by Paul Almond
“No sir,” James burst out, “what is important is a firm decision —” he stopped as he heard a sleigh draw up outside. He shook his head: more trouble arriving.
Just then Catherine and Hannah came in from the back kitchen with plates of cakes, cookies, scones, and pies. “Not as much here as for your last meeting, I’m afraid,” Catherine said, in response to the happy reaction, “but we’ve done our best.” Janey Byers came behind with a large pot of tea and mugs.
“Yes, by jeez,” Jim said, “be a lot more if you all agreed with Poppa!”
They laughed and muttered assorted exclamations of delight. “Be the holy gee whiz, Mrs. Alford, what have you been up to?”
Someone banged on the door.
James went into the back kitchen and opened the door. There stood Big Bill Sullivan, a barrel-chested man with the strength of a giant, even more imposing in his heavy winter garments, dusted with snow. Beside him, Alexander Mann, bearded, also snow-covered, looked equally threatening. He was smaller, dark, never a sunny individual. James remembered when his father, Isaac Mann, had arrived soon after he and Catherine had begun on their house — not much grace there either. But later, most of the Manns went back to Mann’s Landing at Restigouche where they had substantial holdings.
“Come in, come in, gentleman.” James motioned and they shed hats and outer garments, stamping their feet before entering the main room. “We’re in the middle of a meeting, but if you’ve got any —”
“It’s the meeting we come about!” Bill looked grim.
Edward Legallais took off his spectacles and rose in alarm. John Travers stood up like the patrician he was; Thomas Byers brought down their last chair from upstairs. “Just what we need, new ideas, might wake us all up.”
Alexander gave his hat and mitts to Catherine to put by the fire. “You fellas is Protestant, and us is Catholic.” The two of them stood in their heavy jackets. “Two separate systems. But we came to tell yez, we got no money to build one fer ourselves.” He looked at the nominal trustees. “So is you fellas thinkin’ about including us?”
“Yep, you plan on letting us Catholics in?” Big Bill looked dour. “Lot of us around, like the Vautiers, and...” He was about to go on, but everyone knew who the Catholics were.
“Well now, you’re welcome to have a cup of tea,” James said genially, though he felt anything but. “Catherine, pour these fine fellas a tea, and gentlemen, take your fill of cakes — don’t be shy.”
“Right at this moment,” Mr. Travers broke in, “you fellas got nothin’ to worry about. There’s not going to be any school.”
James looked up, flushed and frustrated — not the time to betray that view.
Andrew Young, gregarious, tall and full of good cheer: he could melt a snowball on bay ice, got up from his seat. “Ye know, we were just discussing the question of Catholics and Protestants. We all reckon that this here school, if it gets built, she’ll never work if we exclude half the country.” He smiled appealingly. “Maybe up the bay, they divide us — them priests don’t want us Protestants teaching their pure little darlings the Devil’s works!” He gave off a laugh, and the others joined in. James watched the visitors: would they take offence?
Shoulders unwound and they grinned, too. “So you think it’s gonna be for all of us here? Thank you, ma’am.” Bill took his tea and helped himself to the largest piece of cake on the plate.
“Right now,” John Travers went on, “this here meetin’s to decide if we’re going to have a school at all. James here, voted in as chairman, hasn’t called the vote, but I reckon it’s going to be a pretty firm no.”
Again James felt his stomach churn. All this effort going down the drain, and likely for the last time. He glanced at his son Jim, watching with a frown. Catherine pretended to occupy herself with pouring tea, making sure everyone was happy.
“Well, first of all,” said Bill Sullivan, “what are you fellas thinkin’ about fees? Us fellas with the half our land not cleared are working terble hard just to keep going. Last winter was real bad — Ned’s father, old Will Hayes, had to kill their last chickens to keep his mother alive, and they all nearly starved to death. Well, there’s no money around, you fellas all know that. So how d’you think we’ll pay for other’s children?”
James did not like his manner one bit. He was about to hammer out a retort when Andrew stepped into the breach again. “Well,” he said, “we’ve been thinking about that very thing. Give us your ideas, so that we can all talk a bit, and you fellas can go away satisfied. We won’t do anything the majority don’t agree with.”
“No sir, and for a start,” Thomas Byers broke in, “that superintendent of education promised us good money from Quebec City.”
Big Bill straightened. “That solves one problem, right there.” He turned to Alexander Mann as Catherine was handing him his tea. The Manns were known to be troublemakers. James saw Alexander eyeing them cautiously.
Andrew went on, “We’ll have to charge students, because those educated fellas teachin’ has gotta be paid. But this meeting is not going to impose burdens on our community. We’re all hard-working, you said it, with only small farms, too. Right here, we’re just trying to do our best by everyone.” He smiled. “And it’s a thankless task, let me tell you.”
Alexander nodded. “Yes sir, I agree, a thankless task.”
Was he mollified? James wondered. So he voiced the challenge. “Specially as it looks like we aren’t going to have any damned school anyways.”
“Won’t have a school?” Bill raised his eyebrows. “Then what the hell’re ya meetin fer?”
“Well,” James went on stoutly, “I called this to see if maybe, once we got some plans agreed, there might be more of a willingness. But it’s plain,” he went on with undisguised sarcasm, “we seem to want Shegouac children to forget about the outside world, forget about reading their own parents’ wills, get them read by them shysters in New Carlisle, and why ever would we want the schooling so’s we could check them bills up in French Paspébiac —”
“Hol’ on a minute!” Bill turned to Alexander. “We never came here to stop a school, did we?”
His friend shook his head. “No sir. We just wanted to make sure our kids would be educated along with your’n. That’s why we came.”
“So you fellas,” James put out innocently, “you Catholics, you’re all for a school? I mean, if the costs are fair and worked out fine?”
The two nodded. “Damn right! We had a meetin’ last night, and all of us agreed. Us, we speak for the rest.”
James turned to the other trustees, noticing a sparkle of glee in Tom Byers’ eyes. “So what do we think, now? If the Catholics are solidly with us?”
John Travers led off: “If they’re so keen, why not have them build themselves a Catholic school, and our children can go there?”
Edward Legallais nodded. “Good idea. Our kids won’t mind.”
Bill looked taken aback.
But old James leapt to his feet. “Just look at us! No finer men exist anywhere — and what do we do together? Nothing. Take that bridge in the Hollow. It joins the whole coast together, and what did we do? Talked it over — and over, to get a good big one built, and nothing ever happened. Same thing as now!” He felt his voice rising. “Last spring, you all know what happened. When it went out, my son Jim here nearly drowned saving them Skene kids.” Overtaken by emotion, James waved his arms. “And all because we couldn’t damn well work together to build one bloody bridge.”
He was panting, and he saw out of his eye that Catherine seemed concerned. Was he going to be taken with a bad heart? The other men were looking down at their feet. “So no — doing nothing won’t work for me, I tell ya.”
With that, James sat down, and was silent.
No one spoke.
“Now gentlemen, I made all these cakes,” Catherine volunteered brightly, “and I hope you’ll make the most of them!”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Bill. Taking an
other large piece, he turned. “I reckon James is right. Let’s get together, let’s build us a school, Protestants, Catholics, let’s just all get together this once, get our kids educated, give ’em a fair chance at life.”
Surprisingly, James heard them begin to agree. But he was beyond caring. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. He’d done all he could.
“Thank you, Mrs. Alford.” The treasurer took another piece of cake. “I vote we start by assessing everyone.” He got up and started to put on his coat.
Alexander slurped the last of his tea and wiped his mouth with his hand. “Mighty nice of you, Mrs. Alford, I sure didn’t expect such a fine piece of cake. But yes, and the sooner the better, I say.”
“Now Bill, you know you’re always welcome at our house,” Catherine said, watching James.
At the door, the visitors turned. “Well, looks like we’re on the right track,” Alexander said. “I want to thank you, James, and your missus.”
“Me too,” said Bill. He glanced around. “But I’ll sure be anxious to see what you fellas will cook up in the end.” With that, he put on his hat and followed Alexander out the door.
“So now, James,” John Travers put on his coat, “how do ya think we’ll find a good teacher?”
“Send a dollar up to that there paper in Montreal, what’s it called?” Edward Legallais asked.
“The Gazette?” Jim threw in.
“Post notices around the Coast too,” Andrew said, dressing up like the rest, a decision made, at least in his mind. “None of us gets that paper down here. We got to be sure everyone gets a chance.”
Thomas Byers clapped James on the shoulder, as he prepared to leave. “No fox like an old fox,” he mumbled as he went out the door. So far so good, James thought. And now, amazingly, his school might get built, yes, and maybe they would all co-operate. And maybe they wouldn’t...
Before long, he intended to hand it all over to John Travers and Ed Legallais; he was too old for these arguments. More especially, he wanted to avoid placing more responsibility on Catherine. He had told her not to prepare anything for tonight, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Then he began to grin. And he saw his son smiling, too. Catherine herself sat, and slowly broke off a piece of her own cake. She seemed very pleased.
Chapter Sixteen: Spring 1855
“What can I do for you, Thomas?” James asked as he sat eating his breakfast.
His son-in-law, Thomas Byers, stood uncertainly. “I maybe got some bad news.”
James rose from his bowl of porridge.
“I was back early to the head field,” Thomas recounted. “Wanted to get a load of seaweed spread afore breakfast. Partway back, I heard Buster barking. Then John Young’s dog came tearing past, and the both of them set up a terble ruckus. When I came over that hill o’ your’n by the stony bridge, I saw a big black shape run off into the woods. I reckon the dogs scared it off.”
“A bear? Spring, sure, that’s the time.”
“Well, them oxen, your two, they was back there...”
Yes, enjoying the fresh spring pasture beyond the stony bridge, but surely no bear would attack them? But then, springtime, a mother bear, with cubs, and nothing to eat...
“Well, I’d best be off, they’re waiting breakfast on me.” Thomas sighed and left.
James found himself sitting down again. Neither he nor Catherine spoke for a moment.
“Jim can deal with it when he gets here.”
James nodded. “But who knows, maybe that bear’ll come back. Bears can make short work of a cow, or an ox, if they’ve a mind.” But his own fears multiplied. “I’ll just take a look.” He put on his jacket, and then went for his musket.
Catherine frowned. “Now James, you’re not going after that bear!”
James shook his head. “No no, don’t you worry. I’m only going for a look-see.”
“James, I’ll not have you going off after a bear at your age.”
“Send Jim back, then, when he’s in from Saint Godfrey. Anyways, I’ll just sit by the oxen a bit, keep watch.”
And with that, he was up the hill with his musket. After all, had he not hunted moose, shot bears, tracked wolves? He’d be quite all right.
At the top, having forced his pace, he had to stop and lean against the trunk of an old birch. Feel that old heart working! No doubt about it, he was short of breath. What old age did to a man, eh? But he still was quite spry enough to face any bear.
He headed out over the spring-moist fields. Dark spruce, highlighted by white birch, seemed motionless as if in stoic disapproval. High above, herring gulls happily mewed and wheeled in their open playgrounds, beneath malevolent clouds.
He opened the gate onto the track back around the Hollow, trying to build up his pace, but the easy stride of yesteryear had disappeared. What would happen if a bear came at him? Well, of course he’d be ready. He glanced down into the Hollow at that cedar rail fence by the brook that he and Jim and Nelson had put up last summer. It would last his lifetime, and probably Jim’s, too. If only Jim would get a wife, and have some offspring, it might outlast them, too. If he didn’t, what then? All this overgrown and returned to wasteland? He shook his head at the thought...
Had he been wrong to pasture Keen and Smudge back down in the gully by the stony bridge? Bears did roam in springtime. Last year, Ed Legallais had a couple of sheep taken. Twelve years ago a wild cat, probably a cougar, had actually gotten a cow back on Joe Young’s across the brook. He himself had gone to check on the half-eaten animal and saw the tracks. Thinking of that, the scar on his shoulder from that cougar attack at his cabin his first year here began to itch.
Musket loaded, he strode on. You needed a steady aim to kill a charging bear, that was for sure. Well, his aim had always been steady, in the past. Was it still?
Nothing could be more glorious, James thought, than walking among these stubbled shoots of wheat in the hot sun, which now this fine spring day beamed down, coaxing up a fullness that would encourage the kernels to ripen, and later, be ground into loaves of thick, rich bread, yes, all hidden now in the thrusting stalks. How James enjoyed his land and the cultivation thereof, hard though it had been. He reached the long field before it dipped into the gully, gripping the musket even tighter. Better be ready. He swung the musket up to his shoulder, sighted, but the darned barrel kept wavering. Oh well, no bear was around, he was sure. The explosion itself would be enough to frighten any fool animal. Unless it got enraged...
When Keen had been born, James laid him across his knees and held him up to get a good suck at his mother’s teats. He had been worried that something was amiss with the little calf. But no, soon as he got a good bit of nourishment, he could stand and suck like the others.
Frisky little fellow. Good breadth across the chest. Dark brown splotches against a white hide, playful. But then the difficult day came when he and Charlie Chedore had to neuter him. His first bull, Broad, he’d slit the bag at the bottom and squeezed out the balls, then cut them off and sewed up the bag. Big chance of infection. Nowadays, they never cut, just fixed a rig, two small boards screwed together tight enough so that the large drooping ovals below withered away. Keen wasn’t so frisky after that, but still ‘keen’ and full of life, no doubt. Broad One, way back, his first ox, had been the making of this farm. How well he remembered that trip from Paspébiac with the little fella draped round his neck and those two ruffians after him.
Young Keen had not liked one bit being yoked to old Broad the Second. But after James had put him in a lightly loaded cart beside Broad, Keen had to fall in. Yes indeed, not long in getting the trick of hauling, in fact, he even enjoyed it, doing his best to out-pull the other fellow. The next year he put on weight, gained strength, and also, it seemed, intelligence. Soon, no finer ox on the Coast than Keen. James crested the rise before the stony bridge and stopped short.
Keen lay there, his back half torn off.
Smudge stood forlornly by. Seeing James, he began to bawl.
>
Slowly, the realization took hold and James’s shoulders slumped. He began to run forward as best he could, but he knew it to be a lost cause.
“Yes yes, Smudge, coming,” he called, but Keen needed water. He hurried down to the brook where he’d left a bucket and filled it.
When he brought it up to the fallen ox, Keen saw him and did his best to rise. But with his skin clawed off, he could not rise. Back broken by the bear’s weight.
The great ox looked up at him with huge eyes and lowed. James tipped the bucket so that Keen could take a couple of great gulps, spilling some.
He knelt beside his old working companion and stroked his nose. Then he bent and put his head against the temple of his old friend. So much had they shared over the years. Why is it, he thought, as his eyes grew moist, why is it we are born into the world, we have our day, so very short, and then, leave? Such a short sojourn.
How the fifteen years had sped by! Each time he’d said goodbye to a farm animal, no small pain ensued. But none stabbed with such anguish as this. He put his arm around and scratched the ox behind the ear, where he loved it.
He heaved a great sigh. “You and me, Keen, where does it all go, eh? So much happens that neither of us will ever understand. Just keep going, I guess, we all have to do that, no matter what.”
James coughed, pulled himself together, and got to his feet. Can’t spend all day. That new yearling will have to be castrated and trained. The farm has to go on. He turned to Smudge, and yelled for him to leave. Did he want him watching while he put an end to his friend? He went to smack him on the backside. Smudge looked around, surprised.
“Go on, Smudge! Go! Get! Skedaddle!” He whacked him again.
Smudge obediently trotted off, but then stopped and turned back to look. He set out to smack him again, and stopped. Smudge would just turn and walk back. Nothing for it but to get the deed done, no matter how difficult.
James knelt a final time, stroked the great ox along his strong broad neck, gave him a couple of slaps of affection, and then rose. Quickly as he could, he pointed the muzzle behind his ear, slanted it so that it would destroy the brain in one shot, and pulled the trigger.
