Beginning Again

by Mary Beacock Fryer

  “Martha,” he murmured softly to Mama. “You haven't changed a bit.”

  Mama laughed up at him. “Such flattery! After all these years I know I look older. And you can put away that famous Jackson charm. It doesn't cut any ice with me.”

  “All the same I'd have known you anywhere,” Uncle insisted. “You, too, Caleb,” he added.

  When he turned to shake Papa's hand, he became cool and distant. Cade and Sam took Uncle's bags into the new bedroom while I put the stallion in the stable and gave him a quick rubdown. When I returned to the house, Mama and Uncle William were seated in the parlour. Papa had served our visitor some rum, and Elizabeth was bustling about making tea and setting cakes on a plate. Papa looked woebegone, and Mama's face was set in stubborn lines. I knew my parents were being treated to the same recital Elizabeth and I had already endured.

  Uncle glared at Papa. “How could you bring Martha here?”

  At that Mama sprang to his defence. “This is a new country, William. We came with next to nothing. Caleb has worked his heart out to give us what we now enjoy. Elizabeth and the three eldest boys, too. Do you think the frontiers of New York or Vermont are any more civilized?”

  “Perhaps not,” Uncle argued. “But if only Caleb had never joined the Loyalists. You wouldn't have become penniless refugees.”

  Mama held her head high and glared back at him. “Money isn't everything! I'm a contented woman. In fact, I've been happy ever since Caleb and I were married. Make no mistake, William, I have no regrets! You're welcome here, but please, let's have no more criticism of my husband, or our way of life!”

  Uncle looked utterly taken aback. The rest of us stood about, very ill at ease, wondering what would happen next. Would Mama try to smooth things over, or order her brother to leave? Eventually Uncle managed a wan smile.

  “A truce, Martha. You were right to scold me. I should have minded my own business under your roof. Caleb,” he turned to face Papa. “I apologize.”

  “Let's just forget anything unpleasant was every said,” Papa murmured, practicing what he preached. “Now, please give us news of Long Island.”

  They chatted for some time about brothers, sisters, cousins and so forth while we tried not to fidget. Since we had never met any of these relatives, their names meant little to us. Later, when the talk became general, we were able to ask Uncle about things that interested us.

  “What do you do for a living, sir?” Sam wanted to know.

  “I don't have a trade like your Papa,” he replied.

  We all looked confused, and Mama helped out. “You have your estate to manage, William. And business interests.”

  “Yes, but they don't take up much time,” came the reply. “Good shares in two banks and more in a schooner fleet keep me comfortable.”

  “What do you do all day?” Sam pressed him

  “Well, I sometimes go to my club in New York. And at home we have plenty of parties and balls to attend. And I do a lot of foxhunting.”

  That struck a sympathetic chord in Sam. “Foxes are a nuisance here, too,” he said. “If they ever bother our new chickens, I'll sit up through the night with a loaded rifle till I get them.”

  Our guest was looking haughty again, and Mama jumped in. “Uncle means riding to hounds, dear.”

  Sam looked scornful. “You shoot foxes from a horse?”

  “Shoot!” Uncle's eyes widened in horror.

  I thought he was about to call Sam a blockhead, but he curbed himself, glancing at Mama. Instead he said, “Foxhunting is a sport. We ride after a pack of hounds. They catch the fox.”

  “Not at all efficient,” was Sam's rejoinder.

  “It's not supposed to be,” Uncle said patiently. “But I do like shooting, too. You must have lots of game around here.”

  “Now that's what I call hunting,” Sam said. “We bag partridges, ducks, wild geese, pigeons, deer, even moose. We go after bears when they're bothering the farmers. By the way, our dog's a great retriever.”

  Uncle looked dreamy. “In the autumn we shoot pheasants, too.”

  Will you come out with me some time?” Sam asked eagerly.

  “Name the day,” Uncle said, smiling. “Being out in the wilds may have its pleasures after all.”

  Now everyone relaxed. Uncle's visit might not be the ordeal our first encounter with him had implied. Elizabeth served tea around the butternut table, assisted by Sarah, who was being helpful and acting shy in the presence of a guest. By the time the repast was over, Uncle was no longer feeling superior to us. Mama told him of our estate, and of our plans for it. Cade and Sam vied with each other to describe the timber raft we intended to build once we had enough trees cut down. I did not try to compete, and I sat back, watching and listening to everyone else. I would have plenty of opportunities to talk with Uncle William alone and get to know him.

  “How large is your estate, Caleb?” he asked Papa.

  “We have altogether 208 acres in our grant of land. It's about eighteen miles farther up the St. Lawrence from Buell's Bay.”

  “That large!” Uncle commented. “Mine's only fifty acres.

  Papa chuckled wryly. “You'll notice quite a difference when we take you there.”

  “Some day it will look as pretty as Long Island, William,” Mama added. “With green fields and neat fences. And you'll love the view of the river and the Thousand Islands.”

  “We'll never be land poor here, William,” Papa continued. “I haven't told my children yet, but now's as good a time as any. When each reaches age twenty-one, or earlier if married before that age, he or she is entitled to 200 acres freehold, and without paying a penny.”

  “Wonderful,” Cade exclaimed, echoed by Sam.

  “Are you saying that each settler here gets 200 acres of land for free, Caleb?” Uncle William asked him.

  “No, only Loyalists and their sons and daughters,” Papa explained. “All others have to pay a fee to have the land registered. So you see, I'm not as much a loser as you've assumed. The government could not afford to pay Loyalists for everything we lost, but at least we have land. And Mr. Buell, the storekeeper at Buell's Bay, tells me that Canada will be divided this year to make two new provinces, one for the French downriver, the other for us Loyalists. Soon we'll have our own laws, a governor and an assembly. I'm delighted to be a part of this great dream, this fine new world.”

  “I understand now,” Uncle admitted. “I really must apologize for misreading the situation so badly, Caleb.”

  We rose from the table and moved back to the parlour. “Sam,” Uncle said. “If you'll fetch my portmanteau from the bedroom, the blue one, I've brought some small gifts.”

  That was the kind of order Sam liked, and he was very prompt. We were soon gasping at the array of presents spread round the parlour. Christmas had never been like this, not even back in Schenectady. For Mama, Uncle had a length of red velvet, enough for a cloak, and for Elizabeth a similar length of green. A bolt of muslin would make dresses for them and Sarah, too. For the younger ones he had a primer, some story books, and wooden puzzle. Put together it was a map of New York State.

  Cade and Sam were happy with hunting knives, and for me he had a spy glass, the perfect gift. A knife would have been welcome, but I could always borrow my brothers'. I would have great fun watching schooners with that glass as they passed in the channel beyond Grenadier Island. Lastly, Uncle handed Papa a piece of peacock blue broadcloth, and some deep red shagreen for lining.

  “I longed to have my tailor make a suit in the latest fashion, but I wasn't sure of your size,” he told Papa.

  “We can't thank you enough,” Papa spoke for us all.

  Uncle looked dubious. “I fear the cloth's not practical for the life you lead.”

  Mama rose and hugged him. “If you knew how I've been aching for something elegant to put on, you wouldn't have any qualms.”

  The shock of finding us in such a primitive place was beginning to wear off. Uncle now seemed willing to make t
he best of his new surroundings, and he really showed what Mama meant by the Jackson charm. Smith blurted out how we had scrambled to build the new wing, and Uncle was lavish in his praise. When there was a lull I decided the time had come to talk with him myself.

  “Now that you've seen the house, may I show what else we have, sir?”

  “Indeed you may, Nehemiah,” he replied.

  “I answer to Ned, usually,” said I. “Nehemiah's such a big mouthful, especially for the young ones.”

  “Ned it is,” he said with a grin. “Lead the way.”

  I admit, our other buildings were not much to look at, but he told me they were practical. He admired the hen's flock of growing chickens, and the ducklings floating in the water-filled hole like that at the McNishes. But he spent most of the time with the horses.

  “Your father was always the best hand with them I ever saw,” he said. “That's a very fine colt, and I like the filly's clean legs.”

  “We'll raise pigs and keep a cow or two when we can grow enough feed to winter them,” I explained.

  “I'd like to present you with a cow,” he said. “With a new baby to feed, your mother needs milk for the sake of her teeth.”

  “There aren't any to be had. I know Papa would part with the filly in order to buy a cow if one were for sale.”

  Uncle pronounced his first night's sleep a sound one. Our home, he claimed, was much more comfortable than the inns he had used on his journey. Now, he wanted to be helpful, not just one more person who had to be looked after. He was no use to Papa in the shop, but he did not mind doing chores or helping about the house. Mama made him deerskin breeches and moccasins and loaned him a shirt of Papa's so he would not spoil the fine clothes he had brought with him. And the smaller children were better behaved than usual. Uncle enjoyed playing with them when Mama and Elizabeth were busy. Cade and Sam left with the stallion to continue the work on our land, but Papa stayed a while and he kept me with him to help in the shop. Sam promised to go hunting with Uncle when we took him to see our estate.

  “How long can you stay, Brother?” Mama asked him when he had been with us a fortnight. As usual we were gathered in the main room of the old part of the house. The parlour was only for great occasions.

  “How long can you put up with me?” he queried, grinning.

  “The longer the better,” Mama said contentedly. “Please don't even think of leaving until late in the autumn. You had such a journey to reach us that a shorter stay would not make it worth while.”

  Papa, coming in from outside, overheard Mama's words and repeated them. “In fact, why not stay for the winter, too, William?” he finished. “I'm sure you could make arrangements to be away from your estate on Long Island for as long as you wish.”

  “I just think I might,” said Uncle. “And have a real experience of pioneer life, not just a taste. It would certainly give me something to talk about back home.”

  Now Papa said, “We must make arrangements for you to see our so-called estate, and I'd like to take Martha and the baby along. We need to decide who stays here to look after things, and who goes.

  “I guess I'll be staying,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. With Cade and Sam already there, I was the logical one to be here, but I hated to miss watching Uncle's reaction to our land. Besides, Sam wouldn't be able to keep his promise to take Uncle hunting if he had to come home.

  Papa shook his head. “You need a change, too, Ned. Now that your foot is healed, I would like you to ride the mare out and tell Cade to float down to Buell's Bay in the bateau. I know he won't mind taking over here, caring for the animals and working in the shop and garden. Everyone else may come to our land. I want to show Mama the changes we've made since her first visit.”

  “I'd love that,” Mama agreed.

  “So would I,” Elizabeth spoke up.

  “The cabin won't hold half of us,” I observed. “But that won't matter at this time of year, unless it turns very rainy.”

  We began preparations for the short journey, organizing extra food, clothing and bedding. Before I was ready to set out with the mare and her colt, some well worn copies of the Montreal Gazette arrived. Our turn had come to read the only news that penetrated our wilderness world. As soon as Papa had time to sit down, he picked up the newspapers eagerly and began leafing through them.

  “Mr. Buell was correct,” he said. “We're to have a new province, Upper Canada, with our own governor and a legislative assembly. High time, too.”

  “Will that mean an election, Papa?” I enquired. From what he had told me about elections, they were interesting.

  Mama, however, looked disapproving. “Politics! I've enjoyed not having all that quarrelling. You know how much I worried that you'd get hurt at those meetings.”

  “Martha,” Papa tried to sound soothing. “I never came home with more than a black eye when we lived on Long Island. In Schenectady I had to lie low for fear someone might discover I was a Loyalist. Here I'm a Loyalist among Loyalists, and can speak my mind again.”

  “I'm sure meetings here will be wild, with so many Connecticut Yankees about,” Mama said. “They're madder than Long Islanders when they talk politics.”

  “I think we should change the subject,” Uncle William said. “The more I ponder, the more confused I become over how one goes about building a timber raft. It seems such an enormous job of work.”

  “It is,” Papa admitted. “Last season I served on a work crew in order to learn how to handle heavy logs safely.”

  At that a thought struck me. “If I take the mare, how will you move your supplies to Buell's Bay for the bateau ride?”

  “I know Dave Shipman will bring his horse to pull the cart,” Elizabeth said.

  That gave me food for thought as I set out the next day, a pair of bags containing supplies slung over the mare's rump behind me. I could not help feeling jealous. Elijah Coleman and Jesse Boyce were friends, but Elizabeth was my very best friend. In my dreams I still hoped we would live together when we were grown up. At nearly fourteen I disliked the thought that some day my sister might prefer to live with someone else.

  Chapter 6

  Apprentice Raftsmen

  As I rode along the track that roughly followed the river I felt a new sense of freedom. The mist of dawn was lifting and the colt frisked about, I was happy alone after having been cooped up at Coleman's Corners for so long. The time was now early September 1791, and Papa had told me Cade and Sam had harvested most of the grain and vegetables they had planted in the spring. They had planted cuttings from the old apple trees, but some years must pass before we would have our own fruit.

  I stopped at the Mallory farm to rest the mare and allow the colt to suckle. Jeremiah and Elisha were at home with their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Enoch Mallory. During the summer and early autumn they had too much work on their own land to help us prepare logs. They offered me a meal, but I accepted only some cider since I had brought plenty of supplies. As I passed Billa La Rue's cabin, I did not see anyone round. I wondered again about the strange events of that moonlit night last autumn.

  Sam was working on a huge trunk with his axe when I arrived, and near the cabin Cade was keeping watch on the potash kettle, slung over a fire. I was mystified until he explained what he was doing.

  “We collect ashes from burnt branches and put them into the wooden chest. See those holes at the bottom of the chest? Below them we set buckets, and then we pour water into the chest in top of the ashes and let it soak through them. What comes down into the buckets is called lye. We boil it down to make it more concentrated. Then we put it in barrels which the brigades pick up and take to the merchant in Montreal who buys it from us.”

  “I suppose I'm to take over from you, “said I, and I told him of Papa's order to take the bateau to Buell's Bay.

  “I'll be glad to go,” Cade told me. “My shoulder's bothering me again, and I've had to leave the heavy work to Sam. I think you should help him. I can finish this batch be
fore I leave here,”

  “I expect you won't be able to do much in the shop,” I remarked. I hoped that Papa would not have many orders or he might send me back to carry on.

  “I'll be fine in the shop. I only use my good arm while handling the heavy hammer,” Cade explained. “For chopping and sawing I need both arms.”

  He set off the next day, with a new sail up in a southwest breeze. Sam had made the sail out of some old canvas he found on Grenadier Island. “I suppose it was left there during the revolution by some ship of the Provincial Marine,” he said.

  Right after Cade left, Sam lived up to his old reputation for laziness. He went off to a new clearing on the next farm lot to the west, which belonged to a family named Smith. I was left to chop by myself, and he did not reappear until nightfall. The next day, however, he stayed, working hard. He did not know at what time to expect the bateau, and if he were missing when Papa showed up he would be in deep trouble.

  I thought Uncle William's visit to our land would be the highlight of the autumn, but I turned out to be mistaken. We did give Mama and Uncle a fine reception. Uncle was suitably impressed with our trees and he did exclaim over the rustic cabin. He did admire the view of the islands, and he did not complain about sleeping in the bateau, his skin smeared with oily horse balm to ward off mosquitoes. And Sam did take him hunting and return with a fine buck deer. All these activities, delightful though they were, were overshadowed by the arrival, a fortnight after Uncle, of Captain Sherwood in his canoe. He had a special request to make of Papa.

  “Mr. Seaman, my young cousin, Reuben Sherwood, has a raft ready to sail for Quebec. He's short-handed, and I think this is a fine opportunity for your sons to learn rafting before you take your own down the rapids.”

  Papa, leaned on his axe and wiped his forehead as he thought a bit. “We do have a lot going on, Captain Sherwood,” he began. “But I think you're right. I won't be sailing with such a green crew next year if some of my boys get experience now.”