by Larry Stuart
November rolled into December, and with it the temperatures plummeted. Cameron and Mary thought they knew what cold weather was, but never had they experienced it so early in the winter, or, for weeks at a time.
‘You’d better get used to it,’ John commented one evening, as they all sat around a roaring fire in the front room. ‘In this part of Canada we have long, cold winters. Just be thankful the snow hasn’t started yet.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A glimmer of light peaked through the curtains as Mary tugged on Cameron’s arm.
‘Cameron…Listen…Can you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ he replied, his eyes slowly opening.
‘Exactly…it’s so quiet. It’s like the end of the world.’
Rolling out of bed, Cameron hopped across the cold floor to the window. Throwing back the curtains, the reason for the silence became all too apparent.
‘Wait till you see this. Everythin’ is white. There must be two feet of snow out there…and ’tis still comin’ down…in great big flakes.’
Mary threw off the covers and, as quickly as her condition would allow, walked over to the window.
‘Oh, isn’t it beautiful? It looks like everythin’ is wrapped in cotton wool.’
Mary put her arm around Cameron’s waist, pulling him closer.
‘One thing’s for sure…I don’t think you and John will be goin’ anywhere today...which means I can have you all to maself.’
By mid morning, the men had finished the outdoor chores, and then hurried in to the kitchen to stand by the stove, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands. Although the snow had stopped falling, the wind had begun to pick up and outside was fast becoming a place to avoid. Gusts whipped the snow across the yard, and drifts began to build wherever the blasts of air were deflected from their course. Cameron stared out the window at the tempest, suddenly appreciating why the house was surrounded by a verandah set three feet off the ground. There was nothing else needing to be done, so the men retired to the living room and settled in to their now daily discussions about Cameron and Mary’s enterprise and their plans for the future.
In the meantime, the training continued in the kitchen. Today the secret of how to preserve fruits and jams was disclosed, when Margaret demonstrated how to seal in the contents of the jars with beeswax.
The wind continued to howl all day, and the visibility was now so poor that when Cameron made another quick trip to the back porch to collect more wood, it was impossible for him to tell whether or not it was still snowing. Hopefully, that will be the last trip outside today, he thought, kicking the back door shut and dumping his armful of wood into the basket beside the stove.
‘When you’re done, Cameron, can you go and get John for me?’
Margaret seemed a bit tense, he thought. And then as he started to walk out of the kitchen, he noticed the puddle spreading out from beneath Mary’s chair.
‘What is it, Mary? What’s happening?’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ said Margaret. ‘Her waters have broken and the baby’s on the way.’
‘Oh no, it can’t be…not on a day like this!’ Cameron exclaimed.
‘Just calm down,’ said Mary. ‘Everythin’ will be fine. If we no can get Dr. Fitzpatrick then I’ll talk Margaret through the birth.’
Cameron hurried down the hall, calling out for John. Even though Mary had assured him all would be well, he was still worried. This just wasn’t fair, he thought. After everything that he’d put Mary through, he’d just wanted this to be easy for her.
‘I’ll go for the doctor, John. After all, she is my wife, and if anyone has to take any chances then it should be me.’
‘Cameron, you need to be here with Mary, and Margaret will need your help as well…Besides…I know the way a lot better than you.’
‘Listen, John. I couldn’t live with the guilt if anythin’ were to happen to you. Margaret has already gone through too much pain in her life.’
It was an argument Cameron was never going to win.
Under normal circumstances, John could have been there and back in less than an hour. But in this weather it was impossible to say how long it would take, assuming he could get there at all.
Margaret helped Mary up the stairs, while Cameron remained in the kitchen in charge of supplies. The instructions from Mary had been simple: get two big pots of water and keep them simmering on the stove; then go to the airing cupboard and get three old white sheets from the stack on the top shelf and cut them into four foot squares, and finally, make some coffee, and then sit down and drink it until you’re called.
Cameron knew labour could sometimes go on for a long time, so he sat down and made a conscious effort to relax. After all, as Margaret had said, the doctor would probably be here long before the baby was born.
Two hours later, as Cameron was sipping his third cup of coffee, the call he had hoped not to hear until after the doctor arrived came from upstairs.
‘Cameron! Bring me some of that water and the cloths…now!’
‘I thought this went on for hours,’ he said, after setting down the two bowls of hot water.
‘Sometimes it does,’ Mary replied, ‘but I guess our wee bairn is in a hurry to come into the world…now sit down and hold ma hand. I want you here with me.’
‘Now, Margaret, listen carefully…’
‘Oh, Mary…I’m not sure I can do this.’
‘Of course you can. You’ve helped deliver a calf, haven’t you?’
‘Yes…’
‘Well, it’s nearly the same…so pay attention.’
Mary’s intermittent cries of pain did very little to reassure Cameron. His mind was now in such a state that he no longer heard the flow of instructions being issued by his
wife; and at times he squeezed her hand so hard that Mary’s cries were directed at him. His eyes remained riveted on hers, while his mouth babbled a continuous stream of superfluous encouragement.
Finally, after an hour of unimaginable distress for both mother and father, the baby made its appearance; and immediately wailed to announce its presence.
Margaret quickly cleaned up the squirming infant, wrapping him in a blanket before handing the little red-headed boy back to his mother.
‘I’ll leave you three alone for a while. If you need anything just call,’ said Margaret, with tears beginning to show in the corners of her eyes.
‘I can’t thank you enough…you’ve been wonderful,’ replied Mary cheerfully, knowing full well that Maggie’s tears were partly of longing as well as joy.
For the next little while, the new parents took turns holding and cradling their son. Smiles of relief and tears of joy accompanied their childish giggling; and soon the name of Alex was chosen for their son. Cameron pondered a time over the choice for a second name, but when Mary suggested Morris, Cameron truly believed that he had married the most wonderful girl in the world.
A little while later, Mary interrupted Cameron’s light-hearted frolicking with Alex.
‘Cameron…just call down to Margaret and ask her to bring me up a glass of water.’
Cameron walked over to the door of the bedroom and shouted out her request. Then, after returning to Mary’s bedside, put his arm around her as she began to feed Alex.
‘Here you go, dear,’ Margaret said, putting the glass of water on the table beside the head of the bed. ‘Why don’t we just sit you up a bit? You might find it a bit more comfortable.’
Margaret fluffed up the pillows and eased Mary back. But within seconds, Mary’s face began to go pale and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.
‘No, Maggie! I think it be better if I lay back down.’
Margaret gently lowered her back down, before placing two of her fingers across Mary’s wrist.
‘Your pulse seems awfully high to me. Is that normal?’
‘I’m sure it’s no anythin’. I just feel a little dizzy and nauseous. Sorry, Cameron… but could you go down and refill the gl
ass?’ she said, quickly swallowing the last of the water. ‘I’m really thirsty.’
After he left, Mary asked Margaret to have a quick look under the covers, and the subsequent expression on her sister-in-law’s face was enough to confirm what Mary had feared.
‘I do hope John gets home all right,’ said Mary, gently squeezing Margaret’s hand. ‘Maybe you should wait for him downstairs. Then you can bring him up to see Alex when he returns.’
‘But…shouldn’t I…?’
‘No…it’s all right Maggie. There’s nothin’ you can do. Before you go, though, I just want you to know that you and John have been wonderful…and thank you again for everythin’ you’ve done to make us welcome. Go on then…I’ll be fine.’
The pounding of Cameron’s feet on the stairs could then be heard; and it was only Margaret’s strength of character, forged through years of mental and physical abuse that allowed her to turn and leave the room without bursting into tears. Her two soulless eyes stared straight ahead as she passed Cameron in the doorway, and then gripping the handrail, she slowly descended the stairs before turning at the bottom and running into the kitchen – where she collapsed into a chair.
Mary’s pale face and colourless lips formed a half smile, as she took the glass from Cameron’s hands.
‘Come here and lie down with me and your lovely son,’ she said, patting the bed beside her.
Cameron laid his arm behind Mary’s head, while she placed Alex between them.
‘Are you sure you be all right? You look awfully pale.’
‘Cameron, just listen for a minute. I’m beginnin’ to feel a wee bit tired and I want to tell you a few things before I fall asleep. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I sent a letter to Annie. I couldn’t bear the thought of what she must have been goin’ through thinkin’ we was dead. I’m sorry Cameron…but I did warn her never to tell anyone.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll no be sayin’ anythin’.’
‘Listen, if somethin’ were to happen to me, I’d like Margaret…’
‘Wait a minute. What do you mean if …’
‘Cameron, please…I don’t know how much longer…I’ll…I’ll be awake.’
Margaret’s heart ached, as she cried her eyes out. She had no idea of the passage of time, but some time later, when all she had left were dry sobs of sadness, she knew it was over. Cameron’s harrowing cry of anguish could easily be heard over the rattling of the windows; as the blizzard continued to vent its wrath long into the night.
Sometime later, the back door crashed open. Margaret raised her head from the tear-soaked arms of her dress, as a mini storm of swirling snow and freezing cold air penetrated the kitchen ahead of two staggering figures.
Dr. Fitzpatrick quickly removed his snow-encrusted coat, at the same time kicking off his boots.
‘How is she doing? Has she had the baby yet?’
It was only then that he noticed Margaret’s tear-streaked face, and realised it had all been for nothing.
As she recited the sombre events of the last few hours, John’s strength finally melted. Pulling up a chair beside his wife, he looked into her sunken, red-rimmed eyes, and with sighs of wretchedness, they fell into each other’s arms.
The doctor stayed with them that night, as it would have been more than foolhardy for him to try to leave. Thankfully, after consuming a cocktail of drugs and alcohol, Cameron finally passed out on the couch, allowing the Doctor to steal upstairs and confirm that Mary had died from an internal haemorrhage.
By the next morning, the storm had abated. Cameron and Dr. Fitzpatrick spent an hour in private conversation, before joining John and Margaret for breakfast.
After a time, Dr. Fitzpatrick put down his knife and fork and looked up at the others.
‘You know, she was a remarkable person. I don’t know of any women who could have talked somebody else through the delivery of her own baby…and then given birth to such a perfect child. I understand that Mr and Mrs Stuart would like you, Margaret, to be considered the mother of little Alex...and if you and John are willing to accept that undertaking, then I shall not stand in your way. For my part, if asked, I shall just confirm that Mrs Stuart died in childbirth. God have mercy on her soul.’
Spring came early the following year after one of the hardest winters on record. Most of the snow had now melted, as John finished hauling the last of the freshly cut trees from his woodland to the log shed.
‘Well, it looks like the end of the sleigh for this year. Hopefully we’ll get some dry weather now and get rid of some of the moisture in the ground. I’d like to get the new fence line up before the ploughing season starts.’
‘I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,’ replied Margaret, shaking the baby’s bottle onto her arm before giving the milk to Alex.
No adverse comments had been heard in the community concerning the sudden appearance of a baby in the Williams’ household. It was quite possible Margaret had given birth during the winter, as people were often cut-off from each other for months when the snowfall was particularly heavy. Besides which, it was nobody else’s business, and family issues were always kept to oneself. A pleasant ‘congratulations’ and ‘What’s his name?’ was as far as the discussions went when their neighbours first saw Margaret with the child. And even when Madame Bouchard had mentioned to the doctor that she had seen Mrs Williams with a baby, his only reply had been, ‘Yes…she has a baby’.
Similarly, there were no raised eyebrows when the young wife of the Williams’ good friends, who had passed away that winter, was buried in a small church way over at Clarenceville. After all, most local people were French, and therefore Roman Catholic, whereas they all knew that the young woman had been Scottish Presbyterian, and would therefore have wished to be interred in a Protestant graveyard.
At first, the minister had thought it slightly odd when only three people had turned up for the funeral. But then, it was a freezing cold day and they would have been forced to stand in deep snow at the graveside. In the end though, he decided it was probably just as well. Because, never had he seen a man so inconsolable that he needed to be nearly dragged away from the graveside at the end of the internment.
It also seemed a little strange to the minister, when a few months later the headstone
arrived and the inscription had said Mother and Child. But, thinking about it, he did recall reading on the death certificate that Mrs Stuart had died during childbirth.
After the funeral, Cameron disappeared, his parting words being, ‘I’ll be back when I can’
Two weeks later, he arrived back at the house, sober and surprisingly neat in appearance. John and Margaret said nothing about his absence, knowing full well the anguish he’d been suffering.
Over supper that night, Cameron confirmed that, for Alex’s safety, he wished to abide by Mary’s last wishes. And the following day he packed and left.
John and Margaret never knew where Cameron had gone after the funeral, until some years later.
At a corn roast one summer’s day at one of their friends’ farms, a new villager, who’d just been posted to Lacolle as the local constable, was recounting a story from his training days in Montreal.
‘Our teetotal sergeant thought ‘e would teach us new recruits all about de evils of drink. So one day ‘e told us a story about some guy, with a funny accent, ‘e’d ‘ad to deal with at ‘is headquarters in Montreal. Apparently, dis drunk ‘ad been t’rown into jail t’ree times in one week. Each time ‘e was found on a street near de docks… almost frozen to death. But de man didn’t seem to care whether ‘e lived or died. Den, after de t’ird occasion ‘e just disappeared, and was never ‘eard of again.’
‘Did this guy end up murdered? Because Margaret William’s first husband was killed in some drunken brawl in the city…and he had a funny accent,’ remarked one of the local farmers.
‘No, I don’t t’ink so,’ Pierre replied. ‘According to de sergeant, dis guy just vanished…so ‘e
assumed ‘e’d probably fallen in de river and drowned.’
Thankfully, the talk soon reverted to the price of a bushel of this autumn’s wheat, and John sloped away from the back of the group surrounding the constable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was a beautiful summers evening in July of 1880. Margaret was in the kitchen drying up the last of the supper dishes, while gazing through the window at Alex playing in the back yard. He was growing into a fine young boy, she thought, grinning at his vain attempt to corner one of the hens.