by Gerard Doran
Tommy closed his eyes and blessed himself. The sharp granite rocks hurt his feet, but it took his mind off the water rushing by him. Suddenly he jumped off the bank, hitting the water with a splash. He felt his feet touch the bottom, and then he was back at the surface of the water with his friends’ faces gazing down at him. Above their heads, the blazing sun reflected off the leaves of the birch trees, whose branches hung out over the river.
“You did it!” yelled Walter. “Kick your legs hard, now.”
Thrashing madly, Tommy swam to the safety of the shallow end of the pool and grabbed a rock.
One by one, the boys jumped into the pool, splashing, laughing, and screaming. Their voices echoed down the valley. Hours later, under a fading sun, they tramped down the dusty Lower Road toward home, hanging on to each other like thistles to wool, stumbling along in their worn boots.
Walter O’Rourke turned off to cross the meadow to his house, giving Tommy a slap on the back before he left. “Now, b’y, you can go swimming with us all the time.”
“I’m some tired,” said Pat. “I’ll probably fall asleep before we finish the rosary.”
“Me, too,” Tommy said. “I hope it’s warm again tomorrow. As soon as I’m finished me work, I’m going swimming again.”
John took Prince’s harness off, led him to the pound, and set him loose. He stood for a moment to view the blue haze over the thick woods above the Rocky Hills and the cliffs at Witty Cove, which were white with hundreds of seagulls that had begun their nightly roost. As he walked to the house, a snipe flew in the air above the bridge across the Big River. The whoop of its tail sounded in the evening air.
“We were waiting for you, John,” said Kate, gathering up her rosary from the table. “My turn to lead this evening. How was your last practice?”
“Good. Rowed a bit longer than usual, but we had a good run going. After that long spell off last week, it was some good to be back at it.” He slipped the suspenders off his shoulders and sat down. “Turned the buoy a couple of times, that was the only hard work. Where’s Tommy?”
“Upstairs putting some dry clothes on. He went swimming with the lads and brought half the river home with him.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll call him.”
John rose and stretched his arms over his head. “I need a good night’s rest, and I’d better get one tonight because you knows I’ll hardly sleep tomorrow night. I never sleeps right the night before the races.”
“Tommy, come down now,” Kate called out. “Bring your beads with you.”
Dan was struggling to print each word. He wanted the letters to be perfect. He checked the spelling over and over, guessing that certain words were right. Liz would understand, anyway. He thought about asking his mother to check the letter before he put it in the mail, then quickly decided against it.
“Dan, my son, are you almost finished? I’m going to have to fill the lamp again or you’ll be in the dark.” Ellen crept up behind him and pretended to look at the letter over his shoulder. “You should go to bed, b’y. You must be tired.” She put her arms around him.
Dan placed his own arms over the paper. “No, Mother, I’m not tired. It’s a long letter I’m writing. Liz needs to know my plans.” Very soon he’d be sitting in another kitchen, far away from Outer Cove. What would he do in a new country? Sometime after his mother had left the room, he carefully folded the paper, placed the sheets in the envelope, licked his lips, pressed his wet mouth against the gum, and sealed the flap. He turned off the lantern and left the still kitchen. A sultry draft pushed its way through the open window at the end of the hall. The floor beneath his bare feet was cool and welcoming. He opened the door to his room, wishing Liz were there in his bed.
* * * * *
A whiff of pipe tobacco drifted past John as he rode the bucksaw through the dry spruce on the sawhorse. He didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing behind him, leaning up against the side of the barn.
“Trying to keep your mind off it, John?” Watt walked slowly toward John. His mouthful of crooked teeth held the pipe in place.
“I suppose you’re here so you can keep your mind off a few things, too?” John laid the saw aside, turned around, and went to meet Watt. “Come in for a cup of tea, b’y.”
“Not today, John. I just came by to see how you are.” Watt topped up his pipe and relit it. “You looks rested.”
“I feels rested. I feels good.” John walked along with Watt toward the house. “Sure you don’t want to come in?”
“No, I’m heading home to cook. Kitty don’t want me in the kitchen, but I needs to keep busy. I likes peeling spuds, there’s no thought to it.” Watt walked to the gate that opened to the road. “I’ll see you around five o’clock. Come hungry.” He laughed.
John smiled as he watched his friend walk off down the road. He and Kitty always put together a big feed for the crew on regatta eve. Kitty would leave as soon as they got there, not wanting to hear the rowing talk.
“What’s that cooking?” asked Martin. “Don’t smell like chicken, but it do, sort of.”
“Did you slaughter a goat, Watt?” joked Denis. “It better be a big one. I’m gut-foundered.”
Watt gestured at the two tables that had been placed end to end against the window that looked out on Kelly’s Hill. “Now get yourselves a seat, and leave the one in the middle of the table for me.” He opened the oven door to show off the large bird, roasted a golden brown.
“Jeez, Watt, b’y. Where did you get the turkey?” asked Croke.
“It come from the Lester farm, out in the Goulds. Dr. Rendell got her for us.”
The crew gathered around the stove. “It must be fifteen, twenty pounds,” said John.
“They’re ugly when they’re alive, but some nice when they’re cooked,” said Watt, taking the bird out and putting it on a platter. He began cutting the breast. Steam rose up and a rich aroma spread though the kitchen. “Sit down, now,” said Watt. “We got a meal to eat and some talking to do.”
Kitty came into the kitchen and served them, then left to go to her house next door. Watt was the last to sit down, carrying his plate with him.
“We’ll say grace before we begin.”
“I didn’t think you’d be much for saying a blessing, Watt,” said Din.
“This is no ordinary meal,” Watt replied. He rose from his seat. “Before either of you lifts a fork, reflect for a moment on God and your families, and add a short prayer for a fine day tomorrow.” The men blessed themselves and bowed their heads.
“Now,” said Din, “can we start?”
“Yes, b’y, you can start. For the next half-hour, you don’t have to take orders from me, because by the end of tomorrow, I promise, you’re going to be tired of me bawling at you. Now, don’t forget to leave room for the molasses pudding.”
Watt sat back down and let them eat their fill of turkey before he broke into casual talk around the table. “Now, listen, b’ys. In the morning it will be the same as every regatta before. We goes to the pond as a crew,” said Watt, pouring hot water into the teapot. “I’ll take my carriage and get the McCarthys and Jack. John will pick up Croke and Martin.”
“Where do we meet?” Croke had gotten up from the table and was following Watt around the kitchen.
“Both carriages will meet at Savage’s Bridge. We’ll take the road through the White Hills past the Cook farm, then go through the Gut. When we gets there, we’ll put the horses in the meadow at Pittman’s. We’ll walk from there up to the boathouse, along the path behind Conway’s. We’ll need to limber up from the ride out from the cove. It’s a nice brisk walk from the Pittman place—ten minutes or so, enough to get the blood pumping.
“I asked Tilley to keep an eye on the crews using the Blue Peter in the first races. Don’t want that shell out of commission for repairs.” Watt
poured out the tea and passed around the pudding. “One more thing. We’ll take to the water no later than ten minutes before the start of the race.”
“Is that enough time?” asked Croke. “Which stake and buoy do we have?”
“Stake two, buoy two. Now, where was I?” Watt scratched his head. “Ten minutes is just enough time to break a sweat and get to the starting line.” Watt clamped his hands on the back of his chair. “Enough time to feel the weight of the oar in your hands.” He took his hands off the chair and laid them on the shoulders of the two men closest to him. “This crew is ready. You’re in fine shape, the best I ever seen. We’ve healed our blisters and our backs.
“Neddy Gosse had better not be the one that changed the oar in the Blue Peter last week. If he did . . .” Watt took a junk of wood and tapped it slowly against the palm of his hand, each tap a little harder than the last. “If he did, and we can prove it, he’ll wish he’d never done it.”
The hinges on the porch door creaked. All eyes shifted toward it.
Kitty poked her head into the room, smiling. “You’re still here. Some quiet, the lot of ye. Had enough of the rowing talk?”
“Yes, Kitty, we’re just finishing up.” Watt placed the junk back in the woodbox.
“I hope I can sleep, with all this in me gut.” Martin rubbed his belly and rose up from his chair. “I haven’t seen the likes of this since Easter.”
The crew thanked Watt and Kitty, then walked out the door into a light shower of rain.
“Wind’s from the south,” said John, as he buttoned up his jacket and pulled his cap down over his eyes. “It’s light—that’s good. There’s more warm weather coming.”
They went out the Pine Line back to their homes. A gentle breeze pushed the soft rain into their faces. The cattle lying off in the distance on the Pine farm looked like carefully placed black and white boulders. The faint sun strained to break the low cloud cover. John parted with the rest of the crew at the top of Barnes Road, bidding them a good evening and a fine rest.
“Be ready at eight, Croke. Don’t worry about a thing,” said John. “You should sleep well with all that ballast in your stomach.”
It was 890 steps from Outer Cove Road to John’s gate. He liked to count them, the same way he counted the number of strokes it took to row the full course at Quidi Vidi Lake. If he made the walk to his house in the same number of steps, it meant his pacing was right.
“A little rain falling,” said Kate as John walked into the house. “But I don’t think it will last.”
John pulled a chair away from the table and sat down next to his wife. “This will pass. Tomorrow will be a grand day. The crew is ready. We got two races, two chances to prove our salt.” He took Kate’s hand, feeling the warmth of their years together. “Where’s Tommy?”
“He’s tuckered out. All excited about going to the regatta tomorrow. ”
“Watt and Kitty cooked up some feed for us. I’m ready for bed, too.”
“I was waiting for you to come home, my darling. I could use an early night myself. Tomorrow is going to be some day.” Kate got up and held out her hand to him.
The low cloud made the evening slip quickly into darkness. The tide surged against the rocky cliffs, sending a rumbling sound through the cove. John’s final thoughts as he drifted to sleep were about the precise placing of his hands on the oar, how his feet should be set in the footing of the shell. His knees would be bent slightly, to brace the load with the effort needed to move the boat out of the dead water at the start. He fell asleep curled up like a baby and woke in the same position.
Chapter
26
John pulled the brim of his hat down to keep the glare out of his eyes. The sun was skimming the stunted woods above Houston’s on the Rocky Hills. As he and Prince passed O’Rourke’s Lane, Croke’s long frame, leaning against the trunk of a tree, came into view.
“You’re right on time, John.” Croke climbed aboard the carriage. “If it wasn’t for Mother, I’d still be in bed.”
“You had yourself a good sleep, I take it?” Prince lurched forward before John eased the tension on the reins. Croke jerked back in the seat.
“Jeez, John, your horse is some anxious to get out to the regatta.” Croke laughed. “I’m not sure what was in that turkey, but I wasn’t in bed five minutes before I was out like a cold junk. Sure, I believes I was in a turkey coma.”
“You looks rested, Croke.”
“Rested? I feels like I could row to Torbay! How about you? Are you ready?”
“I had a grand rest, didn’t even wake up to have a leak.”
The light breeze barely moved the sagging tops of the juniper trees that lined the Lower Road.
“Not much wind.”
“Hardly any wind at all. Bit of an onshore breeze.” John shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll battle a bit going down to the turn, I imagine. Tailwind might aid us coming back.”
“There’s Martin waiting at the end of MacDonald’s Lane,” said Croke. “He’s pacing back and forth. Think he’s anxious?”
“No, he’s fine. He can’t wait to get out on the pond, that’s all. He loves the races, that man. Loves everything about them.” John reined Prince in until he stopped.
“Morning, fellas.” With a leap, Martin was up on the back seat. “Prince must know it’s Regatta Day, the way he’s trotting out the road.”
“Wish he knew how we’re going to do,” said John, grinning.
“What do you make of the weather, John? Light wind, sunny.” Martin leaned ahead and placed his hand on John’s shoulder.
“I’m glad the races will go ahead. I hates delays. Can’t see any records being broken with this wind, though. A southeast wind’s a bugger of a wind, even if it is light. It acts like a damn tide when you’re rowing into it.” John pulled gently on the reins to ease Prince’s pace. He didn’t want to get to Quidi Vidi too early, only in enough time to deal with getting the boat set up.
“There’s Watt, resting on the bridge. Having his last few draws of the pipe for the morning,” said Croke.
“I doubt that,” said John.
Martin looked at Croke. “You’re excited, Croke, b’y, and nervous, too. It’s a good thing we got a long ride to town before we rows. That’ll give you a chance to settle down a bit. Don’t get me wrong, when you’re nervous, you’re ready. And it don’t hurt to hate the crowd you’re rowing against, either.”
“Morning, Watt,” said john. “Let’s get a move on.” Watt climbed back up on his carriage, and the crew was off.
They crested the White Hills and rode along the edge of the tree-lined trail of the Cook property and the Waldgrove farm. Only tuckamore stood along the rock walls and fences that protected the crops from the cows in the adjacent fields. The lake was now in sight, its water blue and calm in the distance. As John got closer to the pond, he could feel his body relax.
The two carriages turned onto the north side road, slowing down just before the Gut. Out on the lake, four white, perfectly aligned kegs bobbed in the morning breeze. All seven heads turned to look at these buoys, which marked the turn.
It had been a short walk to their boathouse from Pittman’s. Like a draft through an open door, the southeast breeze found its way up through the cliffs of Cuckold’s Cove and pushed out onto the lake.
Watt led the crew through the crowds on the shoreline, giving them last-minute advice. “Going to have to take a wide sweep heading into the turn in this wind. Southeast wind can be tricky, especially if you gets a lead on a crew in the lane to your north side. That damn wind can take you over on the next buoy if you comes out too wide off the turn.
“John, it’s nine forty. Let’s you and me go check the race program, make sure what stake and buoy we’re on. The rest of you, go into the boathouse.”
John and Wat
t tracked down two programs. “John, my son, they must have made a mistake at the printers. Sure, there’s no way we’re on number four. They told me number two. I’m going to go find that Jesus Thompson and get this straightened out.” Watt’s search for the captain of the course proved fruitless. He saw Mare, the president, standing by the dock.
“Is this the final placing for the crews in the fishermen’s race, sir?”
“I’m afraid it is, Mr. Power.”
“Where’s Mr. Thompson?”
“I’m not sure. Out there somewhere.” Mare waved his hand in the general direction of the crowds, and turned away.
Watt went to search the boathouse for Thompson.
“Watt!”
Watt ignored John.
“Watt!” John caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Even if we finds Thompson and curses him up in the clouds, he won’t change nothing. We only got enough time to get the boat ready, warm up a bit, and head to the start.”
“I’m about ready for a smoke and a drink right here and now.” Watt finally stopped walking and looked at John. “You’re right. Let’s go get the crew and go to our boat. Maybe when I’m on the water I’ll settle down.”
“I’m sure you will, Watt, b’y. I’m sure you will.”
As he asked the crew to push off, Watt saw the Kinsellas and Roches coming down Boathouse Lane out of the corner of his eye.
“Good thing they’re on stake two and out of everyone’s way,” Dan whispered to John. “They never made it home last night, by the looks of them.”
“Now, men, this is not a practice. No more talking!” Watt said. “Unless you got a question for me, there’ll be no more words out of you.” He stood up in the boat. “We got about six minutes to get to the start line. We’ll row about three minutes, stop, and try a couple of starts. If the first start is good and we hit the rate we want, there won’t be a second start.” He sat down and tightened the tiller ropes. “Blades under the water. Ready.” The throng of people around the boathouse stared at them. “Go!”