Eva was sleeping. I held her in my arms and spoke to her softly. Then I placed her on the large soft chair that had once been my own mother’s. In that chair my mother had read to me when I was a boy. Nursery rhymes and fables. I could almost imagine my mother now, sitting there, watching over the little one as she slept. Eva was quiet and I tried to remember if this was fully natural or an indicator of some problem. Same with the mother. I put my ear to her mouth and thought there was something not right with her breathing. My confidence was diminished yet again.
I gently removed the blanket from Emily now that the room was warmer and realized she was still bleeding some. Em moaned as I lifted her and placed a clean blanket and sheet under her and I wedged another towel between her legs but was afraid to do any more than that. I covered her and put my hand to a forehead that felt warmer than it should.
Then I picked up the baby, sat down in my mother’s chair and held the infant to me and sang what I could remember of “The Dark Island” to the girl.
An mo thùrus don iar ’s leam bu mhiannach a bhi
Far bheil àilleachd nan eathar dol fo sgéith sa chuan sios
MY SHAKING HAD CEASED and I had a powerful urge to close my own eyes and sleep, but forced myself to stay awake. It was still dark out and the wind had not let up. I drifted to places I did not want to go. Then returned to monitor child and mother. I busied myself with lighting a new lamp, checking the fire. I even tried to make myself tea but could not bring myself to do it. Even that small indulgence made me nervous that something might happen in the few minutes I would not be in attendance.
My mind locked onto Father Welenga’s notions of spiritual warfare. I had refused to buy into it but on a night like this, under these circumstances, it was a persuasive version of the motives of this world. A crazy man, testing the silence, has a habit of speaking out loud to steady himself. And so I did. I called out for my own mother once when a wave of dread swept over me. What if they both die? a voice asked from out of nowhere. What if no one can get through to here for days? Trees down, power out, roads impassable? Sure, they are both breathing. For now. But it could be days.
My gaze came to rest on the bottle of clear rum on the table. Perhaps.
Let there be a firmament. Lift up your voice. Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Blessed are you when men revile you. For the kingdom of heaven is …
These words came out of me and more. And I’m not sure why. But the more I spoke, the more the wind seemed to abate. The bottle seemed less attractive now and satisfied to remain where it was. The ice had stopped falling from the sky. I offered a small prayer beseeching whatever God was attending my plight to shorten the hours from now to morning, but the hours had the full complement of lingering minutes and tense seconds that prevented such attenuation.
AT DAWN, THE CHILD cried and I woke Emily and helped her to cradle the baby on her breast. Emily was weak and now her skin seemed cold. I had already decided that both child and mother would go to the hospital as soon as we could get away from here.
When it was light enough, I put on my winter coat and boots and it took more than fifteen minutes of hammering with my fists to crack the seal on the door. When I stepped out into the bright morning light, I shielded my eyes to focus on the glazed wreckage of trees — some toppled, some bent low, some with shattered limbs, all covered with clear ice. The yard was heavily glazed. The phone and power lines were down and the lane leading down towards the town was an impossible solid river of ice.
I did not even dare chance a step into the yard. What if I fell? Who would take care of them? How fragile a situation this was. The chickens in the barn would survive. There was plenty of cracked corn in their feeders. I would not dare to go out there.
And what was happening below in Inverary and the rest of Cape Breton? Power lines down. Homes without heat. Car accidents. The temperature was still well below freezing. The ice was not about to melt. Nothing to do but keep the fires going, attend to the child and mother. And wait.
But I was not certain who we were waiting for. Not one other living soul knew Emily’s baby was due so soon. Everyone would know I had wood heat. With dozens if not hundreds of emergencies occurring, we would be very far down the list.
I returned inside and told Emily about the world outside. “We will take you in to the hospital as soon as possible. But for now, you must be good.” It was an odd thing to say. Good. What I meant was strong — for now, you must be strong. But I was afraid to open my mouth again, just then, afraid that I might break down and cry. I watched the child sucking from her mother’s breast and looked up at Emily’s pale and weary face. When she looked back at me there was a hint of embarrassment.
“Did I do okay?” she asked, the voice of a little girl again.
“You did great. How do you feel?”
“I’m not sure. I think I’m still bleeding some. And I feel so weak.”
“We must stay here until it is safe to go into town.”
“I know.”
And it came to pass.
ALL THROUGH THE DAY, we listened to the strange noises of the outside world as ice fell from the branches of trees.
“It sounds like there is a crazy party going on,” Em said. “Like people throwing wine glasses against rocks.”
“It’s a birthday party, I guess.”
The ice would fall from the trees or from the eaves of the house and shatter three or four times in a row. And then nothing. And then a dozen wine glasses broke again. And then silence.
It was late afternoon when I heard the distant thrum of a truck engine and it was several impossible minutes before I convinced myself it was getting closer, headed this way. Emily and her daughter were both asleep now. The house was warm. I had fuel for the stove and the lanterns, but I was dreading the darkness that would fall again when the afternoon was over. How could I remain awake in my vigil for another entire night? The baby seemed quite healthy now but I could not say that for Emily, who was trying to be brave, but she still seemed quite pale and cool to the touch.
It seemed at first that the truck engine had gone away. Or maybe it had never been there to begin with. But then, suddenly it was right outside, accompanied by a horrific scraping sound, a grinding of gears, and the sound of ice cracking beneath dead weight that reminded me of the time Lauchie and I fell into the icy waters of Lake Ainslie.
Next I heard the squeal of breaks and a vehicle door opening. At that point I was sure I was imagining it all. It was no surprise that the lack of sleep would wake all the demons in my head and tempt me with a multitude of fantasies.
But it was no fantasy. Someone was banging at the door. And then the door was opening. I made my frail body move and in that moment, it was not relief, but recognition that I had aged a dozen years over night. Every muscle hurt, every joint was stiff. I could not walk properly and had to hold onto chairs as I staggered into the kitchen.
“John Alex, are you all right?” Sheila said.
“I’ve been better,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Emily?”
I was having a hard time speaking. I nodded towards the bedroom. Sheila walked to me, put her hand on my face and then walked past. I followed her into the bedroom.
“They need to get into the hospital. It was a rough night. How did you get here?”
“Vin McCallum. He’s got one of the old trucks from the Highways Department. Snowplough on the front. Chains on the tires. It was still one hell of a ride.”
“Can we get there?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know to come?”
“I didn’t know about the baby. I thought …”
“We lied.”
“Oh. Oh boy. That means that, if we take her down to the hospital, there’s a good chance, well, that things might go beyond your control.”
What she
meant was that the legal authorities could step in and exert their control over both Em and the baby.
“It doesn’t matter. We need to go there now.”
“Okay. I’ll check things out here and get them both ready. Go tell Vin what’s up.”
I left the room and went outside where Vin was standing by the idling diesel truck.
Vin acted like he’d just dropped by on a random day for a random chat. “John Alex,” he said as I approached, “how’s your firewood holding out?” He was staring at what was left of the perfectly ice-coated pile of wood that he had dropped off here a few months back.
“Good. Good. Lot of maple in it. Burns clean. How was the drive up?”
“Beats the bejesus out of video gambling. Sheila thinks you might need a ride into town.”
“She’s got a good instinct.” I paused and swallowed hard. It still seemed impossible that with all the rest of the grief that must be going on in Cape Breton that Sheila was thinking about me, about us.
“Librarian, eh?”
“I’d call her a saint. How’s your truck running?”
“She idles a little rough and I think I got a head gasket leaking a little oil. But not bad for an old truck really.”
THIRTY-FOUR
EMILY WAS AWAKE AND nursing the baby again when I walked into her hospital room. “Everybody treating you okay?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Eva’s fine?”
“Yes. I can’t believe she’s already five days old. I feel like we should celebrate every day like a birthday or something.”
“They say it goes by quickly. Before you know it, she’ll have boys chasing her and she’ll be going out on dates.”
It was the wrong thing to say. I watched as Emily’s face saddened. She looked down at the baby and then up at me. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she began.
And before she said more, I knew that something was about to change. I almost wanted to beg her to stop right there, to not say whatever was to come next. But I remained silent and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I’ve come to a decision. I’ve talked with Sheila and with Cheryl and they helped me. But it was my decision. Not theirs. Not my parents. It was me.”
Whatever it was, I knew it was going to break my heart.
“Brian is not ready to be any kind of father. He needs to fight his causes. I know this. I still care for him. But we’re not right for each other, not now anyway. And Eva … I love her, but I realize I’m not ready for this.”
“Did your parents convince you of this?”
“No. No one did. In fact, that was part of the problem. I was so intent on not doing what they wanted me to do that I couldn’t see clearly what was best. What I wanted to do.”
“Which is?”
“Put Eva up for adoption.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I was angry just then. It didn’t seem to make any sense. Emily and I had discussed adoption many times and always concluded it would not happen. And now this.
“Cheryl explained to me that I can choose the parents. You can help me. We can choose who adopts her and, if I want, I can still be a part of her life. It’s not how I envisioned it at all.”
What about me? I wanted to ask. Where do I fit in? But I remained silent.
“I need to move away, John Alex. Halifax, maybe. I’ve got an older cousin there going to Dalhousie. She has her own apartment. I need to finish school and I need to get my feet under me. And I need to be away from my parents. And here. If I don’t get away from here, John Alex, I feel like … like my life is over before I even have a chance to start.”
“Emily. This is all so much. So much has changed.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. You’ve been so good to me. You saved me, John Alex.”
I wanted to lash out at her. I wanted to scream, And this is what I get in return?
The voice in my head right after the silent scream was not the one I expected. It was Lauchie’s voice. Remember what I taught you, big brother?
I sat there on the edge of the bed as Emily gave me the baby to hold. I took her and held her to me. She looked up with large dark eyes and seemed confused at first, trying to focus and when I tried to smile for her, I began to cry instead and the tears fell on her small angelic face and she seemed startled but she did not cry. Instead she laughed. And as she did, Emily began to sob. “I’m sorry, John Alex. I’m really sorry.”
I could not stop the tears but I found a sad, powerful strength within me that made me smile. And I realized at that instant, as my heart split perfectly in two, that what I felt was pure love. It was sorrowful as perhaps all true love can be at any sudden shift of circumstance and it was full of pity, which is another word for caring. I saw in that instant too the difficult path ahead of Emily and I began to get a glimpse of understanding about her decision. My tears soon stopped and I continued to gaze into Eva’s eyes and knew that her life also would not be easy and her heart would break many times in many ways in a changing world that I could barely comprehend.
“It’s okay,” I finally said. “Everything will be fine.”
I know that Emily wanted to say something but she was afraid she’d say the wrong thing. So we sat there in silence. And my mind leaped ahead to the empty days to come. And now the same love, pity and compassion I was feeling for them both, I felt for myself. Perhaps for the first time in my life I realized that to love selflessly is to love yourself.
A FEW SUNNY DAYS after the ice storm gave way to mild but dismal days at the tail end of March. It wasn’t until the first day of April that my electricity and telephone were restored. The first call I received was from Emily.
“Father Welenga came to the hospital and secretly baptized Eva.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“It was my idea. He said he wasn’t supposed to do it but he did anyway.”
“Of course.”
“He said that Brian is going to be all right. Charges were dropped. And he said his congregation came to his own rescue and want him to stay.”
Emily told me that things were going well with the adoption procedure. Cheryl Hollis was guiding her but she herself felt like she had control. “Would you like to meet the new parents? It can be arranged.”
“Not right now,” I said. “Maybe later. I trust your decision.”
And already, Emily had signed up for a special program in Halifax that would allow her to finish her high school equivalent over the summer and possibly even start university in the fall. It all sounded like something that would happen in a land far, far away. “But I’ll come see you, often, John Alex. I’ll be back to see you.”
“I know you will. Things are working out perfectly.”
The word “perfectly” haunted me for a long while after that. I reduced my life to simple expectations. Two feet on the floor first thing in the morning. A good breakfast. Feed the chickens. Even attend to the hatching of some baby chicks. I tried to plan for a garden. What would I grow this year? The same old seeds or something new and different? Planning anything now seemed unnatural. I no longer had Emily in my life and Eva, my Eva, had not returned. What I had was the present. I had set the past aside. The past would stay in the past. The present would stay in the present. The future was purely theoretical. Or an illusion. I would attend to the perfect present. Which was about what?
About breathing. About living. About two feet on the floor on one more morning alive on a cold island by the Gulf of St. Lawrence. I gave up worrying about being old. And being crazy. I decided I was young and I was sane. And it went on like that for several weeks.
And then this.
The first truly warm evening of the season. Dale MacNeil down below tuning up his bagpipes outside for the first time in a long while. Hard shrill notes, then the drone, then a very poor out-of-tune version of
a fairly unrecognizable song.
And then a car in the driveway. I didn’t recognize it at first. It stopped, a door opened and a woman walked out. It was Sheila. She had, of all things, a bottle of wine.
“I needed someone to share this with,” she said by way of announcement.
“What about the guy you were dating? What’s his name? Walker or Weldon or Walton or something?”
She strode towards me. She was wearing a dress. Her long beautiful legs caught the golden evening sunlight. “Winston?” she said. “I gave up on that piece of crap a long time ago.”
“Surely, there’s an army of young men who would love to have your company on an evening like this.”
She shook her head no. I thought at first that she had been drinking but when she kissed me full on the mouth, I realized there was not a taste of alcohol on her breath. “John Alex, I think that all those other men can just jump off a cliff as far as I’m concerned. They all end up making me feel lonely somehow. And I’m tired of feeling lonely. I’m thinking that it’s time you and I shake some things up around here.”
And it was about then that Dale MacNeil picked up his pipes again and seemed to find all the right notes. The sound of “Scotland the Brave” wafted up the hillside our way and the chickens came out of the barn, led by a young rooster that had just been hatched this spring. And I looked around at the trees with their broken limbs that had gone unattended up to then. I decided it was time to trim the damage someday soon and get on with whatever was coming next.
The Unlikely Redemption of John Alexander MacNeil Page 21