“I love books, and in case I ever want to check on something, I’ll know right where to look.” JW hesitated for a moment before adding, “I was helping Mickey McGuire for awhile after he went to the coal mines, but the hours were too long for him in the pit, so he had to give it up. If he ever wants to pick it up again, I got all the books and scribblers. I mean I have all the books and scribblers.” JW smiled again. “Thanks for all the help this year, Mrs. Johnson.”
“You’re welcome. It was a pleasure having you in the class,” she said, handing him a small box. “I put your prize in with the school books. Have a great summer.”
“You too, ma’am,” JW said. He hurried to catch up with Beth.
“What did she want to see you after class for?” Beth asked.
“She had some old school books that I asked her for,” JW said, holding up the small box. His eyes wandered to her prize. He could see Treasure Island and The Count of Monte Cristo on the top. He didn’t need to ask to see the others, because he knew every title that was in the set of five books. He wondered if Beth cherished the books the same way he did. He put his satchel over one shoulder and moved the box to one arm. “Want me to carry your books?” he asked.
“I think you got just about all you can handle,” Beth said. “But thanks just the same.”
They talked about winning the English prize and promised to meet tomorrow to discuss fixing up the old fort, both agreeing that it would make a great place to change into their swimming clothes. The walk home from school always seemed longer because there was no hurry to get home. Beth’s mother was waiting in the doorway as they arrived at her house.
“Are you coming in then, John Wallace?” Beth’s mother asked.
“No, ma’am. Ma’s waiting,” JW answered. Saying goodbye to Beth and Mrs. Jessome, he headed for home.
Chapter 3
JW pushed open the door leading to the kitchen. His mother was busy putting biscuits in to bake, and he could smell the stew that was bubbling on the back of the stove. Large beads of sweat glistened on his mother’s forehead. The temperature had to be in the nineties. The coal stove’s fire was raging, and with the temperature pushing seventy outside, he wondered how she could stand the heat.
She turned to face him. “Well then, how did you do?” she asked, taking his report card from his hand. “My, but you done grand,” she said. “Did you win the books like you hoped?”
“No, I tied for first prize, but Beth got the books. I think I got another dollar,” JW said and noticed the excited look in his mother’s eyes.
“I’m sorry you didn’t win the books, dear, but the dollar will come in handy,” his mother said.
“Yeah, I know, Ma.” He pulled the dollar from his satchel. “This one’s for the French prize, and this one,” he said, opening the box, “is for …” JW’s eyes opened wide. The five books that Beth received weren’t the only set. He had his own set too. “Oh gee, Ma, look, I got books too,” JW said, filled with the glee that only total surprise can bring about.
“Goodness, you won both the French and English prizes! My, but aren’t you the smart one,” his mother said. “Your father will be proud. You’ve got more schooling than half the county, all you’ll ever need.”
“No way, Ma! I plan on going to college, so I can visit faraway lands,” he said. “I’ll show Da later. Right now I gotta feed Lightning and pull a few weeds.” JW went upstairs to change.
Chapter 4
Lightning gave a low whinny as JW entered the barn and moved aside as he shovelled out the stall. Then the horse stood patiently as JW lifted and cleaned each hoof, patted Lightning’s withers, filled the bucket with water and threw fresh hay in the stall. Their old horse was named Lightning because of a jagged patch of white on his forehead that resembled a bolt of lightning and stood out against his black coat. Lightning wasn’t really a pet, but JW treated him well. He earned his keep by plowing the patch of earth where they planted vegetables in the spring, and he put his head down in the fall as he pulled home the wood that would supplement the coal used during the winter months. Like all the other miners, his father had had his working hours cut, and JW knew that the days his father had off would be used to get wood. He had spent some time during the previous summer working in the woods with his father and expected to do the same this year.
Gulliver waited for JW to come out of the barn. His tail wagged and his head shook, while the rest of him went into a full-body shuffle. They were best friends. JW reached down with his left hand and ran his fingers through Gulliver’s fur. He picked up the hoe with his right hand. “Wish the vegetables grew as fast as the weeds, ole boy,” he said. He walked between the rows and noticed that the carrots and turnips were beginning to sprout, as well as the lettuce and radishes. The big patch of potatoes was on the other side of the barn and was a tomorrow job. He and his father had planted extra this year. JW remembered some of the miners coming to their house during the past winter and his father giving away some of the food they had stored. The men’s faces were gaunt. The long strike of 1925 had taken its toll. The Company Store had closed as a result of the strike, and the out-of-work miners had nowhere to turn and no way to feed their families. They were proud men, reduced to asking for help from friends.
JW’s stomach growled. The sun was heading toward the west, so he knew there were only a few hours of sunlight left in the day. He hurried to the kitchen. “Ma, can I get a bite of the stew so I can go fishing?” he asked. He watched her fill a bowl. “Where’s Da?”
“He’s been kinda restless today, so he’s still lying down,” his mother answered.
“He’s alright though?” JW asked. He remembered how tired his father had looked this morning.
“Just tired is all, dear,” she said. “When are you gonna start on the fort?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Tomorrow, after I get the potatoes weeded, so I have to get up early,” he answered.
JW ate the stew quickly and thanked his mother, then grabbed his fishing pole. He stopped behind the barn, where he moved aside a few boards and picked a dozen fat worms out of the ground below. An old rusted can lay close by into which he put a little earth, then the worms. Gulliver bounded along beside him, happy to be with his master, as they ran the last five hundred feet to the muddy riverbank.
There had been a lot of rain this spring, and the water in the brook was deep and moved quickly. JW dropped a piece of deadwood into the stream and watched the currents pull it toward the pond that flowed through to St. Andrews Channel, then out to the ocean.
JW imagined himself as captain of the deadwood ship, travelling the raging waters, skilfully manoeuvring each twist and turn. He ran alongside on the bank, following his ship. He no longer cared about the fish in the brook. He was more interested in the ship’s journey to distant lands.
The piece of deadwood entered the pond, currents hurrying it toward the mouth where the beaver dam usually kept the water level high. JW noticed the dam had broken away, and water flowed freely to the mouth and out to the waiting lake. He watched the deadwood ship go under the train trestle on its way to the lake, the ocean and to lands filled with mystery and adventure.
Gulliver barked and the spell was broken.
“Let’s go, fella. Time to catch some fish.” Retracing his steps, JW noticed a dark pool that appeared deep and still. The worm on his hook dangled as he dropped it into the deep water. Immediately, the line pulled tight and the rod bent almost in half. Thinking the line was snagged, JW pulled the rod sharply to one side hoping to loosen the hook. He was amazed to see the biggest trout he had ever seen jump from the water. His knees trembled and his hands shook. The trout disappeared under the water again, and JW thought it had escaped the hook. Then it surfaced again, and he felt like Captain Ahab trying to capture Moby Dick.
The fishing rod was an old one; his grandfather had ow
ned it. He had heavy-gauge line tied to the top two eyelets. The piece of line was about twenty feet in length. His excitement grew as the tip of the rod continued to bend closer to the ground. He expected it to break at any moment. He was sure he would lose the fish, leaving only a “one that got away” story. His arms flexed as he tried to prevent the fish from escaping downstream. JW stood his ground and then decided to head upstream against the current. At first the strain seemed too much, but little by little, JW felt the trout weaken. He pulled old Moby from the water and watched as it gasped, its energy spent. He had won the battle, but didn’t feel that great about it as he watched his opponent struggling for life, the hook lying beside it. Somehow the hook had only held long enough to land the mammoth fish.
The trout was longer than his forearm. Several scars, from other battles, marked its face. JW stood in amazement before bending to pick up Moby. It seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, but he knew it was closer to four or five, which was still huge by all accounts. His heart wasn’t into eating this majestic fish.
“Whatcha got there?”
JW startled at the voice behind him. He turned to see his father.
“Wow, that’s some fish,” his father said. “I heard stories about trout this size, but that’s the biggest I ever seen. We could stuff him if you’d like.”
“You know what I’d really like to do? Set him free,” JW said. As if on cue, the fish snapped its large tail and fell to the ground. Its next move sent it over the bank and into the water. It spent a moment on the surface, winded by the exertion, then snapped its tail and dove deep into the water.
They laughed and talked of the size of the fish and of the fine job JW had done in school as they headed toward home. They had caught enough fish to make the evening’s meal, only briefly mentioning to JW’s mother the big fish that got away. He wasn’t sure she would have understood his desire to set it free.
Chapter 5
The goat had been unusually kind earlier that morning, standing still as JW filled the milk container. He splashed milk on the porridge his mother placed before him and added brown sugar. He held his spoon above his bowl, waiting until his father’s breakfast was laid on the table. JW hoped his father was in a storytelling mood after the long night in the mine.
“How was your shift, Da?” he asked. “Anything exciting happen?” His eyes were filled with wonder. The world was a magical place to JW, and he loved to experience adventure, even vicariously. He waited as his father cleared his throat.
“Remember I told you about tunnel nine?”
“Yeah,” his son said, nodding.
“The water’s still trickling in, more like a small stream now. Arty McCleary saw something moving at his feet and near fainted. He took off running in a hurry. Left the pony standing there. Musta been a half hour before he came back. I thought it was only a rat, but when I got my lamp fixed on it…” JW’s father paused, then wiped a hand across his face. “It had two big eyes and horns sticking out on its head. No arms or legs, but it had a long skinny body. On its face was a long white beard, and it spoke to me,” his father said.
“What did it say?” JW asked, feeling the hair on his neck rise, even though it was daytime.
“It said ‘Tell your boy thanks for letting my grandson go yesterday.’”
“What?” JW said, then burst out laughing, realizing his father had been pulling his leg. “Good one, Da. You sure had me going. I thought there were monsters in the mine.”
“You shouldn’t be filling his head with scary things down in the pit,” his mother said.
“Oh, we were just having a little bit a fun, dear. He’s not scared, are you, JW?”
“No, sir, but it doesn’t matter, ’cause I’m never going down there anyhow. I’m gonna ride camels through the desert and sail the seven seas. Yes, sir, that’s what I’m gonna do. You know they say the pyramids have been standing for thousands of years and no one knows how they were built? I wanna see them with my own eyes. Can’t you just picture that, eh, Ma? When I become a ship’s captain, I’ll take you with me. You too, Da, if you wanna come.”
JW noticed his parents had become quiet, but he didn’t know why. His father’s breakfast was only half eaten but was pushed to the middle of the table signalling that he was finished. The table was cleared, and it was obvious that the conversation was over for that morning.
“I’m going down to work on the fort and maybe do some fishing. Beth is going to meet me later. I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said, receiving only a muffled response. His parents stayed at the table talking. Taking a long-sleeved shirt to keep the mosquitoes and black flies off, JW left the house. He wondered what they were talking about but knew there were adult conversations and that it was not his place to ask. His curiosity faded when he spotted Beth on the path just ahead of him. He ran to catch up with her, all thoughts of his parents gone for the moment.
Chapter 6
“What were you thinking? Filling his head with creatures and such. You had me scared. In another month or two, the boy could be heading into the pit himself,” Mary Donaldson said.
“That’s just it. I wasn’t thinking. How can we send him into that black hole? He’s not ready for it. I don’t think he ever will be,” Andrew Donaldson said.
“You think I want him to go there? If the wages get rolled back again, we’ll need two wages to make one,” Mary said. Tears had sprung to her eyes, and she wiped them away. “God, I wish there was another way, but I can’t see how.”
Andrew rose from his chair and put his arms around her. “I’ll start getting him ready tomorrow, but I wanna take it slow, so don’t tell him yet. I’ll show him what it’s like down there.” He kissed her forehead, then shuffled across the floor to the bedroom. Andrew doubted he would sleep, but hoped that some of the tension would leave his tired body when he stretched out on the bed.
Every time the coal company needed money they just took it off the men. At least that was how it seemed to Andrew. The new owners had rolled the wages back so often that he was making less than he had been five years earlier, but the cost of food and necessities continued to rise. He had planned on putting in a much larger garden this year, but he didn’t have enough money to buy many more seeds. Still, the garden was a little bigger than last year’s. His paycheque went to pay his bill at the Co-op store, and he was forced to charge more food and other needed items. Although the company-owned stores that had kept the men like indentured servants had closed, he still never seemed to have any money. He closed his eyes, sighing loudly, willing sleep to come.
Chapter 7
JW watched as his father’s hand sketched the underground scene.
“This is what young Mickey is doing these days,” his father said as he pushed the paper across the table. “The large door opens to allow the horse and cart through, but you have to be quick to shut the door, ’cause that’s what keeps the air in the mine. It’s an important job. You can’t slack off when you’re working the trap doors. A trapper boy can’t sleep or daydream on the job. If the door’s left open, men can suffocate. Everyone could die.”
Looking at the large door in the picture, JW drew a breath. Poor Mickey. The horse and cart followed railway tracks, and he found himself wondering where they led and what lay beyond the trap door. He wanted to ask but knew the stories were done for the day when his father rose from the table.
“Can I keep the picture?” JW asked. “I’d like to put it up on my wall.” The blackened face of the trapper boy actually looked like his friend Mickey.
JW hadn’t known his father could draw so well. Pulling the picture closer, he saw the sad, tired look of his friend. The phrase “old before his time” came to mind, and now he understood its meaning.
“Sure, you can keep it. I’ll draw you a new one tomorrow,” his father said. Andrew Donaldson headed toward his bedroom. “Maybe we’ll go f
ishing Sunday, JW,” he called from the bedroom.
“That would be great, Da. Goodnight,” JW said. Even though it was morning, it was nighttime for his father. The picture of Mickey scared him. He could imagine several rats in the corner, waiting to get through the trap door. He shuddered at the thought of rats coming so close in the dark mine. He steered clear of the ones in the barn, and they ran whenever someone came near.
He had never really thought about the harshness that the boys and men in the mines had to endure until now. Long hours, little pay and a boss who rolled back your wages every time he suffered a loss. His parents hadn’t told him much, but his room was above the kitchen, and the vent in the ceiling came directly into his room. Their voices were as clear as a foghorn on a foggy night. Often, they sounded as if they were right next to him. He tried not to listen, but sometimes curiosity got the best of him.
JW knew about the mine owners and the man, Roy Wolvin, who’d become known as Roy the Wolf because of his total disregard for the men and their families. His father had told him that as the president of BESCO – British Empire Steel Corporation – Wolvin controlled the lives and livelihood of both the steelworkers and the coal miners. But JW had dismissed this as another grown-up problem. He now understood that without enough money paid to the men, times were going to get tougher. Talks of strikes and the increase in the food and supply prices meant people were going to go hungry, especially if the strikes happened. If Roy the Wolf had his way, the rollbacks would have the same effect.
JW went to his room and neatly tacked the picture to his wall. Sitting on his bed, he stared at the picture for a long time. It was only noon, but he lay down, continuing to stare at the picture. A light rain was falling and he listened to the rhythmic sound it made against his window and felt himself drift off to sleep.
Trapper Boy Page 2
