Mr. Fenton, who dropped by yesterday, said that he doesn’t remember such cold so early in the season. But he said it was not as bad as one year early in his marriage when he was in his workshop making chairs for the parlour. So frigid was it that a nail froze to his bare hand before he could hammer it into the piece of wood he was working on. He tore the skin getting it off, and Mrs. Fenton had to bandage it. Fanny says that ever after, her mother cautioned him to wear mittens while working with nails during winter.
November 6, 1847
The sky was as grey as stone yesterday morning, but the air was not as cold as it has been. Mrs. Lyons said that this was because it was going to snow. Sure enough, by mid-morning the sky was thick with fluffy flakes. They wafted down slowly and landed as lightly as if they were feathers. I bundled Lucy up and we went for a walk around the yard.
By midday the snow was up to the middle of my calf and was falling more thickly than ever. It snowed all day. At night the wind came up and blew the snow everywhere. When I arose this morning and went down to the kitchen to stir up the fire, I could not see out the kitchen window. I confess that I panicked. I thought that so much snow had fallen that the house was buried and that we would never get out nor anybody get in. Then Mr. Fenton came through the front door. He had come to check that all was well in Mr. Hall’s absence and laughed to see me so obviously relieved. He took me to the veranda to show me that the snow was so high only on the north side of the house where the kitchen is and on the north side of the barn. This is because the wind blew from the north and gusted the snow. Where it could not be blown, it piled up in high drifts. How quiet and mysterious a house seems when it is cocooned in the white stuff.
November 10, 1847
Mr. Fenton and Fanny drove over in a cutter to take Mrs. Hall, Lucy and me for a ride. He bundled us all up under a great bearskin to keep us warm and we flew off across the snow. The horses’ breath drifted back in clouds toward us. Fanny taught me a song about sleigh-riding that she says is quite popular. We saw tracks in the snow — Mr. Fenton says they are deer. And all the trees — those without leaves and those that are always green — were frosted with snow. Everything was so pretty. We came back with apples in our cheeks and all feeling merry, and Mrs. Lyons had hot tea and bread and butter for us all.
November 14, 1847
Lucy was restless today, and no wonder. Mr. Hall is due back any day. Lucy runs to the door constantly to see if she can catch a glimpse of him. Mrs. Hall has been feeling poorly for the past two days, so when Mrs. Fenton came to visit yesterday, she decided to stay. This put Mrs. Lyons’s nose out of joint. She muttered to herself for much of the morning. She thinks she is quite able to look after Mrs. Hall and feels that Mrs. Fenton does not trust her to do so.
Mrs. Fenton told us both that Mrs. Hall is in a nervous state. Because of this she has forbidden any noise. She will not let me take Lucy outside, saying I am needed to mind my chores. Poor Lucy chafes for something to do. So this afternoon when Mrs. Fenton and Mrs. Lyons were busy in the kitchen, I told Lucy some fairy stories. To give her greater pleasure, I acted out the parts. I was careful to be quiet, telling Lucy that it is the custom to tell these stories in a low voice so that the fairies would not overhear them and become angry. She fell easily into the small ruse.
I told her three stories, then said I must get back to work. Lucy begged me for another. Just one more, she said, and she would be satisfied. So I began a story about the leprechauns and their pots of gold. At that Lucy jumped up and ran to the little desk that Mrs. Hall uses to write letters to her family. She opened one of the drawers and brought back a gold chain with a small but solid-gold pendant at one end.
“It’s from Papa’s watch,” she said. “Grandfather gave it to him, but he says it’s too grand to wear. It can be the gold in the leprechaun’s pot.”
I did not think this was a good idea, for it was clear the watch fob was of great value. I told her to put it back. Disappointed, she started back to the desk to do as she was told. But in her haste, she tripped and the chain and fob flew from her hand and landed under the sofa. When she went to fetch it, she couldn’t seem to get it. “It’s stuck,” she said. She pulled harder and then let out a yowl. She had tugged too hard and the golden fob separated from the chain. She thrust them into my hands just as Mrs. Fenton appeared, drawn by Lucy’s cry.
“What on earth is going on? Did I not tell you to be quiet?” she hissed.
I glanced at Lucy, who was staring wide-eyed at Mrs. Fenton’s angry face.
Mrs. Fenton stared at the golden chain and fob in my hands and then at the open desk drawer. She snatched them from my hands and demanded to know what I was doing.
“We were playing —” I began.
“You were stealing, and don’t deny it,” Mrs. Fenton said. Her face was as black as the sky when a storm strikes.
I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t even let me start.
“Just as I have always suspected,” she said. “You people are no better than animals.” She said that she had warned Mrs. Hall not to take on an Irish girl because the Irish are lazy beggars. She threatened to tell Mrs. Hall what I had done, and said that I would be dismissed.
I was so angry at the slanders that my voice trembled when I told her that I would never steal from the Halls and that we were merely playing.
She slapped me. Her open hand struck my cheek with a sound like the report of a gun. She told me to gather my things, for I was dismissed immediately. Lucy began to cry. I think she was afraid that Mrs. Fenton would strike her too. I touched the spot where Mrs. Fenton had struck me — it was on fire — and told Mrs. Fenton that it was not her place to dismiss me. Her face grew even darker. I was sure that when next she spoke, thunder would echo out of her mouth and lightning bolts would flash from her eyes.
Mrs. Hall appeared at that moment and asked what the matter was. Lucy ran to her, crying, and wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs, sobbing that Papa would be angry when he saw his watch chain.
“Johanna took it and broke it,” Mrs. Fenton said. She held it up so that Mrs. Hall could see it. Mrs. Hall asked me if this was true. I didn’t want to lie to her, but neither did I want Lucy to take the blame for something that was an accident. So I told Mrs. Hall that no harm was meant.
Mrs. Hall frowned. She looked at her sobbing daughter. Finally she knelt down before the child and made Lucy look into her eyes and swear to tell the truth. Tears rolled down Lucy’s cheeks as she spilled out the whole story. Mrs. Hall thanked her for telling the truth and said that she must not touch Papa’s things again. Then she scooped Lucy into her arms and comforted her. She suggested we all have a cup of tea and sent Mrs. Lyons and me to the kitchen to prepare it. Not another word was said about Mrs. Fenton’s accusations.
Later Mrs. Lyons told me that Mrs. Fenton was not a bad person, but that she is forgetful about her own past. When I asked what she meant, she told me that Mrs. Fenton’s father had brought the family from New York to Upper Canada after the American War of Independence. He was given land and three years’ supply of food by the Crown. After the three years, there was a terrible drought, and all the crops failed. Mrs. Lyons said that Mrs. Fenton’s family and many others tried to sell parts of their land for a few barrels of flour, but found no buyers. Others ate dogs and grew fond of the taste.
“To hear Mrs. Fenton tell it, sheer grit and determination got them through that terrible year,” Mrs. Lyons said. “A year which, she never omits to mention, was no fault of their own. So next time she lays into you, Johanna, think of her father gnawing the bone of some poor dog. ’Twill make her seem less daunting.”
Today Mrs. Lyons became a dear friend.
November 16, 1847
Mrs. Hall is at the window as often as Lucy. I think she is worried that Mr. Hall has not returned yet. The house is not the same without him. But she is feeling stronger and sits with us in the evening instead of retiring early. Sometimes we tell stories. Mrs. Lyons tells abou
t the early days in this country. Her great-grandparents were French and settled in what was then New France. Her grandmother caused a scandal by wedding an Englishman and raising her children in the English language. Mrs. Lyons also has stories about the Cree, stories that came to her from her grandmother, who heard them from her father, who was a fur trader. Even Mrs. Hall joins in with stories of some of the English kings.
Last night while Mrs. Lyons was working on some clothes for the expected babe of a niece in Montreal and Mrs. Lyons and I were knitting socks — she for Mr. Hall and I finishing a pair for Fanny — Lucy asked me to tell a fairy story. I shook my head. While children enjoy my stories, grown-ups in this country do not seem to approve. But Mrs. Hall said that she would love to hear one, so I launched into the tale of the vain princess who refuses all suitors as not being grand enough or handsome enough for her. At last her impatient father marries her off to the ugliest and lowliest man in the kingdom. He takes her to his wee den of a home where she is hard put to keep it clean and tidy and must learn to cook his meals without burning them and darn his socks without pricking herself and bleeding on them. At first she is resentful at her fall from grace. She refuses to kiss her own wed husband but instead puts him off with her haughty ways. But time goes by and she learns that her husband is a good and patient man when she is a good and patient wife. She learns too that he is so wise that people from all around come to him with their problems and he solves them all in a fair way that pleases all parties. To her great surprise, she falls in love with him. And one night when he would kiss her, she lets him. Before her very eyes he is transformed into the most handsome gentleman she has ever seen. The very next day, she learns that he is no rude peasant but is the master of a vast domain and that all the people who came to him with their problems are his subjects, who adore him.
“But why didn’t you tell me?” she asked him.
“Because I wanted you to love me for myself,” he replied, “and not for what I possess or how I look.”
Lucy was pleased to learn that the two lived happily ever after and had two lovely daughters and two brave sons. Even Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Lyons sighed contentedly at the ending.
November 19, 1847
It is nearly one month since Mr. Hall went away to the logging camp. The sky was leaden all day, and there was something ominous in the air. Mrs. Lyons said it was a storm brewing, but when I went outside to get more wood for the fire, it was as still as if the air had been sucked out of all life in the area. I hastened back inside.
The evening was starless because of the clouds, and there was no moon to be seen. The dishes had been washed and cleared away and the floors swept. The house was silent. Lucy had been out of sorts all day, so Mrs. Hall put her down in her own bed. Mrs. Lyons and I expected her to come back, but she did not. At last Mrs. Lyons tiptoed to the threshold, and a smile appeared on her lips.
“They are asleep in each other’s arms,” she said. “I think maybe the new child will make things easier on her.”
“New child?” It took me a minute to understand that a new babe was on its way. I had had no inkling. Mrs. Lyons smiled and nodded. I hoped it would bring a fresh smile to Mrs. Hall’s face.
Mrs. Lyons asked me to tell her a story. I was well into one about a leprechaun when, of a sudden, the very blood in my veins turned to ice and I stopped the tale, for didn’t I hear the wail of the banshee? Mrs. Lyons said I looked as if I’d seen a ghost. Just then something crashed to the floor. It was a small likeness of Mr. Hall’s mother. I stifled a scream, for everyone knows that when a picture falls off the wall, it foretells a death. And with the wail of the banshee I had heard …
Someone was going to die. I knew it in my heart. But I did not say a word to Mrs. Lyons for I did not think she would believe me.
November 20, 1847
I was right. Someone had died. And Mr. Hall has been very badly injured. Here is what happened.
This morning, shortly after I had stirred the fire, I heard a noise, a whinny. I was sure of it. And right enough, when I looked outside, I saw a man in a sleigh turning off the road in the distance and making toward the house. I ran to get Mrs. Hall and found her at the window in the front room. She had seen the sleigh as well. As first she looked merely puzzled, wondering no doubt about the identity of the visitor. But her look of expectation turned to a frown and I heard her say, “It’s Frederick Nearing. But where is —” She stopped before she finished her question. I cannot be sure, but I think she spotted what I had seen — a large bundle in the sleigh. Without stopping to protect herself against the cold, she ran out into the yard. Mrs. Lyons grabbed a shawl — as did I — and ran after her.
Mr. Nearing pulled up the sleigh and gazed down at Mrs. Hall. He looked weary as he said, “There was an accident.”
Mrs. Hall moaned and reached for the blanket-wrapped bundle, which, I now saw, was as big as a man. But Mr. Nearing grabbed her hand before she could lift the blanket.
“It’s Duncan Webley under there,” he said gently.
He and Mr. Hall had been in an accident at the logging camp. Mr. Webley is dead, and Mr. Nearing was on his way to tell Mrs. Webley. Mr. Hall is in Sherbrooke, alive but badly hurt. Mr. Nearing said he would call back for Mrs. Hall after he visited Mrs. Webley, and would take her to Sherbrooke.
I am ashamed to say that I was relieved that the death that had been foretold was not Mr. Hall’s. Mrs. Hall hurried inside to prepare for her trip.
November 21, 1847
Mrs. Hall has gone to Sherbrooke, leaving Lucy in the care of Mrs. Lyons and me. When Mr. Nearing came back to get her he told us more about what had happened. He said that the demand for timber is so great in Europe that the men were pressed to work well into the evenings, piling up logs by the light of fires. He also says that many of the men are new to timbering and that, because of this, there are many accidents.
Mr. Hall was returning to camp when he saw two other men — Mr. Webley was one of them — piling logs. Mr. Webley turned to greet him. He did not notice when one of the logs, then the rest, started to roll toward him. But Mr. Hall saw. He shouted to the two men. The first bolted out of the way, but Mr. Webley did not understand what the problem was. Mr. Hall raced forward to try to push him aside. He failed. The logs fell on top of Mr. Webley, killing him almost at once. Some fell on top of Mr. Hall too, pinning him to the ground and crushing the right side of his body. Mr. Nearing said that he was lucky to be alive, although he confided to Mrs. Lyons and me that his arm is very bad and that he might lose it. Mrs. Lyons wept when she heard this. She thinks the world of Mr. Hall.
November 30, 1847
Mrs. Lyons and I have been carrying on these past few days, keeping the house clean and snug and amusing Lucy with games and songs. She asks constantly for her parents. She has never been separated from both of them at the same time. Indeed, I find it strange to be here without them.
December 1847
December 1, 1847
This morning we were all in the kitchen — Mrs. Lyons was making soup, and Lucy was helping me measure flour for some bread — when I heard a distant jingle. I looked up and saw that Mrs. Lyons had an ear cocked to the window. So did Lucy. We all three rushed to see who it was. Lucy was the most excited, as she was sure it must be her ma and da. But it was not. It was Mr. and Mrs. Fenton and Fanny. They were solemn-faced when they came into the house. Mrs. Lyons offered to make some tea, and Mrs. Fenton accepted, but Mr. Fenton said that he could not stay. He looked uncomfortably at Mrs. Fenton, who told Fanny to take Lucy into the kitchen to see if there was any cake. After they had gone, Mrs. Fenton told us the news.
They had received word from Mrs. Hall. Mr. Hall is very badly injured. His leg has been broken in many places, and his arm so badly crushed that it became infected and the doctor had had no choice but to amputate it. Mrs. Lyons gasped when she heard this, and I felt hot tears run down my cheeks. Mr. Hall was never idle. He always kept himself busy, working to improve his farm. In the evenin
g he liked nothing better than to work on a new piece of furniture and decorate it with patterns he cut into the wood. How would he be able to do that with one arm? How would he manage all that had to be done about the place with one arm?
Mrs. Fenton said that the Halls are not going to return home immediately. They plan to stay in Sherbrooke until Mr. Hall is strong and able to get around. They want us to take Lucy to Sherbrooke.
Mr. Fenton is to drive us there in two days’ time. Mrs. Fenton and Fanny will come back to help me pack what is needed. Mrs. Hall sent a list. Mr. Fenton will keep an eye on the house and the farm until the Halls can return.
December 2, 1847
Fanny and Mrs. Fenton returned today. Fanny made up a song about packing that she and Lucy and I sang while we packed Lucy’s things. Fanny kept Lucy busy while I gathered my belongings. I have more than I had when I arrived only a few months ago. I have my quilt, which is nearly finished, and the scraps of fabric for my little rug, which I intend to work on in my spare time. I also have the coat Mrs. Hall cut down for me, and an old pair of her boots that she gave me. And I have my shawl. And, of course, my book, with almost all of its pages filled now with so many sad things and so many new things. I will have to think what to do once I have filled it up.
After packing, I took a last look at my room. I was sorry to leave my bed and my little chest of drawers. They are the first pieces of furniture I’ve ever had to myself. But they will be here for me when I return.
I have decided to give my shawl to Fanny. It is warm, and all the rows are even. I wrapped it in a bit of cloth, tied it with a twine bow and set it on a chair at the ready.
A Sea of Sorrows Page 9
