By the Skin of His Teeth

by Ann Walsh

  "But that's nonsense. You know Sing Kee and Peter. How can they not be ‘real' people?"

  "I agree with you, son, but it wouldn't be wise of you to argue with others on this point. There are strong feelings about the Chinese here. You might offend customers who would then take their business elsewhere."

  "But—" I began, but was interrupted as Jenny, led by the Fraser twins, burst into the shop. She was clutching the same issue of the Sentinel I had just read from.

  "Oh, Ted, look. There are to be races and fireworks and a big celebration on Dominion Day, July 1. See, here's a list of all the things that are going to happen. Wait, Andrew, I shall unleash you momentarily. Robert, you must stay still if you want me to untie you. Good afternoon, Mr. MacIntosh. What is Dominion Day?"

  "July 1, 1867, is when the provinces united to form the Dominion of Canada, Jenny. So we celebrate that event."

  She frowned. "But British Columbia is nae a part of that dominion, is it?"

  "Not yet," my father said, "but many who live here came from Canada West, so they brought the celebration with them. Besides, soon we'll join the Dominion. I feel sure of that."

  "I see," she said, still looking confused.

  "Last Dominion Day I entered the Merchant Race and won," I said.

  "Aye, the prize was ten dollars," Pa said. He frowned. "Which my son was reluctant to share with me."

  I said nothing. My father and I had disagreed about the prize money. Since it was my legs and energy that had won the race, I felt I was entitled to all the prize money. Pa had pointed out that he was actually the "merchant," the true owner of this shop, which allowed me to enter this particular race. He even deducted the dollar entry fee from my share of the winnings, maintaining that, as he had paid it in the first place, it should be returned to him. However, I was allowed to keep the small silver cup that was also part of the prize.

  "Are you entering again, Ted?" Jenny asked.

  "Not in the Merchant Race," I said, still disgruntled over the division of the prize money.

  "Then which race will you run in?" she asked. "Look, the newspaper says there will be a Sack Race, a Hill Race, a Three-Legged Race, many foot races, and even horse racing. A cannon will be fired down the main street to begin the celebrations, and there will be speeches and singing. It will be a grand day. Robert, no, that is nae to eat."

  She dropped the newspaper and rescued a small wood shaving that Robert was about to swallow. He opened his mouth to howl a protest, and Jenny recovered another piece from his mouth. "You'll have a stomach ache if you eat those, as you know full well, you glaikit bairn," she scolded. Then, without taking a breath, she added, "Don't you be foolish like your brother, Andrew. Don't put any in your mouth." She had learned that what one twin did, the other often copied.

  "Which races will I enter?" I wondered aloud. "I don't know." I had a vision of entering them all, winning them all, and presenting Jenny with an armful of silver cups and ten-dollar bills, while she smiled and once more kissed me on the cheek. Then I shook away the thought. I wasn't a swift runner and had only won the Merchant Race the previous year because most of the other merchants were older than I. "I'll think on it," I finally said.

  "Well, I'll enter the Sack Race and the Hop, Skip, and Jump," Jenny said. "I'm light on my feet and good at skipping. I'm sure I can win one of those events. Perhaps I'll also take part in a foot race. After all, I've become a fast runner chasing the twins. Yes, I'll try a foot race, as well."

  Pa and I exchanged glances.

  "Best tell her, son," he said, crouching on the floor and suddenly becoming very busy helping the twins stack their bits of wood.

  "Tell me what?" Jenny asked.

  "Pa, please?" I had hoped my father would do it, but he shook his head and kept his back turned. So I knew I had to be the one to give her the news.

  "Urn, Jenny, you see...well, those races are only for men. Not for girls like you...I mean, women," I added hastily.

  Suddenly it grew quiet. Even the twins stopped what they were doing and peered up at Jenny. Pa had his back to her, but I knew he was listening intently, the way people do when they think they hear a thunderstorm approaching. It seemed to me that he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders, almost as if he were expecting rain, not words, to fall.

  "Only for whom?" Jenny demanded in a quiet voice. "The races are only for whom?"

  I gulped. "For men. Or boys who are nearly men."

  "I see. So women can come to this dreadful country, cook meals, wash clothes, tend to the bairns, and keep the fires going through the winter nights, but they are nae good enough to run in a silly race?"

  "No, it isn't like that—" I began.

  "So, no woman at all can enter? Nae a single one?" She took a deep breath and began to speak. Five minutes later, the squirming twins tightly tucked under her arms, their forgotten leashes dangling from her waist, she swept from the store. Jenny had said a great deal in those five minutes, but what I remember most were her final words.

  "Men! Why did God create such eejit creatures?"

  Eight

  It was almost a week before I saw Jenny again. I heard her and the twins as they dashed along the boardwalks—often they would run right outside the carpentry shop—but they didn't come in.

  Twice I left what I was working on and casually stepped to the door, opening it only to see her retreating back. Once Robert—or maybe it was Andrew—who was trying to travel in the opposite direction, caught a glimpse of me and yelled, "Huncle Ted! Want to play blocks with Huncle Ted, Jenny!" But she ignored him and continued her rapid progress down the street, dragging the protesting child behind her.

  "So, do you think your Scottish lassie will return?" Pa asked me one day.

  "Who? Oh, you mean Jenny. Why, I hadn't noticed, but she hasn't visited us lately, has she? We've been so busy I really haven't had time to think about her."

  "Aye," my father replied. "So you say, lad. So you say." Yes, that was what I said, but it wasn't what I meant, not at all. I missed her, and I was more than delighted when, a few days later, the thundering feet and laughter halted at the carpentry shop, the door opened, and Jenny and her charges came in.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. MacIntosh," she said brightly. "The boys were asking if they might have a wee visit, if you have time."

  "We shall always make time for you, lass," Pa said, setting the box of wood scraps in the centre of the floor. "Ted, put the kettle on and we'll have tea."

  "Why, Ted, I didn't notice you," Jenny said. "But, no, thank you. I nae have time for tea today." She bent to untie the twins, then straightened, their leashes in her hand, watching them as they gleefully dug into their box of "toys." "But it's a good thing you're here, Ted, for I have a request for you from a new friend of mine."

  "Of course, Jenny. I'll be pleased to help any friend of yours. What's her name?"

  She smiled. "His name is Joseph."

  "Oh, I see. Joseph. What's his last name?"

  "His last name? Morrison, yes, Morrison."

  "Oh," I said again. "I've never heard of him."

  "He works with Mr. Fraser at the claim in Lightning Creek. He's newly arrived in the gold fields and as yet knows very few people, which is why he asked me to request a favour of you."

  "What is it?"

  "He's heard that you won the Merchant Race last Dominion Day, and he begs that you'll do him the honour of being his partner in the Three-Legged Race this year."

  "I hadn't planned on entering that event," I said. "Besides, I don't know this Joseph. If our heights are uneven, then we'll be poorly matched for that race. I regret that I must decline." I picked up the sanding block and began to push it vigorously across the cupboard door I was working on.

  "Oh, Ted, that saddens me greatly," Jenny said. She came to me and put her hand on my arm. "I thought we were friends, you and I. I believed you'd be glad to help a new friend of mine."

  "Of course we're friends, but—"

  "It would be a
great personal favour, Ted, if you'd agree to partner Joseph. See, here's the dollar he gave me. He'll pay the entire entry fee himself. It will nae cost you a penny. I assure you he's a very swift runner. He's only a tad shorter than you. I know he can match his strides to yours perfectly."

  "But I don't want—"

  "Please, Ted? Mrs. Fraser has assured me she'll care for the twins that day so I can enjoy the celebrations. I'll be staying to watch the fireworks at night. I would nae enjoy them so much if I were to watch them alone. Perhaps you'd honour me with your company and we can watch them together? After you and Joseph win the Three-Legged Race, of course." She smiled again.

  "Well," I said reluctantly, "in that case I'll do it. But how will Joseph and I practise? We'll need to practise together if we're to win."

  "Joseph won't return to Barkerville until the morning of the races," Jenny said. "But I'm almost Joseph's height, so I'll practise with you."

  "So will you practise with this Joseph, as well?" My voice sounded angry, though I wasn't sure why.

  "Don't be cross. I'll only practise with you."

  "Oh, well, in that case..." Then I blushed as I thought about what practising the Three-Legged Race with Jenny would entail. "But...but...that wouldn't be fitting. We'd have to tie our legs together."

  "Aye, that's what happens in a Three-Legged Race. Or is it different here than at home?"

  "No, it's the same. But, Jenny, you can't practise for that race in your skirt."

  "Of course not. I'll wear my pantaloons, Ted. They're very respectable, see?" She hiked up her skirt a few inches to show the dainty lace nestled around her boot tops.

  "Miss Jenny!" my father said, horrified.

  Hastily she dropped her skirt. "Well, nae one will see us practise. We'll be careful."

  Pa spoke up, his voice stern. "Miss Jenny, most of the people in this town are amused to watch you running about with the bairns, but they wouldn't be amused if they saw you in your pantaloons with your arm around Ted and your leg tied to his. You will not do this."

  "But we could practise up near the graveyard. No one would see us there."

  Pa laughed. "In this town someone always sees everything, Miss Jenny. Haven't you learned that yet? You and Ted won't practise together. Is that understood?"

  Jenny nodded, disappointed. I, too, was disappointed. Although the idea of practising with Jenny had at first upset me, I had begun to think it would have been... I felt my cheeks grow hot again.

  "Pa's right," I said. "But you must promise you won't practise with this Joseph, either."

  "Did I not already say I wouldn't?" She sighed. "Well, I'll say it again. I won't practise with Joseph. I promise."

  There was a knock on the door, and it swung open. Peter entered, took a deep breath, then greeted us. "Mr. MacIntosh, Miss Jenny, Ted, it is good to see you again. I like sawdust smell better than hot grease."

  "It's good to see you, too, Peter," I said. "How's your new job?"

  "I do not need to work there now," Peter said. "The Frenchman has again gone to Mosquito Creek, so I come back and help you." He scrutinized the floor as he spoke. It hadn't had a thorough sweeping since he left, and the piles of scrap lumber in the corner were in disarray. "I think it is good that I work here again, yes?"

  "Aye," Pa agreed, looking around him as if he, too, were wondering if I had swept the floor at all while Peter had been away.

  "A grand idea," Jenny said. She had picked up one of the twins and was trying to brush the sawdust from his clothes. "I don't recall the bairns getting so dirty when you were here to keep the floor clean, Peter."

  "I also do carpentry like my father," I said. "I'm not merely a sweeper of floors. We've been very busy."

  "I know, sir...Ted. But I think it is good that I am back," Peter said, picking up the broom. "Very good."

  "I must go," Jenny said, lifting the other twin and attempting to remove sawdust from his legs and arms. "I thank you for doing this favour, Ted. Oh, I must nae forget. Here is the dollar. You'll make sure that yours and Joseph's names are put down for the race?"

  "Yes," I said reluctantly. I still didn't want to run with Joseph, but I had promised. "I'll pay the entry fee and enter our names."

  Jenny smiled. "Thank you, Ted." Then, with the twins securely leashed, she swept out of the store, almost dragging her charges.

  The twins didn't go quietly, though. "No go, Jenny!" they protested. Stay here!"

  All of us watched her leave. "So," Pa said, grinning, "it seems that perhaps your Scottish lassie has found a new boyfriend."

  "She is not my lassie. She is free to keep company with anyone, even this Joseph Morrison. I only regret that I let myself be persuaded to enter the race with him."

  "But you did promise, son."

  "Who is Joseph Morrison?" Peter asked, now busy with the dustpan.

  "A perfect stranger," I said. "I don't even know how tall he is."

  "How tall?" Peter asked. "Why is that important?"

  I explained about the race and how, against my better judgement, I would race with Jenny's new friend.

  Peter looked confused. "Three legs race? But two people have four legs. How can you race with only three?"

  "Haven't you ever watched the Dominion Day celebrations?" I asked.

  "No."

  "Oh, it's a foolish race," I said, then explained how each pair of racers stood side by side and tied their centre legs so they had to move together. "It takes practice to be able to pace your strides to those of your partner."

  "So each person has one and a half legs to run with, right?"

  "Yes," I said, though I had never thought of it exactly that way. But half of three was one and a half, so perhaps Peter was right. "I sincerely wish I hadn't agreed to enter, not with someone I don't even know. I'll have no chance to practise before the race."

  "I will practise with you," Peter said. "I run very quickly, but I have never tried to run this way, with only half a leg on one side."

  "You?" I looked at him closely. "You are almost Jenny's height, and she said that Joseph isn't much taller than she is. You'll do very well as a practice partner, Peter. Thank you."

  Who would help Joseph Morrison practise? I wondered. No matter. It would be obvious to everyone watching the race, even to Jenny, that I had worked hard to improve my skill. Everyone would know who was the better runner. Jenny would see who was the better man.

  Or, as Peter said, the better one-and-a-half-legged man.

  Nine

  Peter and I practised almost every day during the next few weeks. After work we headed for a quiet street near the upper end of Chinatown where we could run without worrying about bumping into other people. The two of us soon became used to each other's running style. We were a good team, moving quickly, our bound legs working as one.

  "We are not bad," Peter said one day, laughing.

  "We're doing very well," I said, panting. "I only wish I could practise with Joseph, as well." We had finished for the day. Soon I would head up the Richfield road toward home and dinner, but I stood with Peter for a while, resting and talking. "How are things?" I asked.

  He knew what I meant. "Good. The Frenchman stays away. Maybe in Quesnel Mouth, maybe at Mosquito Creek. Not here. So no one worries."

  "I'm relieved to hear that. I've heard the judge will come in July. The trial will be soon, and then it will be over."

  "For Ah Mow, yes, it is over," Peter said. "Very much over. But for Henri Tremblay, well, perhaps his time in jail is beginning."

  "Unless he is sentenced to death. There was another murder here, Peter. The man found guilty of that crime was hanged."

  "I know. My uncle told me. You helped the law then. You made sure that man was punished."

  "I didn't do much," I said, hoping he would change the subject.

  "That man's name was James Barry. I learn that, sir...Ted. I know you will make sure that Henri Tremblay is punished also, same as James Barry was. It is fate."

  "I w
ill do what I can, Peter."

  "I know."

  "However, I don't think of James Barry anymore," I added, then said goodbye and began the long walk home.

  That was true. At least I tried not to think of James Barry. The nightmares were gone now, but I had heard his laughter in my dreams long after he was buried. Then, on the day of the great fire when so much of Barkerville was destroyed, I had thought I had seen his ghost.

  I had told no one except Bridget that I thought it was James Barry's voice that had awakened me from a deep sleep that day, his voice that had told me to run from the deadly fumes of the fire. I had told no one but Bridget that, for a while, I believed a ghost had saved my life.

  It wasn't true, of course. There were no ghosts. Something else must have awakened me, and then I imagined the rest. I hadn't seen a ghost. I was absolutely positive of that. I did not believe in ghosts!

  As if it sensed the blackness of my thoughts, the sky also was growing dark. A thunderstorm was coming. It had been on a day much like this—the sky grey, rain threatening, thunder growling in the distance—that it had begun. A stranger had stepped out from behind a tree just around the curve in the road ahead and spoken to me. "We'll have to see what we can do about you," James Barry had said.

  That was the first time I had heard him laugh. Later he would say he had a score to settle with me, and then my nightmares would begin. Much later I would be at his trial, would hear the judge sentence him to death. The next day he died on the gallows, and I heard the sounds of his dying.

  I shook my head, trying to scatter those memories, and quickened my steps. That time of my life was over. Finished. James Barry was part of my childhood, as were my nightmares of him. There were no ghosts and I no longer had nightmares. I was almost a grown man, and I would not let myself think about James Barry anymore.

  Walking faster now, I glanced behind me, sure that someone was watching. But there was no one on the road.

  "Be not so glaikit," I told myself sternly, using Jenny's favourite word for foolish. However, the feeling that someone was staring, that unseen eyes were peering at me, wouldn't go away.