by Ann Walsh
Again I checked behind me, but the road, often so busy, was deserted. The stagecoach had passed by hours ago, and it seemed everyone else had fled, running to shelter before the approaching storm. The trees were still, not a breath of wind stirring their branches or rustling their leaves. It was as quiet as I had ever known this road to be, except for the thunder that rumbled as the sky grew darker.
When I rounded the curve, I heard a voice. "Who is it?" I called, trying hard to keep my voice from quavering. "Who's there?"
A low croak answered me. A raven was perched at the top of the tree. It cocked its head and stared down at me with beady eyes. That was why I felt as if I were being watched! I was being watched, but only by a raven, a corbie as Jenny called them.
"Hello, Mr. Corbie," I said, my voice stronger.
"Croak," the bird said again, as if it were answering me. The sound was low, drawn out, as if the bird were human and were speaking from the back of its throat. It almost seemed as if the raven were complaining about something.
I laughed. "Good day to you."
"Bonjour," the raven replied. From behind the tree stepped Henri Tremblay.
I swallowed hard. "Good afternoon," I said politely, the words thick in my mouth.
"I wish to speak to you. It is good that we are alone."
"But I don't wish to speak to you, sir. Good day." I began walking faster, ignoring him.
"Pas si vite! Not so fast!" He stepped into the road, directly in front of me. "You have been playing with one of your Chinese friends. Running. Laughing. Beaucoup d' amusement."
"I don't see how it is any concern of yours, Mr. Tremblay. Now if you'll let me pass..."
He made no move to stand aside so I could continue up the road. "I think, boy, perhaps that you will run away from town before my trial. This is why you practise to run tres rapi dement, non?"
"I will not run," I said. "If I am called on to testify, then I'll do so. It is my duty."
"Oui. Mais...but what will you say to the judge? You have many friends who are heathens. Perhaps you will lie tike your Chinese friends."
"I will not lie."
"But your friends, they will tell many lies about me."
"The witnesses will tell the truth," I said.
"Celestials? Non. They lie. Always. It is their nature."
"That's not true. Besides, at a trial everyone must tell the truth. They have to swear to it on the Bible."
He laughed. "What means the Bible to heathens? They swear only on a burnt piece of paper. They mock the Bible. You have not had dealings with Chinamen. You do not know their evil ways."
"They're not—" I began.
"You are a boy. You know nothing." He moved closer, his face only inches from mine. I could smell liquor on his breath, and the seasonings of what he had eaten for lunch-garlic, onions, a sour odour. I stepped back, but he drew nearer again.
"So, you must do what all other white men would do. You will say I harmed no one, that I did not kill the Chinaman."
"I don't know whether or not you did. I saw nothing except Ah Mow's body."
"Oui. You saw nothing, tu comprends? So you will tell the judge nothing. Make sure you do not forget that." He finally let me push past him. "Au revoir, boy who is almost docteur" he called to me. "Remember, you saw nothing. You will say nothing."
By the time I reached home, the rain had begun. It was heavy, and my boots were coated in mud. I scraped them well before I went into the house, as if I were trying to remove all thoughts of Henri Tremblay. I wasn't afraid of him. I would not let myself be afraid.
The next morning I casually asked Peter, "Are you sure Mr. Tremblay isn't here in town?"
He looked at me curiously. "No one sees him. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," I said. I resolved to forget about the Frenchman, not to think about him at all.
It wasn't too hard to forget; there were many other things to keep me occupied. Pa and I were very busy in the shop, working much later in the evening than we usually did. And even though I was often tired after work, Peter and I practised almost every day. Some days I would leave Peter to practise yet again with the Cariboo Glee Club.
Excitement was high in the town; the Cariboo Sentinel was full of information about the events that would take place on Dominion Day. Each issue of the newspaper had more information about the celebrations—the cannon would be fired at ten in the morning, then there would be inspirational speakers, then selections would be sung by the Cariboo Glee Club. The sports would start at eleven o'clock and continue throughout the day. At noon a royal salute would be fired, and in the evening there would be a special performance at the Theatre Royal by the Cariboo Dramatic Association. Later in the night there would be a grand illumination with lights and decorations in shop windows, and then there would be the fireworks, which I would watch with Jenny.
The horse races were attracting a lot of attention—and wagering—between friends and neighbours. The competition would be stiff for these events—for the awards were high. The Cariboo Purse carried with it a prize of fifty dollars, and the Dominion Day Race winner would take away the grand sum of a hundred and fifty dollars. No jockeys were allowed; the owners had to ride their own horses.
The main road was cleaned and gravelled, making sure it would be in good shape for the celebrations. The horse racers were warned severely not to practise on that road. The members of the Dominion Day Street Committee had worked hard and didn't want to clean up after more than the usual horse traffic.
One article in the Sentinel made me laugh, for I well remembered the chaos during the past year's foot races. SHUT UP YOUR DOGS FOR THE RACES read the headline. "On previous occasions they have proved an intolerable nuisance," the piece continued. "A serious accident might occur during the races, owing to some of these canine favourites insisting on taking a share in the sport." Last year several of the animals had participated, without either paying their entry fee or being invited to race. There had been a great deal of shouting and barking, and contestants, dogs, race officials, and spectators all ended up in an enormous seething mass of legs, heads, and tails that filled the street and boiled up onto the boardwalks.
This year a platform had been built on the main street, draped with branches of evergreens and decorated with scarlet banners and gold maple leaves. The speakers and musicians, as well as some honoured spectators, would view the activities from this high perch. Everything was in the final stages of preparation, and Barkerville was more than ready to celebrate.
Peter and I practised one last time on the evening of June 30. The hopeful winners of the horse races had moved their practice area to the same street where Peter and I raced, so we dodged flying hooves as well as steaming droppings as we ran.
"Enough, sir...Ted," Peter said, stopping to clean his boot. "We have practised enough. You are ready to run. I am ready to stop."
I untied the scarf that bound our legs, agreeing with him. Although Dominion Day was tomorrow and I had heard nothing from Joseph Morrison, Jenny assured me he would be there well before the start of the race.
"He will nae come to town until late the night before," she said. "But I know he's a swift runner. I feel sure the two of you will win."
I wasn't so certain. "Where will I meet him? How will I recognize him?"
"If you'll be at your father's shop, I'll bring him to you. The Three-Legged Race is to take place early in the sports program. I'll make sure Joseph is there just after eleven o'clock."
"I'll be there," I said. "I've been practising hard. I only hope Joseph is as well prepared."
"Do not worry yourself about Joseph," Jenny said. "He will nae let you down."
Ten
The morning of July 1, 1871, dawned clear and bright. Not a cloud threatened to hide the sun's face, the soft breeze carried not a hint of rain. It was a glorious day to celebrate, though it appeared that many had begun festivities the day before. All night long carriages and horses went past our house as people made th
eir way down the hill to the saloons of Barkerville, and the sounds of revelry carried back up the hill until the early-morning hours. Some of the racers would find themselves with headaches today, I thought, wondering hopefully if the others entered in the Three-Legged Race would be among the sufferers.
But I had had a good night's sleep and, well before ten in the morning, I was on the platform with the rest of the Glee Club, waiting. At ten o'clock exactly a cannon was fired, the noise and smoke signalling to all that the ceremonies had started. We all sang "God Save the Queen" and followed with a rousing three cheers for Her Majesty. Then the politicians spoke, but luckily only briefly, and the Glee Club performed. After three loud cheers for the Dominion and much applause, the first of the races was announced.
I left the platform and quickly made my way to Pa's shop, hoping Jenny and Joseph would be on time. The Three-Legged Race was fourth on the program, and I wanted to have a few minutes to instruct Joseph on the best way to adapt his running stride to mine before we actually had to race. I also needed to change into my overalls and work boots. I had worn my good suit for the Glee Club's performance, but my mother had warned me not to race in those clothes.
No one was waiting for me in front of the shop. I looked up the street, then back the other way. "Jenny?" I called. "Joseph?"
No one answered. The street was deserted; everyone in town was watching the events taking place on the main road.
Not knowing what to do, I called again, louder. "Jenny? Miss Jenny?"
The door opened a few inches, and a voice whispered, "In here, Ted. Inside." I pushed the door wide and stepped in, blinking in the dim light.
Bridget stood in the middle of the shop, hands on hips, face flushed. "Were you part of this disgraceful business, Ted? Are you responsible for this?"
"For what?" I asked. "What are you doing here, Bridget? Where's Jenny? Where's Joseph?"
"Take a good look at your Joseph," Bridget said, pointing at the rear wall. A small figure stood there, his back to me, his head bowed. He wore overalls, rolled up several inches, work boots, and a large cap pulled firmly down almost to the back of his neck. Joseph was shorter and much thinner than I had imagined him to be. Well, I would have to take smaller strides when we raced. We would manage.
"Joseph?" I said, relieved he was there. "We must hurry. The race will begin soon."
He turned around, and I could see he had been crying. But what was more important than his tears was the fact that he wasn't Joseph. "He" was Jenny.
"Jenny!"
"Yes, this ‘boy' is my idiot cousin," Bridget said. "I hope you had no part in this scheme of hers, Ted. If I hadn't been late for the opening ceremonies, I wouldn't have seen her skulking about as she made her way to your father's shop and wouldn't have found out about this until it was too late. We would all have been disgraced."
"Jenny?" I said again, scarcely hearing Bridget.
Jenny lifted her head. The cap was low over her ears and forehead, but a few tendrils of blond hair had escaped. In truth, she looked nothing at all like a boy. She looked nothing at all like a man, either, even though a very black moustache was crookedly painted on her face.
"Oh, Jenny!" I said.
"Can you say naught but ‘Jenny' then?" she said, bursting into tears.
"Crying will do you no good, girl," Bridget said. "Although you'd be crying harder if I hadn't found out about this in time to stop you and Ted from racing together."
"But I wouldn't have—" I began, then wisely closed my mouth. Jenny was so obviously herself, even in men's clothes and with that ridiculous paint on her face, that I would have discovered her deception immediately. I would never have allowed her to race with me. But now didn't seem the right time to mention that.
Bridget paid no attention to me. She spoke only to Jenny, her voice loud and angry. "It's one thing for you to dash around town with the little twin boys, tearing about like a wild thing, though some people have been horrified by that behaviour. But Mrs. Fraser says you tend well to her children and will hear no complaints about you, so I've said nothing. But to appear in public in men's clothes, to enter a man's race—that is shameful. Even Mrs. Fraser couldn't forgive that. You would have been sent back to Scotland, you silly girl."
"But Mrs. Fraser helped me," Jenny said through her tears. "She lent me the clothes—they're Mr. Fraser's—and used bootblack to disguise my face. She said she wished she could—"
"Then Mrs. Fraser is as silly as you are. She might have wild ideas about what women can do, but her husband is not so forgiving. Believe me, you would have lost your job once he found out."
"He wouldn't have found out," Jenny said defiantly, her tears forgotten.
"You think not? Your disguise wouldn't fool a single person. Within minutes word would be all over town. Didn't you think about how Ted's parents would be shamed? Or me? People would blame me for your recklessness, for I try to look after you."
"But it was nae so serious a thing to do, Bridget." Two large tears rolled from Jenny's eyes, sliding down her cheeks and lodging in the thick "moustache."
"You think not? You know I have a responsible position managing the Hotel de France. Didn't you think about me, about how I could lose my job, as well? About how I could be hurt by your stupid behaviour?"
Jenny's lower lip trembled when she answered. "Nae one would have blamed you, Bridget."
I wasn't so sure about that. The women of this town could be unforgiving, and it was possible that many of them would hold Bridget accountable for Jenny's unladylike behaviour.
Bridget turned to me. "Please, Ted, tell me you knew nothing about this. I suspect you didn't, but I need to hear it from your own lips."
If I told Bridget that Jenny's disguise had been my plan, then perhaps she wouldn't be so cross with her young cousin. If I took the blame, then...
But before I could open my mouth, Jenny spoke up. "Of course, it was nae his idea, Bridget. Don't listen to him if he tells you it was."
"Well, Ted?" asked Bridget. "Did you know what she intended to do?"
"Ah...well...I..."
"I shall nae speak to you ever again if you don't tell her you knew nothing," Jenny said. "You won't take the blame for what I did."
"Well, did you know?" Bridget demanded.
I looked to my right. Jenny scowled, her black "moustache" drooping unevenly down the sides of her mouth. I glanced to my left. Bridget glared at me.
"Tell me the truth," Bridget said.
"Don't you dare lie," Jenny said. "I don't need you to protect me."
"I...I..."
I don't like to tell untruths, but I couldn't bear to see Jenny in trouble. Surely Bridget wouldn't be as angry if she thought Jenny entering the race was my idea. But if I did that, if I tried to help, I would lose Jenny's friendship. I knew she meant what she said, that she would never speak to me again if I didn't tell Bridget the truth.
"I'm waiting for your answer," Bridget said.
"I'm waiting, too," Jenny said. "Say something, you glaikit boy."
I tried. But all that came out was "I...uh...I..."
Then Bridget took a deep breath and sighed. "No, Ted, it's all right. You don't need to answer. I know you're fond of my silly cousin and will try to take the blame for this even though that will anger Jenny greatly."
"It will indeed," Jenny said.
"I don't need to hear you say it," Bridget said to me, ignoring Jenny. "From the look on your face when you first saw ‘Joseph' and realized who ‘he' was, I honestly believe you knew nothing about it."
"Nae, he did not," Jenny insisted. She reached up and pulled off her cap. "I'm sorry, Ted. I thought it was a grand idea."
"Well, it wasn't," Bridget said. "Not at all. Now we must do what we can to fix things before anyone else sees you like this."
"You have to stay out of sight, Jenny," I said.
"For just how long must I be cooped up here like a misbehaving chicken?" asked Jenny sulkily. "This is my vacation day. I wish t
o enjoy it."
"You can enjoy it after I bring you some proper clothes," Bridget replied, "though it's tempting to leave you locked up all day. That way I could enjoy the celebrations myself without worrying about you getting into trouble again."
"Not all day—" I began.
"Of course not, Ted," snapped Bridget. "That would be cruel. But Jenny mustn't be seen until she looks like herself again. We'll keep her safely here until I have her properly dressed."
"But, Cousin, I've already missed the opening celebrations—"
"I also missed them, Jenny, thanks to your foolishness," Bridget said. "So I'll hear no complaints from you. You almost caused a great deal of trouble today. The least you can do is be patient for a while until I have you respectably clothed again. Perhaps you could fill the time until I return by removing that ridiculous paint, or bootblack, or whatever it is, from your face."
"But, Bridget, I wanted to watch the races, and they've already begun! If I delay much longer, I shall nae see anything at all."
"And whose fault would that be?" Bridget asked. "I'll hurry, Jenny. The Hotel de France is only a few steps from here. I'll be back in no time at all with some of my clothes for you to wear."
"Thank you," a subdued Jenny said, but I scarcely heard her.
The races! I had almost forgotten. I had to withdraw our entry in the Three-Legged Race! I didn't want anyone else wondering who the mysterious Joseph Morrison was and why he hadn't shown up. As far as I was concerned, the fewer people who heard his name, the better. Joseph was about to vanish for good, and I didn't want anyone to ask about him. I had to tell the officials we wouldn't be racing, but...
"What shall I say?" I asked Bridget. "How can I explain why we won't be in the race?"
She laughed. "Just say your racing partner isn't himself today."
In spite of everything that had happened, I also laughed.
"No, ‘he' most assuredly is not himself." We both turned and stared at Jenny, who lowered her head.
"I hope never to see Joseph again," Bridget said. "I've had enough of Master Morrison to last me the rest of my life."