A Country of Our Own

by Karleen Bradford

  “There is a good deal of opposition out there in the Maritimes to joining this Confederation of the provinces into one country,” he said, “and McGee is certainly a wild man, but he wouldn’t go that far.”

  Mister Bradley also does not entirely approve of something Mister Macdonald does — the way he dresses. It sounds very peculiar. It seems he doesn’t dress in the usual dark-coloured clothes that most men wear. Instead, he wears a combination of checkered jackets and trousers and neckerchiefs that Mister Bradley said are most unsuitable.

  I am thinking how much more elegant Mister Bradley must look in his black frock coat. I rub the collar down with Fuller’s Earth every morning to remove the macassar oil he uses to keep his hair tidy, and I take care to sponge any spots off very carefully. He is a very elegant dresser, is Mister Bradley.

  I am not quite so scared of him as I was. He is kind to Missus Bradley. Spoils her, though, I fear. Sometimes she seems a right child. When he talks about his work in government of an evening she never pays much attention.

  Thursday, June 7th, 1866

  Missus Bradley puked non-stop nearly all day and cannot keep even a sip of soup down. Cook is frantic.

  A babe is on the way for sure.

  Friday, June 8th, 1866

  It seems like it’s not only in the Maritimes that there’s opposition to Confederation. Mister Bradley came home tonight in a fair temper. Seems a Mister Antoine-Aimé Dorion is stirring people up against it in what used to be Canada East before Canada East and Canada West joined together to become the Province of Canada. Canada East is mostly French — despite a number of families like mine who live there — and Mister Dorion is afraid that Confederation would mean that French Canadians would be outnumbered in the new country. But it has taken a long time and a lot of work to get this close to Confederation, Mister Bradley said, and he is impatient with anyone who still puts objections in the way of it. He says he cannot understand why everyone is not in favour of our becoming a country. He should talk to Da. Da always said that you could never get everyone to have the same opinion about anything.

  I wonder what would happen if Canada East did decide not to join in. Would that mean that my family would be living in a separate country? That’s a worrisome thought.

  By coincidence, when I was ripping up today’s newspapers — and reading them, of course — I came across an article that talked about this very problem. It quoted Mister Cartier as saying that French Canadians need not worry, as they would be able to keep their own culture and language. Then the article went on to warn the people of Canada East that if they didn’t join, the new United States might just take them over. What in the world would happen to my family then? How I wish I could talk to Da about it and hear what he thinks. Maybe he could reassure me.

  Saturday, June 9th, 1866

  There’s no getting away from that Brian boy. He talks non-stop when he delivers the water and doesn’t even seem to notice that I am not answering him. This morning he tracked mud into the kitchen. James was standing by and, although it was really no business of his, he saw fit to give the boy the rough side of his tongue in his usual unpleasant way. The boy is a nuisance, no doubt about it, but I found myself getting angry and even defending him a little bit. James is so unpleasant, I have lost all fear of him and dislike him intensely.

  Monday, June 11th, 1866

  Cook taught me how to milk Daisy today. I am not very good at it yet, but I prayed to Saint Bridget to help me learn. She is the saint of all things to do with the dairy, so if anyone can help me it will be her. Cook does not have much patience and Daisy doesn’t take kindly to my efforts. If that cow is not switching me with her tail she is stamping her hoof at me. I don’t think she would kick me, but she might.

  We also dug out a small corn patch and planted rhubarb slips near the back kitchen door. Tomorrow we will dig another patch for potatoes.

  I am fair exhausted.

  Wednesday, June 13th, 1866

  Added beets and turnips to the garden. It’s a bit late to be planting them, but we can’t help that. I dislike turnips immensely. Brutus trampled the rhubarb slips and we had to replant them. I hope he tramples the turnips when they come up.

  Friday, June 15th, 1866

  Mister Bradley came home this evening wearing his uniform! He looks very fine in it, but he hates it. He complains that it is heavy and itches.

  Nevertheless, he invited Missus Bradley to walk up to Parliament Hill to watch him drill with his unit on Tuesday. To my surprise, as she seems to be feeling a mite better, she agreed. She is to go next week and she wishes me to accompany her, as Mister Bradley will not be able to bring her back, and she does not wish to walk home alone.

  At last I will get away from this wretched house and see the Parliament Buildings up close!

  Sunday, June 17th, 1866

  When the family came home from their church service today, I heard Missus Bradley talking about the collection that had been raised for their new church. Mister Bradley was impressed because that outrageous Mister D’Arcy McGee had contributed, even though he is a Catholic. I wonder why he would do that. He must be a very open-minded gentleman.

  Tuesday, June 19th, 1866

  Finally! A lovely day indeed. After breakfast Missus Bradley told me to make myself ready and we would be going up to the Parliament Buildings. This house we are renting is in a part of Ottawa called Upper Town, and the buildings are near to us, up on the river.

  It was a bright day, and hot. I put on my best dress — the one that used to be Mary Margaret’s — and wore a shawl, but the sun was so warm I didn’t really need it. Then I helped Missus Bradley dress. She seemed in much better spirits. It took us less than half an hour to walk up Elgin Street to Parliament Hill. Mister Bradley escorted us, and it was just as well that he did. There were military units marching, bugles and fifes and drums playing — soldiers everywhere. Mister Bradley might be certain the invaders could never find us away up here, but the city looks like it’s prepared for war! For a few moments, he looked as if he was about to change his mind and take us back home, but Missus Bradley was having none of that. “We’ve come this far, I’m not going back without seeing the Parliament Buildings up close, and watching you drill,” she said. I was surprised at how determined she was.

  Mister Bradley gave in — he always gives in to her — and walked us up to the buildings. He made certain we were in a safe place and well positioned to see everything, then he left us to join his regiment.

  I was not prepared for the buildings being so beautiful. And they are so big! They fair shone in the sun, sort of a deep golden colour, with glistening grey slate roofs with patterns etched into them in green. There was ironwork all around the edges, painted blue and gold. Most amusing for me were all the carved stone faces looking down on the people below. Truly, the whole effect was magical.

  There was a crowd gathered there too, waiting for the Civil Service Militia to do their drill. Our places were right at the front. How grand when they marched out, almost all in step. We picked out Mister Bradley and I was very proud to see that he was one of the tallest and, I thought, one of the most distinguished of the marchers. They kept their eyes straight front, but I swear I saw him peek out of the corner of one eye to see Missus Bradley, then his face lit up and he broke out in a small smile, in spite of the horrible uniform.

  We walked around for a bit after the drill was over. I was afraid Missus Bradley would tire, but she did not. The buildings are not finished yet around the back, but there was a path that ran around the top of the bluff right along the river’s edge. It was a little rough, but pretty, so we followed it, the pair of us entranced with the view. We could see green, forested hills rising on the other side.

  Missus Bradley was in a better humour today and seemed happy to talk to me more than she has so far, and I felt a bit more at ease with her. She told me that across the river is where my family’s part of the country — the part that used to be Canada East — beg
ins. Staring across the river and thinking about how very far away my home was over there made me so homesick!

  And now I’m making myself sad again just writing about it.

  Enough! On with my story.

  By the time we retraced our steps and began to make our way back home, the crowd had grown and we were forced almost to push our way through it. The wooden sidewalks on Sparks Street are narrow and, before we realized what was happening, a group of rowdy boys pushed past us and forced Missus Bradley off the walk and into the mud. I grabbed for her, but couldn’t reach her arm. She would have fallen if another boy hadn’t darted forward and caught her. And who was it but himself, that annoying Brian.

  I suppose I shouldn’t call him annoying now, because he certainly saved her from a bad fall and kept us company all the way home. That was fortunate too, because, wouldn’t you know it, when we reached our street, what did we find but two disgusting hogs rooting in the mud right in front of our house!

  “Shoo them off, Rosie,” Missus Bradley said. “I am going to go in and ask Cook to put the kettle on for tea.” She was looking a little pale and I think was still upset about the near fall.

  Shoo them off, indeed. Plain to see she had never tried to shoo off a pig. I ran at them, shouting, and each one headed off in a different direction. If Briney hadn’t been there I never would have gotten them sorted out. By the time we got them off down the street, I was hot and bothered and in a right mess, and my best dress was muddy again, but when I looked at Briney I couldn’t help laughing. He had done the greater part of the chasing and he was mud from top to toe. I thought he might be fashed at my laughing, but he just joined in.

  “Sure, I don’t know why you’re laughing,” he said. “You’re as dirty as I am, Rosie Dunn.”

  Before I could answer that, Missus Bradley came out with a bundle.

  “Your father tells me you have older sisters at home, Brian,” she said. “Perhaps they could use these dresses that I can’t wear anymore.”

  That was thoughtful of her and for once Briney was speechless. He just tipped his hat and stuttered something no one could understand. Missus Bradley laughed and handed him the bundle, then he was off.

  I wish she had thought to ask me if I wanted one of those dresses, but I suppose she thought they would not be suitable for someone my age. Still, if I can wear Mary Margaret’s cast-offs, I could have worn one of hers.

  I just realized I called him Briney. Oh well. It does seem to suit him better than plain Brian.

  Wednesday, June 20th, 1866

  Briney came around with the water today. He started in on his teasing, but somehow I didn’t seem to mind it as much. I don’t think he means anything by it. It’s just his way. In fact, he has further endeared himself to Missus Bradley. The backyard is fenced in, but the front is not, so he offered to build a fence around it to protect it from pigs. He told her his sisters were over the moon with the dresses.

  Cook is not so taken with him, though. He made a mess in the kitchen again. When he carried one of the barrels of water in, it sprang a leak and dripped all over the floor.

  It wasn’t his fault, but she was on at him in a fierce way and made him take it back, still dripping, and give us another, all for the same price. Then she made him clean up the mess. I felt sorry for the hapless boy and helped.

  Friday, June 22nd, 1866

  Mister and Missus Bradley entertained last evening. A group of friends came over to play cards. Mam doesn’t approve of card playing and I have never seen the games played before. I was so intrigued, I bumped into Mister Bradley’s chair and almost dropped a plate of cake on the floor. He raised an eyebrow at my clumsiness, but fortunately didn’t say anything. I was embarrassed, though, and kept my wits about me for the rest of the evening. Mister D’Arcy McGee was amongst the guests and he was very loud and boisterous, just as Mister Bradley described him. I was eager to see him and I was not disappointed. Faith, I could hardly take my eyes off him. I kept sneaking peeks at him around the doorframe from the kitchen when no one was watching me.

  There was a spot of bother, though, that threatened to spoil the evening for a moment. One of Mister Bradley’s guests began to talk very loudly about what he called “this Confederation nonsense.” He said he could see no sense in it, and couldn’t understand why people couldn’t just leave things the way they were.

  Mister McGee got very red in the face and looked as if he were going to explode. Before he could say anything, though, Missus Bradley cut in and suggested a new game for them to play, and the confrontation was avoided.

  But that means it’s not just some of the French in Canada East who oppose Confederation. There are English people here in Ottawa too. That makes me even more worried. Before I came here I had no idea how important this whole business was, and how it might affect me and my family.

  I’m beginning to think that it might be best if they would just forget the whole idea and get on with things as they are, but I suppose that’s just me thinking selfishly.

  Missus Bradley slept in this morning. I expect she was tired, but she enjoyed the evening so much, it was surely worth it. Cook sent me up with a light breakfast for her at around 10 o’clock, and she seemed restored and in very good humour.

  Monday, June 25th, 1866

  Mister Bradley agreed to pay for the wood for the fence, so Briney turned up with Jean-Louis today. They brought a load of lumber in his wagon and set to work. They are hammering away as I write. It is very hot today. I think I will take them a cup of water.

  Later

  That Jean-Louis is very shy. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t speak much English. He actually blushed bright red when I gave him his cup of water and couldn’t look me in the eye. I think he is sweet. He’s certainly not the brash lad that Briney is.

  It’s amusing to watch them work together. Briney doesn’t speak French, so they seem to communicate mostly by waving their hands around at each other. It works, though, as the fence is coming along apace. Mister Bradley says the French and the Irish often do not get on very well here in Ottawa and fights break out constantly, but Briney and Jean-Louis seem to be friendly enough.

  Wednesday, June 27th, 1866

  The fence is done. Missus Bradley is right pleased with it. She gave the boys each fifteen cents for their work and sent Cook out to them with some cool lemonade. That fence will be a blessing. It’s not just pigs that roam the streets, but cows are driven by our house almost every day and they seem to love to take side trips into our front garden. I think Daisy calls them. Perhaps she wants the company. This evening one cow stopped on her way and rested her head on the fence and looked quite longingly at the garden that is now out of her reach. Daisy bellowed from the back, but to no avail. She will have to get used to being lonely. Perhaps it will make her more co-operative when I milk her. Yesterday she kicked the pail over when it was half full. Cook was fair riled. I heard her praying to Saint Bridget too. I hope it works, but that cow has a mind of her own, she does.

  Friday, June 29th, 1866

  The heat is dreadful. Missus Bradley is doing poorly again.

  Briney wants to show me the sawmill across the river. His older brother works there. I wasn’t that eager to go, but he assures me that it’s something to see. The logs come down from the forest upriver in great rafts — so big they are that men build shanties on them and live on them for the journey down to the mills here in Ottawa and farther downriver in Montreal and Québec City. He made it all sound so interesting that I found myself agreeing to go with him on my first free day.

  It wasn’t until after he left that I realized I have no notion at all of when or even if I get a free day. I certainly haven’t so far and I don’t dare ask about it.

  July 1866

  Monday, July 2nd, 1866

  The problem solved itself. Missus Bradley spoke to me yesterday when I got back from Mass and asked me if I wanted a day to myself.

  “You’ve earned it, Rosie,” she said. “You’r
e a good worker.”

  Then she frowned a bit and asked me if I knew what I wanted to do on my day off. She wasn’t certain that I should be traipsing around on my own in the city. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Sure, I’ve been “traipsing around” the city of Québec by myself since I was ten years old.

  I assured her that I wouldn’t be on my own, that Briney had offered to show me around. But that didn’t seem to reassure her very much and she hemmed and hawed a bit about how it might not be suitable for a young girl to be out on her own with a boy.

  I think the rules for people such as the Bradleys are very different from those for us common folk. Very glad I am to be one of the common folk. I think we have more fun. I know my mam was always keen for us young ones to learn to take care of ourselves as soon as we could.

  Then I wondered how I would let Briney know. I needn’t have worried. He came around this morning, even though it wasn’t the regular day for water delivery, and we agreed to set out after I had helped Cook with the breakfast. Missus Bradley could not eat much, but Mister Bradley tucked into his usual porridge, ham and eggs and hotcakes very handily. I must admit I was impatient to see him finish and perhaps I cleared the dishes away a mite too quickly, as he was left holding the last bite of hotcakes on his fork when I whisked his plate away. He raised an eyebrow, but thanks be didn’t say anything. Cook did, though. She gave me a tongue-lashing in the kitchen that lasted the whole time we were cleaning up.

  The very minute we were through, I was out the door to find Briney waiting for me, but before we could set off, Missus Bradley buttonholed Briney and gave him a stern talking-to as to how he should take care of me and make certain that we didn’t get into any trouble.

  I think he was a mite flabbergasted, but he responded politely and gave her earnest assurances that he would care for me as if I were one of his own sisters, and then we were off.