September 27, 1847
I know it is probably a sin to say so, but I do not like Mrs. Fenton one bit. She comes to visit at least once a week, sometimes more often, as the Fentons are the closest neighbours to the Halls. She came today and, as is usual, Fanny came with her. She sat down in the kitchen with me while I cleaned the silver. Fanny is fun to talk to. She likes to read, and has an aunt in Boston who is well married and has a fine library of books. She is always sending books to Fanny, and Fanny always tells me about the latest one she is reading. She likes poetry best and has learned many poems by heart. She recites them to me. She also reads novels and books about explorations to distant parts of the world. She is reading one now about a Scotsman named Mungo Park who visited the deepest parts of Africa. It is a thrilling story. Fanny says she knows that he survived his expedition, for how else could he have written about it, but that she holds her breath at every turn to see how he will get out of some fresh new disaster. She promises to lend me the book when she has finished reading it, although I think by then that I will already know the whole story!
Mrs. Fenton must have been listening to us at least part of the time. Maybe she was even spying on us, for as soon as she heard me address Fanny as just that — Fanny — she became furious. She demanded that I address her as Miss Fanny and said that it was presumptuous of me — those were her exact words — to speak to Fanny as if she were my equal. Mrs. Hall said very quietly that she considered me a part of her family. I could have wept with joy. But Mrs. Fenton remained unmoved.
“And does she call you mother?” she said, more sharply than I have ever heard her speak to Mrs. Hall. What a ridiculous question! Even Fanny said so, but her mother silenced her with a cutting look. What a nasty woman!
Mrs. Hall said later that Mrs. Fenton has some prejudice against the Irish. She said there are many people who are angry that so many Irish have come to Canada, and that so many of them are ill and unable to look after themselves. She hastened to add that she is not one of those people and that she does not blame the immigrants themselves for their plight.
“You must not take offence,” she told me. “Mrs. Fenton has strong opinions, but she is a good woman. I am confident that she would change her opinion of you if she knew you as I do.”
For myself, I do not share that confidence.
October 1847
October 2, 1847
I am stealing a few moments to write before sleep gets the better of me. I have been so busy. In addition to my regular chores, I have been helping to prepare for winter. A cow and two pigs were butchered, as was one of the oxen. The meat all had to be stored. Some of it is being smoked and some is being salted. Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Lyons are making sausage, which I will finally get to taste. I wonder if it will sizzle. Mrs. Hall says that we will use the tallow to make candles. The hides of the animals are to be sold.
October 3, 1847
Fanny came today to give Catherine a wee cloth doll she had made. But she confided in me that her true purpose was to visit me. She says she is glad to have a friend near her own age close by. A friend — that is exactly what she said! She brought me the book about Mungo Park and said I might keep it as long as I like. I wish I had something to give her in return. When my knitting improves, I will make her some warm socks for winter.
When I asked if her mother will be angry that she slipped away, Fanny said that she was sure to be. But she says that although her mother is often angry, she is more often quite pleasant and that I must not mind her, as she is not as harsh as she seems. She says Mrs. Fenton adores the little Hall girls, especially since Fanny had a brother and a sister who died before Fanny was born. The little boy was five and the little girl was three. Fanny says this is why her mother finds every excuse to visit the Halls.
This gave me a different picture of Mrs. Fenton. She has more in common with my own ma than I had imagined. But she is different, too, for Ma treated everyone with equal respect while Mrs. Fenton puts herself above some, such as me. I do not think that is right.
October 7, 1847
Today I made 50 pounds of candles! Mrs. Hall declares them to be the finest candles she has ever had. While it is true that she had to show me what to do, she did not have to stand over me while I worked. Indeed, she could not, as she and Mrs. Lyons salted over 100 pounds of meat.
Mrs. Hall was anxious about her candles. She bought molds for them while she was in Montreal, which she says make the job much easier than having to dip each candle in the hot tallow, then cool it, then dip it again and again to get it to the right thickness. Apart from the heat of the tallow, candle-making is easy. First you thread the wick, which comes in a ball, through the mold and tie it at the bottom. Then you pour hot tallow into the mold and set it aside to cool. It is hard to imagine any simpler chore.
October 9, 1847
Catherine is fevered again and unable to keep anything in her stomach. The poor little thing has been putting up such a fight. I would never say so to Mrs. Hall, but she seems to weaken with every bout of fever. Her face is as white as Mrs. Lyon’s apron but for the two apple-red fever spots on her little cheeks. She shows no interest in the doll or the corn-husk horses Lucy and I made for her. Instead she lies on the sofa and either sleeps, or gazes at her mother with dull eyes. The doctor has come again and has again prescribed warm baths. Mrs. Lyons continues to make arrowroot gruel, which Mrs. Hall tries to feed her, usually without much success.
October 10, 1847
Mrs. Hall was up the whole night with Catherine. I know because I woke up twice and each time I heard her directly below me, singing softly while the rocking chair creaked. When I went down in the morning to stir the fire, the kitchen was already snug and warm. Mrs. Hall was still rocking Catherine, who was asleep in her arms. The worry and the pallor on Mrs. Hall’s face put me in mind of my own ma when wee Patrick fell ill aboard ship. I miss them both, especially Patrick’s merry gurgles, which never failed to bring a smile to Ma’s face.
Before the whole household was awake, Mrs. Hall slipped Catherine into her bed. She called in on her between each chore all day long. By mid-afternoon her worry had so deepened that she sent Mr. Hall again for the doctor. But he came back alone, saying the doctor had been called away to an accident some 10 miles to the north. A man was trampled by a team of oxen.
October 11, 1847
The very worst has happened. I woke just as dawn broke, to a moan that put me in mind of the stories of banshees that Da used to tell when he wanted to make the hair on our heads stand up as straight as soldiers. It was Mrs. Hall. I didn’t know what the matter was or what to do. I slipped out of my bed, wrapped a blanket around myself, and tiptoed downstairs.
The fever has carried Catherine off, poor little thing. Mr. Hall is as grief stricken as Mrs. Hall. Neither of them noted my presence. Mrs. Lyons had already put the pot on to boil. She sent me quietly to get Lucy dressed and dispatched me to get Mrs. Fenton. I got lost! I felt such a panic as I stared at the trees around me — they all looked the same. But I made myself sit down for a moment and told myself that I had walked the same route with Fanny at least twice and that if I concentrated, I would find the path. My heart beat very fast and my mind thought terrible thoughts, but I did it — I found the path!
Mr. Fenton drove Mrs. Fenton, Fanny and me back in the wagon. He went to help Mr. Hall, who was behind the house planing boards to make them smooth for the baby’s casket.
Mrs. Fenton disappeared into Mrs. Hall’s room, while Fanny did her best to amuse Lucy. I heard Mrs. Hall crying. Mrs. Fenton declared her intention to stay for as long as she was needed. She sent Fanny home and took charge, ordering both me and Mrs. Lyons about.
She was much satisfied with Mrs. Lyons but not at all satisfied with me. Nothing I do is fast enough or thorough enough for her. I don’t mind so much as I used to. While I was sweeping the whole house with my cedar broom, I came upon Mrs. Fenton in the parlour. She was looking out the window, and when she turned I saw her wipe
away a tear. She barked at me to finish my sweeping, but I knew she was only trying to hide her own grief at little Catherine’s passing.
October 12, 1847
Neighbours came all day to pay their respects. Mrs. Lyons kept the kettle constantly on the boil to make tea. I sliced and buttered bread and cut up little pieces of cake, some of it that Mrs. Lyons had made but most of it brought by neighbours who came to comfort Mrs. Hall. Mr. Hall was silent the whole day. Little Catherine lies in a coffin, which is lined with her own quilt, covered all over with roses and lilacs. I wish Patrick could have been laid out as prettily.
October 13, 1847
Catherine was buried today on a little hill under an oak tree behind the Halls’ house. Mr. Hall told Mrs. Hall that its canopy will keep the gravesite cool in the summer. Mrs. Hall stood on the hill all day until Mr. Hall went to fetch her back to the house. He sat with her and fed her the way one might feed a child. He told her that she must be strong, if only for Lucy, who is as quiet as can be and as pale as her mother. I think perhaps her parents forget that she, too, has lost someone dear to her.
October 15, 1847
It is so quiet in the house. Mrs. Hall, who used to hum and sing for the little girls while she worked, is silent save for issuing instructions, and that she rarely has to do, for Mrs. Lyons knows her job well, and my routine does not vary much. Mr. Hall is out of the house from dawn to dark. When he returns, he plays quietly and wistfully with Lucy and then tucks her into her bed, which is now moved into the Halls’ bedroom.
Since her sister’s passing, Lucy refuses to sleep in her own room. She is as quiet as a wee mouse inside the house and speaks only when she accompanies me outside to replenish the kindling, to gather cedar boughs for a new broom, or on some other small errand. Then she begs me to tell her stories, which I gladly do, for the silence of the house weighs heavily on me. I think it weighs on Lucy too. I think she is silent because her parents are silent, and that she demands to sleep in their room to watch over them. I know she misses her baby sister, but I think she is more worried about her parents who are here and are so sad, than she is about her sister, who she knows is an angel in heaven.
October 17, 1847
I wish my quilt was finished, for a deep chill has settled on us all and I could use the extra cover at night. It will look so beautiful on my little bed. I wish Ma were here to see what I have done — she would be pleased. I am using the colours of the autumn leaves before they fell — flame red, rich gold and bright orange. It will keep me warm all winter and I will remember the woods at their prettiest. Now the trees are bare and their branches reach up like the scrawny fingers of beggars pleading for a mouthful to eat or a penny to buy food.
After I finish my quilt, I want to make a small rug for the floor of my room. It will keep my feet from getting so cold when I climb out of bed in the morning, and will brighten my room. I will make it out of scraps, like my quilt. Mrs. Lyons showed me how it is done. You cut strips of fabric and then stitch the shorts ends together to make long, colourful snakes. Then you plait the strips into a loose rope, coil them into an oval and sew them together. Mrs. Lyons has some old flannel that she says I can cut and sew to one side for the backing. She says she will help me as soon as she has finished the one she is working on.
October 19, 1847
Mr. Hall went into Sherbrooke yesterday to sell the hide from the ox he butchered a few weeks ago. When he returned late this afternoon, he had a letter for me! How my hand trembled when he presented it to me! It was from Sister Marie-France. I stared at my name on the face of it for the longest time, unsure whether or not I wanted to open it. What if she had written with bad news? What if she had learned that my uncle had died? Or that something terrible had befallen Michael? But what if it was good news? Perhaps Sister Marie-France’s letter had finally reached Uncle Liam. Perhaps the priest in the town near Uncle’s former residence had encountered Michael and told him of my whereabouts. Perhaps Michael had returned to Montreal and seen the notice that Mrs. Hall had put in the newspaper, or had spoken to Sister Marie-France. Perhaps he was on his way this very minute to find me.
Mr. Hall spoke at last in a gentle voice and asked me if I wanted him to read the letter to me.
I shook my head. Whatever the news, it would not change because I was afraid to read it. I opened the letter and began to read Sister Marie-France’s elegant script. My heart sank. The news was not the worst — there was no news of death. But neither was it the best news. Indeed, it was no news at all. To my shame, I found myself fighting back tears.
“Johanna, is everything all right?” Mrs. Hall asked.
I told her what the letter said. The priest had had no sign of Michael. Neither the sister’s letter nor mine had produced any reply, and the newspaper that had printed my notice had received no reply regarding me.
“You have a home here for as long as you care to stay,” Mrs. Hall said. Mr. Hall nodded his agreement. “You have made yourself a member of our family. I know Lucy would be heartbroken if you were to leave us.”
I thanked her for her kindness. It is nice to have a place in the world. But how I wished that the news had been different! How I wished that my true place was with my brother and my uncle — with blood family. I tucked the letter in the pocket of my dress and busied myself with my work. I pulled it out again later, when I was alone, and reread it. This time I could not hold back my tears. Michael had been gone for so long without a word of news. Had he fallen ill, as Da had? Had some other misfortune befallen him? And what of Uncle Liam? Was I doomed forever to be a kinless stranger in this country? I wept until I fell asleep.
October 21, 1847
While he was in Sherbrooke, Mr. Hall accepted employment from a logging company. He left today with two neighbours, Mr. Nearing and Mr. Webley. Men are needed to build a road for what Mr. Hall calls the winter sleigh haul. They will be gone for a few weeks. After Christmas the logging company will take them on again to transport the logs over the road to the edge of a river. In spring, when the ice breaks up, the logs are floated to sawmills or to ports to be loaded onto ships. The company pays cash, which Mrs. Lyons says is scarce but is needed to buy certain items.
Mrs. Lyons has also left for a while. She has been called to her brother’s house to attend the funeral of her nephew, who perished after being thrown from a horse.
October 23, 1847
There are just three of us in the house — Mrs. Hall, Lucy and me. I am grateful that Mrs. Hall is slowly coming back to herself. She even smiles from time to time, but not with the same brightness as before. I think she is remembering small moments with Catherine. The other day I heard her singing softly. It was not one of the gay tunes she used to sing, swirling around the room with one or other of her girls in her arms, but was slow and sombre like a hymn.
Mrs. Hall goes often to visit Catherine under the oak tree and sometimes sits and stares out the window at the little hill and the small marker on it. At least she has that comfort. I have none when I think of my dear ma and wee Patrick, who found their rest in the deep, dark sea. Nor of my da, buried somewhere in Montreal without a marker on his grave. I think of Michael and wonder where he is. I think too of Uncle and wonder what has become of him. Does he know that I am alive?
The air turns cooler every day. When my chores are done for the day, I sit with Mrs. Hall and work on my quilt. I am making good progress. Mrs. Hall is making long sturdy socks that Mr. Hall will wear when he goes about his winter work, which she says will consist mainly of working for the logging company. She says there is little besides that and indoor work that can be done during the winter months in this country. Mrs. Hall is also knitting warm stockings, mittens and a muffler for Lucy.
October 26, 1847
Our days pass in quiet industry. I rise to a room so cold that my breath hangs in a cloud above my head. I dress quickly and steal down to the kitchen to stir up the fire and put on the kettle. I help Mrs. Hall prepare the morning meal. I sweep and
wash and scrub. I play with Lucy while her mother attends to her own affairs. I help Mrs. Hall prepare the afternoon meal. I clean again. I work on my quilt and I learn from Mrs. Hall. She always has some piece of work to hand, and she shows me what she is doing and how it is done. She says that once all preparations are made for winter, she will help me cut down an old dress of hers to remake into one for me. She will show me every step so that I will learn what she says is important for any woman to know.
October 28, 1847
Fanny came over today to lighten the workload and brighten the mood of the house. Here is something I did not know about her. Not only does she love to sing, but she has a beautiful voice! She taught Lucy and me some songs with different parts, and when we sang them together, Fanny taking one part and Lucy and I the other, Mrs. Hall declared that we sounded like a choir of angels. She even joined in, taking a third part, when we sang the song again. It was the happiest day the house has seen in a long time.
October 31, 1847
Hallow Eve. It makes me homesick to remember the bone fires that would burn at home. It makes me miss Grandda too. He loved to tell stories on Hallow Eve about the spirit world and the fires that warmed wandering souls. He never minded the priests when they scolded him for such talk.
November 1847
November 4, 1847
Mrs. Lyons has returned. Mrs. Hall was so glad to see her that she hugged her. So did Lucy. I would have hugged her as well, but I was too shy.
Her return will brighten the days. It has been so cold that the windows are frozen over and it is impossible to see through them. The water in the little jug in my room is frozen solid when I get out of bed in the morning and the edge of my blanket is covered in ice where my breath freezes on it. We are all wearing shawls and blankets over our clothes to keep warm. Mrs. Hall made a bed on the sofa for Lucy and she played quietly under her blankets all day.
A Sea of Sorrows Page 8
