th, 1866
We have a cook! I don’t know who is more relieved, Mister and Missus Bradley or myself.
Monday, May 28th, 1866
Missus Ramsay, the cook, started today. Dinner at noon was a delight, as was supper this evening. She has a small room in the garret. She is a rather stern person, given to ordering me around. I am none too happy with that, but fear there is nothing to do but hop to her wishes.
First off she was at me for not having cleaned the wood stove up and blacked it, but, truth to tel
l, I have not had a moment. Then, when I started to explain, she just cut me off and told me to get to it. No sooner had I started than Missus Bradley rang to ask me to help her unpack another trunk. Then it was time to walk the infernal dog. I cannot say that I walk him. He walks me. Drags me, more like. Brutus has done nothing to change my opinion of dogs.
Wednesday, May 30th, 1866
Well, the wretched stove is blacked and as clean as I could get it, which was none too clean. Satisfied Cook, though, thanks be.
The man who brings our water is nice, but his son, who helps him, is a very cheeky boy. Brian the boy’s name is. He told me that straight off, adding that his friends call him Briney. As I have no intention of being one of his friends, I shall call him Brian. When I call him anything at all, that is. Which may not be often. He asked me what my name was and when I told him it was Rosie, he said his mam had a cow named Rosie!
Thursday, May 31st, 1866
We have bought a cow too, for fresh milk and butter. She is not named Rosie. She is called Daisy. Actually, she is a pleasant enough beast, but rather stupid, in the way of cows. She cost forty dollars! She is established in the shed next to the pony trap and the master’s horse, but she is allowed out in the back garden during the day as it is well fenced. Cook is asking for chickens. She is marking out a site for a kitchen garden and I will help her dig it and plant vegetables. Peas, corn, beans and tomatoes to start with.
There is another lad who brings wood for the woodpile. He is a French boy and his name is Jean-Louis. He is much more polite than that Brian boy.
We must keep the pile stocked so that we have enough for the stove, and in the winter we will need it for the fires, but it seems there might be a problem with that. Mister Bradley reads from the newspaper, the Citizen, of an evening, and sometimes I am able to listen. I like that, as with the door open between the parlour and the kitchen, I overhear all manner of interesting things.
One evening he was reading a letter complaining about logs continually being stolen from woodpiles. The writer suggested making an auger hole in logs and plugging them with gunpowder. I expect that they would explode when someone took an axe to them to split the wood. It seemed a rather drastic solution to me and to Missus Bradley as well, but I heard Cook snort an agreement with the idea. It would go very badly with any thief who tried to steal our wood, I think.
June 1866
Friday, June 1st, 1866
Mister Bradley looked very grim this evening at supper. Seems there’s something dreadful serious brewing, but he would not speak of it.
Monday, June 4th, 1866
It was something serious indeed! The Province of Canada has been invaded! That Brian boy told me this morning when he delivered the water. He was all excited and had armed himself with a stick. I do believe he expected to see American soldiers marching down the street at any moment. He is most certainly a foolish boy.
Still, it was worrisome and I’m all in a muddle as to what happened, but here is what I was able to make out from what the master told the missus today at noontime. No one seemed to notice me hanging at the door, so I listened for all I was worth. Da has always been mad keen about politics and I think it has worn off on me.
It seems there is a group of Irishmen in the United States of America who are determined to make Ireland independent of Britain. No news there, of course, but what was surprising is that these people, Fenians they call themselves, have got a stronghold in America and they’ve decided to establish a base here in the Province of Canada. I cannot for the life of me figure out what they mean to gain by that. Nevertheless, they crossed over near a town called Niagara this Saturday past and there was a battle at a place called Ridgeway near there. Seems the fighting lasted for either thirty minutes or three hours — Mister Bradley heard both — but it was fierce and there were many killed and wounded. Mister Bradley said for a while it looked as if the Fenians would win, but finally they withdrew back across the Niagara River to Buffalo.
Missus Bradley was in a right state. Mister Bradley was quick to reassure her that the battle was far from here and we were never in any danger.
“But it’s not just the Irish,” Missus Bradley insisted. “There’s talk that since the North has won the war between the states in America, and the slaves have been set free, the Americans might be considering invading us next.”
That worried me. My da told me tales of the war in 1812 when the United States invaded the Canadian colonies with the excuse of liberating us from the English. We’d sent them packing then. Surely we could do it again, but I didn’t particularly want to put it to the test.
Mister Bradley’s next words reassured me somewhat. “In that case, making this godforsaken town the capital might just have been a good idea,” he said. “Any invading soldiers would get lost looking for the place.”
Later
In spite of Mister Bradley’s reassuring words this morning, when he came home from Parliament this evening, I overheard him grumbling that all civil servants must take part in military drills from now on. Just in case. He is even going to be wearing a uniform!
He did not seem too pleased about that, and it only frightened Missus Bradley all the more.
Tuesday, June 5th, 1866
What with the worry of it all, Missus Bradley has taken to her bed. I am run off my feet fetching and carrying for her, and doing Cook’s bidding, and walking that wretched dog, and I don’t know what else. At least by the time I have a moment to myself at bedtime I am too tired to feel lonely. At most I can just scribble a few lines here. I fear Ottawa is going to be the death of me.
And I lie. Tired or not, I do feel lonely. I feel lonely at bedtime, I feel lonely when I wake in the morning, and I feel lonely every blessed moment of the day. I wonder is Mary Margaret wed yet. I wonder how the little ones are. I wonder if they miss me. I wonder if Mam and Da miss me.
There. I’ve made a huge blot right in the middle of the page with my foolish weeping. Sure it does no good at all. If I think my lot is hard, I should remember what the lives of those slaves in America were like before the war set them free. They were sold away from their families, not just moved away, and in many cases they never saw the people they loved again. They couldn’t even write to them — Da told me they were punished with whipping and even death if they so much as learned to read, let alone write.
I’ll send Mam and Da a long letter now and stop feeling so sorry for myself.
Wednesday, June 6th, 1866
They had the official opening of the new Parliament Buildings today. Mister Bradley wanted Missus Bradley to go with him for the ceremony, but she didn’t feel up to it. He seemed disappointed, but told her all about it when he got back this evening. Me listening at the door as usual, and I begin to understand a bit more about what this Confederation means.
He said that Mister John A. Macdonald made a fine speech, as did Mister George-Étienne Cartier. Those two gentlemen, who lead the Conservative Party, along with Mister George Brown, who leads the Reform Party, formed the coalition that governs our province now. They are all keen supporters of the cause of the Confederation of the Province of Canada with the other British provinces. It took me a bit of thinking to piece it together, for Cook kept asking for help with the cleaning up and I didn’t hear all that Mister Bradley said, but it seems that if Confederation happened, we would be a country of our own, even though we would still be part of the British Empire. It’s all a bit confusing, but I know something about it already because Da was always on about it. It was Da who explained the coalition when it happened two years ago. Seems like the two parties could never agree on anything, and with the threat of American invasion, something had to be done, so they all joined together. Da explained it as being like what children will do when they’re up against someone bigger — stick together. Sounded like a good solution to me.
Mister
Later
Oh, what a narrow squeak I’ve just had!
Cook nosed into my tiny
room without warning while I was writing this, to give me some orders for tomorrow. I barely had time to tuck my journal under my quilt. If she had seen it I know she would have demanded to see what I was writing, and I would never want her to read my words about her and about Mister and Missus Bradley! I doubt that I would be whipped, like the poor unfortunate slaves, but she would have me out on my ear, I’m sure of it.
She did, however, see all today’s newspapers spread out here on my bed. Didn’t she just rip into me! I am supposed to take them out in the evening after Mister Bradley is done with them and tear them up to be used in the outhouse and as fire starters, but I carry them to my room first and read as much as I can. I want to know what is going to happen to my country — I pretend I might be having a conversation with Da about it. I had to bundle them up and dispose of them quickly after she came tonight, though, and I am still smarting from the dressing down she gave me. It is really not good to be on the rough side of her tongue.
I will just finish up quickly now and then hide this away under my pillow.
What I was about to say was that Mister Cartier is French. I have a few words of French, but I found out how to spell his name from the papers.
Mister Bradley also talked about another man, Mister Thomas D’Arcy McGee. He’s Irish and very loud and noisy on the subject of Confederation, according to Mister Bradley. It didn’t sound as if Mister Bradley totally approved of him, even though he is such a great supporter of the cause. I heard Mister Bradley say that some people even suspected Mister McGee of somehow being behind the Fenian raid into New Brunswick last April. When Missus Bradley asked him why Mister McGee would do that, Mister Bradley said those same people thought he might be trying to throw a scare into the people of the Maritimes and turn their opinion in favour of Confederation, but Mister Bradley didn’t believe it for a moment.
A Country of Our Own Page 2
