by Bob Chaulk
Loud cheering and yelling from the other side told Jackie that the other men could see him better. “Over here; this way!”
Just then the dark form Jackie had been following disappeared and there was a splash. For a moment everybody went quiet. “Where is he?” someone said.
Then came the sound of frantic splashing and a chorus of voices declared, “There ’e is! This way, over here!”
“He’s not movin’,” another voice yelled. “Get the snowshoes off!”
“He’s tangled up in them. He can’t kick his feet,” another said, as a splash indicated somebody else must have jumped into the water.
“Is that blood? He must have banged his head.”
“Hit some ice when he fell, I guess.”
“Here, grab the gaff, Darmy,” a new voice rang out.
“It’s Simeon!” Jackie cried. “He’ll get ’im out.”
“Hold him up, Lou. Grab the gaff; it’s right in front of you, there,” Simeon’s earnest voice yelled. “Hold on, Darmy, hang on, b’y.”
Another voice ordered, “Here, b’ys, grab a hold of Simeon’s legs before they hauls ’im in. We got ya now, Simeon.”
Jackie and Henry stood helpless, their eyes straining into the darkness as they tried to make some sense of the grunting and splashing noises.
“Tha’s it, Simeon. Now he’s comin’. Jumpin’! He weighs a ton!
Can you get them snowshoes off him, Lou? Lou, you okay?”
More silence.
“Okay, now, pull. That’s it. And again. Okay, we got him. All right, quick now, let’s get Lou out.”
There was more commotion and then all was quiet for a few minutes. Just a few hushed voices were speaking, but it sounded like somebody was trying to find dry garments for Lou.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” said Henry.
“No.” Jackie whispered.
Finally, Henry yelled, “What’s goin’ on over there?”
Nobody answered for what seemed an eternity. Then a grim voice answered, “Looks like Darmy didn’t make it. He’s unconscious and we think he might be gone.”
“Oh, my God!” Henry whispered. Not good old Darmy. It couldn’t be. He was practically family; a godchild to Simeon and Sadie. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t like him. He couldn’t be dead. Simeon must be heartbroken.
He removed his cap out of respect. “Simeon,” he called.
His uncle was all business. “Did you follow the swatch along? Are you positive there’s no way off?” he yelled, with something approaching anger in his voice.
“I went maybe a gunshot or more in both directions and couldn’t find any way off of it. It’s hard to to be sure in the dark, of course.” He wished he hadn’t said that. What if there really was a way over? Darmy would have died for nothing and it would have been Henry’s fault.
“Well, I ’spect most of this crowd will head for Horse Islands,” Simeon replied. “There’s a wireless station there, so we’ll get a message out and there’ll be a rescue coming pretty soon. Ashbournes might be able to get the Bessie Marie out of Twillingate, and the other sealing vessels will be up here for sure when they get the news. You’ll have to spend a night or two out, but they’ll find you before too long.”
“Don’t worry about us,” he said, stinging from the tone in Simeon’s voice. He suddenly felt a compelling desire not to be a bother to anybody. “We’ll probably find a way off in the morning and see you on the Horse Islands in time for dinner tomorrow.”
“Okay then. We’ll see you later, there, John Gould,” Simeon yelled, making an effort to sound as buoyant as he could for Jackie’s sake. Then, to nobody in particular he muttered, “I gave Henry more credit than that. How in hell did they get into that mess? And now there’s Darmy gone. God help us.”
chapter twenty-one
“More tea, Reverend?”
“Thank you, yes, I believe I will; and I’ll have another piece of that wonderful fruit cake if you don’t mind. I understand you baked it, Sadie.”
“I did,” she said as she passed the plate. “I’m pleased you like it.”
“I understand from Mrs. Osmond that your husband has gone to the seal hunt.”
“Yes. He’s on the Viking along with my two sons, Bertram and Alfred.”
“I see. And are you in that big house all alone in this dreadful weather?”
“No, my other son, Winston, is with me. He don’t go sealing anymore; he’s not much for killing things…”
A rare individual, Basil thought. “Would that be Wints?” he asked.
“Yes, Wints, for short. And Olive, his sister, is not far away. She comes over almost every day with her little girl.”
“A granddaughter. How nice.”
The Osmond parlour was cozy as Basil relaxed at the end of his longest and busiest workday, having handled the usual two services, a baptism and three hospital visits. He was enjoying getting to know Gennie a little better, but what he thought would be a pleasant lunch at Ada’s, immersed in praise about his sermon, had turned serious as he learned about Gennie’s health. But, with her dry wit, she seemed to be bearing the news better than anybody else at the table.
In a manner of speaking he was still working, but sipping tea while being the centre of attention was one of the more satisfying of his duties. The five wicks of the small kerosene chandelier cast a golden glow over the ten people seated stiffly in the room. He smiled at the sight of the men, mostly silent, all uncomfortable in their collars and ties; Sunday was far from being the favourite day for most of them. The women, on the other hand, were glad for the opportunity to dress up; they always enjoyed church with its spiritual emphasis and with everybody being on their best behaviour. The conversation was polite and careful, with the women catching up on what was suitable to discuss with the minister present. As usual, Basil was obliging the ladies with talk of England, royalty and the like—when Sadie gave him a chance.
Emily was no longer focusing on the conversation. A feeling of cold dread had just come over her, taking her back nearly ten years to a premonition she had had just before her uncle Bill and her cousin Bruce had drowned off High Grego Island. She had felt a terrible foreboding and learned later it was at that very moment their boat had swamped in a September gale.
Emily was so absorbed with the vivid emotion that she had not noticed when, one by one, the guests had drifted into the kitchen and departed—all except Basil, that is. Having bid everybody goodnight, Emily’s mother returned and discreetly closed the parlour door, leaving them alone. Through the glass windows in the small parlour stove the coals glowed a mellow orange. The light continued to fade as the chandelier burned low. Emily’s eyes were lowered and she was deep in thought. Basil gazed at her with a look of enchantment on his face. She always looked beautiful to him, but today, with the blue and white dress that she wore on Sundays and her hair tied up with a matching ribbon, she was irresistible. He moved to sit next to her on the settee. He loosened his collar and took her hand in his as she drifted back.
She smiled at him and looked around. “Everybody’s gone?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“I’m sorry, Basil, my mind got distracted for a moment.”
“What were you thinking about, my dear?”
“Oh, nothing important.”
“Well, I’ve just been thinking how beautiful you are when you’re deep in thought.”
She felt a flutter in her chest and warmth rising in her cheeks.
“Emily…have you ever thought about marriage?”
Now he had her complete attention. “Why do you ask?” she stalled, collecting her thoughts.
“Well, it is what men and women do when they’re in love.”
“Do they now?” she responded playfully.
“Yes, they do,” he said, “and I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately. Emily, I’ve told you how I feel about you.”
“Yes, Basil, I—”
“And I know you care for me
Emily, even though you may not have said it in so many words. But, I hope that you’ll come to love me, too.” He turned to face her. “A man needs a wife and companion to take care of him, and you would be an excellent partner for me in my ministry.”
“What a romantic you are, Basil,” she said.
He looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure I’m able to make the sacrifices that people expect from the wife of a pastor. I don’t know if I’m the right person for that kind of life.”
“I believe that God has brought us together Emily, to work as a team for Him in this life and for all of eternity,” he countered.
She said nothing.
“Don’t you want to be in the will of God?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I’m not very good at discerning what the will of God is, Basil,” she replied, trying desperately to avoid being drawn into a discussion for which she felt ill-equipped. “Perhaps we should talk about this some other time, when I’m less tired.”
He would not be dismissed. “I’m a good observer of people,” he said airily. “You’re a teacher, and a good one; and you have more than your share of musical talent. You’re great with the older people at church; you’re so caring and compassionate towards them; and I’ve been noticing how you handle those young people in Sunday School. You have a gift, you know.”
She laughed. “I see; I have a gift.”
“Don’t laugh; you do. And you’re not like these people around here. You’re in a different class, you’re better educated and well-spoken. You have so much potential to serve alongside a pastor.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Basil.”
“Once you learned more about the culture and manners of England, I believe you would fit in very well,” he declared.
“I think my manners are just fine as they are, thank you, and I fit in very well where I am!” she said, her dark eyes revealing her rising irritation. “By the way, what’s this talk about England? It sounds like you’re getting fed up with us. Are you thinking about going back?”
“Well, I…I would certainly like to,” he stammered, trying to avoid her gaze.
“You would! When?”
“Soon, I hope, but I haven’t quite worked the details out just yet.”
“But you just got here.”
“Well, yes, I know that, but I’m missing England dreadfully. I miss the beautiful spring we have there. Do you realize that right now in England there are flowers blooming while this place is so bleak. I’ve had my fill of this dreadful snow.”
“But, Basil—”
“I want you to see England, Emily. I know you would love it there. Will you come back with me?” he said, trying to take her in his arms.
Brushing him away, she said, “How can you talk about leaving? Basil, the people here have taken you into their hearts. They think you’re wonderful.”
“Perhaps. But I’m probably the first good preacher they’ve heard. They don’t need somebody with the depth of training that I have.”
“Depth of training has nothing to do with it,” she said. “These people live hard lives with a lot of toil and disappointment, and the men face dreadful dangers just to feed their families. You bring them hope with your preaching. What you said this morning about heaven touched a lot of people. It was beautiful.”
“Well, I’m glad they were touched, but frankly I’m becoming a little bored. I prefer a more sophisticated congregation to challenge me. And, honestly Emily, I’m finding this climate and the isolation hard to bear. Only you make it bearable. If it weren’t for you I don’t know what I’d do.”
He took her in his arms and tried to kiss her but she pulled away from him, unable to hide her disappointment. “I think it’s time for you to go, Basil. I have an early day tomorrow and the morning will arrive quickly.”
“Emily, I know some things may not have come out as I intended. Sometimes when I’m with you my thoughts get jumbled and the words don’t always sound the way I mean them to.”
“Perhaps a good night’s sleep will clear your head,” she said, as she opened the parlour door, “and you’ll be able to express yourself more coherently next time.”
“I know we would be good for one another, Emily. Will you think about what I said?” he begged.
“Okay, Basil, I’ll think about it.” She hustled him down the hall.
As Basil and Ada said good night, Emily returned to the parlour. Her mind was racing. Where had those strange thoughts come from? She tried to convince herself that, with the soothing background chatter and the subdued light and warmth from the stove, she must have nodded off and had a dream. A nightmare would describe it better. She was sure that Simeon and Alf and Bert were in danger. Was there a disaster with one of the ships at the Front? And what about Henry? Was he in danger, too? The whole scene with Basil made her feel strange, just minutes after having such a disturbing premonition about Henry.
Her mother stuck her head into the room. “Your father and I are going to bed, dear. Are you coming soon?”
“You go ahead, Momma. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Oh yes, fine. I’ll be up soon. Good night.”
She sat down again. The fire was nearly out and the lamps had almost consumed their fuel. So, the popular minister from England had proposed to her, after all. She couldn’t help smiling with a small amount of satisfaction. His timing couldn’t have been worse, but that was not his fault. How could he have known what was going on in her head? Accepting his proposal would mean moving to England. She turned that over in her mind. Interesting.
Traipsing home through the snow, Basil pondered Emily’s reaction to his overtures. Maybe he had read her all wrong. He had thought there was a relationship blossoming between them, but she had seemed rather cool towards him this evening. Finding Emily in a place like this was a pleasant surprise for him, especially after getting dumped by Madeline. That recollection caused him to shudder even more than the biting cold, as he heard Madeline’s awful words invade his memory: “arrogant, self-centred, aloof.” He could hear her brushing his arguments aside, declaring she could never marry a clergyman who did not have the heart of a servant—a damning judgment for a man of his calling.
When he saw the ad for the posting to an island off Newfoundland, he had half-heartedly applied for it as an opportunity to win Madeline back. Surely his becoming a missionary would be proof that he had a servant’s heart. It was an impulsive measure and a desperate one. When he was offered the posting he was inclined to say “No thanks,” but then decided to give it a try—it at least saved him from having to see her at church every Sunday.
He had not expected that anyone could replace Madeline in his heart, and certainly not somebody in a place like this, but what a surprise had been awaiting him. Emily had rapidly moved in to fill the hole. And to top it off, not only was she better suited to the role of a pastor’s wife—she was prettier, too.
He hoped he had not been too presumptuous in springing the topic of marriage on her. It was clear she didn’t like to be pushed. Madeline had been the same way. In the future he would be scrupulous in his behaviour, always speaking more kindly, and not uttering a negative word about this place and its people. He had expected them to be well behaved but inferior Englishmen. How wrong he had been! These natives had been away from England for too long; they were practically Americans!
He was barely a quarter of the way through his term, so returning to England was not really an option as long as he remained in the ministry. He was desperately aware that he needed her companionship to get him through the rest of his time here. Pulling his cap down over his ears and peering into the driving snow he felt certain that God had sent her to him in the same way He had sent Eve to Adam. She would be his helpmate. She would come to love him; she simply had to.
chapter twenty-two
The flames devoured until they found no fresh sustenance; the Viking had
burned to the waterline. With the last remnants of heat ebbing away, she could no longer provide shelter from the northern winds, and the cold night closed in on her survivors. The master watches had organized their men and restored some order, helping those who could walk prepare for the long march to the Horse Islands. It looked like at least twenty-five were missing. The three Americans had vanished.
Several men were helping a couple of their injured mates, Fred Best and Alfred Kean, into a dory. Laying them on the floor, they made them as comfortable as possible and then started the backbreaking task of pushing the dory towards the Horse Islands.
One by one, Simeon had gotten his watch together, including his sons. Being one of the oldest men aboard he had seen his share of calamities, but this one capped them all. Some of his men were injured and three were missing. One seventeen-year-old did not want to leave without his father who was still not accounted for, and no amount of coaxing could persuade him to go. Concerned for the safety of the rest of his men, Simeon left him sitting, morose, in the company of some others who were too injured to be moved and a few men who chose to remain with them at the wreck site, hoping for a rescue ship to pick them up.
Simeon looked thankfully at Bert, who at seventeen was his youngest child, and as they set out, he took one last look in the direction of his nephew and the stowaway he hardly knew, but whose quiet confidence he admired. They had disappeared into the blackness and he had received no response the last time he yelled towards them. “God help you,” was now his silent prayer.
Henry and Jackie stood at the edge of their ice floe looking at the pinprick of light that marked the Viking’s final painful minutes. Even though for much of his time aboard he had been uncomfortable and unhappy, Henry could not help feeling an overwhelming sadness for the stalwart old ship. There was no shame in how she was going. She had mastered the ice for fifty years and it had never gotten the better of her. She had certainly paid her dues. At least she was not destined for the wrecker’s yard like so many fine ships that had outlived their usefulness; nor would she suffer the humiliation of living out her last days as a coal hulk, with her proud masts cut off, permanently anchored in a corner of some wretched harbour, forbidden ever again to point her bowsprit at the flat horizon of the ocean. She had been forced to fight a battle she could not win, and in her spectacular death she was certain to be immortalized. Henry wondered if any of them had the grit to prove themselves worthy of her. Would he and Jackie see the morning light? And what about the injured; what would become of them? In the quiet that had descended on them, he thought he could hear their moaning across the water.
