A Stroke in Time

by Gerard Doran

  She opened the door and went into the chilly kitchen. A weak voice whimpered in a room at the back of the house.

  “Are you still in bed, Agnes?”

  Kate’s heart raced as another whimper echoed through the damp, bare house. She crossed the unswept floor, stepping over rags and scattered wood ash and wrinkling her nose at the stink of the slop pail. Another sound came from the back room.

  “Agnes, it’s me, Kate Whelan.”

  The foul smell of infected urine and worse met her as she went along the narrow hall from the kitchen to the bedroom. She stuck her head into the open bedroom doorway. Tommy was there.

  “She’s cold, and I’m keeping her warm.” He was lying on top of the covers, clutching his mother. “She kept saying she was cold, so I laid next to her, but now she’s even colder.” His face was white and tear-stained. She had to strain to hear him.

  Kate walked to the bed, her heartbeat in her ear louder than her footsteps. She looked at Agnes Slater. The woman’s face was as pale as an altar candle and there was no sign of movement.

  “Yes, Tommy, I can see your Mammy is very cold.” She edged onto the bed and gently stroked Tommy’s head. She placed the index and middle fingers of her other hand on the woman’s cool neck. The vein carried no pulse, not the smallest throb of life. She moved her hand over Agnes’s mouth. There was not a trace of breath.

  “Tommy, come away home with me and I’ll fix you something hot to eat. John’s gone for the doctor. Let your mother rest until he comes.”

  Father Clarke would not have to come over from Torbay today. John would be tackling Prince up to the carriage for a trip to town. Dr. Donahue would come to the cove to verify Agnes Slater’s departure, and inscribe her name on a certificate of death.

  Chapter

  9

  The surging sea foamed and rumbled at the shore. As the waves receded, they hissed along the landwash, sending salt air drifting up into the cove. In the Whelan home, steam from the cooking dinner made the kitchen windows opaque, creating a shroud of privacy.

  Christmas morning brought all homes in the cove a much-anticipated day of tranquility. It was as if some almighty peace bore down upon the land and sea, imposing an unshakable calm. No sounds. No cartwheels turning. No feet walking on the snowy roads. Even the farm animals seemed to sense the grace of the season.

  Tommy came swiftly down the stairs with messed-up hair and eyes like a preying owl. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. Kate was getting ready to go out and feed the hens. John was sitting at the table drinking tea.

  “Why are you stopping?” asked Kate. “Keep coming.”

  Tommy had stopped because he was afraid that the big woollen stocking of John’s he’d hung by the stove would be as empty as it was last night. He gathered up his courage and went into the kitchen. He forced himself to look at the stocking. It was round now, and bulging. He felt a sudden pain in his stomach, the result of a mix of joy and relief. Kate came and led him by the hand to the pantry. On its floor was a large brown paper package neatly tied with string. He heard John’s voice.

  “Thomas, my son, we thought you’d never wake up.” John laughed. “Come on, go ahead and see what’s inside.”

  Tommy dropped to his knees and touched the package. He tried to lift it and grunted.

  “Tear away the paper. See what it is.” Kate’s voice was high, excited.

  “It’s not for lifting, Tommy.” John came around Kate and knelt beside Tommy.

  He broke the string and began to rip the paper away, uncovering solid wood painted red. When the paper was all torn away, Tommy was looking at a brand new slide. Without a word, he turned to John, his hands dangling at his sides. His face was crumpled; he looked as though he was about to cry. John, worried, clapped him on the shoulder.

  “A slide, b’y, a new slide. Made it for you meself. Don’t you like it? Come on, now, get up and we’ll take her for a run.”

  “First he got to see what’s in his stocking.” Kate reached down and plucked the boy off the floor. “I told you Santa knew you moved house, Tommy.”

  “Let me go, let me go.” Tommy wiggled away from Kate. “I got to sit on it.”

  “Go on, now, scatter and get ready. Take her for a run down Slater’s Hill. Don’t get hurt. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours.”

  They could hear Tommy’s feet drumming on the stairs.

  Kate turned to John and smiled as if she had gotten a gift instead of Tommy. She has, too, thought her husband. A gift I couldn’t give her. A youngster to love and to fuss over.

  Tommy grinned. “I’m gut-foundered, Aunt Kate.” The smell of the roast chicken, flavoured by savoury and onions in the bread stuffing, was making his mouth water. Bowls full of vegetables from the garden surrounded the platter.

  “Before we begins, we will give thanks for this fine feed of grub,” said John. He bowed his head. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ Our Lord.”

  Tommy made the sign of the Cross and began to eat.

  They cleaned their plates. Kate served a second helping, and that, too, was quickly eaten.

  “Not many in the world with a feast like this,” John said proudly as they finished their meal.

  “If I keeps eating like I done today, I’ll be the strongest man in the boat someday,” said Tommy.

  Kate looked at John and then Tommy. Her husband reached over and touched her cheek.

  “There are many things that make a good man,” said John. “A good wife is one of them. And another is a fine lad to take fishing someday.”

  “Can I go sliding with the Stacks and Roches later?”

  “Yes, me son. You can go at it till dark.”

  Their bellies full, the heat from the kitchen stove shifted them into a lazy, napping state of comfort. Tommy, content with the Christmas dinner that ended with Kate’s fruitcake, crawled onto the daybed and rested his chin on the windowsill. He drew pictures of boats on the steam-covered glass. John slipped onto the daybed beside the child, where he soon sank down into slumber.

  “Ah, my God, I’m tired.” Kate yawned as she placed the clean dishes in the cupboard. She didn’t expect a response. The quiet from outside had slipped into the Whelan home. The hissing of the burning chunks of spruce was the only sound in the kitchen. She decided to go upstairs for a lie-down.

  “There’s someone coming in at the door.” Tommy poked at John with a thin finger.

  “Christ,” John said. “I was that deep into my nap I don’t think I could have dreamed if I tried. Hardly know where I am, my son. What are you on about?”

  “I think it’s Mr. Power. I hears him hollering. Mr. Power from Middle Cove.”

  “Hello, Mr. Power. Happy Christmas to you,” Tommy said to Watt as he entered the kitchen in his stocking feet, his battered old boots behind him in the porch.

  “A happy Christmas to you, young Thomas,” Watt replied.

  John got up from the daybed, stretched, and grinned at Watt. “Watt, you old devil, destroying a man’s nap on Christmas Day. Have a seat. Take up a plate of grub first, you looks half-famished.”

  “No, b’y, no grub. I’m as full as an egg. Just came from my sister’s. B’ys oh b’ys, some scoff she had on.”

  “Can I get you a drop of the stuff?” asked John. Watt nodded and sat down, and John placed a tumbler in front of him.

  “Just a drop. First taste in many months.”

  John nodded and poured Watt a finger of dark rum. “Not on the pledge anymore?” John said, grinning.

  “You know, John, I don’t miss the drink one bit. I thinks I could just as well not have a swalley ever again. Only having this one because it’s Christmas, but I’m not one bit tempted. You can tell that to Father Clarke.”

  John la
ughed and poured himself a generous tot.

  Watt smiled, licked his lips, and raised his glass. He and John both shivered a little as the Jamaican liquor sent a warm rush through their bodies.

  “I’m hearing a rumour about the McCarthy boys,” Watt said.

  “What is that, now?” John tapped his fingers in a rhythmic pattern, starting with his pinky and ending with his thumb. “I saw Dan a few days ago in town. He never said nothing to me.”

  “Well, b’y, I can’t say for sure,” Watt said, “but it seems that they both got a good chance to go to the seal hunt this year with Baine Johnston.”

  “And what’s wrong with that? I’d go meself if I could get a goddamn berth with them or any other decent sealing crew. Seems like if you’re from the cove and your name isn’t Kinsella or Roche, you can’t get a spot on a vessel. Sure, and that crowd hasn’t won a regatta championship for years. Boils my blood.” John slammed the tumbler down on the table. “I don’t begrudge them a trip to the ice. Everyone knows they’ve been getting the trip to the front for the rowing they did for Job and Murray and Sons in the regatta. I gave up trying to get a berth. Not worth the trouble.”

  Watt looked silently at John for a moment. Then he spoke. “You’re getting the idea, John. You’re onto it. That’s what the McCarthys have in mind. Get the berth with Baine Johnston by rowing with their crew in the regatta. Or the Feildians, bunch of goddamn Protestants. Bill Pine told me that an offer has been made to the lads. Bill wouldn’t be codding me, neither. Now, there might be some confusion as to what’s in the works, but something’s going on with them two, Din and Dan. We got to get to the bottom of it right away. The boys didn’t have a great year fishing. You knows that story. They’ll be glad to get a berth to the hunt with anyone. I don’t know, John. We might be in a bit of a bind.” Watt took out his pipe and lit it.

  “If this is true, our crew is ruined,” John said. “Where would we get two good experienced hands like them?”

  “It’s what I hear.”

  “The devil is making his way into them fellas’ minds. There’s an Antichrist at work somewhere. Come on, Watt, we’re going up to McCarthys’ now. I won’t have no peace this Christmas unless we do.”

  Tommy looked up at John, his mouth open. John rubbed his head and smiled at him. “Never mind, Thomas. It’s only grown-up foolishness.” He felt cold. The drink he’d shared with Watt no longer warmed his blood or spirit.

  Kate’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  “Hello, Watt. Couldn’t wait until St. Stephen’s Day for your Christmas visit, could you, b’y?” She smiled at him and then shifted her eyes in Tommy’s direction.

  “No, Kate. Besides, I needed a long walk after all that roast beef. Mr. Kelly slaughtered an old cow last week and gave us a cut of it. The meat was a bit tough, but it tasted best kind. Kitty is a grand cook, and she bakes to beat the band, too.”

  “Watt, your sister got you spoiled. I suppose you and John are having a talk about the rowing. I wouldn’t be completely wrong about that, now, would I?”

  “Oh, you’re spot on, Kate. John and I were discussing this and that. Being the races are only seven months away.”

  “Come on, Tommy, I shows you the nice storybook Father Clarke gave you for Christmas.” Kate turned to Watt and dropped her voice. “Father Clarke gave it to me after his mother was buried. We kept it aside for Christmas.” She reached out and took Tommy by the hand and made her way out of the kitchen. The boy went along as if he’d been with her since the day he first walked.

  “Well, it may only be talk,” John said, “but there’s got to be a story behind it. Maybe it’s just an offer. Maybe a tease to see if a trip to the hunt is something the boys will consider. I can’t understand for the life of me how the seal hunt and the rowing are connected.”

  “It happens more now than it used to,” said Watt. “Companies wants to get their names associated with the winning crews. Can’t say I blames them. Make themselves look good while they’re gypping us out of a decent price for fish and sticking men in the hold of them filthy sealing steamers.”

  “I’m still fuming over what that Torbay crowd said to me in Scanlan’s in September.”

  John clenched his teeth. “Like a crowd of wolves, they were. Let’s go up to McCarthys’ now. To hell with it. I don’t care if it is Christmas Day.”

  “We can’t go there in this mood. And we shouldn’t jump to conclusions or start a racket yet. Who knows what the truth is? Tomorrow is St. Stephen’s Day. Everyone will be moving around the cove, mummering and the like. Why don’t we pay the boys a visit tomorrow, early in the day, before they gets on the move?

  “Let’s enjoy our last mouthful of rum,” Watt said. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the McCarthys’. Unless Bill Pine got it spread all over about the boys and their sealing plans, there’s no need to get too worried yet.”

  “Not yet, Watt.” John laid a heavy emphasis on the second word. “Bottoms up.” They clinked their glasses, downed the rum, and got up from the table.

  Chapter

  10

  “A happy Christmas to you, Mrs. McCarthy.” Ellen McCarthy turned around, wiped her hands on her long apron, and smiled at John and Watt. She waved them past the doorway of her large kitchen, which was full of fragrant heat from the baking.

  “Come in, come in! Oh, we’ll have the rowing talk today with Power and Whelan here. The boys are around somewhere, Watt and John.

  “Dan! Din!” she called. “Your rowing buddies are here. Well, your buddy John Whelan is here. I don’t know about Mr. Power—hard to call him your buddy when he makes you work like dogs on that pond.” She laughed. “Just codding, Watt. You’re the finest kind of a man and a grand coxswain.

  “Everyone in the cove knows you’re after putting together a dandy crew, and they’re all delighted. You knows we starts looking forward to going to the races long before August. Now, if the boys would only come out of their rooms. I’ll go give them a shake.”

  “Dan’s in Logy Bay, Mother.” Din’s voice came from one of the back rooms.

  “That Dan and Liz Malone. I’ve never seen the sky so clear above a young couple. I suppose he’ll be married to her next year, if he doesn’t crack up beforehand with his first romance.” She laughed. “Oh, me nerves! Come out, Din. John and Watt haven’t got all day to wait on you. Sit down, I gets the two of ye a cup of tea and some of them biscuits I’m just after making.”

  Din ducked to clear his head of the door frame as he entered the kitchen. Watching him, John thought that if his shoulders were any wider he’d probably have to turn sideways to make it through the opening. Their father had been broad-shouldered and rugged. Built like a bear. His sons were the same shape, but taller. John looked at their mother and wondered where she had gotten the strength to bear and rear two such sons. She was like a sparrow, and just as lively.

  “Hello, John, Watt.” Din shook their hands. “The very best of the season to you both.”

  “Are you still courting Sara Fitzgerald?” Watt asked. He didn’t want to jump into the rowing right away. Before he came out, he’d lined up his words like horse carts at Haymarket Square.

  “Yes, sir. Two years now. If I gets a good spring at the seal hunt and a better summer at the fish, we’ll marry in the fall.”

  “If you gets a good spring at the seal hunt,” Watt said, raising his eyebrows. “Might want to get a berth first, don’t you think?” It was hard not to spring another question on Din. Watt felt the pressure mounting, and wondered if Din sensed it, too. Before he could say another word, Din cut in.

  “Looks like Dan and myself may already have a berth. It’s not for certain yet, but it seems likely if we agrees to . . .” He paused and began to walk around the kitchen, peering about like a crow guarding its meal.

  “I wants to tell you something. Dan should be here to
talk about this, too.” Din glanced toward the stairs. “Never mind. It don’t matter if Dan is here or not.” His stocking feet were silent on the bare wooden floor as he turned. “We don’t know if we can row with ye next year.”

  Watt hadn’t expected to hear him confess so quickly. The room was quiet as the grave. Ellen turned away from the stove to look at her son.

  “Baine Johnston added another ship to their sealing fleet for the spring hunt.” His words were hurried. “We happened to find out last week that they needed to crew the new ship. Dan and I went straight to their office in Ayres Cove.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Watt’s eyes shifted toward John. “We’re all part of this crew, this plan to bring a championship to the parish. Well, a parish in the making if Father Clarke lives up to his promise. Maybe promises and handshakes don’t mean nothing these days.” Watt folded his arms across his chest and tilted his chin.

  “I should have told you sooner.” Din’s voice quivered. “Let me tell you the pure and simple truth, which is not easy.”

  “Let me tell you something, McCarthy, and it’s damn easy.” John’s voice cut the air like an oar. “God forgive me, but where is your loyalty to our crew and the people of the cove? We all have to work hard, make a few dollars to try to get by. We understand that. So why the hell are you and your brother not showing the rest of us some courtesy?”

  “For Christ’s sake, John.” Din’s voice was sure and steady now. “What do you have to lose, anyway? You got lots of wins on the pond, lots of medals. You can row with any crew and likely win. If you don’t row, it won’t matter a pound of salt fish. That’s two and half Jesus cents.”

  Ellen was staring out the kitchen window, her back rigid. John glanced at Watt.

  “Din,” Watt said. “If Baine Johnston is adding another ship to their fleet, it might mean they’re hoping for a better market and prices for next year’s pelts. One thing’s for sure, they’re not going to tell anyone that. Maybe the other companies plan to add more ships and men, too. Why trade off your chance of a berth at the hunt along with your rights to row with whoever you wants to?”