by Linda Abbott
“Mom never does that,” Henry said. “She’s afraid they might catch fire.”
Mary whipped away the row of dry dishcloths and tidied them into a drawer. “There was some lot wrong with the stove,” she said, and explained the details.
“Mr. Hull’s aware how dangerous all that is. Right ?”
“You’d be some idiot if you didn’t.” Mary sat down and folded her hands on the table, a faraway look on her face.
Henry stared at her full lips, slightly apart. His eyes travelled to the pug nose splattered with the occasional freckle. Such a pretty nose, he thought, and he wondered why he had teased her about it when they were youngsters. Steam pumped from the kettle spout, breaking Henry’s trance. “You know I applied to medical school,” he said. “So let’s talk about it.”
“Later. Right now I have a more immediate concern on my mind.” Mary sighed long and deep. “Have you forgotten about the big inspection today ? It didn’t seem like they were too pleased with any of the conditions here.” She tutted. “Mrs. Hull acted offended at their concerns.”
“That’s no surprise.”
“Who’ll feed my mother and Dougie if I lose my job ?” Mary held her head high. “I don’t want my little brother to have to quit school and work for scraps.”
“I know it’s been tough since your father left,” Henry said, then paused. “Now your grandfather’s gone as well.”
Mary flashed dark eyes at him. “Don’t ever speak of Gramps in the same sentence with the bastard who walked out on his family.”
Henry felt his face burn. “I’m sorry, Mary. I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
Her hands clenched into fists. “Dougie was only two years old when he took off. Damn right I don’t want that excuse for a father mentioned in any connection with my grandfather.”
Isaac appeared from nowhere. “Mary, didn’t you already have a spell from work ?”
She spun around on her chair, startled. “I needed strong tea to help this killer migraine.”
“Well, get on with it, girl. I’ll be back shortly to cook supper.” He glanced at Henry. “Come along.”
Invoices and bills were strewn over Henry’s desk. “I didn’t have time to go through them while you were off over Christmas,” Isaac said. “I forgot to mention them to you earlier, and seeing as tomorrow is Saturday...”
Henry gawked at him. “Christmas ? They should’ve been logged in and paid for last month.”
“I pay you to work for me, young man,” Isaac hiccupped. “Not to lecture me.”
Henry pulled up the sleeves of his sweater and sorted through the stack to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. Halfway through the pile, the smell of tomato soup wafted toward him. His head ached by the time he wrote down the last figure. He closed the accounts book and put it in the desk’s top drawer.
“It’s six-thirty,” Mary said, standing over the desk, her arms full with clean bedclothes. “How’s it going ?”
Henry rubbed tired eyes with the heels of his hands. “That late ! No wonder I’m starving enough to eat worms.”
Mary smiled at their childhood expression and pulled a tea bun out of her apron pocket. “Chew on this to tide you over. Made them myself last night.”
Henry looked toward the kitchen where Mr. Hull stirred a pot on the stove. “You’d think he’d hire a proper cook.”
Mary shrugged. “Maybe he can’t spare the money.”
“Right,” Henry said. “Just like the King of England can’t afford a proper cook.”
Mary giggled despite herself. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
Henry reached up and brushed strands of hair away from her mouth. “Your laughter reminds me of Christmas bells.”
Mary backed away. “I have work to do.”
“I’ll drop in on Gran before I go,” Henry said, pretending not to notice the slight. He dashed downstairs to the side door and ran the short distance to the Annex, annoyed he had forgotten his coat. The wind blew him inside, displacing several of the small, framed pictures strung along both walls. He manoeuvred around the stove and climbed the stairs two at a time.
“Gran,” Henry called when he reached the room she shared with three women. Two of the three doors were blocked with sideboards. Night tables and armchairs cramped the already crowded space.
“She not’s here,” a voice called from across the hall.
Henry recognized Eileen Duggan’s soft tone. The old lady held a raisin tea bun in one age-spotted hand and a cup of tea in the other. “Dot went out with your mother this morning.” She took off wire-framed glasses and smiled at Henry. Her dark brown eyes seemed even darker against her pale skin.
“Thanks, Mrs. Duggan.”
Eileen popped the last morsel of bun into her mouth. “That was delicious. Mary is a dear to bring in little treats for us.”
Henry produced the one Mary had given him. “She’s a good baker,” he said, and devoured the bun. Heavy footsteps thumped in an irregular fashion toward the room. Dr. Kennedy slowed at the door.
“It’s lovely to see you,” Eileen said.
Henry nodded to the man from the Department of Health and Welfare. He was sent to the Home once a week to check on the patients. Sixty years old, tall, with slightly stooped shoulders, he limped to the bed. “I slipped on the darn ice getting out of my car. My hip will be bruised for a month.”
“Gracious, Doctor,” Eileen said. “Are you hurt bad ?”
“Nothing too serious.” He winked at Eileen. “How is my favourite patient today ?”
A slight shade of pink crept up Eileen’s face. “Grand, Doctor.”
“Would you mind if Henry stayed while I examine you ? Every bit of practice will come in handy for the boy.”
“I don’t mind at all. Dot’s so proud of her grandson, the future doctor.”
Dr. Kennedy warmed the stethoscope on the palm of his hand. He held it to Eileen’s chest and explained the various sounds Henry should expect to hear. “Take a listen,” he said, transferring the scope to her back.
Henry smiled. “Her lungs aren’t congested as much.”
The doctor poked a thermometer under Eileen’s tongue. “Henry, have you told him yet ?”
“He knows.”
“And ?”
Henry shook his head.
“He’ll come ’round.”
“I’d better get going,” Henry said. “Mom will wonder where I am.” He closed the bedroom door on the way out. At the bottom of the stairs he tripped on the stove and stumbled toward the door. He swore under his breath as Mary came in. “Damn stove should be moved to a safe place.”
“It is a nuisance,” Mary said. “But Mr. Hull won’t hear tell of it being shifted anywhere else.”
*
DOT GATHERALL SAT WITH TOM in his living room knitting a sweater for her only grandson. “Henry’s late,” she said, the needles clicking together.
Tom peered at her over the top of the Evening Telegram. He said nothing.
Dot put aside the knitting. “Think I’ll see if Alice needs help with supper.”
Tom closed the paper and lowered it to his lap. “Tell your daughter I know what you’re both up to.”
Dot put a finger on her bottom lip, an exaggerated look of puzzlement on her face. “Tom Gibbs,” she said. “Whatever do you mean ?”
“Alice wants you to talk ‘sense’ into me about Henry and this doctor foolishness. I don’t want to debate it now or during supper.” Tom snapped open the paper and buried his head in it once more.
Dot smiled and stood up. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Chapter 3
WITH HER BEDROOM DOOR CLOSED, and a small candle lit on the night table, Alice read Mike’s letter. The sewing basket rested wide open on the bed next to her. Tom and Dot’s voices could be heard coming from the living room. Despite the distance, Alice caught snippets of their conversation about the government situation, a passionate topic for Tom. Work at the dockyard had be
en slow all week, and he had come home just as the mailman deposited the mail through the slot in the door. Tom had scooped up the envelopes with a quick glance at the top one before passing them to Alice. “Newfoundland Light and Power,” he said. “Seems like bills arrive more frequent than once a month.”
Alice spotted Mike’s familiar handwriting sticking out from under the bill. “I’ll get to these later,” she said, and packed them into her sewing basket. Her hand trembled.
The letter lay hidden in the sewing basket all day, nagging at her thoughts, her fingers itching to rip into it. Henry had called to say he would be late. They had decided to wait for him before they ate supper, so she had taken the opportunity to steal away and read the letter.
The glow from the candle cast shadows over the paper as she reread the first line :
I am very proud of Henry, as you must be.
If only Tom felt the same way. Alice’s eyes flickered to the door before she continued.
A long-time friend at the university told me in confidence that Henry’s been accepted to the medical school. You’ll be happy to know he was admitted on the basis of his academic merit along with the endorsement from Dr. Kennedy. The good doctor and my dear friend is highly respected by many of his colleagues who remember him from their time in medical school. Alice, please don’t worry about Henry. He’ll do fine. My wife and children are anxious to meet my only nephew.
I wish Tom —
Alice became aware the voices had stopped. She dropped the letter in the basket, shut the lid, and snatched her knitting from the bedside table.
The door handle jiggled. Dot moseyed into the room. “So,” she said, “what is it ?”
Alice stifled a fake yawn. “What do you mean, Mom ?”
Dot flipped open the basket and pointed to the letter.
“It’s from Mike,” Alice said softly.
Dot gently closed the lid. “Henry’s home and Tom’s wondering where you are.”
Alice hid the sewing basket under the bed and went downstairs with her mother.
Henry stood in the front porch taking off his boots. “Sorry I’m late, Mom. Mr. Hull kept me later than I thought.”
Dot sucked air through the gap in her teeth. “Doesn’t he always ? I hope this time you insisted he pay overtime.”
“I’ll get supper on the go,” Alice said. “Tom must be hungry enough by now to chew on the paper.”
“Gran,” Henry whispered when his mother was out of sight. “How’s Dad ?”
“Hungry like your mother said. How about you ?”
Henry smiled. “Starved.”
Dot linked into her grandson. “Onward to the battlefield.”
Henry tensed as they approached the kitchen. “Can you stay with us until I leave for university ?” he murmured in her ear.
Dot chuckled. “You and your father will survive this little hiccup.”
Tom had the table set as he did whenever he had the day off work. Steam spouted from the kettle. He emptied the boiled water into the teapot and placed it on the stove to steep.
Alice smiled and ran a finger along the lid. “It’s almost impossible see where you glued it back together.”
Dot sat down in her usual place on the inside of the table. “Tom’s a handy man to have around,” she said. “Alice, my girl, you’re one fortunate woman.”
Tom remained silent.
Henry pulled out a chair to the right of his grandmother. “Supper smells great, Mom.” He looked at his father. “Right, Dad ?”
Tom avoided his son’s gaze and took his place at the head of the table. His continued silence rang in Henry’s ears.
Dot covered Henry’s hand with her own. “Jiggs’ dinner is a real feast. Mr. Hull planned on ham sandwiches for tonight.” She screwed up her face. “For the third time this week.”
Tom spread a napkin across his knees. “That’s not much of a meal. Especially for the very sick patients.”
Alice placed a bowl filled with cabbage, potatoes, turnip, and carrots in the centre of the table followed by pease pudding and chunks of salt meat. “Dig in while it’s still hot,” she said.
Henry noticed his father spoon every item onto his plate, each movement slow, deliberate.
“You’re some quiet tonight, Tom,” Dot said. “Something on your mind ?”
Alice frowned at her mother.
Henry’s heart skipped a beat.
Tom looked his mother-in-law squarely in the eyes. “When I have something to say, I’ll say it.” His face was calm, relaxed. “I won’t need prodding from you or anyone else.”
“Welcome to radio station VONF and the Barrelman show.”
All heads turned toward the radio, which stood on a shelf under the window.
“We Newfoundlanders have a responsibility, a duty toward our children and future generations. Our lives cannot, must not carry on as they have been for the last hundred or more years. How do we go about ensuring a prosperous future that will endure ? That is the question which I am certain is uppermost in your minds. I know this, my fellow islanders, because you love this great land with an unrelenting passion.”
“The nerve of Joey Smallwood,” Alice said. “Telling us what to think.”
“Confederation with Canada is the answer, the only answer. The answer that will bring prosperity. Not just prosperity...”
Alice chomped on a mouthful of cabbage. “He certainly is long-winded.”
Tom chewed a piece of salt meat. The gristle slipped down his throat. “What a load of bull the man’s spewing out,” he said. “The answer to our problem is to get rid of Commission of Government. The idea of England making all the decisions about what happens here doesn’t sit well with me.”
Alice nodded. “It’s about time we get back to Responsible Government. We’re a separate country and should have the right to run it the way we see fit.”
The radio droned on.
“The meeting is at seven-thirty tonight at the CLB Armoury. Come along one and all. Bring your children and learn why Confederation is the only choice that makes any sense. It will be the best thing you’ll ever do in your — ”
Alice hopped up from the table and tuned the radio to another station. “I can’t stand to listen to any more of that horse manure.” Static followed before piano music drifted around the kitchen. “That’s much better,” she said.
Tom went to the stove for the teapot. “Smallwood’s wasting his time,” he said. “All the man wants is to make a name for himself at this country’s expense.”
Alice cut up a pan of homemade gingerbread and served it with a dollop of tinned cream over the top. “In my opinion Joey and his co-conspirators are nothing more than traitors to Newfoundland.”
Dot looked at the wall clock and caught Henry’s eye. “It’s seven-twenty. I should get back to the Home.”
Henry stared at the gingerbread he he’d hardly had time to sample. His mouth watered. “Guess I’ll save this for later.”
ONLY STANDING ROOM WAS AVAILABLE when Henry and his grandmother arrived at the CLB Armoury. Taller than most of the people there, Henry looked over their heads at the long bench and table set up at the front of the room for Joey and three of his colleagues.
“I want to hear Mr. Smallwood explain how joining Canada has merit,” Dot said. “It can’t make us worse off than we are right now.” A constant hum of voices sizzled the air like an electrical charge. More people packed into the auditoriumsized room, bumping and pushing others into the aisles.
“I hope this meeting doesn’t turn angry,” Henry said, keeping a protective eye on his grandmother. “Folks get riled up awful easy about politics these days.”
“I can’t hear myself think with all this noise,” Dot shouted.
Henry saw Joey converse with the man sitting to his right. The man smiled, exuding complete confidence. Joey rearranged the papers in front of him then scanned the waiting crowd. He pulled a white handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and cleaned his wire-ri
mmed glasses with meticulous care. He put the glasses on, neatly refolded the handkerchief, and returned it to his pocket.
Dot tugged on Henry’s arm to get his attention. “Let’s get closer,” she said, and made to push through the crowd. “I want to have a closer look at Mr. Smallwood.”
“No, Gran,” Henry said, holding her back. “It’s safer back here, and easier to get out if anything happens.”
Joey drank a full glass of water. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his eyes roaming over the people. The deafening hum faded to silence. “It fills me with great pride to see so many Newfoundlanders gathered here tonight. It thrills and excites me. I am overjoyed, but most of all, proud. Proud to see that you have taken a keen interest in this pivotal issue. We will embark on a discussion that will without a doubt change the course of history.”
Dot made a clucking sound. “Takes him a while to get ’round to the point. I must admit,” she added, “you can’t deny he’s an eloquent speaker.”
Joey hooked his thumbs in his breast pockets, an air of authority about him. “We are a moderate-sized island with a small population. If we continue to stand alone, there is nothing but bleakness ahead.” He paused to look around the room, his gaze fixed from time to time on one person or another. “Poverty will increase. The way of life we treasure above all else will blur into the past.” He paused again. “I have struggled, not for one year, not for two.” His raised fingers to match each number. “Not for three, not even for ten, but for twenty years to find the means to make Newfoundland the best it can be for Newfoundlanders. My friends, Confederation is the answer. Canada is a vast country, a rich country, one that will bestow all its advantages on its newest province.”
“And be Canada’s lapdog instead of England’s !” A man in the front row said.
“You got that right,” the man directly behind him added. “Responsible Government is the way to go.”
Joey raised a steady hand to his glasses, adjusting them more snugly around his ears. “Mr. Jones and Mr. Murphy,” he said, addressing the two men who had interrupted him. “As Canadians, we will have the freedom to govern our province the way we feel will benefit each and every one of us. England has ruled us with an iron fist. Canada will simply guide us with a helping hand.”
