A Call to Battle

by Gillian Chan

  Father continued staring at me, the muscles in his jaw working as if he were chewing.

  “I was a help, I swear,” I went on. “You can ask John Lee. He was there. I worked with him and others. We cleared the battlefield of dead. Buried them. Then his son and I, we caught a Yankee soldier hiding in the woods. This is his musket. Mr. Lee said I was a bully boy, a boy to be proud of, and that he would tell you so when he saw you.” I had no more words, not in the face of my father’s flat stare and silence. All I could do was stand there and see what he would do.

  Father’s voice when he finally spoke was quiet, each word distinct, clipped as if he resented its loss. “Your mother has spent the last few hours of what should have been a happy day weeping, certain that her son had been killed through his own foolhardiness. Your sister left this house without the joy and celebration of her marriage that were her due. You took what was not yours to take, something we can ill afford to replace. You value your own life and safety lightly, willing to exchange them for an adventure and vainglory. I thought I had raised you better. I am ashamed of you, Alexander.”

  Father stared hard at me. His words felt as if they etched themselves with acid on my skin, burning deep.

  I could not meet his eyes. I stared down at my feet, staying like that even as I heard him turn and walk into the house, closing the door quietly but firmly behind him.

  I did not look up, not even when Angus was at my side, a hand placed on my shoulder. I did not want him to see the tears that ran down my face. Without speaking, he led me into the house. All was dark, save for a candle left burning on the table to light us to our room. I heard the murmur of voices from my parents’ room. Drew popped his head round the door of the room he shared with Samuel, his eyes wide with excitement, but quickly withdrew when Angus waved him off.

  I threw myself on my bed and turned my face to the wall. I knew that I had been at fault, but my soul was wounded by Father’s coldness towards me.

  “Sandy —” Angus’s voice was low. “Why did you go? Surely you knew what Father’s reaction would be.”

  I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. “I knew it was wrong, but I thought he would be proud that I wanted to do something, that I showed spirit.” I paused and thought of the smile on John Lee’s face when he had seen Jack and me with our prisoner, and how I had felt when he praised me. “Any other man would have been.”

  “It’s your spirit that frightens him, Sandy,” Angus whispered.

  “I don’t see how, Angus,” I said bitterly.

  “It was spirit and daring like yours that got Uncle Roger killed,” Angus said. “You know from Father’s stories that he was the wild one, the one who acted first.”

  I didn’t say anything, just felt fury building inside me, forcing out the sadness I had felt at Father’s cold anger.

  “There’s guilt, too,” Angus added. “Roger asked Father to go with him, but he dismissed the idea of going home to retrieve their money as foolhardy. He never dreamed that Roger would go alone and be killed.”

  “But I am not Roger!” My voice was loud, but I did not care.

  He sighed. “When Father looks at you, I know that he sees Roger. He wants to keep you safe, as he could not do for Roger. He worries, too, that should anything happen to you, it would be the end of Mother.”

  I turned and looked at him in surprise.

  Angus shrugged. “Even though she would deny it, you are her favourite, resembling Uncle Roger as you do.”

  I heard Angus’s words and thought on them for much of that night. Although he had not intended to harden my resolve, he did, for my sadness and contrition curdled into anger that I should be forced to live my life in constraints because of a man who had been dead for more than twenty years. Somehow I would break free and convince Father and Mother that I was my own man, not the shadow of another. Words would not do it — only actions would count. Had I not shown them today that I was capable of handling myself well, and that no harm had come to me?

  * * *

  For most of that long summer Father didn’t speak to me at all. I could have been a ghost in his house for all the direct attention he paid to me. A ghost who was still expected to provide labour, but one who was never spoken to and whose questions were answered only through a third person.

  I know that Mother spoke to Father about it. I overheard snippets of conversations, but nothing she said — that I had learned my lesson, that this silent treatment had gone on long enough — moved him. Father had a reputation for being stubborn and hard-headed, but these were qualities he had passed on to me, too. I vowed that I would not break before he did. I did as I was told, worked harder even, as I wanted to give Father no further cause for complaint. I took my lead from him, and if I needed further instructions I would ask Angus, who then asked Father. Whatever reply was given, I acted upon it immediately, seeing no point in pretending that Angus needed to say it again for me.

  This rift, this silence, cast a pall over what should have been a happy time for us. With the Yankees driven back it was a period of relative peace and, strangely enough for a time of war, a time of new prosperity for the MacKay family.

  The British now made their headquarters at Burlington Bay and they needed supplies and labour. Through Father’s connections with the Hatts he was able to secure a contract to supply eggs to them and we doubled our production. Polly, aided by a willing Ellen, was in charge of our little industry, tending to more hens than I dreamed we could manage. Unusually, Ma seemed little interested, leaving much of the garden work to Polly. As that hot summer progressed, she spent more and more time just sitting on the porch mending or knitting. If I were nearby I would be aware that she was looking at me and, more often than not, she would sigh, causing me considerable guilt, for I feared that my strained relations with Father were the cause of her despondency. One hot morning in August I voiced my concern to Angus as he and I were clearing land, while Father had driven with Drew to Burlington Bay.

  Angus started to laugh. “Alexander MacKay, around whom the earth revolves, the be all and end all of everything!” He shook his head. “Mother’s not happy, that’s for sure, but you’re a gowk if you’ve not realised that we have another brother or sister on the way.”

  “When?” I stuttered.

  “It’s not something that has been talked about, Sandy, but I would say in a few months’ time.” He smiled and added, “Which is good, because then our little brother or sister will be older than Morag and Eric’s child, its niece or nephew, if only by half a year or so.”

  “Morag, too!”

  “Now that you can be forgiven for not knowing, Sandy. I only know because I overheard Mother telling Father after seeing Morag and Eric at last Sunday’s meeting.” Angus smiled. “It will be nice to have a new baby around the house again. Maybe it will lift the mood and you and Father can forget your differences.”

  Angus looked so happy that I did not wish to dash his hopes, so I just nodded as if I agreed.

  * * *

  As it turned out, the new baby did change things, but not in the way that Angus had hoped.

  About three weeks later, Angus was taking the wagon with its crates of eggs to the army camp. Drew and Father were in the barn while I was mending the fence around our vegetable patch. Some soldiers billeted in the village had come creeping in the night to steal from us. They were drunk, paying little attention to what they trampled on. Their racket had woken the whole house, and all it took to send them away with their tails between their legs was Angus, Father and I to run at them brandishing stout sticks.

  I was lost in my thoughts as we worked, but being nearer the house, I was the one who first heard Polly’s screams, which were closely followed by Ellen flying out of the house, yelling as loudly as she could for Father to come quick. I set off running towards the house with Father scant seconds behind me.

  Polly stood in the doorway. “The baby’s coming, Father.” She was white-faced, her eyes round, “I don’t
know what to do. Mother seems in such pain.”

  Father turned to me. “Sandy, take Hamish and ride for the village, but stop off on the way and ask Mrs. Brown to come over to help your mother. Find Dr. Tiffany if you can.”

  I had Hamish saddled before I realised that for the first time in months, Father had spoken directly to me.

  The Browns’ farmstead was only ten minutes’ ride away. Even as I explained what was happening, Agatha Brown was gathering things together to take with her. She had five children of her own and I knew that her experience would calm Polly, who seemed all in a tizzy.

  “Sandy,” she said, “do your best to find the doctor. Your mother’s not as young as she was, and there have been other babies lost.” I gaped at her, surprised that she knew this. “Stop fly catching, Sandy, and get moving.” Her words were harsh, but the smile accompanying them was gentle.

  I leapt onto Hamish’s back and rode as fast I could for the village, but my hopes were dashed even before I dismounted, as I saw a note pinned to Dr. Tiffany’s door. That meant only one thing — that he had been called out and could be as far away as Niagara. The note had been written that morning and said that the doctor was gone to Brantford and not likely to be home until tomorrow. I used the pencil hanging on a string from the door to write on his note that he should come to the MacKays’ as soon as he could, but seeing that there was already another note above mine, I held out little hope that he would come in time. As I rode home I prayed that all would be well, that Mrs. Brown would have taken charge.

  A sorry sight awaited me as I rode in to our farmyard. Drew and Ellen sat on the porch, little Samuel between them. Their heads were down and even though it was obvious she had been crying, Ellen was attempting to amuse Samuel by drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick. Even before I dismounted, I could hear Mother’s moans and shrieks.

  Ellen was on her feet and at my side in an instant. “Is he coming? Did you find the doctor?”

  When I told her that he was away, her face crumpled and she began to cry in earnest, gulping sobs that quickly set Samuel off, too. I quickly tethered Hamish to the porch rail and scooped my little brother up into my arms, patting his back and whispering that he should be a brave boy if he could. Drew was up and had put his arms around Ellen, who buried her face into his shoulder. “It’s been bad, Sandy,” he said. “Mrs. Brown is there with Polly, but we don’t know what’s happening. Mother sounds as if she’s hurting something terrible.”

  Drew’s normally cheerful face was solemn. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Where’s Father?”

  “In the parlour. He told us to stay out here and watch Samuel.”

  “Is Angus not back yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Here,” I said, “take Samuel then. See if you can rock him to sleep.”

  Father was sitting in the rocking chair by the hearth, his head in his hands. He looked up as I came in, sighing when he saw that I was alone.

  “Dr. Tiffany is away and likely not back today,” I said. It felt strange to be speaking directly to Father.

  “I feared that,” Father said. “Your Aunt Mary helped birth all of you, but with her gone, Mrs. Brown is a good substitute.”

  I felt awkward standing there, and half turned to rejoin the younger ones outside, but with a gesture Father halted me.

  “Sit with me, Sandy,” he said.

  I took the seat opposite him. My hands clenched into fists each time Mother moaned or cried out. Father’s hands gripped the arms of his rocking chair, his knuckles white. Mrs. Brown’s voice was a murmur, gentle and soothing.

  “Each child is a gift.” Father’s voice was low, so low that I was not sure he was talking to me at all, but rather just saying his thoughts out loud. Then he addressed me directly. “Both your mother and I love you all dearly. Never forget that.”

  I think that Father would have said more, but Mother screamed so loudly that he leaped up from his chair. He stood there for what seemed like minutes, as if undecided what to do. Mother’s moans had turned to sobs and even before Mrs. Brown appeared in the bedroom door, I knew that things had gone awry.

  Her face was red and beaded with sweat. “I’m sorry, Rob, the baby was stillborn. It was a hard birthing and Hannah is weakened by it. You should be by her side now.”

  At Mrs. Brown’s words Father crumpled in on himself and staggered as if he would fall. I moved to his side, placing an arm around his waist to steady him. For one brief moment, he leaned against me, then straightened his shoulders and went with Mrs. Brown.

  I waited there, not sure what to do, whether to go and tell the younger ones, or to wait to see if Father needed me again. In the end, I decided that it was not fair to leave the younger ones worrying, especially since Mother no longer cried out and they might think she had died. All three were crying and their tears unmanned me, too, so that I could no longer hold back the sobs that had filled me up. There had been other babies who had died, but it was not spoken of, and when we were younger I suppose we were less aware.

  We were sitting on the porch steps in a huddle when Father came out to find me.

  His face was grey. He stood looking down at us before he spoke. “Your mother is tired but she will be fine. Drew and Ellen, take Samuel inside and help Polly prepare some food. If Mrs. Brown sees fit, you may visit with your mother briefly.” There was another pause, then Father said, “Sandy, I need you to come with me.”

  I followed him to the barn, where he handed me a spade. “Go dig a grave, Sandy, on the bank overlooking the creek.” Father’s voice cracked and he stumbled over his next words. “It doesn’t have to be big, but make it deep so that critters will not dig it up. Perhaps to the side of the willow. I will come and join you there when I’m ready.”

  It did not take me long at all to do as Father asked. As I was digging, I realised that there were three other small mounds beneath the trees. I felt stupid that I had never noticed them before. I even had time to gather stones from the creek bank to either build a cairn over the grave or just to put on top, but still Father did not come. I went back up to the farm, willing to risk his anger that I had disobeyed him again.

  I found him sitting on a milking stool at the far end of the barn, in the shadows. A small, crudely built coffin was laid across his knees, its lid propped up against the wall behind. Around his feet were curls of pale wood shavings.

  The grim expression on his face as he looked down at the tiny coffin softened slightly. “Ah, Sandy, you came looking for me. I was hoping that Angus would return and that he could do what I cannot. I wanted to spare you if I could.”

  I was puzzled. “I can do what needs to be done, sir. Just tell me what it is.”

  “You need to get your brother for me.”

  “But Angus is not here,” I said, puzzled. “And why would you need Drew when you have me?”

  Father closed his eyes and when he spoke, his words were so faint that I had to strain to hear them. “Your newest brother, Sandy. I am sorry, but I find myself unable to do this.” His voice steadied. Tears were running unchecked down his face but he seemed unaware of them. “Go to Mrs. Brown, who will know what to do. Make sure that the younger ones don’t see. Bring him to me and then we will bury him.”

  I tapped gently on the bedroom door. Mrs. Brown opened it just a crack. When I told her what Father wanted she nodded and told me to meet her at the back of the house. I didn’t have to wait long before she appeared, and silently passed my brother’s body to me. I held him gently, thinking of the times I had held Samuel when he was newborn. The weight and feel were the same and my arms remembered how to hold a baby, but this baby was cold. Mrs. Brown had covered his face with the shawl. With one finger, I eased it aside. He was beautiful, like a little doll carved out of white wood. His eyes were closed and I marvelled at the delicate veins I saw on his eyelids — like petals. A tuft of fiery red hair pushed out from beneath the shawl. Gently, I covered his face again and started on the long walk to wher
e Father waited.

  Father stood up as I entered the barn. He held out the coffin to me. I carefully laid my brother into it, tucking the shawl around him. It was foolish, but I did not want the rough sides to touch him.

  Father had a look of such pain on his face that I almost could not bear to look at him. “Let me do this,” I said. “You go to Mother and the others.”

  He hesitated, but I gently took the coffin from him. “I can do this for you.”

  Father dashed away tears with the back of his hand. “You are a good boy, Sandy,” he said, his voice thick.

  I did not pick up the tiny lid and nail it down until he had gone into the house. It was only after I shovelled dirt down onto the coffin and knelt beneath the willow to place a coverlet of stones upon the grave that I realised I did not know my brother’s name. I didn’t even know whether he had been given one. I wondered if, had he lived, they would have called him Roger.

  Chapter 4

  December 1813

  It seemed for all the rest of that year as if we were a family holding our breath, on edge in case something should disturb our fragile tranquility. Neither Mother nor Father spoke of the dead baby and all of us followed their lead. Mother was soon up and running the household again, with Polly as her trusty lieutenant, and if she was more prone to temper than before, no one remarked upon it.

  Father did not acknowledge that the silence between him and me had been broken, nor indeed that there had ever been one. He now spoke to me as much as he did the others, which was little, as a thoughtful silence was his preferred state. Quite often, at the end of the day’s labours, before the light failed and we went in to eat, he would bundle up and walk down to the creek. Mother never went there.

  Father seemed to find Angus the most restful company. Angus had never been a great talker, never full of questions like I was, but just happy in himself and his work. I tried to be like him, but it was hard, and I recognised that I was a disturbance to Father. He took to keeping Angus working alongside him and sent me on those errands to the army camp or the mill that had previously been Angus’s domain.