by Larry Stuart
‘You know, Mary? I can’t get over how different this is to how I thought it would be.
All I used to hear was how wild and undeveloped the Colonies were. At school, we were taught that North America was a mainly barren continent, roamed over by Indians and bison. Anytime Canada was talked about, all it seemed to be famous for was its bad weather and dangerous natives lurking behind every bush and tree. Remember those men at the docks in Liverpool trying to sell us guns and ammo for our protection? Wouldn’t you just love to send everyone a picture of us now, sitting outside a French-style restaurant, sipping lemonade and eating pastries in this wild and dangerous kingdom?’
‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we?’
Mid-morning the following day, Cameron and Mary sat in front of a large desk in the drab building housing the Quebec Provincial Headquarters of the Ministry of Agriculture. They were both surprised that a government department would occupy such an austere and obviously old property, but as Cameron had whispered to Mary when their advisor left the room, ‘at least they no waste the taxpayer’s money on a lot of fancy buildings’.
So far, everything seemed in order, and all that was now required was the final authorisation and signature from a senior civil servant. Once this approval had been attained, their next step was to proceed to the registry office in the region in which they wished to settle, and pick out a plot.
‘Voila…der we are. All signed and sealed,’ said Mr Carvelle, on his return.
Taking his seat, he then handed Cameron the official looking document with its big red seal in the upper left-hand corner.
‘Now…do you know where you’d like to live?’
‘Yes…My sister and her late husband moved onto land near a place called Grenon, which I think is somewhere near the Richelieu River. We’d like to look in that area if it’s possible.’
‘Grenon…I t’ink dat’s near Fort Lennox on de Isle aux Noix. Let me see…Yes. de local registry office is in a town called Lacolle. I’m afraid I don’t have any information about de availability of land in dat area, but I hope you find what you want.’
Standing up from behind his desk, Mr Caravelle signalled the end of the meeting by offering his hand to Cameron.
‘Monsieur…Madame…It’s been a pleasure to meet you both, and I ’ope you find our country is what you ’ave been looking for.’
As the carriage wound its way back to their hotel, they were both astonished by the ease with which they had just become landowners. Only a month ago, they had left a country where ninety-five percent of the people could never have owned any land, and yet here they were giving it away!
‘I can’t believe it was that simple,’ said Mary, turning to Cameron. ‘I keep thinkin’ I should pinch maself to see if it’s real.’
‘I know what you mean. Let’s just hope we be able to find Margaret…and when we do, she be all right. After all, anything could have happened since she sent that letter to Helen…what …nine months ago?’
Up until this moment, the problems of his sister had barely crossed Cameron’s mind, and it was only now that he was beginning to realise just how selfish he’d been. Poor Margaret, he thought. She’d been through hell with her marriage, and yet all along he’d just taken it for granted that he and Mary could descend on her and expect her help. He didn’t even know if she was still in Canada, let alone in Grenon. Suddenly, for the first time in weeks, serious doubts began to cross his mind.
‘Mary…if we can no find her, I think we should come back to Montreal and re-assess our situation. After all, we no have to stay in that area if we no like it…and there’s always the railway to fall back on.’
‘Don’t tell me after all we’ve been through you’re beginnin’ to have second thoughts? We’re havin’ a baby in six or seven months and we need to be settled!’
‘No…no…it’s not that. I just want you to be happy…and I’m sure that whatever we find over the next few days…well…everythin’ will be fine.’
When Cameron and Mary arrived at Bonaventure Station the following morning, it was again bursting at the seams. Confidence in the shipping lines had not yet been restored, so most travellers were still opting for train travel along the St. Lawrence.
‘Thank goodness we no be goin’ to Quebec,’ said Cameron, as they weaved their way through the crowds on the main station concourse. ‘Just look at that line.’
The ticket counter for their train to New York was at the other end of the station, and by the looks of it not many people were travelling south.
‘Where did you say you want to go?’ asked the ticket agent behind the ornate glass window.
‘I think it’s called Cantic. I was told it’s a small place near the border…just before the train crosses into the U.S.A.’
‘Ah…yes…’ere it is. I don’t t’ink you’re going to find much of a station der. In fact, they call it an “’alt”, which means de train only stops if de crew know der are passengers or freight waiting to get on or off. If you’re lucky der might be some cargo on board for Cantic, and somebody will be der when you arrive. If not, de nearest town is a place called Lacolle, which I’m afraid is a few miles down de road from de station.’
The New York Express departed on schedule, leaving the city via the Victoria Railway Bridge, which spanned the St. Lawrence River at the western end of the island.
One hour later, they found themselves standing on a deserted platform surrounded by their worldly possessions.
‘Well…this be a great welcome,’ said Mary, rather sarcastically. ‘No many cafés with pastries out here…be there?’
‘All right…maybe ’tis a bit desolate. If nobody shows up in the next thirty minutes, then I’ll walk down the road and see if I can find someone.’
Thankfully, there was only a wisp of a breeze that day, because the station was in a very bleak position devoid of any shelter from trees or shrubs. Cameron placed two of their trunks side-by-side to use as seats, and then he and Mary sat staring towards the west and the slowly descending sun. The countryside was beautiful. The green fields, already planted with this year’s vegetable crops, alternated with golden-brown rectangles of newly sown wheat and hay. Rows of poplar and beech lined some of the fields and roads, providing windbreaks for the growing produce. And smoke drifted lazily into the windless air from homesteads visible only as dark smudges against the rolling hills.
Without warning, their idyllic peace was shattered by the thundering of hooves. From around the bend of the road heading east, a horse and wagon suddenly appeared ahead of a wall of dust. Moments later, a wild looking individual with dirty, stringy hair sticking out from under a floppy hat, stepped down from a four wheeled wagon and sauntered over to where they were sitting.
‘Bonjour! Attendez-vous quelqu’un?’
After realizing that their mystified looks signified that they didn’t understand French, he quickly switched to English.
‘Sorry…I just assumed you were French as most people who come ‘ere are… Anyway, I’ll start again. Are you waiting for someone, or can I help? I’m sort of de stationmaster in dis booming city. I would have been ‘ere to meet de train, but one of my cows held me up when it decided to give birth an hour ago. For dis I apologize.’
‘Oh, please…’tis not a problem. Besides, we’ve been enjoying the peace and the scenery. My name’s Cameron, Cameron Stuart, an this is ma wife, Mary.’
‘How do you do? I’m Raymond Dupoint.’
‘We were told in Montreal that there was always transport available here…but I’m beginnin’ to think they may have exaggerated a little. We could certainly use a ride into Lacolle if that’s possible… and of course, we’ll pay.’
‘No problem at all…and der’s no charge. I ‘ave to be ‘ere anyway to pick up any mail and cargo dat might arrive. So, just give me a minute while I check de office, den we can load up your baggage and be on our way.’
Soon, they were on the road heading east, and sitting in the only place av
ailable – a sprung, bench type seat, just long enough for the three of them to sit on. Mary was in the middle, with Raymond in control on the right and Cameron hanging on for dear life on the left. Behind them were all their possessions, plus two mailbags and two other boxes. In deference to Mary’s comfort, the pace this time was much more sedate. And although still not exactly comfortable, the ride was pleasant enough for them to enjoy the countryside, while still maintaining a conversation with Raymond.
‘I’m sorry about de lack of comfort, Mrs Stuart. Had I known you were coming I would ’ave brought something more suitable. By the way, why would you choose dis part of Canada in which to settle? From what we’ve ’eard most immigrants are going to Toronto…or even out west to de prairies.’
‘Actually, Cameron’s family knows someone who lives near here, in a place called Grenon. So, it seemed the obvious choice to make.’
‘Ah…now I see. What’s der name? Maybe I know dem.’
‘Her name is Margaret Grant. Unfortunately, her husband died last year, but we’re hopin’ she still be here…somewhere.’
‘No…it’s not a name I recognize. Not surprising really, because I live in de opposite direction to Grenon. Anyway, where would you like to go in Lacolle?’
‘We be hopin’ to stop at the Land Registry office,’ Cameron replied, ‘and then maybe get some information from them about where I might find Mrs Grant.’
‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck der, because der only open in the morning. Do you ’ave anywhere to stay? Because, if not, Madame Bouchard sometimes ’as rooms available. I could take you der if you like…although I must warn you, she is a widow and knows ’ow to talk. Den again, she might be of some ’elp to you, because she knows everybody around ’ere…and probably in de whole of Quebec as well,’ chuckled Raymond.
Cameron did manage to stay on board for the rest of the trip, as he soon learned the knack of bracing the outside of his foot against the bottom of the springs, thereby counteracting the tendency to fall out. Along the way, he also discovered that this wagon was called a buckboard, and according to Mr Dupoint, was the most useful piece of equipment one could own; and unsurprisingly, he just happened to know where there was one was for sale.
That evening, over a delicious dinner served by Madame Bouchard’s daughter, Evelynne, they spoke at some length. Or should one say, Madame Bouchard spoke at some length about the history of nearly every family in the area. Thankfully, it appeared that the Stuart’s would not be required to reveal much about their history; and when their chance to speak finally did arrive, they only needed to mention Margaret and Peter’s name before Madam once more assumed control of the conversation.
‘Oh…I know all about dat Mrs Grant and ’er ’usband. She was a nice lady, and seemed to really enjoy de new way of life. But ’e was not satisfied being a farmer, and soon became involved in smuggling alcohol across de open border with de U.S.A. De poor woman was left to single-handedly take care of der farm, which in de end, t’roo no fault of ’er own, lost money.’
‘We did hear that Margaret lost a child. Maybe that affected Peter an was why he got in with the wrong people?’
‘’e was an ’ard drinker…and de more ’e drank de more violent ’e became, until one day ’e almost killed Margaret. Dat is why she lost ’er baby.’
Mary reached across the table, casually placing her hand on Cameron’s now rigid arm. ‘So what happened to him, then?’
‘One day last year, ’e crossed de wrong people in Montreal, and de following night paid de ultimate price.’
‘So where is ma sister? Is she still on their farm?’
‘Non…I’m afraid not. ’er husband left ’er in terrible debt and she ’ad to sell off everything dey ’ad. After dat, the government took back de land and passed it on to somebody else.’
Cameron hung his head. All his doubts and worries resurfaced. Having come all this
way, it now looked like they were on their own again. Reaching across the table, he grasped Mary’s hand. Both their faces now bore a grim, sad look of resignation.
‘Well...never mind,’ Madame Bouchard said cheerily. ‘Everyt’ing is now fine.’
Cameron and Mary looked at each other with furrowed brows.
‘What…what do you mean?’ asked Mary
‘Of course, you wouldn’t know would you? She met a local man called John Williams, who ’ad lost ’is wife de year before last. Anyway, dey fell in love, and last month dey got married. Dey now live in a nice ’ouse dat ’e recently built on ’is family’s old farm. You’ll be able to visit dem tomorrow. It’s only a few miles from ’ere…near a town called Clarenceville.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They both felt uneasy walking up to the house; and the smell of freshly cut timber and newly applied paint hung in the air as they climbed the three steps up to the verandah. With some trepidation, Cameron walked up to the recently painted door and, using the metal knocker, announced their arrival.
The shadow of a tall, fit-looking man could be seen striding towards them through the lightly curtained panes of glass at the side of the door.
‘Hello…can I help you?’
‘Good Mornin’…You must be, John. I’m Cameron…Margaret’s brother...and this be Mary. Is Margaret in?’
For a moment, John stood there with his mouth agape, then taking a step back, opened the door.
‘I…ah…I think you’d better come in,’ he stammered, before turning his head towards the back of the house. ‘Margaret…can you come to the front door?’
What happened next caught everyone by surprise, but for vastly different reasons. Margaret appeared from the doorway directly ahead of them. Her head was down as she walked towards them wiping her hands on a multi-patterned cloth. When she looked up, she took one more faltering step, placed her left hand on the rising handrail beside her, and then her face turned ashen, her eyes rolled up, and without uttering a word, she collapsed to the floor.
Cameron and John froze. Mary immediately switched into nursing mode and hurried to Margaret’s side. Kneeling beside the prostrate form, she immediately turned Margaret’s body onto her side and started issuing orders to the dumfounded men.
‘Someone get a cushion and place it beneath Margaret’s feet. John…can you get me a wet cloth from the kitchen…but before you do, tell Cameron where he might find a blanket to keep Margaret warm.’
Both men scampered away to complete their assigned tasks, and within minutes returned – standing rigid beside Margaret’s prone body.
‘Stand back and give her some air! John, do you have any Salt of Hartshorn…or Sal Volatile?’
John stared at her with a blank look on his face, so Mary tried again.
‘Ammonia, John. It might be called ammonia over here.’
John immediately rushed upstairs. Seconds later the sound of doors opening and slamming shut, interspersed with the creaking of floorboards, kept those below posted as to his progress. Finally, with a gleeful shout of ‘Here it is!’ he raced down the stairs, almost falling over his poor wife’s motionless body in his haste to hand over the small corked bottle.
‘Can you two just calm down a wee bit? She’s only fainted. If you carry on like this it’ll be one of you that’ll be needin’ serious medical attention.’
Pouring a small amount of the liquid onto a cloth, she slowly passed it under Margaret’s nose. Almost immediately, Margaret’s head moved away from the foul odour, and her hand came up to push away the offensive solution. That was followed by a sneeze and a cough, before her head slowly began to rise from the floor.
‘Oh my goodness…what happened?’
For the second time that morning, Margaret’s eyes took in the sight of her brother
standing in the hallway.
‘But…but you’re dead!’
‘I assure you, I’m no dead, Maggie. Far from it in fact! Oh…and by the way…this kind lady who just took care of you is Mary, my wife…and she’s quite alive as well.
’
When Margaret had fully recovered, they all followed her into the kitchen – a unanimous decision having been taken to have a cup of tea before any more surprises were produced.
‘Why don’t you three just sit down while I fill up the kettle? I have a feeling this might turn into a rather lengthy discussion,’ said John, moving towards the sink.
Before Cameron could pull out a chair, Margaret rushed over, throwing her arms around him. And even though tears streamed down her face, her eyes were warm and her smile seemed to light up the room.
‘Oh, Cameron…I’m so happy to see you. But before we go any further, I’ll just go and get something that might help to explain what just happened in there.’