by Paul Almond
At last, I rounded a cape and there on the low promontory, I saw the gathering of snow-covered houses. Among them rose the skeleton of the new church building. Once the weather got warmer, I knew from the locals’ enthusiasm that the building would take shape quickly. The uprights wore jaunty caps of snow perched on interlocking rafters, only now a proud symbol but one day to be inhabited as a house of God. I swelled with pride, even though it had been the Bishop himself who had chosen the spot and the previous pastor, I.N. Kerr, who had done the organizing. Of course, our wonderful lay reader, John Bobbitt, had helped generate the energies poured into all this during the summer.
Faithful Tuck brought me right to the door of John Bobbitt’s large house. I dismounted and walked up onto his house bridge. Would Lorna’s face be at the door to greet me?
I knocked.
I glanced back at my dogs, tongues hanging out after the pull up the hill, waiting patiently. Behind me I heard the door open and whirled.
John Bobbitt held out his hand. “Mr. John, welcome! It’s good to ’ave you back. They’ll all be pleased to know you’re safe after that big trip o’ yours.”
I went inside and he put on a kettle for tea. I was dying to ask about Lorna, but John kept up a babble of information, until finally, I discovered that Lorna had only stayed three or four days. “But when she left ’arrington, this ’ere house was as spic and span as when my wife lived in it, if not even cleaner.”
I smiled. “She’s quite a worker, our Lorna.”
“That she is. We got the best of the bargain, Mr. John, when you went to rescue ’er from that there schooner.” But then John let it drop that Phil Vatcher had come over on business, and the minute he had arrived, had called in. Because the house was spotless, John had suggested Lorna return with him and the next day, off she had gone in Phillip’s komatik.
That news gave me quite a jolt.
But again, I just had to put it aside for I knew very well I had no great call upon her attentions. I did, however, want to get to Mutton Bay and see her as quickly as possible. So many disturbing questions popped into my mind. But now, Wednesday, I would have to wait for my Sunday services: Holy Communion in the morning and Vespers at night.
After I had unloaded the komatik and gotten through the various arrangements necessary at the end of my long trip, I came upon the idea of holding a sunset service in the skeleton of the church. It would help also get my mind off Lorna.
And so we did, the next night: a most beautiful evensong out on simple flooring that had been swept clear of snow. We prayed in the gentle breeze, a glorious sun throwing its crimson rays from under dark layers of cloud over these snow-covered capes. A couple of quite strong voices led us in hymns of praise and thanksgiving. I concluded with the “Song of Simeon”:
Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word;
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people:
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles, and to be the glory of thy people Israel.
And then I myself sang the lovely antiphon:
Guide us waking, O Lord,
and guard us sleeping;
that awake we may watch with Christ,
and asleep we may rest in peace.
A perfect way to end the service I thought, and a couple of parishioners even commented on it, too.
I found it odd that the builder who had done so much groundwork on the structure did not attend this service, and I inquired after him from our church warden. John Bobbitt hesitated in his reply and not until I spoke to his cousin Dan Bobbitt, the husband of our tireless Sunday School teacher, did I find out the truth. The builder, Levi Wright, had been insisting that the church was higher, or taller, than need be, making it hard to heat in winter. He had proposed lowering the ceiling, which would make it cheaper and more comfortable in winter. Not from here, Dan had come over to lend his expertise. On the other hand, John Bobbitt had opted, quite rightly in my opinion, for the usual proportions that had turned out such a nice church in Mutton Bay the year previously: this conflict I saw now needed solving.
If it were not one thing, it would most certainly be another.
The next afternoon after a splendid dinner of murre stew made by his daughter, John and I received the builder, Levi Wright, whom I hadn’t met. With his prominent nose, bright eyes, and tuft of hair, he looked to me like a squirrel: a small man, strong as iron apparently, who knew his carpentry better than anyone around. John by contrast was tall and also lean, but in spite of his size had a gentle voice — I often had to lean forward to hear him, a noble-looking man, both in spirit and in body.
They both knew why I’d asked them to come, and began by defending their positions on the height of the church rather too vigorously. I got up and went out to the stove to get a teapot and cups. I needed time to think.
When I came back, I found them having happily diverted their argument into a discussion of ghosts. Not the subject, I assured them, for churchgoers. But I was curious, of course. Often the subject of the phantom ship had been broached on the Gaspé Coast.
“Well if you wanna talk about ghosts,” Levi said, “here’s the man knows more about them than anyone. He’s a great believer in tokens and phantoms.”
My interest quickened. “You John? A man of the church?”
“Well sir, it isn’t exactly that. It’s this ’ere boat I lost.”
“Called the Flying Dutchman,” said Levi, “after that there famous boat.” We all knew the legend of the ghost ship that could never make port, being doomed to sail the oceans forever. “Now after he’d lost it, ’twas seen all over the gulf at different times, oh yis yis yis.”
“You lost a boat?” I asked John. “How so?”
“Well sir, I bought this here boat in Sydney and I’s trying to take it back to Newfoundland. Bless my soul if I couldn’t find not a single man to accompany me. So I said to m’self, all right, I’ll sail ’er alone. And sail ’er across I did. But it was a long trip. And at one point, the sea got up rough, so I lashed the wheel tight, went below, and Lord ’a mercy, didn’t she run onto one o’ them shoals?”
“Oh heavens, John, what did you do?”
“Well, finally, I had to jump off, fer she was lost, fer sure. I knew how to swim, not far to the island there, you know, Levi?”
“Yes sir,” Levi went on, “but that ship, she’s seen all over, fall of the year or spring after the ice opens — whenever the weather’s bad, she’s seen in a storm or in a fog, sailing along with a ghostly figure at the ’elm. Everyone knows the story of John Bobbitt’s Flying Dutchman. Everyone on the Canadian Labrador, oh yis yis yis.” He slapped John on the shoulder.
“Maybe so, maybe so,” John said, “but I sure wish I had ’er back. And that there light was seen many times, I heard, up by Shecatica Island.”
“Was it,” I asked, “like a burning ship? We have a phantom ship in Chaleur Bay often seen from land by quite a few people. Never seen it myself, though.”
“No, this weren’t no burning ship. Just a round globe, like a puncheon.”
Well now, better face the main issue.... “Gentleman, here’s what I think. I hope you won’t mind, Levi, but I do want the church to be of a decent size. I don’t think —” I held up my hand to forestall his argument, “I don’t think the community here would like to have a little runt of a church which could be the laughingstock of the Canadian Labrador.
“You see, Levi,” I went on quickly, “what John hasn’t explained: there are pretty sound geometrical reasons for the proportions of the Mutton Bay church, and indeed most of the Anglican churches across our country. So would it not be a mistake for this noble community to find itself with a church that doesn’t match any other?”
They were both silent, polite. I waited. The onslaught would surely come. And how would I deal with that?
Well, Levi was the first to agree. He began nodding to himself. “I was just trying to sa
ve yez some money in the winter. But now that you say that, Mr. John, I’ll be behind ya one ’undred percent. And that’s the proportions I’ll build ’er to, whatever John ’ere wants, John o’ the Flying Dutchman!” He laughed and slapped John on the shoulder. And thus it was resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.
Sunday dawned, a lovely day, unusually hot. The glass rose above freezing, and the eaves and roofs of the houses began to drip with spring runoff.
“Do you think spring’s on its way already?” I asked my host.
“No sir, just a real warm spell, often lasts two to three days, and if it goes on tomorrow and Tuesday, I’d counsel you not to try and make it through that slush toward Mutton Bay. You’ll have to wait till she freezes over again.”
My heart sank. More waiting before I could get to see my Lorna. My Lorna? What was I thinking? Indeed, wasn’t she just a good friend? Why on earth should I want to rush back home and see her? I put such desires firmly out of my mind.
“We’ll have to get shoes for your dogs, o’ course,” said John. “If she freezes over, that ice there, it’ll cut their feet good. I’ll see if someone I know has pairs for ’is team that ’e could lend you, and you could send ’em back by the next komatik.”
Shoes for dogs? I’d never heard of such a thing. Of course, in the deep snow in the winter, there was no need. But now, with sharp, cutting surfaces of ice that followed a freeze-up, I had better do as I was told. For I wanted nothing to go wrong on this last stage of my journey.
Chapter Seventeen
“There’s a letter for ya, our post fella Joseph Hébert brought it last week.”
Could it be from Lorna? I’d just taken off all my outer things. Aunt Minnie had been delighted by my arrival: she and Lorna had been worried with me being away so long. Anxiously, I went across to the sideboard. “So Lorna’s out working all the time these days?”
“Oh yis yis yis. That Phillip Vatcher, he keeps ’er busy with his two kids. And she helps Captain Blais with ’is store, she never stops.” I looked up. Was I hearing that correctly? She was working now at Phillip Vatcher’s? Aunt Minnie must’ve caught my look. “Oh yis, but she makes sure I’m well looked after ’ere, don’t worry about that. The ’ouse is spic and span as ever was. I don’t know ’ow she does it all.” Off she went into her room.
I took the letter over to the table by the stove, shivering with apprehension, or was it because I was still chilled from the journey, though it had been a lovely crossing from Harrington Harbour. The crackling sounds of the runners on the newly frozen crust of ice had been delightful. The six dogs, knowing we were getting close to home, needed no encouragement — they had fairly sped along. Out on the open plain of the gulf, the most inspiring landscape imaginable, I knew that to many it might look just forbidding, desolate, cold, and sterile, but I drew from it a strength, an awareness of my own self and my companionship with those trusty dogs.
At the same time, I had been possessed of a fierce loneliness, a longing for a companion, well not any companion, only my laughing Lorna. How lovely it would be to see her again! I had banished thoughts of other suitors, just dwelling on our trip together to Harrington Harbour, and how much fun we’d had. As we had then sped along, I allowed myself to revel in the vast space that surrounded us, that great arc of pale immensity above, and to my right, some distant tumble of clouds romping about the horizon. The crisp wind had kept me alert, not freezing as previous gales that had so often bitten at my nose and cheeks. And now, the end of March, spring breakup was close at hand.
I took the letter and opened it: my father’s writing.
Was I delighted, or let down? I turned the envelope over. Amazing how the system works now: my father told me that in early days, they had no such thing as stamps. And then, when he’d written from Montreal, it had been costly, no universal postal system in action. And now, a letter from Gaspé to here only cost one cent.
Dear John,
You’ll be pleased to know you got a baby brother, Eric we call him. He’s got all his fingers and toes, and seems a smart little fella. I fear he’ll be the last, so we’re all mighty happy. Born at Christmastime, so he might even follow in your footsteps. Clare and Mack are doing a fine job of farming.
He went on to describe in a short paragraph how well the sisters were, how everyone was faring, that Lillian was off studying with a view to becoming a teacher.
I was delighted at the news of little Eric. But a thought struck me: Lillian might even enjoy, as her first job, accompanying me next year to these shores, were I to continue, as is normal with a new deacon. In the summer, I expected to be ordained into full priesthood, and so in charge of the parish. It would partially fall to me to find teachers. Oh yes, Lillian would be ideal, and what fun we’d have together.
I was just folding the letter when the door burst open, and there stood Lorna. I got up quickly. She shut the door. We looked at each other. What a shock — no dream on my wilderness trip came close to her actual reality. I rushed over and clasped her tightly. She responded, after a second or two, and we clung together as in the old days.
As we broke apart, I noticed she wasn’t looking me in the face. She didn’t take off her coat. “Someone saw you coming home. When they told me, I threw on my coat and rushed out. I thought the two girls would be all right for a few minutes while I came to say hello.”
“Dearest Lorna, you look... you just look... wonderful.”
“Not so wonderful that you couldn’t have come to see me first?”
“What do you mean, at the Vatchers’? I’ve just walked in, taken off my coat and read this letter from the family. I have a new little brother.”
“Oh. That’s splendid. What’s his name?”
“Eric.”
“I had a letter, too. From my family. They are hoping I’ll come back in the summer.” She glanced at me.
I looked back. “That’s a good idea. They must be missing you. Although I have no doubt that Frank, my friend from the schooner, would have brought news of your safe escape when he returned to Nova Scotia.”
She nodded. “They did hear about it. And he told them about you.” She relaxed somewhat, staring at me the while for my response. “Did Aunt Minnie give you of a cup of tea?”
“I’ve just biled the kittle,” Aunt Minnie called, coming out of her room. I don’t know if she’d gone in there to be discreet.
“Well, I’d best be getting back. I cannot wait to hear all your news, Jack,” she said and looked me full in the face.
Those large eyes. What they did to me! They made the bottom drop out of my stomach. She threw on her coat. “I’ll be back for supper,” she said, “and I shan’t go out again.”
“You work after supper as well?”
She nodded. “I usually get the children into bed, for Phillip.” She turned and out the door she went.
I walked back to the table and sat quietly while Aunt Minnie poured me a good cup of tea, and put it front of me a fine slice of homemade molasses and raisin bread. I had a deal to absorb from this brief encounter.
My return gave me unbounded energy. After I finished my tea, I went off to see my church wardens. Thomas Bobbitt had gone off hunting back behind, but Thomas Buffett was at home and in fine form. He told me that the services had been going well in my absence, though not as well attended as when I was here. Everyone had been eagerly awaiting my return and there’d be a good turnout on Sunday. I inquired also after Clayton, teaching in my stead over in Tabacher. I resolved to take a run there in the morning, and perhaps even have a service this Sunday. I needed to set up my own teaching schedule for April and May and perhaps even into June when the waters would finally open up. Then Gene and I could sail once again the length of the parish in the mission boat. I also dropped in at the house of Mrs. Stiles, whose child had developed whooping cough and might be taken from her sooner rather than later. I prayed with her and got back in time for our supper, to find Lorna busily making a splendid meal for my return.
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She and Aunt Minnie were gossiping gaily, Lorna laughing, teasing her landlady as they worked. I wondered if her happiness was due to her afternoon with Phillip, or to my return. Well, I would find out soon enough.
“What are you girls cooking up?” I asked.
“Never you mind!” Lorna exclaimed delightfully. “You’ll see soon enough. Could be one of your favourite suppers...”
I loved to see Lorna in this good mood. I went to clean up and came back to sit. Lorna brought over our food and the three of us bowed our heads as I said grace. So much to tell of my trip, but I preferred first to hear news of the village. Aunt Minnie proceeded to give it in great detail, nothing of great import, but I loved it — almost like hearing about my own family in Shigawake. For the moment, I felt well and truly home.
I told them something of the brighter events during the trip, but I resolved I would keep the more frightening aspects for Lorna’s ears afterwards. Once we had eaten and I had helped clear up, Aunt Minnie professed she was tired and retired to her room. I wondered if she was leaving us to talk, grateful for her probable discretion.
“I’m worried about the Vatcher children,” I mentioned to Lorna. “Perhaps you should now go and see to them.” I suppose, like some ridiculously jealous suitor, I was testing her.
“Jack, the children can be looked after by their father this once. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you come first.” She glanced at me, and then down at her cup of tea, and proceeded to take a sip, obviously waiting for me to respond to the hint.
“Well, my dear Lorna, I did miss you, but so much happened while I was away. On a couple of occasions, I even thought we might never see each other again, for such were the disasters that befell me. One night a storm pursued us across an open bay, and I genuinely feared for my life.”
She looked up in alarm. “Oh dear Jack, should I be hearing all this?”
