by Linda Abbott
Alice placed a bowl of scruncheons on the table and eased into a chair.
“Back trouble again,” Tom said. He kneaded the small of her back with one hand. “You’ve been complaining about that for over a month.”
Alice spooned mashed potatoes onto her plate. “It’s nothing a little rest won’t cure. I’ve been on my feet all day.”
“No more excuses, love. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Kennedy and go along to ensure you show up.”
“I have no intention of spending money for no reason at all.”
Tom covered his potatoes with mustard. “You’re going and that’s the end of it.”
Alice grabbed up the pickle jar. “We’ll see about that,” she said, rooting out a cauliflower with a fork.
Henry smiled. He knew his mother would eventually give in. “There’s going to be another inspection — ” A loud thump on the front door silenced him. His fork landed with a clink on his plate. Tom gaped at his wife. She shrugged.
Footsteps scampered down the hall. Mary hurried into the kitchen, her arms swinging like a sprinter. “Did you read this ?” she said, holding out the Telegram. She pointed to an article in the newspaper. “There’s a detailed report on the Hull Home inspection.”
Tom smothered a chuckle. “Not good news, I take it.”
Mary sank into the chair next to Alice. She planked her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into her hands. “What am I going to do if the Home closes ?”
“Get another job,” Henry said. “Mr. Hull would give you a good reference.”
Mary punched his upper arm. “It’s not that easy. Besides, I love working at Hull Home. I’d miss the residents something terrible.”
Alice set a plate in front of her. “Stay for supper. You’ll feel better after a full stomach.”
Tom’s expression became sombre. “What does the report say ?”
“It’s some awful, Mr. Gibbs. It makes the Home seem like an overcrowded place where everyone is locked away and forced to eat horrible food.”
“That sounds about right to me,” Tom said.
Alice piled Mary’s plate with two pieces of fish, onions, and mashed potatoes. “Mom’s never complained about such goings-on,” she said, giving her husband a stern look.
Henry picked up Mary’s paper and browsed through the report. “It says there’s been no dwelling plans submitted or any applications for occupancy or alterations,” he said. “All that’s required by law.”
Mary went ashen. “I overheard Mrs. Hull talk about that.”
“Hmm,” Tom said. “Doesn’t surprise me at all. What else is in the report ?”
Mary nearly ripped the paper out of Henry’s hands. “The stove should be repaired and a firewall placed behind it. All the exit doors must open out.” She read without pausing. “A fire escape or a ramp should be built at the rear of the main building.”
“Any mention of problems with the Annex ?” Alice asked.
“The hall stove that blocks the door and access to the stairs has to be moved. An exterior staircase is essential and all the chimneys have to be cleaned.” Mary whimpered like a small child. “There’s no end to these grievances.”
Alice smiled at the girl’s overwhelmed expression. “They don’t appear to be anything too difficult or too expensive to handle.”
“Don’t raise her hopes,” Tom said. “I doubt the Hulls will see it that way.”
Mary grew even paler.
“Take heart, love,” Tom said in a gentler tone. “Maybe the Hulls will do the sensible thing. Especially with so many helpless people depending on them.”
“Of course they will,” Alice said. “The Hulls are not stupid.”
“I heard some of Cahill and Superintendent Vivian’s conversation during the inspection,” Mary said. “But after reading what they wrote, I’m scared the Home will close.” She lowered her head and played with a slab of onion. “Sorry for barging in on your supper.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, barging in ? You’ve been welcome here ever since you were a youngster. Now eat up before the fish gets colder than the temperature outside.”
A burst of static made everyone realize the radio had been on the whole time. The Barrelman show was in progress. Joey Smallwood’s voice pealed out like a warning bell. Alice leaped to her feet and switched off the radio. “Mr. Smallwood might as well call it quits,” she said. “England will never permit such a ridiculous notion as Confederation.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Mary said. “Mr. Connors at the Home said England wants rid of us, so they just might go along with it.”
Tom shrugged off the statement. “Doesn’t matter if they do or they don’t,” he said. “Newfoundland will always remain a separate country.”
Mary licked a piece of crusty fish batter from her lip. “Henry, what happened at the meeting last — ” A gentle nudge in the leg caused her to cough.
“What were you saying, Mary ?” Tom said when she resumed eating.
“I’m just curious if anyone knows how the meeting at the CLB Armoury went.”
Tom sliced through a thick slab of turnip. “Joey and his team harp on about how good a change will be for us,” he said. “What’s wrong with the ways things are ?”
“The way I see it,” Mary said, “there’s nothing can be done to stop change.”
The conversation lulled while they finished the main course. The talk over tea and homemade apple pie centred around the weather, a topic on everyone’s mind since the coldest winter on record had struck with an unrelenting hold.
“There’s another load of icicles hanging from the roof and windows,” Tom said. “I’d better break them up before they fall on someone.”
Alice sighed. “I’ve never seen the like before this year. New ones appear as soon as the old ones are chopped away.”
Mary grinned. “Mr. Gibbs, why don’t you wait until they’re long enough to slide down to the ground ?”
Henry smiled. “Dougie would love that.”
“I’d better get to it,” Tom said and excused himself. Henry left to put more wood in the grate in the living room.
“That was some good fish, Mrs. Gibbs,” Mary said, helping Alice with the dishes. “I wouldn’t mind being Catholic if I had to eat fish cooked like that every Friday.”
“I wouldn’t mind having you as a daughter-in-law, Protestant and all.”
The cup Mary was about to put in the cupboard crashed to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she cried, and stooped to pick up the shattered remains.
“Be careful,” Alice said, bringing out the broom. “You’ll cut yourself.”
“I’m not always this clumsy.”
Alice swept up the mess. “It’s only a cup. There’s no harm done.”
The phone rang. Henry appeared in the kitchen as Alice put the broken shards into the garbage. “Mary, your mother’s leaving for bingo in five minutes.”
“I need to go now, Mrs. Gibbs. Mom doesn’t like to leave Dougie alone in the house.”
Henry went with her to the door. “Mom really enjoys your company.”
Mary zippered up her rubber boots. “I didn’t mean to almost give away the fact you were at the meeting,” she said.
“Everything bothers Dad these days.”
“I hope things work out between you two.”
“Mary, we have to talk about us.”
She opened the door. “I need time to think things over.” The wind whipped her thick hair around her face as she ran to her house. Henry waited until she was inside to give himself extra time to build up the courage to confront his father. The flames in the fireplace crackled and hissed as he dressed to go outside.
TOM STOOD NEAR THE TOP of the ladder hacking away at an icicle thicker than a man’s thigh. Henry darted to the side when the lethal weapon plummeted down. “Dad, I’d like to talk to you about my decision to be a doctor.”
Tom’s eyes never left the roof. “It won’t do any good,” he said,
the axe held loosely at his side.
“Dad, please.”
Tom looked down at his son. “Will anything I say make a difference ?”
“No, but — ”
Tom swung his arm and smashed the axe into a monster icicle. “Like I told you. It won’t do any good.”
Chapter 5
THE WIND GROANED AGAINST THE side of the house and rattled the glass in Henry’s bedroom window, waking him from a restless sleep. He sat up and stared into the darkness, unsure what had dragged him away from the strange dream. The details bombarded his head, too vivid, too real. He had stood in the kitchen surrounded by his parents and grandmother. His father had pounded the table with a fist. “Mike,” he had shouted at Henry. “You’ve always done what you wanted with never a thought to anyone else.”
“I’m not Mike, Dad.”
“You’re nothing but a selfish bastard.”
“Mike,” Alice said softly, her eyes sad. “What is wrong with you ?”
His grandmother lightly kissed his cheek. “Don’t fret none, Henry,” she whispered. “It’ll all work out.” As he turned to her, a thick fog filled the kitchen. Before he had time to call her name, the fog evaporated as if it had never been there. His grandmother was gone.
The plastic sheet over the window bellowed like a balloon in the Atlantic wind. Through a thin layer of frost he saw a heavy grey cloud swallow the moon, darkening the room until even the shadows disappeared into a black void. Although he hadn’t been afraid of the dark even in childhood, Henry tensed. His throat tight, he lay back and tucked the quilts under his chin. No stars. No moon. The bedside clock ticked away the seconds. The plastic sucked in its breath. The glass rattled again. The plastic blew out. In. Out. In. Out. Waiting for air to breathe. Henry couldn’t tear his gaze away.
A branch from one of the many maple trees in the yard scraped the window. Henry blinked and looked at the bedside clock. Two in the morning. He rolled onto his side away from the window and closed his eyes. The memory of the dream screamed in his head. Henry turned onto his back and looked toward the window once more. The wind died down. The plastic didn’t move. It’s stopped breathing, he thought. The clouds separated and the moon’s light filtered into the room. The wind stirred again, a gentle breeze at first, then it blew stronger. The plastic ballooned back to life. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep.
Wide awake, Henry gave up, crawled out of bed, switched on the light, and read from the book he had begun the night before, The Complete Stories of Sherlock Holmes. Henry particularly enjoyed Dr. Watson’s constant concern for Sherlock’s health. Close to four o’clock the book dropped from his hands to his lap as sleep overtook him.
“Henry.”
He was certain he could hear his mother call to him. Why did her voice echo like it came from the end of a long tunnel ?
His body shook. “Henry, wake up.”
He opened his eyes. His mother’s hand rested on his shoulder. He slowly rose his head. “Oww,” he said, rubbing the side of his neck.
“That’s what you get for spending all night in a chair,” Alice said. She picked up the book which had fallen to the floor. “It’s a few minutes to nine. Your grandmother expects you at ten to take her shopping.”
Henry stretched his arms high above his head to relieve the knot between his shoulder blades. “That won’t take more than an hour. Old ladies aren’t interested in clothes.”
“Indeed,” Alice said, smiling to herself on the way out of the room.
Henry dressed in record time and hurried down to the kitchen. His night in the chair had left him shivery all over. He stood by the stove to bathe in its heat. “I don’t know how you do it, Mom.”
Alice stirred a pot of porridge. “Do what ?”
“Get up every morning in the cold to light the hall and kitchen stoves.”
“You get used to anything after twenty-five years.” Alice removed the cooked porridge from the stove. “Besides,” she added with a soft sigh, “your father works hard on the docks in all kinds of weather. He deserves a little comfort to begin the day.”
Henry cut bread from a freshly baked loaf and put two slices on the toaster doors and snapped them shut. “You’d have less work if you bought bread from Walsh’s Bakery.”
Alice turned up her nose. “Baker’s fog, you mean. Proper bread is made at home.”
The smell of toast filled the kitchen. Henry dished out two bowls of porridge, sprinkled three spoons of sugar on his, and poured in a quarter tin of Carnation milk.
Alice buttered the toast and poured the tea, adding cold water to her mug. “Did you speak to your father last night ?”
“I saw him.”
Alice looked at her son. He shrugged. She scraped the bowl on a heavy sigh.
“Mom, there’s not much time until Uncle Mike arrives.”
Alice raised her cup to her lips. “Eight days,” she said, and lowered it without tasting a drop of the tea. “You’d better get a move on. Your grandmother will think you’ve forgotten about her.”
DOT WAS DRESSED AND WAITING in her room when Henry charged in. “Right on time,” he said. “Told Mom I wouldn’t be late.”
“I just hung up from her. You must’ve grown wings and flown here.”
Dot linked into him once they were outside and walked to the streetcar stop around the corner on Gower Street. The early February sun reflected blindingly off the snow. Dot shaded her eyes against the brightness. “There’s not much heat in the sun,” she said. The words were hardly uttered when the streetcar pulled up, almost filled to capacity. They seated themselves near the exit for the short ride to Water Street, the only shopping centre for St. John’s and surrounding areas. Henry and Dot disembarked in front of Silver’s Jewellery Store a few doors down from the post office.
“Now,” Henry said. “Why did you rope me into this shopping expedition ?”
“Your mother’s birthday is Valentine’s Day. I want to buy her a special gift this year. You don’t turn fifty every day.”
“You always let Mom pick out something.”
“She never fails to choose a practical item like an iron. Nothing just for her. Besides,” Dot continued, smiling, “change is good.”
“Tell that to Dad.”
“May I help you, madam ?” the tall, thick-chested clerk asked Dot when she laid her purse on the glass countertop.
“Indeed you may. I’d like to look at lockets.”
“Good choice, madam.” He inserted a key into the lock of the glass door on the jewellery display. “We have a wide variety.”
Dot scrutinized over two dozen, seeking Henry’s opinion on each one. “This is perfect,” she said, selecting a sterling silver heart with a straight-line indentation on the front, and plain on the back. The chain measured twelve inches long.
“A wise decision,” the clerk said. “This is one of our recent imports from Switzerland.”
Dot opened the heart. “I’d like a message engraved on both sides.”
The clerk took a pencil from behind his ear and poised it over a notepad. “Go ahead, madam.”
“On the left put ‘Alice, my joy.’” She waited for the clerk to finish writing. “On the right engrave ‘You make me proud.’” She turned to Henry. “One day your father will come to his senses and say the same about you.”
Henry decided not to respond.
The clerk wrote the last word of the inscription. “The locket will be ready on the thirteenth.”
“Grand,” Dot said. “Just in time for my daughter’s birthday. I’ll pay now.” She inclined her head in Henry’s direction. “My grandson will come by for it.”
“Your name and address, sir ?” the clerk said, the pencil once again poised over the notepad. The information recorded, he passed Henry the stub from the envelope containing the locket and chain. “Present this when you come for the locket.”
Henry pocketed the stub.
“Now on to Bowring’s,” Dot said with a s
atisfied smile. They crossed the busy street to the department store, which stocked every kind of merchandise from the latest fashions to furniture.
Henry trailed behind his grandmother while she browsed through every item of clothing. “Is there anything specific you’re looking for ?” he said when she crossed the floor to sweaters neatly stacked on a dozen or more shelves.
“Not really.”
“I see why you and Mom take hours to buy one thing,” he said, hoping to keep any hint of complaint out of his voice.
“You men have no idea what pleasure you’re missing out on.” Dot moved on to hats, scarves, and footwear.
Henry traipsed along, trying to appear interested. “That’s it ?” he said when Dot bought the kind of wool gloves he had seen her knit all his life. “We spent hours here for those ?”
Dot held out the purchase, a slight grin on her face. “Don’t you think they’re such a lovely shade of blue ?”
“I’m hungry,” Henry said. “Time to head out.”
“We’ll eat here in the Captain’s Cabin. I told your mother not to expect you for lunch.”
The restaurant, situated on the second floor, was a popular spot for shoppers and visitors to the city, boasting a magnificent view of The Narrows. The entrance to the harbour was bound on both sides by snow-covered, tree-lined hills. A small fishing boat motored out into the ocean. Henry enjoyed the open sea. When he was a boy his father often took him outside The Narrows to view the whales. He had been ten when he first saw one. The boat nearly tipped over when he jumped to his feet, waving at the whales like they were his best buddies.
A low hum of voices greeted them. Henry spotted Mary seated by a window, a cup clasped between her fingers. She stared down into the wharf. The restaurant was not yet quite full and she had a booth to herself.
His grandmother marched straight for the young woman. “What a pleasant surprise, Mary. May we join you ?”
Mary jerked around and gasped at Dot. Her eyes moved to Henry for a few brief seconds before they flickered back to Dot. “Of course, Mrs. Gatherall.”