Chain Locker

by Bob Chaulk

  There was no time to search now, as a knock on the back door announced their guest, who arrived eager for the adventure of dining on a mammal of the sea. He was not prepared for the pungent odour that drifted out when Emily’s father, Jim Osmond, greeted him at the door. Assuming some misfortune had overtaken the kitchen, he prepared himself to accept whatever stop-gap measure his resourceful hostess would present. It was mildly disappointing that he would not get to try seal meat today, but he was not here for the food anyway.

  “They’re certainly holding up well under the circumstances,” he thought, and decided to play along as though nothing were amiss, although such an unfortunate circumstance minutes before a guest from England arrived must surely be stressful for them. He had on many occasions experienced the legendary Newfoundland stoicism—they were, after all, of English descent—and he was impressed by their ability to bear up under trials. These ladies were handling the disaster with marvellous equanimity.

  But then, Ada’s masterpiece appeared before him on the table, its rich, dark gravy bubbling through little fissures in the crust, the steam wafting up like mist in Eden on the day of creation. She ladled it out with her customary aplomb, cutting generous portions of turnip, onions, and huge lumps of dark meat bathed in gravy and cradled in flaky crust. All eyes turned to the good reverend. Would he like to return thanks for God’s great bounty? “With pleasure!” (Surely God would forgive his slight insincerity; after all, he was thankful for the blessing of being at the table with Emily.)

  Taking a tentative first bite, Basil was shocked that anything provided by a bountiful Creator could have such a dreadful flavour. Not only was the flavour dreadful but there was dreadful flavour in such abundance! But the way in which everybody had pounced on it made him wonder if perhaps it was supposed to taste like this.

  “Now some say that seal tastes a lot like turr,” Emily’s mother observed to the parson, “but I find it’s not so strong as turr.”

  “So, turr is stronger, you say? My, my. Well, I can say with certainty that I’ve never tasted anything…quite like this.” He smiled bravely, holding a forkful of pie evidently in need of a destination, but showing no inclination to consign one to it.

  With a sympathetic smile, Emily offered, “It tastes better if you’ve eaten it as a child.”

  “I don’t see how it could taste any better, even if I had eaten it since birth,” he responded, measuring his words with care to avoid posting a debit to the heavenly register. “What exactly are turrs?”

  “The proper name is murre,” Emily replied. “They’re seabirds that congregate around here in winter. They nest on islands offshore. Everybody around here eats them.”

  “If the proper name is murre, then why do you call them turrs?” he asked.

  “I guess for the same reason that dovekies are called bullbirds and seal flipper is called fipper and figgy duff is a pudding made with raisins and not with figs. We seem to have our own word for everything,” Emily chuckled.

  Emily stimulated Basil. He could see across the table an intelligent and beautiful woman who had risen above the colonial culture from which she came and had the wit to see the humour in much of it. He was just the man to rescue her from a life that was beneath her; England was a much more suitable place for her.

  “We even refer to the seal hunt as the seal fishery,” she continued, “even though seals are not fish.”

  “Only in Newfoundland would that happen, I should think,” he observed, enjoying himself enormously, until a slight frown on Jim’s brow prompted him to replace with a neutral expression what probably appeared as a smirk, while noting the need to be more careful with his comments. These Newfoundlanders were an easygoing but sensitive lot.

  “There is a reason, actually,” Emily continued. “The Catholic church declared that a seal is considered a fish so that Catholics could eat seal meat on Fridays. Seals come available during the leanest time of the year, when people’s food supplies are running low. If it were not for seal meat, many people would have nothing to eat at all.”

  “That’s the papists for you,” laughed Basil. “Coming up with that doctrine to begin with and then, when they find it inconvenient, declaring one of God’s creatures to be something it is clearly not.”

  He sensed a slight chill drift over the table. It appeared that members of the Osmond household were more tolerant of other religions than they ought to be. He should have noticed that before.

  Mrs. Osmond defused the situation. “How long has it been since you started ministering at St. Mark’s, Reverend Hudson? It must be three or four months now, is it?”

  “It will be four months next Tuesday.”

  “My, how the time goes,” said Ada. “It seems like only yesterday that we had you for your first meal with us.”

  “Oh, that’s just two months less than I’ve been teaching here,” said Emily.

  “Then, that’s my loss; I should have come earlier,” he smiled, noting a pinkish hue spreading across Emily’s cheeks. A much better reaction to his words.

  “Remind me again; did you come here right from England or were you in St. John’s for a spell?” Ada asked.

  “I travelled from Liverpool to St. John’s on the SS Nova Scotia of the Furness Line. We sailed into a violent tempest not long after we left England, and it stayed with us for most of the journey. I have to confess that I was seasick for much of the trip.”

  “Oh, we know somebody with the Furness Line,” said Jim.

  “Henry Horwood, from Cottle’s Island.”

  “You don’t say,” Basil replied. “He’s one of the officers, is he?”

  “Oh, no, just a crewmember, but he plans to become an officer,” said Jim.

  “Yes, I see. After I spent some time touring St. John’s I took the train to Lewisville—”

  “You must mean Lewisporte,” Emily interrupted.

  “Yes, quite, Lewisporte. From there I intended to take a cruise on one of the ships that sail from there to communities in Notre Dame Bay, but there was ice in the bay so the service had apparently been discontinued for the winter. I was in a bit of a bind until a colleague in Lewisporte provided a horse and sleigh and we had a jolly trip over the ice. And here I am!”

  “You’ve settled in well,” Ada observed.

  “It’s quite an interesting place,” said Basil carefully.

  “It’s a beautiful place,” said Emily.

  “Well, yes.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose one could call it a rugged beauty—”

  “What do you see when you look around, Basil?” she asked, waving her arms expansively as though she were on the stage. “Are you not moved by the cliffs and the wild storms and the trees all leaning in the same direction from the constant winds? I would love to be a painter so I could capture all the wonders that Nature has bestowed on us. I would spend a lifetime learning its moods—sombre in the fog, fitful with its winds, placid with the sun, peaceful with its blanket of snow.”

  “In that case,” Basil ventured with a half-smile, “I get the impression you experience a lot of peace here.”

  “So you find Twillingate to be an interesting place, do you Reverend?” said Ada. “What’s the most interesting thing?”

  “Oh, the accents, I suppose. The old words. I find the propensity to shorten names quite interesting.”

  “You mean like with Daddy, whose name is James but they call him Jim?” Emily asked slyly.

  “Well, no, not like that—”

  “Or my brother, whose name is William, but is known as Bill. You mean there are no Bills in England?”

  “You’re poking fun at me now, Emily. I’m referring to names that don’t normally get shortened, like Myrtle Knight, who is called Myrt, or Clarence Taylor, always called…”

  “Clar!” Ada jumped in.

  “Precisely,” he replied, nodding rhythmically towards her like a choir director.

  “We shorten our words because we have a lot to say so we have to be efficient,�
�� said Emily. “Mama can even talk in shorthand. She shortens ordinary words or leaves some out. Instead of empty you will often hear her say ‘emp’: ‘Emp the garbage, Emily, dear.’ And instead of saying ‘out in the porch’ she leaves out the the and just says ‘out in porch.’”

  “Now Emily, dear, you ought not to make fun; the Bible says you’re supposed to honour your father and your mother.”

  “And I do,” Emily protested half-heartedly, while collecting the plates. “Here, I’ll help you with tea and dessert.”

  Having survived the flipper pie, Basil moved on to Ada’s very English fruit cake topped with a dollop of canned cream that could almost pass for English clotted cream. It came with powerful-looking tea to wash it down, but the tea was accompanied by a sugar bowl instead of the ever-present molasses jar. There was even milk from the cow that the Osmonds shared with the family next door. What an oasis of civilization, he thought, as he watched Ada pour the milk into a dainty china cup and then fill it with tea. He settled back. Sipping tea with ladies was a major part of his calling, and suited his sensibilities very nicely.

  chapter five

  Dinner came to an end and Emily’s mother lured the pair into the parlour, which she had quietly preheated. After an appropriate interval she said something about having to clean up from dinner and absented herself, leaving Emily and Basil alone.

  Hoping to keep the conversation light, Emily said mischievously, “You bore up very well, Basil. It must be the famous stiff upper lip.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” the young minister replied, frowning playfully as he crossed his legs and made himself comfortable.

  “You were very gracious and I appreciate it. Mama’s flipper pie is famous around here and she’s very proud of it. But seal meat is something that takes getting used to.”

  “Well, since we’re being honest I must say that when I entered the house it was not what I had expected. The smell was really quite, quite…”

  “Like burnt rope?” said Emily. “You’d better get used to it because every house you go into for the next month will probably be having seal for supper. And you know they’ll make you sit down and have some. And every one of them will ask you if you’ve ever had it before, even though it’s the only thing being eaten in the whole town.”

  “I’m sure the Lord will give me strength,” he noted. “Emily, tell me, did you enjoy the sermon this morning?”

  She had been expecting the question and had one of her three or four standard replies ready. “Yes, it was very good,” she said. “Our last pastor droned on when he preached, and put us all to sleep. I’m glad you don’t do that. You have a very good delivery.”

  “Thank you, you’re very kind,” he beamed. “And I must compliment you on your excellent accompaniment. I know I can always count on you for top-notch music.”

  “Basil, I’ve been meaning to ask: during dinner you used a word that I thought had disappeared long ago: papists. If you don’t mind my saying so, I was surprised to hear you use a term like that.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is an unkind word. I was out of turn and I’m sorry.”

  “Do you dislike Catholics?”

  “Not at all,” he answered prudently. “The few I know are fine people. I’m just not fond of the chaps in Rome who run things, that’s all.”

  “I hope you don’t think we’re the only people with the truth.”

  “Well, that’s a—”

  “Don’t you think we’re all saying the same thing?”

  “I think we’re all trying to get to the same conclusion,” he replied, “but perhaps we’re all going about it in different ways.”

  “Then why don’t we all get together and have one religion? Wouldn’t that be a lot simpler than having all these churches and all this bad feeling?” There was a slight blush in her cheeks and her eyes flashed. Her energy excited him, even though he would have preferred a less perilous subject.

  “That would be nice,” he replied, “but if the churches all combined into one we wouldn’t need as many clergymen, and I might be out of work and have to return to England. It would be very sad for me to be separated from you.”

  She smiled sweetly, evading the attempt to change the subject to the two of them. “I’m sorry, Basil. I guess I shouldn’t be so serious. It’s just that at church today I was thinking of my brother, Bill. Religious animosity ruined his life, you know.”

  “Dear me,” he said. “In what way?”

  “He was seeing a girl from a community close to here—a lovely girl named Mary Kavanagh. They were very much in love but she was a Catholic. Nobody was happy about their being involved because most people around here don’t believe in mixed marriages. Mama was, of course, dead set against it and Mary’s family was too.

  “It will be three years ago this summer that Mary told Bill she was going to have his baby. Her father was wild when he found out. She had to get married, he said, but she was not marrying any dirty black Protestant. Did you ever hear such talk? So they cast around to find her a husband and came up with a man twice her age, a lazy slob from over on Black Island with the IQ of a louse. It was planned for a week later.

  “Poor Mary was heartsick and Bill was beside himself. They decided to run away to St. John’s and try to find somebody to marry them. He talked my best friend’s brother, Winston, from next door, into taking his father’s motorboat, and together they went to get Mary. Those boats are so noisy you can hear them for miles—putt, putt, putt; you’ll hear lots of them this summer—so they decided to row the boat to Moreton’s Harbour so nobody would notice.

  “They left just after dark, but the wind soon came up and the rowing took twice as long as it should have, and they got there just before dawn. Mary had been waiting for hours. They got her into the boat and off they went, in the bay to Lewisporte to get the train.

  “By now it was almost daylight. Sure enough, somebody saw them as they were rowing out of Moreton’s Harbour. Three boats took after them. They brought Mary back and kept an eye on her until the wedding the next week. There was some fear that she might even take her own life, but that would mean taking her baby’s life, too, and she couldn’t do that. I’ve only been allowed to see my nephew once. He’s the spitting image of Bill. They would have made such a lovely family.”

  Her voice filled with emotion and she stopped. Basil reached to comfort her but she pulled away. “I’m sorry, Basil. I don’t know why I told you all that. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “No, don’t apologize,” he said, reaching across and taking her hand. “What an unfortunate story. What happened to your brother?”

  “He tried to see Mary’s father before they married her off to tell him he was willing to turn Catholic, but her father…why are you scowling like that?” she asked, pulling her hand away.

  “Was I? I’m sorry; I didn’t realize—”

  “Well, Mama did her share of frowning, too. There was no way of pleasing everybody. Poor Bill. He stayed in Halifax after he finished college. He’s a doctor there now. He vows he will never marry. We always hoped he would come back and work in the hospital but I don’t expect that to ever happen.”

  “Did this experience affect your faith?” he asked.

  “Of course it did. I prayed and prayed that things would work out for poor Bill and Mary. But the wedding took place and now she’s married to that fat pig, and Bill has still not gotten over it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never comes back home. He’s my only brother and I have no sisters so we were quite close growing up. I miss him terribly.”

  “I get the feeling you might be blaming God for this misfortune?” Basil said softly.

  “I still haven’t worked out all the whys and wherefores in my mind. I don’t suppose I ever will.”

  “Perhaps I can help you,” he said, as he gently took her hand in his. “I’m in the business, you know.” She smiled faintly. “You’re faithfully at church every Sunday. I’m glad to see you haven’t forsaken your duty
in that regard.”

  “Don’t give me too much credit. I play the organ because I like music and I teach Sunday school because I like children and they need somebody to do it… and now I’m even entertaining the minister at home,” she replied with a wry smile.

  “And I’m glad you are,” said Basil, stroking her hand lightly.

  “I think the fire needs a poke,” she said, seizing the opportunity to tend the stove.

  “It’s good that you’re still saved; that’s the main thing,” Basil consoled her. “And what of Bill? Is he still attending church?”

  “I have no idea. I doubt it,” she said, as she hung the poker by the stove. “Is that all you care about—who’s going to church and who isn’t?”

  Basil winced. “I…I…”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. Basil stopped himself from making the situation worse. He stood and gently touched her shoulder. “Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry. That was very thoughtless of me to speak like that, especially about your only brother. Please forgive me.”

  Emily continued to look down. “I’m sorry, Basil; it wasn’t you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. All these memories about Bill, I suppose.”

  Moving closer and putting his arm around her shoulder he repeated, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. Will you forgive me, Emily?”

  She nodded, saying nothing. He drew her closer, placed his forefinger under her chin and gently turned her face upwards towards his. He wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Emily, my darling, you must know how I feel about you. You are the most enchanting woman I have ever known. I love you, Emily.”

  He kissed her softly and held her in his arms. She did not resist. She closed her eyes and leaned against him as he stroked her hair, letting his words soak in, unsure of what to do or say next.

  There was a long silence, and then she said quietly, “Yes, I’m still sove.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  Emily raised her head from his shoulder. “Sove—the past tense of save,” she said with a playful grin. “If you’re going to get along with your flock, Basil, it’s time you started learning and using the local language.”