Shoddy Prince

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Nat asked, ‘Where are we, sir?’

  ‘Would you be any the wiser if I told you we were at Sudbury, Ontario? Relax, I told you we’ve a long way to go.’ Carrington’s face disappeared under his hat.

  With a jaded groan, Nat wriggled his back into a less tortured position and prepared for another long haul.

  The following day was very much like the last, apart from the change in backdrop. Once this had registered Nat decided that the best way to cope with the tedium was to nap as often as he could in the somewhat futile hope that it would take him to his destination more quickly. There was no longer day and night, just sleeping, waking, feeding and sheer boredom. Did the others feel as bad as he did? Conversation had petered out a long time ago. I’m going mad, thought Nat. I can’t stand it any longer. I wish I’d never come. I should have stayed and married Bright. Mr Maguire might have been furious but his anger would have been over a lot more quickly than this journey. Sleep, sleep, please let me go to sleep and not wake up.

  Another cruel day dawned. How was he ever going to get through it? Between feeding and napping he had now taken to prowling up and down the train like a caged bear. Punishment, that’s what it was, punishment for leaving her, for running away. But I haven’t run away, I tell you, I’m going back! Even his sleeping moments were not restful, filled with images of an angry Bright who raked his face with her nails and spat obscenities at him. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

  Terrorized back to consciousness, Nat’s eyelids shot open, then widened even further as the carriage left the track and launched into the air! There was nothing to be seen but water. With a petrified yell, Nat sat bolt upright and clung onto the arm of his seat, fully expecting to meet his death. There came a reassuring laugh close beside him. Carrington tapped the fear-stricken boy on the arm and directed his gaze to the opposite window to indicate rockface, so procuring the realization that the carriage was still on the track, albeit a narrow one. A ledge had been carved out of the vertical rock wall that rose sheer from the water’s edge.

  Nat exhaled his relief, then gave an embarrassed laugh at his unwarranted terror. ‘It’s the sea!’

  ‘No, it’s a lake,’ the man corrected him. ‘Lake Superior.’

  ‘It’s too big for a lake!’ Nat pushed his dark hair from his brow and searched for a glimpse of land on the other side of the water, convinced that the man was mistaken. Only now, after all these excruciating hours aboard the train did he begin to appreciate the size of this country and the variation in its terrain – at times lush and green, at others parched and barren – and for a brief, marvellous moment the boredom was lifted, allowing him the thrill of wonder.

  The next stop was at a place called Thunder Bay. Nat arched his back and without great interest enquired of Carrington, ‘What’re them big tall shed things?’

  Carrington was adjusting his watch and replied without looking up. ‘Grain elevators.’

  Nat leaned back. Surely, surely it couldn’t be much longer. Another day told him it could, and now there was added torture in that there was less to see from the window, for another stop at Winnipeg heralded the start of the prairies and from then on Nat really did think he was losing his mind. Each time he awoke the view was still of flat grassy plains and chestnut earth. The few trees to be seen in this vast nothingness were those acting as windbreaks to the occasional farmhouse. Other than this, there were only the variously coloured grain elevators at each small town station to break the monotony. Prairie… Regina… prairie… Moose Jaw… prairie…

  Then at last some wooded hills! At last a change in the deadly routine! As the train approached its next stop Carrington alerted certain members of the group that their journey was almost at an end.

  Nat came to life. ‘Do I get off here, too?’

  Carrington was by now as tired and short-tempered as any other traveller and did not appreciate this unnecessary question. ‘Don’t you listen, boy? I just called the names of those who have to get off. Just sit there till I tell you different.’

  Nat had assumed that as all the boys were destined for the same district he would see them quite regularly. He was wrong. Between the first group of boys alighting and the next station another day ended. They would be hundreds of miles apart. He might never see them again. Not that he could summon an ounce of concern in his present state of fatigue.

  On the fifth day of travel a distant line of mountains came into view and the flat prairie gave way to rolling foothills. When, after another long stretch, the train slowed down in its approach to the next station there were only a few boys left on board, Nat amongst them. Please, please make this my stop!

  To his vast relief it was. Moving into the aisle he stretched, then peered from the window. As the Canadian Pacific rumbled into the station he caught a glimpse of its name. Calgary. Calgary? Wasn’t that where Jesus was crucified? A fine omen that was. Too exhausted to display either excitement or despair, he shuffled and swayed along the moving carriage towards the door on lumpen tingling flesh. Wheels squeaking, the train lurched to a halt, causing Nat and the others to stagger. Then the door was flung open and he was standing on the wooden platform. At a guess it was early afternoon, but he did not know which day or what month, only that it was cold enough to make him shiver. They had left England at the end of March, so it took little intelligence to deduce that it must be April.

  Waiting for his own and the boys’ luggage to be unloaded, Carrington rubbed a numb buttock, then used the same hand to wave at a host of people who were coming down the platform to meet him. ‘Hey, John! Roy! How’re ye doing, eh?’ The two groups came together and a great deal of handshaking and back-slapping occurred, much to Nat’s impatience. ‘Lucy! Jean! Good to see you. I’m fine – and you? Good! Great to be back!’

  After the boisterous reunion Carrington offered an apology to both groups and set about matching boys up with their future guardians. Whether there had been any process of selection Nat neither knew nor cared. However, he liked the look of the middle-aged couple to whose charge he was rudely abandoned when Carrington departed with his own particular choice of boy, saying they must perform the introductions themselves for he just had to get home before he dropped.

  Nat’s guardian held out a callused hand as others did likewise to their own charges. ‘Nice to meet you, son. I’m John Anderson and this is my wife.’ When Nat merely offered a limp hello, Anderson added, ‘Well’re you gonna tell us who you are?’

  Noting that those who might give his real name away were too occupied, the youth quietly announced his pseudonym. ‘Nat Prince.’

  ‘Well, that’s a real nice name, isn’t it, John?’ With an approving nod from her husband, the homely Mrs Anderson extended plump digits. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Nat. How are you?’

  ‘All right.’

  Anderson’s heavily jowled face turned strict. ‘You always address a lady like that?’

  Nat blushed. ‘Sorry, I weren’t thinking, ma’am.’

  ‘That’s better.’ Anderson nodded and smiled to show he was not a pedant. ‘Left any folks at home, Nat?’ Nat shook his head. ‘Guess we’re your folks now.’ Both looked as if they welcomed the prospect. ‘Well, c’mon, Nat.’ Anderson began to turn. ‘Get your bag, we’ve a long road ahead before nightfall an’ I need to stock up before we leave town. You can help me.’ At this Nat’s face drained. Anderson misinterpreted the expression. ‘Oh, guess you want a few minutes to say goodbye to your pals. Well, Mrs Anderson’n me’ll just wander over there.’ He pointed. ‘You follow when you’re ready – and don’t worry that you’re not gonna see them again. Even if we live far apart us folks get together quite regular at harvest and suchlike.’ He and his wife said goodbye to their own friends, then made their way to the other side of the platform and stepped onto the dirt road.

  Nat turned to the small group of boys and offered a dispassionate farewell before loping after his guardians, finding it hard to walk in a straight line after so much disuse of
his legs.

  ‘Any good at driving a buckboard?’ enquired Anderson, unhitching the horse’s reins from a post.

  ‘Never tried, sir.’ Nat tossed his case into the wagon.

  ‘Well, now’s your chance. Hop up!’ The man handed the reins to Nat, then climbed up beside his wife and the boy. ‘Just steer her down the street a-ways. I’ll tell you when to stop.’

  The mare would not even start until Anderson and Nat clicked encouragement. Even once the cart was moving, Nat, tired and disoriented, had no notion of how to steer it and with the street alive with various wagons and buggies there was danger of a collision. A laughing Anderson was eventually forced to bid Nat move over and drive to the general store himself. ‘Let’s hope you’re more use when we get back home.’ Though it was not said maliciously, the remark raised Nat’s hackles. Anderson appeared not to notice the change in mood. ‘You go with Mrs Anderson till I get the order together. She wants some women’s doodads carryin’.’

  A leaden Nat followed the blue bonnet and the iron-corseted rear up and down the verandas, in and out of haberdashers and dressmakers, cursing under his breath – especially when he noticed a sign advertising a vacancy for a stablehand with the instruction, No English Need Apply.

  Mrs Anderson turned to wait for him to catch up, noticed his eyes on the sign and patted his arm as they walked on together. ‘Oh, don’t you worry your head about that. Most folk round here aren’t agin the English in general, it’s just that one or two have had bad experiences. My family came from England you know. A long time ago, mind. Mr Anderson’s kin’re from Scotland, settled in Montreal then moved out to Manitoba. That’s where we met as children.’ She smiled at the memory. Nat decided that however warm Mrs Anderson’s manner her face annoyed him with its piggy upturned nostrils. ‘We grew up together, went to school together, then got married. Never been apart, except when John came out to the prairies to buy land. That was just after the railway was built. Thought we’d take our chance before we got too old. Mr Anderson had a decent enough job but, well, he knew it’d never get him anywhere and he’d always wanted to try his hand at farming, so we took advantage of the government land scheme and set up a homestead. That was nearly our undoing!’ She laughed. ‘We knew nothing about growing wheat; thought if you stuck the seed in the ground something had to grow. We sure learned different. The land we bought had barely any rainfall. First crop was ruined by drought, the next year it was frost. Oh, I can tell you it was heartbreaking. Mr Anderson decided he’d chosen the wrong sort of farming, so we cut our losses, came out here, met Mr Carrington and he talked us into setting up a cattle ranch. We started with a few Herefords and we’ve never looked back. No, sir.’

  It seemed to a frustrated Nat that Mrs Anderson was very fond of the sound of her own voice. In each shop they visited she introduced Nat and then proceeded to ignore him whilst she spent an age gossiping until she concluded with a loud exclamation that Mr Anderson would have her hide if she spent any longer chatting. ‘I guess you must be sick o’ waiting on me too, Nat, thinking I’m an awful gasbag. I’m sorry, but when a woman doesn’t get into town very often she tends to get carried away!’

  Laden with parcels, Nat followed the woman back to the cart where Mr Anderson gave immediate orders for him to carry out some sacks from the store. ‘What you two been doing? I’ve nigh on done the work myself!’

  Mrs Anderson pulled a face at Nat, designed to make him laugh but not even producing a smile. Depositing her parcels in the cart he marched into the general store, anger raised to a dangerous level. Inside was an area of wooden flooring with a counter on three sides, each bearing glass showcases of fancy goods. There were shelves behind the counters filled with bottles, jars, boxes, packets, and another set of shelves above these bearing crockery. In every available space there were barrels and loops of rope, twine and wire. Hanging from the ceiling were pots, pans, buckets, kerosene lamps, an advertisement for seeds and two full rows of workmans’ gloves. In the middle of the floor was a cast iron stove, whose chimney pipe disappeared into the ceiling and whose warmth lured Nat away from his task. He held out his cold hands to it, trying to curb his frustration, knowing from experience that it would not get him to his destination any quicker and would only succeed in alienating his new guardian. Anderson was asking the storekeeper for a pair of gloves. Nat watched the two men. Both had moustaches; that was where the similarity ended. His living earned out of doors, Anderson’s face was lined and weatherbeaten, his eyes like narrow slits due to his habit of screwing them up against the elements. His large moustache had once been black but there was now much grey in it, as well as at his temples; the rest of his hair was hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Glancing down Nat noticed that the man’s boots had high heels and his trousers were tucked into them. He had on a tan leather waistcoat. The rest of his attire and also his physique befitted a life working with cattle, whereas the storekeeper wore an apron over his suit, arm bands to keep his cuffs out of the way, had smooth hands and a rather prissy manner.

  ‘Here!’ Anderson threw the pair of gloves at Nat. ‘Put those on, then take those sacks to the cart while I settle up with Mr Coughski.’ He delivered this name with an actual cough appended by the word ski, then grinned at the storekeeper. ‘That ain’t his real name, I just call him Mr Coughski ’cause I can’t get my tongue round his real one.’

  Nat smiled at last, though this was more for his new gloves than Anderson’s quip. He had never owned a pair in his life, and this gift helped a long way to easing his tension. There was relief too at the discovery that he could understand these westerners, even the man with the unpronounceable name spoke English, albeit with a strange accent. He stood for a moment admiring his gloved hands before moving into action. The sacks were heavier than they looked, and by the time he had finished his suit was white with flour, but with Anderson’s praise, the donation of some candy and the news that they were going home, his heart was a lot lighter.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Anderson stroked his chin and studied Nat. ‘Lucy, there’s something wrong about this boy…’

  Whilst an apprehensive Nat exchanged looks with an equally bemused Mrs Anderson, the man wheeled and marched away, returning some moments later carrying a broad-brimmed hat which he promptly lowered onto Nat’s head. ‘That’s better! Now you look more like a westerner.’

  ‘Oh my, Nat, you really look the part!’ laughed Mrs Anderson, at which her husband jumped into the buckboard and at last they were on their way.

  The journey to his new home took nearly three hours, but Mrs Anderson’s informative chatter made it seem less and there was also compensation in the scenery. If Nat had imagined that he had already witnessed everything that this country had to offer then he was mistaken, for this undulating pastureland with its mountainous backdrop and rushing rivers far surpassed anything that had gone before. Finally Nat began to take in the true vastness of Canada. To a boy who had never been further than York to Hull the thought inspired a sudden panic – how would he ever escape? He could run and run as much as he liked and not cover a quarter of this country in a year! But the soporific drone of Mrs Anderson and another look around him begged the question, why on earth would he want to escape from this? He had never known such beauty existed. Now, in the late afternoon, the sky was dark blue with not one cloud upon it. It was cold, very cold – there was snow atop the mountains – but even in the dying sun the colours were magnificent: deep purple and mauve and magenta, with shadows of black spruce and pine whose scent was carried on the breeze. At that point Nat reversed his former opinion of Canada. This country and its people with their funny way of talking had been worth the long journey. This was worth working for. He would work like he had never worked before, and save, and get rich, and then fetch Bright and the child to live in this glorious young land.

  Nat was almost asleep when they reached the large, whitewashed house built of logs that was to be his home. There was another residence nearby, apparently the bunkh
ouse, from which could be heard uproarious laughter.

  ‘Sounds like the boys’ve been making bootleg,’ quipped Anderson. ‘Never hear ’em laugh like that when it’s time for work. We won’t disturb them, you’ll meet them soon enough.’

  Remembering his brief awful time at Wood’s stables, Nat hoped to postpone his introduction to the ranch hands for as long as possible, though not by the method that Anderson had in mind. ‘Okay, Nat! Let’s unload the cart.’

  ‘Oh John, the boy’s worn out!’ objected Mrs Anderson as he helped her down. ‘Can’t you get one of the others to do it?’

  Her husband shrugged. ‘Guess I could – you two go on, I’ll join you in a minute.’

  Thankful, Nat hefted his luggage and followed Mrs Anderson as far as the door, at which he paused to look inside. The glow of kerosene lamps gave an instant reminder of the Maguires’ kitchen. Oh, this was a lot more grand, with richly coloured rugs on the polished wood floor, a dresser full of china, a massive table and various other pieces of well-turned furniture, lots of pictures in maple frames, and the biggest fireplace Nat had ever seen, but the air of welcome was one and the same. The similarity was endorsed even further by the Irish accent of the woman who came to greet her employer. ‘Oh here you are at last, ma’am! I was just getting worried you’d had an accident.’ She wiped her hands upon her apron and peered around Mrs Anderson to look upon the newcomer.

  Mrs Anderson laughed. ‘Well, I could lie and blame the train for being late but I’m afraid it’s my fault for gossiping. I just can’t help myself. Now, this here is…’ Arm extended, she turned to introduce Nat and upon finding that he was not behind her called to him, ‘Well, come on in! Unless you’re planning to eat on the porch.’

  Relieved to hear that he was not expected to eat with the other workmen, Nat came out of the darkness.