A Stroke in Time

by Gerard Doran

  “Good day, Mr. Malone.”

  “You ready to take her out to town? I hates to see her go, but what can we do? She’s a smart girl, knows there’s more of a future for the two of ye in Boston. Mind you gets down there quick before some Yankee snaps her up.” Pat Malone turned to his daughter. “Where’s your mother, Liz?”

  “She’s in the bedroom on her knees with the rosary. She’s reeling off novenas like they’re going out of style, praying the ship won’t run into a hurricane. I’ll go get her.” Liz turned and headed into the house. When she got to her parents’ bedroom, she slowly opened the door. “Mother, Dan is here. I’m going now.”

  Sadie Malone looked up from where she knelt by the white wrought-iron bedstead. Her face was swollen, her eyes red. She blinked once and then picked up the end of her apron and wiped away the tears running down her face.

  “I’m going to miss you some bad, Mother.” Liz knelt beside her.

  “I’m going to miss you, too, my darling.” The rosary beads fell from Sadie’s hands as she reached out to hold her daughter in her arms. “You better save your money and come back home to visit. You, Dan, and your youngsters.” She drew in a long, shuddering breath and bit her lip, trying to hold back another flood of tears.

  Mother and daughter gently rocked together on the mat Sadie had finished hooking in February. It was beautiful, but not thick enough to keep the cold of the wood floor out of their knees. After a while, Liz could feel her mother stop sobbing. Her own face was wet with tears.

  “You knows I’ll come back, Mother. Boston isn’t halfway around the world.” She helped Sadie to her feet, and they tidied themselves up, wiping each other’s eyes.

  “I’m a right mess, Liz.”

  “Me too, Mother. But I have to go now.”

  “I know, child, I know.”

  When she saw the towers of the Basilica in the distance, Liz moved closer to Dan. The ship that would take her away from him was just past those towers and down over the hill in the harbour.

  “Are you going to write to me, Liz?”

  “Of course I’m going to write to you. Every week, more often if I got lots of news. Are you going to answer my letters, Dan?”

  “Yes, I suppose I can write a few lines.” He laughed, took the reins in one hand, and put his other arm around her, bringing her close.

  “How’s Din Croke making out with the rowing since he stopped going out to the traps?” Liz nestled into Dan.

  “I didn’t think you thought that much about the rowing, Liz.”

  “Everybody in Outer Cove, Middle Cove, and Logy Bay thinks about the rowing.” She kissed him gently on the side of his face. “I’ll miss going to the races. You better win. You better win it all.” She reached across and squeezed his hand.

  The bright sun softened the hardness of the old town. Liz wondered if it might be the last time she would ever see it. It had all been so sudden, so rushed, her engagement to Dan and then the decision to move away. Was it the right decision? There was no time to wonder about that. They were on Ordnance Street, and she could see the stacks and masts of ships.

  “I think I’ll tie Belle on here at Neal’s. We’ll walk to the dock. Too many people to take the carriage any closer,” said Dan. He pulled up in front of the brick building, got out of the carriage, and tied the mare to a ring projecting from a wall. Kate followed him.

  “Who’s going to lug the chest to the ship?”

  “We are. You grab one handle and I’ll get the other. Come on, Liz, the two of us can do it. Sure, just think of all the things you’ll have to lift and haul after we gets married. Youngsters, for instance.” He smiled at the blush slowly staining her cheeks.

  “Dan McCarthy, you been hanging around Watt Power too long. You’re always thinking about an easier way to move or lift something.” She grinned at him and then reached down and took one of the handles of the trunk.

  They inched their way along to the dock, stopping frequently. Finally, they reached the ship and sat down on a bollard, side by side. Dan glanced at Liz out of the corner of his eye, at her new straw hat and the strong profile beneath it. She looked like a queen. He spoke quickly, to keep the lump out of his throat. “Got your ticket?”

  “Yes.” She opened her purse and showed it to him. As she closed the bag, the ship’s horn blasted. It was time to board. She and Dan got to their feet.

  “You’ll come to Boston after the races, won’t you?” She put her arms around him.

  “Yes, Liz, I will. Right after the races, I’ll come to Boston.”

  “I got to go aboard now, Dan.” She buried her face in his shoulder. “I loves you.”

  He held her so tight he thought he might break her bones, but she didn’t move.

  Reluctantly, they let go of each other. Two longshoremen took the trunk on board, and Liz followed it. Eventually, the gangway disappeared, and the massive ropes that moored the steamer were untied, the anchor weighed.

  Liz was at the rail, waving to him. He waved back, looking at her until her face was only a small white blur. The Dartmouth sounded its horn for the final time and steered toward the Narrows, finally disappearing into the fog that was licking at the rocky ledges of Fort Amherst.

  The ride from the harbour to the pond seemed almost not to have happened. One minute he was holding Liz in his arms, the next it was as if he’d been kicked out of a dream. The carriage was passing the hospital on Forest Road before he realized where he was. He glanced at the pond, shining on the other side of the leafy poplar trees. There was no saying to the crew that he couldn’t row today. He would have to get in the boat and leave his heartache on the dock.

  They were waiting in the shell when he arrived. No one said a word to him as he got in and strapped his feet into the footing. As the boat sailed out onto the waters of Quidi Vidi, Dan thought of Kate’s ship steaming out of the harbour. Then he put all thoughts of her away.

  “It’s a grand day for a row,” said Watt. “Keep the stroke long.”

  The crew settled into the spin, fully focused. “Now, men,” Watt said, “keep your head in the boat. No looking around. Feel the boat move away from the water. You will make this boat move away from the water.” His voice had a hypnotic quality that helped them push themselves mentally and physically.

  “You can only be in pain when the race is over. And if you wins, there’s no pain.” Watt was good at keeping bad thoughts away, reflected Dan. He knew how hard they worked, and for no wages. It was for the sport and for their pride.

  “That’s excellent, Croke. Keep that blade just under the surface of the water. You have it now, the catch that you need.” Watt’s experiment with Croke had worked. The boat was balanced. His praise for Croke affected Dan and the rest of the crew, unravelling the thread of doubt that had undermined their earlier efforts. Croke’s powerful stokes had been harnessed—the boat was balanced and fast.

  “Now, men, let’s work on the recovery. All hands, the same level. Keep the blades the same height off the water.” Croke wasn’t holding back. His blade sent waves of water toward the tiller. Dan watched the wash go by. He rowed harder, not wanting to be shown up by the new man in the boat.

  “Another five minutes and we’ll call her quits. You knows the rate we’re rowing. One hundred and twenty strokes to go, equal pressure on each one.” Watt’s voice dismissed all thoughts of quitting. The shell skimmed across the pond, the hull cutting through the water like a shark’s fin.

  “Seven strokes to the finish. Bring the rate up.” The force of the boat moving forward pushed Watt’s back into the rear of the seat. He gripped the tiller ropes to keep himself stable as the boat increased in speed. “Let her run.” The boat glided to a stop and the crew leaned on their oars, catching their breath.

  Watt stood up and addressed them. “A good row, men. Twenty minutes without
stopping. Good balance most of the time, good pressure on the blades all the time. Pressure on the blades, that’s what makes her go.”

  Dan dipped his hand in the cool pond to ease the burning of his flesh. He was almost too tired to think. Through the haze of the fatigue and pain, he managed one thought of Liz, somewhere out on the ocean. Was she thinking of him? He pulled his hand out of the water. It felt better. He put both hands back on the oars and rowed with the rest of the crew to the dock, with Watt still standing in the stern. They disembarked.

  “Tomorrow, same time,” Watt called to the retreating figures of his crew. “We’ll walk out to the pond from the cove together.”

  “What? Walk out from the cove?” Croke’s voice was an octave higher than usual.

  “Never mind, Croke, b’y,” said Nugent. “Old Watt will get us a ride home. You’ll need one.” He slapped Croke on the back.

  “Dan, what’s wrong with you? You’re not yourself.” Din grabbed a big, gutted fish by the tail and tossed it on the splitting table. Its bones cracked when he separated the head from the thick body on the edge of the table. “Maybe you needs to see a doctor.” He shoved the fish across the splitting table to Dan.

  “I don’t need to see no goddamn doctor.” Dan took the knife and ran the blade along the two sides of the backbone on the inside of the fish. He repeated the cut on the outside, then removed the bone, letting it fall through a hole in the stage floor onto the beach rocks below. “I don’t need no doctor. I don’t know what I needs. Maybe I’m just fed up.” He stuck the bloody knife in the table.

  “We’re having a good year at the fish. The crew is coming along. What’s there to complain about?” Din dipped the split fish into the water barrel to clean it.

  “Did you hear me complain? Did you?” Dan moved until he was within inches of Din, then turned around and picked up a handful of salt and threw it at the wall. “You don’t understand, you don’t. Your woman is here in the cove, isn’t she? You can see her moving around in her yard out the window of our house.” He kicked the water barrel over, sending fish spewing over the stage floor, and strode toward the door. “The hell with this racket.”

  A light drizzle drifted into the cove and carried the salty sea air up the valley in tiny drops that barely wet the grass that had grown tall in the meadows. The seed pods on the hay crop drooped under the weight of the damp air and their own weight. Fog tumbled down over the Rocky Hills, stopping at the edge of the road.

  “What a mauzy old day. I hates the thought of rowing on a day like this. You ready to go? We got to meet John down at the end of the lane. Then we’ll get Croke on the way out the road. You knows this is the first day we walks to the lake before we rows?”

  Dan turned away from the window and nodded. “Yes, Din, I knows. Walk for an hour and a half, then row.”

  Din took a bottle, filled it with water, and pushed a cork in the top. He put on his coat and hat, taking his time, casting glances at his brother. Finally, he said, “You coming?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Dan mumbled.

  “Come on, b’y, nothing like a good walk with your buddies to clear your head.” Din put his arm around Dan’s shoulders, then pushed him away.

  “I don’t need to walk for five miles to clear my noggin.” Dan grinned for what seemed the first time in days.

  “Let’s go, Dan. I can see John coming up over Slater’s Hill.”

  The mist on the pond helped keep them cool as Watt drilled them through short, intense rows. Four minutes of rowing at race pace and three minutes’ rest. They knew they had to do this five times before the practice ended. The day seemed to go on forever, but at last the spin ended. They tied the boat to the dock, too tired to talk.

  “How do all of us get home?” asked Croke. He was bare-chested, trying to wring the sweat out of his shirt.

  “Don’t worry, Croke,” said Watt. “Neighbours are better than friends.” No sooner had he spoken than Pat Griffin and Mike Kelly rode up to the boathouse with their horses and long carts. “There you go. Hop aboard one of those rigs and you’ll be home before dark.”

  “Is there anything that man won’t do to keep his crew together?” said Dan.

  “Watt keeps ahead of everyone,” said John as he climbed aboard Mike’s cart and sat next to him. “If one plan don’t work, he thinks of a new one. Mike, how are you getting on? Here comes Martin and Nugent. You’ll have a full load of manure to drag back to the cove with you today.”

  “I’m best kind,” said Mike. “I suppose the rowing’s going good? I can’t wait for to see the races.”

  The crew’s weary legs dangled over the sides of the two carts. Dan’s back ached, but the long, rough ride was better than walking back. The sun had almost set. His mother would be looking out the window for him and Din. He was glad the day’s work was over. Watt would say a proper day’s work was spending the day fishing and the evening rowing, but Dan couldn’t agree with that. Some days, perhaps.

  The carts pulled to a stop. John, Dan, and Din got off and began to walk down O’Rourke’s Lane on aching legs. Their tired bodies cast shadows of giants as the sun dipped into the treetops beyond Pine’s farm.

  “That was a fine row this evening,” said John. “We’re coming together, b’ys. I seen the wash from the blades run well past the rudder this evening.”

  “Do you think we’re getting good distance on the drive, John?” asked Din.

  “Not entirely. We’re getting better, but the boat is slow during the longer rows. We needs to do more of those. Water time is everything now. Extra time on the pond will get the boat up to speed. We’ll just keep working hard. Watt will keep us up to the mark.”

  Dan and Din stopped at the gate of their house. Din untied the rope that held it shut. John stopped, too, and leaned on the fence for a moment. The hard day was done.

  Chapter

  21

  As the men worked the trap, gulls swooped and dived around the skiff, hoping to scavenge any fish that may have slipped away from the haul. The cod flipped and squirmed on the surface of the trap. The dip nets buckled under the weight of the fish as the crew hauled them aboard.

  The boat was filled to the gunwales before the sun had crested the cliffs at Torbay Point. John’s empty stomach growled. He could see the grey puffs of smoke rising from his chimney. It was a short season at the trap fishery. Like the races, it was intensely difficult. In both cases, hopes were simple: a decent price for the catch and victory at the regatta. The crew was tossing two sets of dice at two different tables. Fish or die. Win at the races or lose the cove’s pride of place.

  Kate wiped the table and placed the fresh bread on it. “You were tossing and turning like a fish out of water last night. Is it your back that’s acting up again? Maybe you should see a doctor.”

  “I’ve never seen a doctor and I don’t suppose I’ll ever see one unless you gets a doctor to come in when I’m dying.” John leaned back in the chair and ran his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “That’ll be soon enough, I guess.”

  “Now, John, don’t say that. You’re not old.” She took a knife out of the drawer and sharpened it on the whetstone. “You’re able to do everything the younger men in the crew are doing.” She cut the loaf into thick slices. “What kept you from sleeping sound last night? God knows you were tired enough when you went to bed. If it isn’t your back, it must be your mind.” She put salt fish and pieces of pork fat in the hot frying pan. “Are you worried about the crew? John, I wish you’d give up the rowing, or at least give up thinking about it . . .”

  The smell and the sound of the fish and the fat cooking stalled John’s thinking. He could put up with a sore back if he could only figure out how to increase the speed of the boat.

  “I’ll throw in a couple of eggs for you to have with your fish and brewis. It’s the last of the eggs this week from Dowd
en’s. We’ll have to get more hens soon.” Kate’s old hens had not lasted the winter.

  John’s mouth watered. He dug into his breakfast. The fish, the salted butter, the eggs, the brewis, and bread tasted as if he were eating them for the first time. He finished his tea and rose quickly from the table, barely able to conceal the shooting pain in his back. “I got to get back to the beach. We’ll be heading out to the trap again this afternoon. Twice a day while the fish are inshore.”

  “You can rise from that chair without pain. You’re not too bad off, then.”

  “I’m fine, Kate. We landed a lot of fish this morning. Guess you’ll be down to the flake the once with Tommy.” He blessed himself and started for the door. “Got a spin on the pond at six. Come get me after you sells the bum of fish and gets clear of the shops.” He kissed her and slipped way.

  The warm wind lifted the curtain hanging at the open window. Tommy came in, bright-eyed, his cheeks flushed.

  “Aunt Kate, the caplin are rolling. Where’s Uncle John?”

  “You must have missed him. He’s gone to the beach. Well, now we’ll have to get the buckets and go out after the caplin, won’t we?” said Kate. “And then we’ll bury them in the garden. But first, you needs something in your belly. Come sit down, I gets you a feed of fish and brewis.”

  The splashing of the cool water against John’s face felt good. He took the wet shaving brush and rubbed it into the soap. The sun’s reflection off the razor blade danced against the bedroom ceiling. He made careful, wide swipes across his face, removing the speckled stubble, then wiped his face and neck clean. The shadows of age vanished. He combed his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the washstand. Then he gave a snort and turned and headed down to the kitchen. Kate was out in the garden with Tommy; he wouldn’t disturb her. He got himself a plate of fish and bread, spreading the bread with butter and the thick blueberry preserve Kate had made last summer. His back didn’t feel as sore as it had that morning. He hoped that the evening practice wouldn’t make it worse.