“Our house is much finer than this,” she said.
Our house indeed! I was that riled I could have pushed her back out the door and shut it in her face. Nevertheless I buttoned my lip and served her the tea. She chattered on as if nothing was amiss and after a while I could not help but relent and chatter back.
Thanks be to all that’s merciful she didn’t come when the drains were being dug up.
September 1866
Monday, September 3rd, 1866
Jean-Louis turned up this morning with a kitten for me! He said he had found it and thought I might like it. At least I think that’s what he said. His English is still not too good.
A kitten! I’ve never had a cat before. Too many mouths in our house at home to feed as it was, so Mam discouraged any strays that came around. I was about to tell him there was no way I could take it, but he put it in my hands and the moment I felt the soft fluff of it I was lost. It doesn’t weigh as much as a good pat of butter. All fur and big eyes it is. Grey and white, with a cunning wee pink nose. I stammered out a kind of thank you, but he was off again quick as a wink, and blushing bright scarlet. He must be the shyest boy I’ve ever seen.
But then I had to see if Missus Bradley would let me keep it. Cook was all for it. She said it would be good to have a cat around.
I gave it a saucer of milk and watched it lap it up, entranced with the sight of it. The tiny thing finished it all up — it must have been starving — then set in to cleaning itself. It cleaned its whiskers, one by one, then started in on every inch of its wee body. Cook and I couldn’t help laughing at it, so seriously did it take itself.
Cook pointed out that it was a female and that would probably mean kittens next spring, but I didn’t care. I’ll find homes for them somehow.
When Missus Bradley came down for her tea, the little cat was curled up and purring so loudly I was certain she must have heard it from upstairs. I showed it to her and asked if I might keep it. I wanted to so much! I assured her that it would be very useful to have a cat around, as it might keep the rats down.
Missus Bradley just laughed and said I’d better keep it away from the rats. “The rats are twice as big as it is,” she said. “They just might win that contest.”
Still, she said the cat could stay.
I have named her Sophie.
Tuesday, September 4th, 1866
It might not be too long before Sophie is giving the rats a run for their money after all. She was drinking her milk in the kitchen this morning and nibbling at a piece of fish Cook had saved for her from yesterday’s dinner, when in barged that idiot dog, Brutus. He saw Sophie and tried to put on the brakes, but just skidded clear across the room until his nose almost touched her. Did she run away? She did not. She fluffed her fur up to twice her size, arched her back, hissed at him and scratched his nose.
Brutus let out a yipe and ran out of the room. Didn’t Cook and I laugh! Sophie just gave herself a shake and went back to eating her breakfast, as calm as could be.
Of course, the rats are probably much smarter than Brutus.
Tuesday, September 11th, 1866
Thank goodness the worst of the summer heat seems to be over now. Ottawa is much hotter than Québec. It’s been hard on Missus Bradley, and I didn’t like it either. The only one who doesn’t seem bothered by it is Cook. Nothing seems to bother her, actually; she beams from morn to night. She does say she doesn’t like the cold, though.
The air is much brisker these days, and some of the leaves are beginning to turn colour. I love this time of year. I’m just full of energy. Lucky that, because Missus Bradley has the house in a turmoil. Wants everything clean and tidy before the babe comes.
My kitten seems to think that the only place to sit is right on my journal where I cannot help but notice her. To make sure of it, she’s batting my quill with her paw as I write. So far that has caused several blots on the page, so this will not be one of my neatest entries.
She is so funny I think I will finish this up and play with her.
Friday, September 14th, 1866
Work, work and more work. As if a newborn babe could take notice of how clean a house is.
Still, I suppose there will be a stream of visitors and well-wishers after the birth and Missus Bradley does not want to be shamed by a dirty house. It is a hard job to make this house clean, though. And the dog does not make it any easier. I have swept up bag after bag of dog hair and cleaned up after his muddy great paws more times than I care to count. Sophie is so much neater and tidier.
Brutus still gives her a wide berth. She takes full advantage of it and taunts him mercilessly. Last evening she even went so far as to sniff at his dinner dish. She wouldn’t lower herself enough to eat out of it, of course — just teasing him, she was. The fool of a dog just stood there looking at her with the most worried expression I’ve ever seen on a dog’s face. As soon as she sauntered off he was into the dish and slopping up the scraps as fast as he could. Sophie looked right disdainful. And so she should.
Monday, September 17th, 1866
I finally got up the nerve to ask Mister Bradley a question about this Confederation business. There is so much talk and buzz. I hear everyone going on about it when I’m out at the shops, and I get a bit more news when I read the papers before I tear them up at night, but truth be told, I really don’t understand it. If it is the right thing for us, why are some people against it?
I waited until Mister Bradley was settled after supper with his pipe and his newspaper and Missus Bradley had retired for the night. James had been dismissed for the evening, and Cook was off to visit her sister, so when I finished tidying up the kitchen I had a good opportunity to catch him alone without interruptions. I must admit I did not have the slightest idea of how to go about it, so I just plunged in and asked if he could answer a question for me.
Mister Bradley looked up at me and I could see he was surprised. I almost backed out then and scurried away, but I managed to meet his look.
“It’s about this Confederation business,” I managed to say. “I’m that confused about it all.”
To my relief he didn’t get annoyed, but said he would be happy to explain it to me. He even invited me to sit down to hear what he had to say.
I was so stunned I couldn’t answer.
“Sit,” he repeated. He sounded as if he were speaking to Brutus, and indeed the dog, who was lying quietly at his feet, looked up at him in puzzlement.
I sat.
Then he proceeded to give me a right good explanation. I still don’t understand the whole of it, but perhaps if I write down what I can remember, it will help me fix it more clearly in my mind.
I knew that Mister John A. Macdonald, Mister George-Étienne Cartier and Mister D’Arcy McGee want to unite our Province of Canada with the Provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, but I had no idea as to how this was going to come about.
Mister Bradley told me that we have to have Great Britain’s approval for this, as at the moment we are all British provinces. That is why Mister Macdonald and Mister Cartier are going to London in November to meet with the Queen to discuss the issue. They will be working on drafting an Act, called the British North America Act, which will create a brand new country of our own.
Mister Bradley thinks that in time Newfoundland and Prince Edward Island might join in the Confederation as well. He said that Mister McGee even sees the Colony of British Columbia joining some day, but that that’s hardly likely because it’s so far away.
I asked about Canada East, but he reassured me that there was little chance now that they wouldn’t join in. That did make me feel better, but I still wish I could talk it out with Da. It’s all a bit overwhelming.
Thursday, September 20th, 1866
My birthday today. I am fourteen years old. Not that anyone here knows it, nor am I about to tell them. My kitten is curled up on my bed with my old doll, Meggy. I’m remembering that Mam made that doll for me for my fourth birthday and I’m fee
ling right low and homesick. My first birthday away from home and everybody that I love.
But sure, what good is it to be sitting here feeling sorry for myself?
Friday, September 21st, 1866
Everyone knows about my birthday now! A great package arrived for me today by the post! Inside were notes from everyone in the family, even wee Paddy. And presents! Scones that Mam knows I love so well, a new pair of mittens for winter that she knitted for me, and a scarf that bears the scars of having been knitted by Eileen. Knitting is not her strong point, but I know how difficult it is for her and I shall cherish it all the more for the occasional holes and tangles in it. It will still be warm and cosy. Oat cakes from dear Bridget, who will be as good a cook as Mam some day. A round stone from Paddy, polished to a glow by the river. Just the sort of thing he loves and I’m sure is the pride of his collection. A new quill from Da, who knows how important this journal is to me, and a twist of lobelia seeds in a card from Mary Margaret. Lobelias are her favourite flowers and she writes in her note that these seeds are from her own garden. She likes to think that I will have them growing here to remind me of her. She drew a lovely scene of a garden just full of lobelias, and added a verse from an old Irish proverb that Grandmam used to quote:
May your troubles be less
And your blessings be more.
And nothing but happiness
Come through your door.
I will ask Missus Bradley for permission to plant the seeds next spring, right next to the front door. I will start them indoors after Christmas so they will be ready to go out in the garden after all danger of frost is over. They will make a grand showing there and I will think of Mary Margaret every time I look at them.
Then, after supper, Missus Bradley called me into the parlour and gave me a fine linen handkerchief with my initials worked into it. She must have embroidered it this very morning after the post came and she found out it was my birthday.
“And you shall have a day off all to yourself tomorrow,” she said. “I sent a note round to Missus Forrester, and she’s agreed to give Bessie the day off too, so the two of you can spend the day together.”
Saturday, September 22nd, 1866
A grand day! The trees are in their glory across the river, all scarlet and gold shining against the blue of the sky. Bessie and I crossed over the bridge at the Chaudière Falls. We watched the rafts going down the slider for a while, then spent the rest of the day in the woods on the other side. Cook had packed up a lunch of bread and cheese, and we had all the fresh water we could drink from the springs flowing down from the hills. We picnicked at a spot high up where we could look back down at the river and the city beyond it. From there it looked so pretty, especially with the fine Parliament Buildings gleaming in the sun.
So I had a lovely birthday after all and I don’t feel so sad. It’s good to have a friend.
Monday, September 24th, 1866
My day of rest is just a memory. It’s back to work, work and more work, although the house is gleaming already.
And wouldn’t you know it, I spilled coffee this morning and some of it splashed onto James’s shoes. It was only a small bit, but you would think I had soaked him from the knees down from the fuss he made.
“Useless girl,” he snorted. It took every ounce of willpower not to snort right back at him. I am not used to being snorted at and I don’t like it one bit.
Friday, September 28th, 1866
I can hardly bring myself to write this. Missus Bradley is ill. Terribly ill. And with the birth of the babe so near! The doctor has been round and we are all worried to death. He says she has an inflammation of the lungs. Living in this damp and smelly house, I am not surprised. Cook is making her broths and I am trying to get her to take a little, but her throat is sore and inflamed as well and she cannot get any nourishment down. Mister Bradley is beside himself. He has not gone to his office since she took ill.
Saturday, September 29th, 1866
Missus Bradley is no better. Briney asked how she was when he brought the water today. I wish I could have given him better news.
“Don’t be despairing yet,” he said, but I could tell it was just to keep my spirits up. Missus Bradley has always been good to him and he’s as worried as the rest of us. More than once she has sent home leftovers with him, as she knows food is scarce in his house with so many mouths to feed there, not to mention that the Irish of Lower Town don’t make much money.
Sunday, September 30th, 1866
I prayed as hard as I could at church today. Mister Bradley said that the minister at their church and the whole congregation prayed as well.
October 1866
Monday, October 1st, 1866
The house is silent and grim. We tiptoe around, trying not to disturb Missus Bradley, and we talk in whispers, but I am feared that she is beyond hearing us. I have lived through much sickness with my sisters and brother — they have had their share of sore throats and inflammations, as have I, and we have all survived the mumps, thanks be to God, but I have never seen anyone this ill. The doctor is here every day, but nothing he does seems to help. Poor Missus Bradley is burning with fever. I will sit with her tonight, as Mister Bradley is so exhausted he cannot even think. The doctor has ordered him to bed but he will not leave her. He has had James move a couch into her room, and has given in to the point where he will lie down and sleep on it if I will sit by the bedside and keep watch. I am to rouse him immediately if there is any change.
I am so afraid.
Tuesday, October 2nd, 1866
Finally, I can write this with a joyous heart. The good Lord has seen fit to hear our prayers, and Missus Bradley will survive! I sat with her last night, despairing, as she tossed and turned and cried out all manner of nonsense. Then she fell into a deep sleep. I feared it was her last. I held her hand and stroked it, and then I realized that it was damp and not so hot as it had been. Sure enough, perspiration broke out on her forehead and she began to breathe more easily. I knew that meant the fever had broken. I roused Mister Bradley on the instant and we both sat with her until morning. I wiped her brow and kept applying cool cloths. This morning, for the first time since she fell ill, she opened her eyes and spoke to us.
I wept and so did Mister Bradley.
The doctor says she is out of danger now, but when I dared to ask about the babe she carries, he just shook his head.
“There’s no way of knowing if the babe has been harmed by the fever or not,” he said.
So we are not ready to celebrate yet. But, thanks be to God, Missus Bradley will live.
Wednesday, October 3rd, 1866
Missus Bradley has been able to swallow a few sips of Cook’s broth. Cook is that pleased!
Thursday, October 4th, 1866
Missus Bradley is sitting up and eating bread and milk sops as well as broth. She is weak, of course, but her normal good spirits are returning to her.
Friday, October 5th, 1866
Mister Bradley insisted that I take myself out for a walk in the fresh air today. He said he didn’t want me to fall ill as well.
“I don’t know what we’d do without you, Rosie,” he said.
It gave me a warm feeling around the heart to know I am that appreciated here. I went out and had a grand walk, breathing in all the fresh, sun-filled air that I could, and brought back an armful of the glorious leaves. I put them in a jar and set it up on a dresser in Missus Bradley’s room. She was so pleased with them.
It is good to see her healthy and smiling. We are none of us mentioning our fears for the babe, just taking as good care as we can of her. The doctor has given permission for her to sit out in the garden tomorrow if the weather stays fine.
Saturday, October 6th, 1866
Well, didn’t Briney bring round a shepherd’s pie today for Missus Bradley as a thank you for the leftovers. He said his mam made it, and she makes the best shepherd’s pie in the world. Cook harrumphed at that, but the pie was grand. Missus Bradley ate
a good, full meal for the first time since she took ill. She made certain not to offend Cook, though, by asking me to tell Cook that although it was good, it wasn’t as good as hers. I did so, but made certain Briney was not around to hear me say it.
Now Cook is busy making a shepherd’s pie of her own. She will not be outdone.
Monday, October, 8th, 1866
I made a wish on the new moon tonight. I wished that the words sent to me by Mary Margaret on my birthday would come true. A selfish wish, I know, but new moons are for wishing for yourself.
Wednesday, October 10th, 1866
Cook sent me out to Mister Buchanan’s store on Sussex Street today. I love going to that store. It is so big! You must be able to buy anything in the world that you would want there. It’s as grand as any grocery story in Québec City and as interesting as the store in Cacouna. I must admit, I did not hurry. It was a lovely day and it felt wonderful to be out in the sun. I had spent the morning stopping up cracks in the stove with wood ash and salt, wet with water, to keep it from smoking. Instead of praising me for making a good job of it, Cook just grumbled at the amount of salt I had used and sent me out for more. Perhaps sending me out on the errand was meant as a punishment, but if so, it was not. It was the brightest spot of my day.
Friday, October 12th, 1866
The talk is all of Mister Macdonald going to London, England, next month to see the Queen and decide our fate. Now that Mister Bradley has explained it to me, I understand more of what is going on.
Sunday, October 14th, 1866
Missus Bradley is feeling well, but I think the babe will be coming within a month. I wonder how Mam is. Her babe is due not long after Missus Bradley’s. I said a special prayer for her at Mass this morning and a prayer that Missus Bradley’s babe will be hale and healthy.
A Country of Our Own Page 6
