The latest venture had done me a world of good, but I was glad to return to my Kate and our London home. Perhaps this time, I thought, a post-Arctic enterprise in which I had been an active participant would be successful. Much to my disappointment, however, this was — yet again — not the case.
As it turned out, our extensive survey expedition had been for naught. Before my arrival in England, the Western Union Telegraph Company announced from its New York headquarters that it had won a contract from the American government for building a much larger telegraph system in the northern United States and beyond. The Hudson’s Bay Company withdrew from the competition, and the American Western Telegraph Company was disbanded. I had been involved in another failed enterprise.
Kate insisted that I had not failed professionally — that I never had at any time — and despite my feelings of melancholy about what I perceived to be failures, she was right. She also reminded me that I had not come away from the experience empty-handed. Our holiday had been splendid, and the survey portion had afforded me the opportunity of taking a very close look at the pristine northwest regions of Rupert’s Land. I made a strong effort to distance myself from the string of unfortunate outcomes associated with my involvement in private enterprises, but the deep feeling of having failed would not abate.
Kensington, London
[1865]
After the loss of our first child, Kate suffered two further miscarriages. Our confidence in having a family began to waver, and our spirits were very low. “Kate, my love,” I whispered. “We should consider investing in a home instead of filling the pockets of a landlord. What do you think of the idea? If it is your wish, I will purchase a fine house here in London for us.”
She moved away, smiling. “Oh John dear! You would?” Then her lovely face darkened, as she understood my reference to living in London as being her wish. The phrase had come out unexpectedly from my lips. What I meant to say was “if it is our wish.”
“John, you’ve never really left Orkney in your heart, have you? Be honest with me. Tell me exactly what you are thinking.” I held her more tightly and sighed. “I cannot deny how I feel about the Orkneys, but I also understand your fondness for London. Maybe we can figure out a middle ground.”
“Well,” she replied, “as much as I would love to buy a house here, we could wait for a little while. I am willing to spend some time with you in Orkney when the weather is fair. The sea air might do us both a world of good. What do you think of that?”
My heart missed a beat. “Katie, you are always full of surprises! I never thought you would consider spending time up there. Perhaps we could rent a splendid cottage in Orkney next summer, and you can see if that sort of life suits you at all. I promise you, my love, if you are unhappy, we will return to London and make our permanent home here.”
“A summer holiday,” she said, her expression brightening. “Well, I can think of no reason why we shouldn’t spend the summer months in the north, dear. Maybe Mama and Emily would be able to join us. You, above all people, deserve a respite from the city, and I think I could use a change, as well.” Tears filled her eyes. “If it’s God’s will, perhaps we will conceive a healthy child in your homeland.”
She placed her hands on my chest. “I’ll keep an open mind about Orkney, John. You can show your favourite things to me, share your knowledge of the flora and fauna, teach me how to fish, take me walking with you in Orphir and lead me to the Hall of Clestrain. I’ll give it a good try. Just promise me one thing: we’ll return to London if I don’t feel I can adapt to life beyond a fair weather holiday on the islands. Cross your heart twice, now. Not once, but twice; once for you and once for me.”
I crossed my heart once and then twice, relieved that this woman of the city was willing to give my beloved islands a chance for a few months. I kissed her forehead in gratitude. “Katie, I make you this promise here and now, and I will stand by it.”
Later, after her soft breathing deepened and took on the rhythm of sleep, I lay awake and fretted about what my young wife was about to do. It would not be easy for Kate to cope with a transition to those windswept isles in the northern sea. On the other hand, if she had an opportunity to experience the kindness and warmth of the Orcadian people — a congenial blend of Viking settlers and their gentle Scottish descendants — maybe she would develop an attachment to the place. And if we were to find ourselves expecting another child, perhaps she would consider raising it in those natural surroundings for a few months of each year. I made a vow to find a comfortable residence close to the city of Kirkwall with a view over the waters of Scapa Flow, just a short carriage ride from the town and St. Magnus Cathedral, which was celebrated for its active social community.
Berstane House, St. Ola, Orkney
[JULY 1866]
“Katie, the wind is picking up nicely, so I’ll be off for a sail while you go to your meeting.” It was a cool, bright day with brisk winds out of the northwest. The conditions were fine for sailing, so I gathered up my jacket, cap and gloves.
“Wait a few minutes, dear,” she called from upstairs. I stood in the hallway, leafing through the latest issue of the Scotsman. Kate came down the stairs wearing woollen gloves, a warm jacket over her dress, and tying the strings of a bonnet.
“I’d like to come with you,” she declared.
“I beg your pardon? Katie, you’ve never been sailing, my love!”
“Don’t I know it,” she laughed, “and that’s why I plan to come with you this afternoon. Don’t look so shocked, John. You always talk about how stimulating it is out there. We’ve been living in Orkney for a while, now — don’t you think it’s about time for me to share in one of your more daring recreational pursuits?” She giggled.
“But you’ll miss your meeting at the cathedral — ”
“That’s quite all right, dear. There will be other meetings. I’ll give them my regrets on the way to the harbour. I want to try something that you love to do, and see how well I fare at it. Maybe I will like sailing, and we can enjoy it together sometimes.”
I didn’t dare to voice my doubts about her ability to withstand the cold breeze, not to mention the frantic scrambling of a sailor to keep the boat steadily moving no matter how often the winds changed direction.
“Well, what a nice surprise, my love.” I kissed her cheek and offered her my arm. “Shall we go?”
I kept an 18-foot yole — very much like the one we Rae children used to sail when we were growing up on the shores of Clestrain Sound — at the docks in the bay of Kirkwall. I had named her KATE in honour of the adventurous woman I had been fortunate enough to marry. I crossed my fingers and hoped she would find some pleasure in the experience. I raised only the jib and mizzen sail, and we pushed off for an easy glide into the freshening breeze. The motion was smooth and sedate, which seemed agreeable to my wife. I vowed to maintain a slow speed for her sake, but then she surprised me even more.
“Let’s see if we can go a little faster,” she said. “Will you put up the big sail?”
“Are you certain about that, Kate? Conditions can suddenly change and become quite challenging — ”
“Of course I am!” Her reply was somewhat brusque, but endearing all the same.
“Only if you’ll let me teach you a few things first — for safety’s sake, Kate.”
As we gently sailed back and forth across the bay, I showed her what her responsibilities as first mate would be, reminding her that I was the captain and therefore in charge of the vessel, just as my brother William had been all those years ago. An excellent pupil, she listened intently and executed each practice manoeuvre as instructed. After a while, she requested that we seek more demanding conditions, so I hoisted the mainsail and we set off on a course away from the shore. She shrieked with delight as the sails caught the extra wind, the boat leaned to starboard and we sped farther out into the firth.
As we moved along, another yole approached us with a group of youths, who shouted that the
y would be to the shore of the isle of Shapinsay, an Orkney island off the eastern coast of Main Isle — before we were halfway there. I explained to Kate that they were inviting us to race against them, but that we were under no obligation to accept their challenge. “Let’s go!” she cried.
I shouted back, “Shall we beat them to it?”
She didn’t hesitate, not even for one second. “Oh yes, please!”
I positioned the sails, with Kate in charge of holding the jib firmly in place so we could pick up full speed. The boys were well ahead, but I could see that they were heading for a cross-current, which we could avoid by altering our course. We maintained our good speed, while they faltered. We wasted no time, took maximum advantage of the wind, and soon enough we were passing them. We arrived at the southwest shore first — with Balfour Castle in view beyond it — and the boys well behind us. Conceding defeat, they all doffed their caps in our direction, before sailing back across the firth to the bay.
“Oh John, that was the finest race!” Kate declared. I told her that memories of my childhood adventures trying to outrun the tricky winds around Hoy and Clestrain Sounds had helped me give these youngsters a lesson, but I couldn’t possibly have managed so well without such a capable first mate. From that point on we had no more sedate sails, and I was reminded that my lovely wife was game for almost anything.
Berstane House, St. Ola, Orkney
[FEBRUARY 1867]
Seven months later, when the days were short and the winds were fierce and cold again, I leaned over Kate to extinguish the lamp on her bedside table. The book she had been reading was face-down on her chest, but her eyes were open, her expression melancholy.
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, my love?” She set the book aside and rolled over to face me.
“I don’t think I can be happy living in Orkney forever, John. We came to Kirkwall for a summer holiday, and I was the one who suggested we stay longer, but now we’ve been here for almost two years. Please don’t misunderstand me. There is much here to like — the glorious views of the water, sailing with you, the hills, the church and the generous people, their music — but I just can’t do it forever. I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I tried, I really did try, darling.”
I suppose the only thing that surprised me about her declaration was that she had waited so long to make it. My heart sank, but a promise was a promise. “Yes, you did, my love. You tried your hardest.”
“I’ve been afraid to tell you because I can’t bear the idea of disappointing you. I know how much these islands mean to you.” She took hold of my hand, and I squeezed it to hide my disappointment.
“You know,” I said, “I thought your moments of melancholy were because we haven’t yet had a child.” I took her other hand. “I wish you hadn’t kept your unhappiness about Orkney a secret, Katie. Two years is a long time to be miserable about where you live.”
“Of course I am wishing for a child, always. I don’t know, I guess I wanted to believe there’s some magic in the air and water here, that staying longer would be the best thing for us, and we would have a family by now. I hoped I would come to love this way of life, but it just didn’t happen. It’s a wonderful place to visit for a summer holiday, you know.” She looked at me, worried.
“It’s all right, Kate. Orkney isn’t going anywhere, and I can always return for a visit. Would you come with me sometimes, when the weather’s fine?” She threw her arms around me and buried her face in my chest.
“Oh yes, I’d do that in a heartbeat.”
Later, when she was asleep, I got up and stood at the bedroom window. Even though it was dark, I watched skeins of sea-foam being scooped up by the wind and thrown across the black surface of the sea, troubled by the thought that if children were to be in our lives, we would raise them in the crowded, noisy city, and not in Orkney. On the other hand, our family could spend holiday time on the islands. Perhaps a return to London would bring us what we both wanted the most.
4 Addison Gardens
Kensington, London
[JUNE 1867]
The sale of the house in Hamilton and my medical work in Kirkwall had provided us with enough savings to purchase a modest house on a leafy street in West London. Our move marked a new chapter in our lives, another beginning in the city I both admired and disliked in equal measure. While Emma, Emily and Kate set about making our house a comfortable home, I reacquainted myself with members of the scientific community, and I was gratified to receive a warm reception from my peers. Topics such as the Franklin tragedy and cannibalism were carefully ignored in our discussions, much to my relief.
London
[SEPTEMBER 1868]
My brother Tom and I had exchanged letters frequently, but then he stopped writing to me. I was already worried about the financial stability of Rae Brothers & Company in Hamilton, and now the railway system was rapidly expanding as settlements grew in North America. The movement of goods and people was safer by rail, with a much farther reach than by boat. My brothers had invested in building too many vessels, and on May 16, 1865, Rae Brothers & Company had been forced to declare bankruptcy. Tom had poured his heart and soul into the shipping enterprise, and Dick had made a good effort as well.
After I learned of the news, I sent a number of letters to both of my brothers, more often in an attempt to lift their spirits, just as Tom had lifted mine when I was suffering after the loss of the Iceberg. Despite my efforts to reach out, however, Tom survived less than three years after the company closed its doors.
September 12, 1868
My Dear John and Kate:
With great sorrow, I must inform you that our dear Tom passed away yesterday from a heart attack. It happened while he was sitting in his favourite chair in the parlour, reading a book. He fell unconscious straightaway, and the doctor assures me that any suffering he experienced was brief. Thank goodness for that. He was only fifty-one years old, and too young to die of an older man’s disease. He had not been eating well or taking exercise for some time, despite my efforts to encourage him to look after himself.
Marion and John are here, looking after us while the arrangements are made. The boys and I send you our love and best wishes.
Helen
At first, I could not believe that Tom was gone. Every loss leaves a fingerprint on a person’s heart, and I was no exception. Kate and I made arrangements to visit what remained of my family in Hamilton. It was good to spend time with Marion, John, Dick and the others, but with Tom gone, there was a great emptiness in my heart.
4 Addison Gardens
Kensington, London
[NOVEMBER 1869]
Despite our mutual passion and fervent desire to have a family, Kate and I remained childless, which became a source of continuing sorrow for us. After Kate had suffered another late-term miscarriage, our physician was resolute in his advice that we not try again. Her health had been compromised by the multiple traumas, and the doctor expressed his concern that she might not survive another pregnancy.
We were utterly devastated, but in another way I was relieved to hear the finality in the doctor’s tone of voice. Despite my own medical background, I had been powerless to prevent the cruel losses of our unborn children and the risks to Kate’s health. Each successive conception had brought with it hope but also a terrible fear of having to endure yet another heartbreak. As much as I wanted to have children with Kate, her life meant more to me than my own. I simply could not bear the thought of losing her.
After the doctor left the house and in the quiet of our bedroom, I held her while she cried — her thin, exhausted body wracked with sobs, her beautiful heart broken.
“Is this truly the end, John?” I tightened my arms around her, trying to slow her shudders.
“No, no, my lovely Catherine Jane Alicia Rae… this is not the end.” I felt clumsy, searching for words to soothe her. “Perhaps this brings us to another beginning.” Startled, she looked up at me, frowning.
&n
bsp; “What can you possibly mean by that? The doctor just told us it’s over, John. It’s over…”
I buried my face in her neck and sighed. “I didn’t intend for my remark to sound that way. What I meant to say is that we now face a new passage in our life together, another beginning. I am forcing myself to look at this change with some optimism. As long as we have each other, I still believe that we are truly blessed.” I cleared my throat to hide my own grief. She had been wounded enough by so many losses.
“Kate, we must try to accept that however painful this is for us, perhaps it is God’s will. I have asked the Almighty Father over and over again for an answer. Does He have a different plan for us?” I turned my face away so she would not see that my bravado was slipping away, that my own chin was trembling.
“Let us find ways of bringing joy into our lives, every minute of every day,” I added.
“John, I don’t have the strength right now to move beyond my sorrow…”
“I know, my love. There is no hurry, you know. Finding our way through this grief will be a long journey, but we will make it together, one step at a time. Our sadness will always be with us, but perhaps if we hold on tightly to our faith in God, we’ll be able to find hope and joy in other things.”
“Hope for what?” she cried. “All I wanted was children. Was that too much to ask?” She was sobbing again.
“No, it is never too much to ask. Never. If I could exchange everything I have for a child, I would, my dear Katie, but if trying again carries even a tiny chance of losing you, we cannot take the risk. Let’s make a promise right here and now,” I whispered. “I vow to you, Catherine Rae, that I will find a thousand — well, at least a hundred — ways to make you feel even a small measure of happiness every day for the rest of our time together on this earth.” I placed our hands over my heart so she could feel it beating, and looked deeply into her watery, sea-glass eyes.
Finding John Rae Page 21