No Safe Anchorage

by Liz Macrae Shaw

  “His ship’s left harbor now,” Spring Thaw said, touching Tom’s hand.

  “Who is he? Iain asked.

  “We served together. And hated each other.”

  “We thought he might come snooping around,” Iain said, “I kept watch at night with my rifle loaded.”

  Tom was trying to round up his stampeding thoughts. “What we don’t know is whether he came intending to hunt me down. Or did he meet Mrs. MacKenzie by chance?”

  “She would have put out a line like she does for every stranger,” Spring Thaw said.” She’s still after a husband for her second daughter.”

  “You’re right,” Tom answered, letting his shoulders drop.

  “She likes to cause trouble. Surely if Rogers had really come to arrest me, he wouldn’t have given up so easily?”

  “And if he had come here, I’d have shot him,” Iain said, in a cold voice that disturbed Tom much more than any shouting would have done.

  “Well, he’s left and what evidence did he have? I’m not the only man in the world with pale hair.”

  Spring Thaw smiled and rocked her son who had fallen asleep on her lap, but her eyes were shadowed. Tom looked at Iain’s grim face and there was no comfort there either.

  Chapter 42

  Cape Breton Island, Winter 1866

  There was nothing for it but to carry on with life as usual. The long hibernation was soon upon them. Tom asked at the docks about the naval vessel and was told that it was a survey ship mapping the eastern seaboard. It had steamed south for the winter. That suggested that Rogers’ meeting with Mrs. MacKenzie was only bad luck. She of course had taken the opportunity to hole him beneath the waterline. But was the ship due to return north again in the spring? He must ask Emma and see what she could find out. It was odd that she hadn’t written. He had expected to find a letter on his return. Probably some shipping delay. Iain wanted a chance to use his new horse sleigh. So he traveled to Sydney to see if there were any letters waiting collection at the post office.

  “Any news?” Tom called out, as he heard the door open.

  There was no reply until Iain had removed his coat and boots.

  “This arrived for you,” he said, holding out an envelope.

  Tom took it eagerly and then almost dropped it. It was bordered in black ink. Tearing it open he was at first too shocked to take in what was written. For a terrible moment he had thought that it was Emma who had died but then he recognized her handwriting on the envelope. His eyes sprinted backward and forward, picking up phrases here and there.

  Outbreak of typhoid fever at the workhouse and the poor parts of town … Fred determined to do his duty … worst of it over and he came home to rest, exhausted but in good spirits … dead within hours. Rest of us became ill, Thomas the worst afflicted … once he was over the crisis, Sophie delirious … never regained consciousness. I don’t know why God spared me and sometimes I wish He hadn’t but I have to keep struggling on for the sake of my son.

  Tom stayed sitting and looking out of the window, the letter crushed in his hand. He remembered when Emma had screwed up his drawing in that hotel in Liverpool. That seemed so many years ago now. While his mind was tormented about fears that might never happen, Emma’s worst imaginings had struck her down. How could he reply? He couldn’t bear to suggest the consolation of religion when he no longer believed himself. What could he offer?

  Then a few days later he woke in the middle of the night, bathed in a cold sweat. He had been dreaming about Rogers arriving on his doorstep with a group of sailors. He had that infuriating, smug grin on his face as he raised his hand, crooking his forefinger to summon Tom. A wave of relief washed over him that it was only a dream. But he couldn’t throw off the undertow of unease. Then another thought, like the seventh wave, the strongest one, engulfed him. What if the dream was a premonition? He stayed still until the tides of panic receded, leaving furrowed rows imprinted in the sand. He had no way of finding out what Rogers planned to do. Should he leave his life behind and disappear into the wilderness for good? But he feared that Iain would act rashly if he ever came across Rogers. Would Spring Thaw be able to curb his rage? Tom got up and paced the room, tugging his hair in his torment. Finally he sat down and wrote:

  My Dearest Emma,

  I’ve just received your letter with its tragic news. I wish I was nearer so that I could offer you help in your ordeal. What can I say? How can we make sense of the deaths of two blameless people? Frederick selflessly devoted himself to caring for the sick and your daughter was just setting out in life. I didn’t know her, but if she had only a fraction of the virtues of her parents she would have become a remarkable woman. If you have Christian beliefs, I hope that they will sustain you through your grief.

  You have accused me, rightly, in the past of being selfish. I am going to make a suggestion for the future that I believe could greatly benefit both of us. It might be that it is too soon for you to consider what I’m proposing, but I hope that you won’t reject it. When last I wrote to you I was full of plans and projects. Since then a shadow has fallen on them that I can explain more fully later. It may be that I’m unduly anxious, but I want to protect my family and I believe that is best achieved by my absence, at least for a while. I would use my time traveling more extensively in the wilder parts of Canada, photographing the natives.

  Iain and Spring Thaw are trustworthy and industrious but still too young to be fully responsible for both the photographic work and the farm. I need someone older and wiser who can keep everything on an even keel. Even better would be someone who has a keen interest in photography. The right person would of course be well recompensed. Can you think of a suitable candidate? I can think of no one better than yourself. Canada is a more progressive country than England. It’s not considered outlandish for a lady to be proficient in business. Thomas of course would be very welcome if he chose to accompany you.

  I don’t minimize the magnitude of this change for you. If you wished you could come over for a period of time and see if the arrangement suited you before making a final decision.

  I await your reply with bated breath,

  Your Loving Brother,

  Tom

  Chapter 43

  Cape Breton Island, Summer 1866

  Tom didn’t need to wait for too long. Emma’s reply came within a month. He weighed the envelope in his hand. It felt substantial. He took this as a good omen as surely a negative answer would be shorter. With a deep breath he tore it open:

  My Dearest Brother,

  Your idea shocked me at first, but I did as you asked and didn’t reject it out of hand. I let it roost quietly in my mind and grew used to its presence there. On purely monetary grounds the notion has much to recommend it. Although Fred was a respected doctor he did not, like some physicians, spend his time cultivating wealthy patients. As a result he left me, not penniless but in somewhat straitened circumstances. Fortunately, his brother has taken on the responsibility of paying for Thomas’s education.

  However, money is not of course the only consideration. The more I turned your offer over in my hand the more it glistened. As you know, I’ve long felt constricted as an “amateur lady photographer.” How marvelous it would be if I were respected as a professional and paid for my skills.

  I wrestled with the idea that I was being selfish in pursuing my own desires. When I broached the subject with Thomas, he was quite adamant that he had no wish to accompany me. He wants to complete his schooling. He can stay with his uncle in the holidays and seems happy at the prospect of so doing. I still worried that I was neglecting my maternal duties in leaving him. Then one day when I was thinking about Sophie, I wondered what she would say about my dilemma. I was determined that she should have a proper education and study subjects like Latin that were denied to me. Fred was amused and puzzled by my insistence on this subject, but he put no obstacles in my way. I wanted her to have choices about the direction her life would follow. Her life was cruelly snatched a
way before she could make those choices but she was a clear-sighted girl and would probably have said, “Mother, why are you denying yourself the opportunities you would want me to have?” So, my mind is made up and I shall join you in this brave new world. I’ve booked myself a passage in May on ‘The Aurora.’

  Your dearest sister,

  Emma

  Tom was overjoyed. He could prepare for the longed-for expedition. Emma would need time to settle in, of course, before he left. But what about Silent Owl? Would he be willing to leave his family for a trip of a year or more? He frowned when Tom told him of his plans.

  “I still say they would kill us both, as slowly as they can.”

  “It will be safe enough if we meet the Indians at a trading post.”

  “If they’re at a trading post, they won’t be the free men you’re after.”

  But the next day he came up to Tom, grinning wolfishly, “I’ll do this for you, to stop you wandering off on your own and getting yourself killed.”

  Tom accepted without question. He didn’t want to risk scuttling his chances by asking Silent Owl why he had changed his mind.

  Emma arrived. She was as resolute as Tom remembered although more gaunt. All the ballast that had settled on her hips had melted away. Her coming acted like a drawstring to the rest of them, pulling them into shape. She poured all her energies into being neighborly. Cakes were baked, acquaintances invited, and their advice sought on local customs. Knowing how people like to be consulted and deferred to, she sought their help in understanding Gaelic, growing vegetables, or asking for their recipes for scones. Sometimes he would snatch a glance of her face in repose and see the markers of grief, the hollows gouged into her cheeks, and the bleakness in her eyes. But she kept her sadness to herself. She was hospitable and friendly, more acceptable to the neighbors than the rest of them. Tom knew he was considered to be aloof while Iain came from suspect stock and was quick-tempered. Spring Thaw was only a native and one who refused to show the submissiveness expected of an Indian, especially a female one.

  “Don’t give too much away. Gossip spreads like a forest fire,” Tom warned her.

  “Watch me. I listen carefully and pretend an interest in their doings, even if I don’t feel it. It’s what’s expected of women. Remember your story about the smugglers’ boat that was hidden in plain sight? That’s what I’m doing.”

  In the end, even Mrs. MacKenzie couldn’t hold out from visiting them.

  “Ah, there’s the new baby,” she cooed over Fawn’s cradle. “Darker than her brother, isn’t she? She looks so Indian.”

  Spring Thaw’s eyes smouldered as she scooped up the baby but Emma replied, “She’s a wee angel. So contented. Now tell me about how your family are faring.”

  So Mrs. MacKenzie did that, at some length. When she had finally stopped, she looked hard at Emma. Then she seemed to come to a decision,

  “You’ve not heard about old Mistress MacLean’s funeral?” she asked.

  Emma shook her head. “I’ve not heard of any MacLeans staying near us.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t. They all moved down to Sydney but the cailleach always said that she wanted to be buried in her parents’ grave lot. So her neighbors agreed to carry her coffin the twenty miles or so.”

  “That was good of them.”

  “Hmm. Well some of these neighbors were MacLeods.”

  Emma looked puzzled.

  “MacLeans and MacLeods have never got on.”

  Emma resisted asking why and waited for Mrs. MacKenzie to continue.

  “Well, the eight of them had a dram or two to give them strength before they set out. Then of course they had to keep stopping for a rest.”

  “Yes, indeed. It must have been heavy work.”

  “And each time they stopped, they had another wee sup. And tongues were loosened. One of the MacLeans muttered an old insult about the MacLeods.” She paused and Emma waited again. “A lot of nonsense about the skin of MacLeod’s … er, backside.”

  “Meaning he talked through his bottom? We have similar sayings in England.”

  “Do you? Well, words led to blows. Then they dusted themselves down, picked up the coffin and staggered on up the track until they needed another wee rest.”

  “Did they reach the burial ground in the end?” Emma asked.

  “Aye, when it was almost dark. Most of them were hobbling along by then, bloodied and bruised.”

  “Well, I’m glad they were able to honor the old lady’s wishes.”

  “Hmm. What a disgrace though, having a running battle while they were carrying a coffin. They say they’re going to have to appear before the judge.”

  “Were some of the men badly hurt, then?”

  “Not really, it was more their pride.”

  Emma told the story to the others while they ate that evening.

  “I’ve saved the best for last. Mrs. MacKenzie looked all around us as if someone else might be hidden in the walls before whispering in my ear, ‘We’ve both been married women. So I can tell you.’ I told her that as a doctor’s wife I’m not too easily outraged.”

  “There were a lot of bloodied faces and sore heads but poor Donald MacLeod was badly injured. He was kicked in the fight and his tentacles were damaged, I hear. All swollen up.”

  The others laughed, tears coursing down their cheeks.

  “Well, poor Iain MacLeod. I never knew that he was some kind of merman,” Tom spluttered and started them all howling again.

  When they had quietened down Tom said, “You’re right Emma. We should hold our enemies close.”

  “She’s an object of pity,” his sister replied. “Her elder daughter childless, the younger one a spinster and…”

  “I’ve heard her son haunts the docks after sailors,” Iain added. “Why should we care about her?”

  “Because a wounded animal is dangerous,” said Tom. “Don’t forget we’re outsiders here. Folk are affable enough but they only let us into the porch of their hearts, not close to the fire.”

  The light-hearted mood had been doused. Emma turned the conversation to ideas for increasing business.

  “We need people to order photographs for all their celebrations, weddings, christenings, coming of age.”

  “You’re a wonder, Emma. I’m so pleased you came.” Tom stopped, as her eyes welled up.

  “But I can’t forget what I’ve lost. Still I’m glad to be busy and useful. So many days in my past life time sagged like a line of sodden washing.”

  “Like the tedium of endless days at sea,” Tom acknowledged, but the look of desolation in Emma’s eyes silenced him.

  Chapter 44

  The Prairie, Spring 1868

  Tom and Silent Owl had set off on their long journey westward in the previous summer, across land they didn’t know toward frontier territory. Trappers had penetrated among the Indian bands there, scavengers beyond the reach of the Hudson’s Bay Company, men who paid for buffalo hides with a barrel of rot gut whisky. Tom believed they should seek safety in numbers. They would use the company’s trading forts to punctuate their journey. This meant they could find native guides and sell photographs to the traders and clerks.

  Tom’s burden of fear was still there, but now it had become part of him. No longer an unwieldy load on his back it had grown into his ribs and spine like a tortoise’s shell. And the mystery girl? He had abandoned the stained and creased drawing in a drawer, although he couldn’t bring himself to finally destroy her image. Before setting out he had visited the lawyer to settle his affairs. All he owned was to be shared between Emma, Iain, and Spring Thaw. Mr. MacGregor had shaken his head at such an irregular arrangement, but Tom felt only relief. He knew that he could support himself on what he made as a traveling photographer and any profit would go to help Indian tribes buy land for themselves.

  At Lachine, beyond Montreal, they arrived at the fine stone house built across the river from the canal and warehouse that served as the headquarters of the company. They hi
red a canoe and followed at the tail of a brigade of company boats heading west. Tom and Silent Owl passed unremarked among the voyageurs, French, Scots and Indians, many of them a mixture of all three. By the time they straggled ashore in the evenings on watery legs, the voyageurs had already set up camp.

  “Is this how the mighty English won their battles by bringing up the rear?”

  “No stamina, these east coasters.”

  On they went up the Ottawa River, past Claudiere Falls where the Rideau River plunged down, the water frothing after a fall of sixty feet. Onto Lac des Chats, named after the catlike raccoons who lived there. The exhausting rhythm of paddling and portage continued, past Calumet Island, the rapids of Portage du Fort, Lac des Allumettes with its island, Riviere Creuse and Portage des Joachims. The voyageurs relished pointing out places where men had fallen to their deaths over a towering waterfall or were buried after succumbing to illness or injuries from a fight. Then they turned west up the Petite Riviere, a hard upriver journey before reaching Turtle Portage and the mosquito-plagued marshes beyond. When the torment of the nipping insects had become almost unbearable they saw Lake Nipissing stretching ahead like a mirage. The mosquitos disappeared as they crossed the lake. Next was the north shore of Lake Huron and after three more portages they were smothered in the clammy fogs of Lake Superior.

  After a month’s canoeing they bade farewell to the company men at Fort Garry. The voyagers were heading northward to Fort Alexander and Berens House on the shores of Lake Winnipeg before going on to York Factory. Tom knew that the factory was the main center for exchanging trade goods such as blankets, tools, and guns in return for pelts of beaver, otter, and wolverine. These animals were trapped farther north. So the company had turned its attention to virgin territories to the south and west. It was here that Tom and Silent Owl might find tribes still following their old ways of life.

  Tom couldn’t endure the thought of more traveling by canoe. So they hired horses to ride the six hundred miles along the North Saskatchewan from Fort Garry to Fort Carleton. Finally, they struck out toward the Rockies.