by Paul Almond
“Are many in the Old Country upset by all this?” Mr. Milne asked the bishop.
George Jehoshaphat Mountain hailed from England and had recently co-founded Bishop’s University. “Not sure. No trouble hereabouts, though. I doubt anyone on the Coast has heard of Charles Darwin, nor read On the Origin of Species.”
James thrust this conversation from his mind. How awful to hear, from the very mouths of the clergy, that so many others were now doubting the existence of God. Where else could he find faith?
Hear what comfortable words our Saviour Christ saith unto all that truly turn to him: come unto me all that travail and are heavy laden and I will refresh you. So God loved the world... Yes, comfortable indeed. So often on so many occasions, summer and winter, they had not failed to give him serenity. But now...
Catherine leaned over and whispered: “James, you know, I’m so pleased Jim had the foresight to buy Lively two years ago, over your objections. There is nothing I enjoy more than being driven to church in a buggy.”
James shook his head. “When that son of mine gets an idea into his head, there’s no stopping him.”
After repeating the General Confession and absorbing the main service, James and Catherine stayed behind for the communion. He wanted to kneel beside her at the altar rail and receive the body and blood of Christ from the very fingers of the Bishop of Quebec. As he knelt, he prayed for some absolute conviction to descend. In his cupped hands, he took the morsel of bread and swallowed. And then the chalice: “The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life...” But nothing. No great angel of faith touched him on the forehead, as the dove had descended so long ago on the Jordan River. How destitute he felt, never to be given the ultimate conviction of Someone greeting him as he marched forward into the Great Darkness.
He rose and returned to his seat along with Catherine, who seemed somehow stronger after she had received the Sacrament. Well, at least he could say in all truth, how glorious was this gift of his wife! Perhaps that in itself was a kind of proof of the goodness of the Divine. But plagued with his obsession and his quest, he sat down to wait out the rest of the service.
* * *
That autumn Jim knelt on the roof of the barn, nailing on his last few rows of shingles. He was only half concentrating. The surface of the blue bay was sparkling as a cool autumn wind ruffled its waves. Further out, the surface gleamed like the silver sheen on a chalice. To his left, a point of land would one day make a fine spot for a wharf. He might get families together to help construct it, instead of using the brook’s mouth as a landing for their fishing boats. After all, he’d organized the school getting built.
His grandmother, Eleanor, was probably still sitting in her favourite chair looking out over the bay, too. The Rev. Milne came at least once a month to see her, ailing as she was, though still alert. What worried Jim mainly was his own mother, who seemed increasingly frail. I wonder if I’ll ever get to be as old as my grandmother? Or Old Momma and Poppa. With all the accidents, disease, whooping cough, diphtheria, meningitis, will I live that long?
If only Jim could believe, too. He genuinely longed to, but frankly, there just seemed so little likelihood of a decent God when so many good people around were hauled off by that old fella with the scythe, and so many others maimed in accidents, and felled by disease.... Maybe he should keep asking in his heart how to develop a strong belief like his father.
Above the glimmering bay, the horizon shaded up into a pale blue with the low flecks of cumulus. Overhead, the clear azure heaven was crossed by herring gulls crying a lament for their land stolen by these settlers and, as Poppa so frequently said, from the original inhabitants, the Micmac. All in all, what better place to make a home: water for the cattle “back the brook,” lots of pastureland, enough acreage to feed all the cattle they’d ever need, and maybe sheep again, too?
The back door banged as someone came out. Time for supper? James slid six more shingles out of the pack and laid them on the plank he had tacked to make the row straight and then nailed them down. Start low and work your way up; he’d finish tomorrow and would place the saddle boards on the peak. Then, they’d haul up the ventilator which Mr. Major had fashioned for them, to give a finishing touch. In the barnyard below, chickens and a couple of ducks squawked as someone hurried through them.
Jim looked down, and there was Margie Skene. “What are you doing here?”
“Poppa sent me over with some fish and your mother asked me to stay fer supper. I’m supposed to tell you it’s ready.”
She bent and roughed up Rusty, who obviously loved her. She kneeled and hugged him and then pulled his tail. He whirled and licked her face.
Heart beating, Jim watched her fondle Rusty as he climbed down. How should he handle this? Over the months he’d had such great debates with himself. Margie did look so pretty right now.
“You’ve had dogs all along, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Oh no, Poppa didn’t want no dogs, after the first one ate our chickens.”
“Us neither.”
Jim paused. “Myself, I always wanted a dog.”
“Have you, now?”
Well, take the leap. “You know why I got Rusty last year?”
Roughhousing with the dog, Margie shook her head. “No, why?”
“If you really want to know, I’ll tell you why.”
She glanced up at him, completely unaware, he realized, of what he was leading up to. But how long could he draw this out? His heart was beating faster than Rusty’s tail, and now that the moment was at hand, he didn’t know what to do. He looked over to the house. He felt tongue-tied. Persevere, he told himself. “I got Rusty for you.”
Margie’s eyes opened wide. “Oh no, I’m sorry, Jim, Poppa would never let me have a dog. He hasn’t before, why would he now?”
“Margie, Margie,” Jim shook his head, “you don’t get the idea. If you come live here, I’ll give you whatever in the whole wide world you want.”
“Live here? What... what exactly are you meaning, Jim?”
He noticed she had gone pale. Well come on, out with it, he virtually yelled at himself. “What exactly I’m asking is, Margie, would you be my wife?”
She stood without speaking for what seemed to Jim an eternity. What would she answer?
After the fight, all summer she had kept her distance, turning away whenever he was in sight. He had wanted to approach her, but then, who knew what she’d say? Proposing was not something he did every day. And after all, it was a lifelong commitment. One thing he did know, his mother was definitely slowing down and the sooner she got help, the better.
Then why not hire a girl from back on the Second? That would take off the pressure. He had actually mentioned it: “Lots of families have too many children, Poppa. We could take an extra girl in to help Momma. She’d eat well, and we got extra beds. The Smiths did that, and Traverses, too. Poor families back on the Second, they’re sometimes anxious to get rid of an extra mouth to feed.”
“You know your mother. She’d never let anyone else in her kitchen.” From his father’s look, he knew what the old fella was thinking. Don’t talk to me about hiring someone — talk about getting yourself a wife!
So here he was, proposing. They’d known each other for years. Well, with women, they say, you never knew. He just stood, and waited.
Margie took a deep breath. “Well Jim, I guess so. I guess, yes, I will just have to be your wife.”
His exultation did finally bring a smile to her serious face.
Chapter Twenty-Four: August 1860
Jim had gotten stuck with picking up Ned Hayes from the coastal schooner dock at Pabos and bringing him home to his baby daughter. He sure did not want to be there when Ned heard the news about the mistaken baptism.
“Byes, Jim, I can’t wait to see my wife,” Ned acknowledged as he swung up into the buggy for the long ride back to his wife Hannah and his newborn. “I’m such
a lucky man and I got you to thank for all that.”
“Me?” Jim asked. Oh-oh, now he’d be blamed for what Ned was about to hear.
“Well, I looked back and I seen how you must’a figured things out. Why else did Hannah bring me them nice meals four year ago, so’s we could get to talking? Ye know, I was terble shy in those days. Still am. But not like then.”
“Tell me about the Prince coming through Gaspé,” Jim said. Anything to change the subject.
“No no, first I got to thank yez. She’ll be a fine mother, and already she’s a terrible fine wife. And you Jim, I never thought you’d get yourself wedded. But Margie Skene, terble pretty girl. You gettin’ on good?”
“Oh yes, good fer shore. Ol’ Momma’s real happy with her in the kitchen, I’ll tell ya. Though I never thought she’d let another in with her. Now what was that there Prince like, down in Gaspé Port?” He was sure now, he could get him off the subject.
“Oh the Prince? You shoulda come, Jim. After all, you’re the fella worked on that bridge, not me.”
“Yes, I reckon I should have,” Jim admitted. “Good number of fellows there?”
“Oh me son, you never seen the like. Terble pile of fun. All sorts of fellas, and we got to talkin’ t’each other. Some down from Fox River, and Haldemand, even some from Grand Valley.”
“Did he come ashore? Did he meet the Mayor of Gaspé?”
“No, that there Prince Edward, he stayed on his ship. What a pretty ship. All the flags flying, all new painted, three great masts, even sailors up on the spars for the salute, I never seen nawthin’ like it.”
“Well, it’s his first visit to Canada East.”
“Yessir, and byes, ye know, Sir John A. Macdonald was there, George Etienne Cartier, and even that fella Galt. Pretty powerful fellow from what I was told. They all went out to the boat to welcome Prince Edward.”
“I wonder why Queen Victoria didn’t come?”
“Well byes, that Queen, she must be so busy running all them countries. So she sent her son. He’s the fellow that’s going to open the bridge you worked on.”
“They call it now the Victoria Bridge, I hear.”
“Yes sir. Named after his Momma. He must be so proud.”
“Well, I guess he’ll be King one day.”
“No siree – that old lady, she’s gonna live forever.”
Jim realized that he had gotten a pretty good picture of the scene, but he egged Ned on to keep talking about it, so as to fill the time until they got back home.
“Now you know, Jim, Hannah told me that if you was gonna pick me up, I’d have to make ya stay to supper. No getting out of it. She’s up and about now, ye know after the birth, they have to spend eight days flat on their backs. But that’s over. She said it was all right for me to leave for this visit of Prince Edward, and now she’s got me back, she’s gonna treat you proud.”
Jim felt great iron doors closing. Nothing for it but to face up to what was coming.
When they arrived at the house, Ned leapt out of the sulky and hurried to the house. Jim took Lively over to tether him, and went to fetch oats. Better let those two lovey-doveys say hello to each other, he thought.
When he went in, he found Ned already holding the baby girl in his arms. “I reckon, pretty soon we’d better get the Rev. Milne to baptize her, eh Hannah?”
Hannah stood there, looking pale. She and Jim traded looks.
Jim turned to go. “Well, Ned, I’d best be getting home.”
“No no no, Jim,” Hannah reached out, “you stay, you stay to dinner, you promised now.”
Jim had promised nothing, but saw the distress clearly etched into his sister’s face. Better stay and pour oil on what would likely be very troubled waters. Ned had taken the baby and was now sitting in a chair, gurgling at her. “Maybe you better speak to him on Sunday, if you’re well enough to go to the service.”
Hannah opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She looked despairingly at Jim.
Jim nodded reassuringly at her.
“Ned, I’ve got something to tell yez.”
Ned was engrossed in his baby. “How have you been, little girl? Did ya miss me?” he wheedled. “How ya been keepin’?”
“That’s it! Ned, she’s been terble sick.”
Ned looked startled. He turned to face Hannah. “Sick?”
“Yes,” she stammered.
“How sick?”
“Terble sick.” Hannah looked as if she didn’t know how to go on. Jim came over and put an arm around her waist to calm her.
“But she’s fine now?” Ned eyed the two of them.
“Yes.” With his arm Jim gave her a nudge. “But you see,” she went on, “when she was sick, we was so scared.”
“I bet you was.” Ned looked at them suspiciously.
“Well, I might as well tell you,” Hannah said at last. “The Roussys, they came, and they brought the priest up from Port Daniel —”
“The priest?” Ned burst out.
“Yes, well, I told him our agreement, Ned. But the priest wouldn’t listen...” She paused, turning pale.
Ned rose, the baby still in his arms. Obviously, the infant felt something, and started to cry. Hannah reached out her arms. Ned swung away and took a pace back. “Go on.”
“So... now she’s Catholic. Catherine is Catholic,” she stammered. “There was nothing I could do.”
For the first time Jim heard her name. Now his mother had a new namesake. But Ned was furious.
“Nothing? Didn’t you tell the priest our agreement? The boys would be Catholic, the girls Protestant?”
“I told him, Ned, of course, I told him everything. I argued, but the priest wouldn’t listen. The Roussys said she should be baptized. What if she died? She wouldn’t go to heaven. So what could I say?”
“You could have said, go for Reverend Lyster. He’s living up at your brother Joe’s.”
Her eyes brightened. “Yes, yes, I did. I told them, go get Mr. Lyster. But he said he was away. I don’t know whether he was telling the truth.”
“The priest? You don’t know if the priest was telling the truth?”
“You know the priest, Ned; you don’t trust him neither. And before I could say anything, he whipped out his Holy Water, and splat! The child was baptized. She’s a Catholic.”
Jim shook his head. How seriously some people took their religion! Then, his sister started to cry. Jim put an arm protectively around her. “You know Ned, maybe it’s...” But he could think of nothing to say.
Ned came across, and Jim moved away.
“Look Hannah, you did your best.” He put an arm around her. “It’s not your fault. And let me tell you one thing, my dear wife, no one’s gonna blame you, neither. I swear by all that’s Holy, it’s gonna be a long, long time afore I set foot in a Catholic church, no matter what. And whether it’s a boy or a girl, from now on they’re all gonna be baptized Protestant! Now we’ll talk more about this, let’s just get Jim here a nice dinner. He’s got the finest horse in Shegouac, no doubt about that, haven’t ya, Jim?”
Jim grinned. “No sir, no doubt about that!”
Chapter Twenty-Five: 1861
“Canoe, of course, the only way to travel in those days.”
“I think, dear,” Catherine interrupted, “you’d gone to Paspébiac to get tar for the roof of the barn we’d built.”
Jim loved it when, the first really hot day of summer, his father came out onto the veranda to sit with the family and tell stories from the old days. He’d heard most of them several times, but Ol’ Poppa was a wonderful yarner.
Yesterday, the whole family (except for the Robertsons who lived in Cascapédia, too far away) had assembled for the wedding of Jim’s nephew John to Margaret Dow. So tonight, to continue the all-too-rare celebrations, Catherine had invited everyone over for a great meal, which she had prepared with Margaret who’d already moved in next door but one with John. They all sat in the cool of the evening, satisfied, stuffed in
fact, and in a mood for some good old-fashioned stories. What better entertainment?
“Now it may sound strange,” Ol’ Poppa went on, “but Paspébiac was all French back then. Charles Robin, he made the place go, kept the fellas in work, like his company does today; wives and children turning the codfish on their flakes and the men mostly out fishing or building ships. And ye know, Paspébiac was pretty wild in them days.”
“You must remember,” Catherine turned to them, “this happened the year James and I married. Times was hard then, as you’ve heard us say far too many times.”
“If times was any harder then,” cracked Jim’s brother Joseph, “how did anyone survive?”
They laughed. In fact, Shegouac now was prospering, Jim reflected. They’d more or less come to terms with the seasonal upsets and harsh conditions. And was not Gaspé the prime port of Eastern Canada with its fourteen foreign consuls?
Thomas Byers came out on the veranda with another large earthenware crock of beer to fill the piggins. “Soon as Mr. Alford starts one of his stories, that calls for a refill!” In the manner of the time, that’s how he addressed his own father-in-law.
Mariah frowned at her husband; it was clear that she, like many others, did not approve of the demon drink. Jim thought she overdid it.
His father caught her expression. “That Daniel Busteed up in Restigouche told me they fed patients at his hospital in London two quarts of beer a day. If it’s good enough for the sick, it’s good enough for us!”
“And Mariah,” Catherine spoke up, “we do far too little celebrating and too much work, I’d say.”
Jim remembered the evenings when they all gathered on the veranda for stories from books like Grimm’s Fairy Tales, or Daniel Defoe’s Desert Island. Jim took his turn reading, but he was never as good as his father.
Sometimes, for the children, James would make up stories of wild animals he apparently knew from his early years, or his time in the Navy, though he never talked about the grisly battles, blood, and mayhem, and the punishments, which Jim figured there’d have been many.
