by Linda Abbott
A man in his sixties seated in the second-to-last row stood up. “We had Yanks and Canadians here in droves during the war. I for one have had enough of foreigners telling us how to live proper.”
A woman next to him half rose from her chair. “Me and my man can hardly make ends meet with ten youngsters. I say we give Mr. Smallwood a chance to tell us what benefits we’d get if we became Canadians.”
“I was born a Newfoundlander,” a white-haired man said from the centre of the room, “and intend to die a Newfoundlander, not a bloody Canadian.”
Three-quarters of the people applauded.
“I say we listen to what Mr. Smallwood has to say,” a young woman shouted over the din. “He makes sense to me.”
“You’re not much more than a youngster,” a deep voice said. “What would you know about politics ?”
“She has a right to her opinion,” someone else said.
Joey smiled at the young woman. “It is truly heartwarming to see our young taking an active interest in their future. Anyone who strives to hold back Newfoundland is an enemy against hope and prosperity.” He directed his attention to the section at his right and honed in on an elderly man with balding white hair. “You good folks know what I mean. Is that not the case, Mr. Edwards ?”
Mr. Edwards, a renowned lawyer, stood up. “Mr. Smallwood is a champion for all Newfoundlanders. He has toiled non-stop to...”
The back row booed, drowning out the rest of the sentence.
Henry took his grandmother by the arm. “Let’s get out of here before a brawl starts,” he said, and elbowed his way toward the exit.
Joey spread his arms wide as if to give a blessing. “Is freedom of speech only for those who agree with you ?” He spoke in a normal pitch, yet it resonated clearly, audibly. The crowd quieted down.
“I’M VERY IMPRESSED WITH MR. Smallwood,” Dot said outside.
“Nothing anyone says or does will make Dad believe in Confederation,” Henry said. “He doesn’t like any sort of change.”
Dot wound her wool scarf more securely around her neck and buried her chin in the folds. “I wish this cold spurt would lift. It makes my skin ache.” Arm in arm, she and Henry started up Military Road. They walked along the empty streets where not even a motor car passed by.
“I expect everyone’s at the CLB Armoury,” Henry said. “Smallwood certainly knows how to keep a cool head. He stopped a near-riot with a few words.”
Dot clamped a gloved hand over her nostrils. “I’m sure the hairs in my nose are frozen stiff.” She looked at Henry. “I’m surprised Mary Norris wasn’t there. She’s all for Confederation.”
“She knew I’d be there.” Henry stared into the distance. “Right now I’m not one of her favourite people.”
“She’s a thoughtful girl. Let’s you know what’s on her mind.” Dot looked up at her grandson. “It wouldn’t hurt to follow her example.”
Henry blushed, relieved his cheeks were already red from the biting wind. “Here’s Hull Home. Good night, Gran.” He turned to leave.
“Hold on a second, Henry. I have one question for you to ponder over tonight.”
“What ?” he said, wary of what he would hear.
“Did you give Mary any real consideration before you applied for medical school ?”
ALICE TOOK MIKE’S LETTER OUT of the sewing box, stuffed it in her pocket, and hurried to the bathroom. Her heart beat faster than her steps. She locked the door, sat on the edge of the cast iron tub, and pulled out the letter. Her eyes scanned the first page again. Footsteps on the stairs caused her to almost slide off the tub. Her breath caught in her throat and she stuffed the letter back in her apron. “Don’t be so stunned,” she murmured to herself. “Tom can’t see what you’re doing.” When Alice heard the bedroom door close, she retrieved the two sheets of paper, smoothed them out on her lap, and read where she had left off earlier.
I wish Tom would give me a chance to explain why I couldn’t make it home for our parents’ funerals. It’s hard to comprehend that any reason would justify what seems so heartless. I understand why Tom feels the way he does. Still, it’s difficult to believe he’s this dead set against his son becoming a doctor because of me... because of my so-called abandonment of the family. Then again, my brother was always stubborn and quick to jump to conclusions without possession of all the facts. He loves deeply. Unfortunately, he resents just as thoroughly.
Alice, even though we’ve never met, I feel like I’ve known you all my life. You want what’s best for your family, and would like Tom to at least hear me out. I’ve decided to come to Newfoundland to face my brother, to urge him to hear what I have to say. I arrive on February 10. Use your own judgment to decide if he should be told about my plan ahead of time.
All the best,
Mike
P.S. Don’t you agree the time has come for me to be formally introduced to my little brother’s wife ?
Alice returned the letter to the envelope, went downstairs to the kitchen, and opened the top cupboard door nearest the pantry. A cookie tin was hidden behind a bag of flour. She hauled off the lid and placed the letter with the many others she had received over the years from Mike. She felt a guilty knot in her stomach at the thought of Tom.
The kitchen door swung open. Alice whirled around. “Henry, what took you so long ?” She sounded breathless.
“We were at the big meeting.” He took his gingerbread from the oven and sat down.
Alice fidgeted with a button on her dress.
“Mom, I knew you wouldn’t be mad at me for going to the CLB Armoury. I did think you’d at least comment on it.”
Alice twisted a string around the fingers of one hand until they were all but blue. “Uncle Mike is coming here next month,” she blurted.
Henry’s fork stopped in mid-air. His mouth drooped open and gingerbread plopped to the plate. “How do you know that ?”
Alice bit down on her thumbnail. “Never mind about that now. He wants to settle things with your father once and for all.”
Henry laid down the fork. “Dad won’t see him, let alone talk to him.”
“That’s why this has to stay between you and me until Mike gets here.”
“When next month ?”
Alice squirmed on the chair. “The tenth.”
Henry pushed aside the half-eaten gingerbread. “I have an awful bad feeling about this.”
Chapter 4
THE SUNLIGHT SPREAD OVER THE houses like a warm blanket, yet when Henry opened the door to get the Daily News, the frosty air stole his breath away. He wondered how the meeting had turned out, and saw the answer in big black bold letters sprawled across the top of the front page.
RIOT ALMOST ERUPTS AT CLB ARMOURY
Tempers flared during the meeting held at the CLB Armoury last evening to discuss the merits of Confederation with Canada. Mr. Smallwood had just begun his speech when several spectators interrupted him to voice their own diverse convictions. Individuals among the crowd then hurled insults at each other, which led to shouting and screaming. Mr. Smallwood remained composed during the incident and managed to control the angry mob. The debate continued in a peaceful manner.
It is this reporter’s opinion that Mr. Smallwood and his colleagues have a daunting task ahead of them in terms of Confederation. From my personal observations and questioning, our fair city of St. John’s is prepared to do whatever is necessary to keep Newfoundland a country. A country proud of its heritage, and most important of`all, its independence.
Henry laid the paper in his father’s place at the table. “Where’s Dad ?”
Alice stood at the stove and flipped over a pancake. “He’s already eaten and left for work.”
Henry snapped open his napkin. “He can’t ignore me forever.”
“A ship came in last night and has to be unloaded as soon as possible for another trip.” Alice put the frying pan in the sink. “You know that isn’t unusual.” She placed a plateful of pancakes on the table.
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Henry watched her smooth butter over a pancake : one, two, three, four, five times. How many more days until Uncle Mike arrived ? He caught a sidelong glance from his mother as she smeared a second pancake. The wall clock ticked, ticked.
“Gran asked me to take her shopping on Saturday.”
Alice’s mouth tilted up in a half-smile. “I think Mom wants to spend as much time with you as possible before you go away.” She gave a nervous laugh that sounded like tiny balloons bursting. “Your grandmother has a way about her that will win over your father in the end.”
“I doubt even Gran’s charms can change Dad’s mind,” Henry said. “Maybe I should forget about Toronto.”
“Get that notion out of your head this minute, young man.” Alice stared hard at her son. “You’ll be the best doctor to ever practise in Newfoundland.”
“I wish Dad felt the same way.”
Alice cleared away the dishes. “Get a move on. You don’t want to be late for work.”
MARY NORRIS TOOK AN ARMFUL of clean bedsheets from the linen closet and started down the hall. She passed the office, the door partly open. Mr. Hull sat at his desk. His wife had all but worn down the carpet from the window to Isaac’s desk in the last hour. “Don’t tell me not to worry,” Mrs. Hull said, her voice a decibel lower than a shout.
Mary scooted behind the door and peeped through the crack.
“Cahill was quite perturbed we hadn’t submitted dwelling plans to council,” Mrs. Hull continued in a normal tone.
“A mere oversight,” Mr. Hull said with the flick of a wrist.
Mary could see the scowl on Mrs. Hull’s face when she turned to face her husband. “An oversight that is against the law,” she said. “And there will be more trouble because we didn’t make applications to become a nursing home.”
“No one’s bothered us so far with any sort of legalities. It’s not like we’re operating in secret.”
Mrs. Hull flopped into the chair by the desk. “I don’t like the idea of Confederation either,” she said, her hands palms-down on the armrests.
Mr. Hull’s eyebrows drew together. “What does that have to do with us ?”
“Things will change. Laws will become stricter.”
The jingle of the phone postponed the comment Mr. Hull was about to make. “Hull Home, Mr. Hull speaking. Yes, yes. No problem,” he repeated several times during the brief conversation.
“Well, who was it ?” Mrs. Hull said in a shrill voice when her husband hung up.
“We may have something to worry about after all.” Mr. Hull went to the window and stared outside, his hands deep in his pockets. “The Department of Health and Welfare wants to inspect the Home the day after tomorrow.”
Mary gasped.
“Who’s there ?” Mr. Hull called, heading for the door.
“It’s me,” Mary said. “I tripped over a bedsheet. Sorry if I disturbed you.”
Mrs. Hull shooed Mary away like she was a pesky cat. “Get to work, girl. You’re wasting valuable time.”
Mary took a deep breath to slow her racing heart before mounting the stairs. At the top she hooked her heel in the carpet runner and stumbled forward. Her shoes came off and the linen fell to the floor. “What else can go wrong ?” she grumbled, stooping to retrieve her shoe and bedclothes. Her face drawn, she stomped into Dot’s room, changed the bedsheets, pausing often as her thoughts wandered to the imminent inspection. Dot knitted in the armchair by the window in the corner, watching the young woman. Worry lines creased Mary’s forehead by the time she had made the fourth and final bed.
“Not even so much as a good morning,” Dot said when Mary turned to leave.
Mary froze, stunned, like she had been nabbed in the execution of a criminal act. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gatherall. I didn’t see you sitting there.”
“I can see that, child. You look like the sun’s about to tumble out of the sky.”
“It might be for me.” Mary’s eyes watered. “I can’t handle any more terrible news.”
Dot held out her arms. “Come here,” she said. Mary approached, and Dot took her hands. “Talk to Henry. He just might put your mind at rest.” She squeezed Mary’s fingers and let them fall.
Mary tugged on the hem of her apron with both hands. “It’s more than that. There’s going to be an inspection by the Health Department.” She dropped onto Dot’s bed. “That can’t be a good sign.”
MARY BUTTONED HER COAT UP to the collar and put on two pairs of gloves. She pinched her nose to lessen the strong odour of paint which would take at least a week to dissipate. “Night, Mr. Hull,” she called down the hallway.
He dumped the last of six oversized cans of tomato soup into a boiler. “Hold on, Mary,” he said, and poked his head out the kitchen door. “Glad I caught you. Mrs. Browne spilled a jug of water over her bed. The sheets need changing.”
“Right away,” Mary said. She fetched fresh linen from the closet and darted to the Annex, happy she had kept her coat and gloves on. The room empty, Mary set about cleaning up. No one to chat with, she completed the task in a matter of minutes. On her way back into the main house, the stench of oil assailed her. She hurried to the kitchen to find it empty. She removed the bubbling soup from the heat before checking the pipes behind the stove. A small patch of oil had collected on the canvas. “Not again,” she moaned, and placed a bucket under the leaky pipe. “Mr. Hull !” Her voice blared through the building. “The stove’s leaking.”
He arrived at her side and gave the area a brief once-over. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Mary, girl, you’re always on the lookout for problems.”
“Can’t you smell it ?”
“The problem with you is that your nose is too sensitive.”
Mary caught a whiff of alcohol under his breath and drew back. She lifted the bucket to show the oil on the floor. “The leak’s stopped for now.”
“Leave the bucket. If there’s any oil in it tomorrow, I’ll get the mechanic in.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to wait ?”
“There’s no need to be hasty.”
Mary lingered. “Do you want me for anything else ?” she said, shooting wary glances behind the stove. “Sheila Vickers wasn’t well today. Maybe I should check on her.”
Isaac opened a large can of tinned fish. “She coughed up blood a while ago,” he said. “I asked young Howard Pike to go for the nurse.”
“Poor Sheila. She’s only a year older than me.”
A gust of Arctic air swirled into the kitchen. “I’m back with the nurse,” Howard yelled.
Mary went down the stairs to meet her. “Sheila hasn’t eaten since breakfast,” she said. “With all the coughing, she came down with a pounding headache.”
Jean Baker hung up her coat. “I’ll go right on up. Sheila can’t afford to miss any meals in her condition.”
Mary went back to the kitchen with Howard, the youngest boarder. He warmed his hands over the stove. “Is there any tea ready ? It’s enough to freeze your fingernails off.” He smiled at Mary and the dimples in his cheeks deepened into caverns.
Isaac took several loaves of bread from the pantry. “Supper will be thirty minutes late tonight,” he said with a slight slur to his voice. “Mary, butter the bread while I see how Nurse Baker is doing.”
“Leave it to him to order you around after hours,” Howard said. He noticed the empty fish cans on the sink counter. “Looks like fish, jam, cheese, and biscuits again tonight. Oh, well, I’m hungry enough to eat anything.”
Dot stood to the side of Sheila’s bed. Mr. Hull moved around her.
“She’s asleep,” Nurse Baker said. “She’s resting comfortably and her breathing is steady.”
Isaac’s face glowed like a child given a new train set. “Wonderful news.”
“Her temperature’s slightly elevated, though.” Baker pulled the bedclothes up to Sheila’s neck. “I’ll stay the night to make sure she’s all right.”
“Ah... Miss Baker,”
Isaac began. “Is that necessary ?”
“I won’t expect overtime, Mr. Hull.” Baker cooled down the patient’s face with a damp cloth. “Since her father passed last year, the poor lass is all alone in the world.”
Isaac straightened his tie. “Madam. It’s not a question of money. I was merely concerned for your comfort.”
Dot moved closer to the bed. “Sheila’s been feeling poorly all day, and fell asleep from pure exhaustion.” She looked at Isaac. “Maybe Dr. Kennedy should be called in.”
Jean smiled. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gatherall. If Sheila shows any sign of distress, I’ll call him right away.”
“I must get supper ready,” Isaac said. He bowed to Dot and lost his balance.
“Oh, my,” she said. “Are you all right ?”
“Shouldn’t turn around so fast.” Saliva spurted from Isaac’s mouth onto his chin. “Made me dizzy for a second. I’ll see you in the dining room,” he said, and fled the room.
Dot stared down at Sheila’s grey complexion. “Nurse Baker, maybe she should go to the hospital.”
“The dear child can’t afford it.”
“I’ll foot the bill for her stay.”
“Mrs. Gatherall, it’s a kind gesture, but you know very well how proud Sheila is. She won’t accept a handout from anyone.”
“Well, if she gets worse, I won’t give her a choice in the matter.”
THE PAPER BOY FLUNG THE Evening Telegram to the houses on his route. A paper whizzed by Henry’s head, landing on the concrete step. “Great throw, Dougie,” Henry yelled at Mary’s twelve-year-old brother.
“It’s good practice for my slapshot.”
Henry picked up the paper from the step and opened the door to the aroma of fried cod. He’d had the meal every Friday of his life, yet never tired of it. He tossed the paper on the couch for his father to read after supper and ambled to the kitchen like he didn’t have a care in the world.
