Wild Geese

by Caroline Pignat

“The passengers from the Imogene will be placed here,” Father McGauran says, nodding at the far corner. “It will be a tight fit, but we are out of tents and sheds, and the chapels are full of patients, too.”

  I hand him a cup of lemonade. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  I’d heard the Imogene sank off the coast of Cape Breton. I can only imagine the terror those poor people must have lived through until the Niger arrived to rescue them. The tragic stories just never seem to end. I wipe my hand across my forehead, pushing the sweaty hair off my face.

  “Why don’t you take a break, Kit? Get some air. You’ll make yourself sick again. You don’t want Jack sent off without you,” he adds.

  He’s right. Jack is sleeping. His color is good and he just ate a full meal. I, on the other hand, feel like death warmed over.

  I nod and leave the tent, but the air is just as hot and heavy outside. Thinking I should find out about Annie’s steamer, I walk the dirt path around the bay towards the records office. Another thirty or more new ships are anchored in the Saint Lawrence, waiting for their inspection. Yellow flags flutter atop long masts, like sick leaves on rotting stalks.

  At the edge of the bay, Dr. Douglas climbs into a rowboat beside Father Robson. A sailor shoves out from the shore and begins hauling on the oars. Day after day. Ship after ship. The two men row back and forth between the island and the boats. Just behind them, at the far left side of the bay, the three cannons point out to the water. They’re there to ensure boats stop for inspection but, just yesterday, I’d heard a captain say that it would be more merciful to sink the ships than to let the passengers suffer such a slow death. The Erin was lucky. Many ships wait for days, sometimes weeks, in quarantine.

  Father Robson glances back to where I stand by the shore. Remembering his rosary in my pocket, the one left behind by Mrs. Ryan, I pull it out and hold the black beads over my head. Surely he’d want it back. I wave and point at his rosary dangling from my other fist. He raises one hand and nods.

  He thinks I’m praying for him now.

  I almost laugh at the thought, and me with my prayers as empty as a rain barrel in a drought. But I put it back in my pocket. I suppose the least I can do is hold on to it for him.

  “Did you say Barnes?” the clerk asks, in the tiny office. I’d waited ages in line for my turn.

  “No, Byrne. Annie Byrne.”

  He squints at the log book as he runs his finger down the page. “Boland … Brennan … Byrne. I’ve a Moira Byrne. Deceased June seventh.”

  My throat tightens. “Yes, that’s my mother. Is there nothing about my sister, Annie? She left June eighth or ninth on a steamer. I need to know where.”

  “Oh, an orphan?” He flips a few pages and repositions his small round glasses. It feels like forever. “Father Cazeau has been working miracles finding homes for all these orphans.” He flips through page after page. Name after name. There must be hundreds.

  “Here,” he says; his finger stops and so does my heart. “Annie Byrne, age five.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s her!” I cry.

  “Deported aboard the Speed.” He trails his finger along the ledger. “For Bytown, June ninth.”

  I could jump across the counter and kiss him. “When does the next steamer for Bytown leave?”

  He glances at a paper pinned to the wall beside him. “June eighteenth at ten o’clock.”

  Two days!

  I turn to go, my heart soaring with the news.

  “You’re the second person to come looking for Annie Byrne,” the clerk adds. It strikes me as odd. Surely Jack hasn’t been down here. “Yes, now, what was his name? A big man with red hair ...”

  “Lynch?” I say. A tingle runs down my spine. It can’t be him.

  He snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. Henry Lynch. Said he was looking for her and her sister Kathleen.”

  So he hasn’t given up. Not by a long shot. I feel sick.

  The clerk glances at his book. “There’s no record of Kathleen Byrne here. I told him he might find her in Bytown with Annie. Being sisters and all.”

  He looks at me over his glasses, standing there in my ragged pants and shirt with my dirty hair short and shaggy about my ears. “Funny, he never mentioned a brother.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The crowd mills around at the wharf as the steamer approaches. We’re all eager to be off this island. Although the doctors gave Jack a clean bill of health, he isn’t fully healed. Truth be told, many of the people sitting along the wharf aren’t. But I’d say their chances might be better off this island. Surely there are doctors and hospitals in Bytown.

  Jack and Connor stand off to the side in deep conversation, no doubt saying farewell. Connor’s family is making ready to board tomorrow’s steamer bound for farther up the Ottawa River where many of their relatives have settled. I’d often heard Connor talking about their farms and lumber shanties.

  Jack glances at me, long-faced. I know he’s upset about leaving. But he needn’t worry. He’ll make new friends in Bytown.

  I’ve said enough goodbyes to last me a lifetime, though I do have one more for Father McGauran, and I approach him as he steps onto the wharf. He thanks me for my help and wishes me well before handing me my wages. I put them in my pocket where they jangle against the rosary.

  “Oh,” I take out the black beads. “Can you give this to Father Robson for me?”

  “He’s caught the fever, been fighting the symptoms for some time now.” He shakes his head. “Dr. Douglas is sending him to a hospital in Quebec. I fear he may not make it.” He closes his hands around my fist of rosary beads. “Use it to pray for him. For all of us.”

  I’ve neither the heart to pray nor the words to tell him. Taking my silence as a yes, he squeezes my hands and then walks away.

  “I’m going with Connor,” says Jack, appearing beside me.

  I’ve no idea what he’s on about. Surely he’s joking.

  “His Da, Mr. Carey, will take me on as a hired hand,” he continues, his voice picking up speed. “Mr. Carey says I can work the fields, and in the winter maybe I can help with the logging.” He seems excited by the idea, like it might actually happen.

  “Enough of your silliness, Jack.” I nod at the steamer pulling up to the left side of the wharf and hold out his ticket. “Here, take this. ’Tis time to go.”

  “I’m not going with you, Kit,” Jack says. He steps back and stands beside Connor. I look at the pair of them, barely out of short pants. Children, really.

  “So you’re just going to go off gallivanting with your pal, is that the way of it?” I ask. “What about Annie? What about your family?”

  “I am thinking about my family. Sure, I’ll be making real wages.” His eyes light up. “I can send you some, just like Da would.”

  I laugh at him. He’s only wee. “What do you know about taking care of the family?”

  His lips tighten. I’ve hurt him, so I have. But he can’t be serious.

  What would Mam say? How did she get Jack to obey?

  Worry squirms in my gut like a handful of cold worms. I know Jack. The more he’s pushed the harder he pushes back. But I have to be firm. Mam would. “Now, say goodbye to Connor and get on that boat.”

  Jack folds his arms and makes no move to follow me. People are boarding, handing their tickets to the captain. Panic wriggles inside me.

  “I traveled to hell and back to find you. I nursed you back to health. You almost died, Jack. You would have if it weren’t for me!” I’m yelling now. People are staring.

  Let them stare. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.

  I point my finger at Jack. “I didn’t save you so you can go off and kill yourself on some foolish adventure. You are going to Bytown! We are going to find Annie! I will bring this family together, God help me!” I point at the boat, hand on my hip. “Now get on that bloody steamer!”

  “You are not Mam!” Jack snaps. The words sting like the tail of a whip. “Stop trying t
o tell me what to do!” Anger flushes his face and his fists are balled at his side. “Where were you when Mam was sick on the boat? When Annie cried? When Mam took her last breath?” His mouth trembles with the memory of it. “Who do you think took care of the family then, Kit? Not you. ’Twas me! Me! I did!”

  “And look what a great job you did,” I spit bitterly. The words rush out of me like vomit, hot and horrible. I can do nothing but heave them upon him. “Annie’s gone. Mam is dead. ’Tis a good thing I got here when I did or I’d have no brother left, either.”

  Jack glares at me, jaw clenched. In all our years of bickering, I’d never seen such hatred in his eyes.

  “Too late,” he answers through gritted teeth. “For you’ve no brother anymore.”

  And just like that, he turns and walks away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The captain calls out and the passengers board. I barely hear them over the thumping of my heart as I watch Jack walk away with Connor.

  He can’t mean it. He’ll turn around any second now.

  Only he doesn’t. He just keeps walking up the hill.

  “Jack!” I shout. “If we don’t find Annie soon, we may never find her at all. She’s already a week ahead of us.” But he doesn’t turn around.

  Curse you, Jack!

  Had I the strength, I’d run after him and drag him on the bloody boat.

  The selfish brat! How dare he walk away from me? Why must he be so bloody headstrong? I’m right. I know best. Why can’t he see that?

  “Are you boarding, lad?” the captain’s voice calls.

  I look at the boat. I have to find Annie. I have to get to her before Henry Lynch does. I look back up the hill. But I can’t leave Jack.

  “Kit?!” the name cuts through my fog as someone grabs my arm. “Sweet Jaysus, you’re alive! You’re alive!”

  I’m smothered in an embrace.

  “Mick?” I mumble into his ragged shirt. It feels good to see him, to be held, to let go and lean on someone else, if even for a moment.

  He pulls me back and holds me at arm’s length. “They wouldn’t let me see you. The soldiers. I was nearly mad with not knowing how you were. I even tried sneaking over to the west side, but I kept getting caught. The last time I got this.” He points at his fat lip and then hugs me again. “And here you are. My Kit. Alive and well.”

  His fat lip shines, taut in his grin, but the smile slides off his face when he sees my serious expression.

  I tell him then about Mam and Annie and finally about Jack.

  “Well, I’m bound for Bytown, too,” he says and I realize he’s jumped ship to get to me. “We just boarded the steamer on the east end of the island. I’ll help you find Annie. We’ll go to Bytown together, Kit.” He smiles.

  It comes to me then, a way to save both Annie and Jack. But Mick won’t listen. Not if he thinks there’s a future for us together in Bytown.

  “Mick?” I ask, stopping him as he heads for the steamer. “Will you do something for me?”

  “Anything, Kit. Just say the word.”

  I look up at him, knowing I’m asking for more than I deserve. “Will you … will you watch over Jack for me?”

  His face drops.

  “I need to know he’s safe,” I plead. “You’re his friend, he’ll listen to you. If anyone can convince him to come to Bytown, it’s you, Mick.”

  Mick frowns. “Kit, no one can convince your brother of anything he hasn’t a mind to do himself.”

  “Please, Mick,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “He’s my family. Jack and Annie. They’re all I’ve got.”

  I know I’ve hurt him. But I can’t tell him I need him, for I know Jack needs him more. I can’t tell him how I really feel about him or he won’t stay with Jack.

  He looks back at the steamer and up the hill at Jack walking away. A long breath escapes him as he settles his mind.

  “All right, Kit,” he finally says. “For you, I will.”

  I throw my arms around him. I don’t want to let go. In all the places I have been these last long weeks, here in Mick’s arms is the closest thing to home. He bows his head into my hair.

  The steam whistle blows. It’s time to go.

  “Thank you, Mick,” I say, though I know they aren’t the words he wants to hear from me. I pull myself away and step onto the boat, pushing my way through the crowd to find the railing. To see Mick one last time.

  He stands on the wharf, hands in his pockets. I think he is crying, or maybe the sun is just in his eyes.

  How could I ask that of him? How could he say yes?

  And yet we did.

  I could wring Jack’s neck for putting us all through this. If he’d only listened to me, we could all be going to Bytown together. The steamer draws back from the rocky shore and chugs westward, passing the tent-covered fields, the rocky bluff, the cemetery with its mass graves in long, mounded rows like large potato drills.

  Goodbye, Mam.

  I never did visit her grave. But what does it matter; she’s not there. Not really. She’s with Da now.

  Mam always said their souls wove together like the spirals in a Celtic knot. She’d embroidered one on our kitchen curtain one summer when Da was away working in England. ’Twas a work of art, an intricate braid weaving over and under itself all along the border of the curtain, ending at a small bird’s body in each corner. I hadn’t realized the colorful braids were formed by the birds’ long intertwining necks, so linked I couldn’t tell where one started and the other finished.

  “Love is like that, Kit,” she’d said, running her finger over the detailed stitching.

  “Confusing?” I’d asked and she’d laughed.

  “Sometimes,” she’d admitted. “But look at them. See how they reflect each other and support each other. They’re one and the same, bound together even if they are miles apart.”

  I look back past the wake to the shrinking wharf. Mick stands where I left him on it, still staring after the boat. We’ve been through so much this past year, Mick and I. Lost so much. Survived so much. I don’t know what I would have done without him. Our paths have always intertwined and I just can’t picture mine without his. I slowly raise my hand and Mick does the same.

  But I can’t help wondering if I will ever see him again.

  “Kit!” Billy, Joe, and Brigid push through the crowd and clamor around me; they’re talking a mile a minute. Mick hadn’t told me they were on the steamer. He hadn’t told me all he was sacrificing.

  “Did you know Henry was looking for you in the healthy sheds? Why are you going to Bytown?” They pepper me with questions.

  Brigid yanks on my sleeve. “Did you see Grandad?”

  I look at Joe; our eyes say it all. He didn’t know. Not for sure. Squatting before Brigid, I hold her hand. “I did see him, pet. And he said to give you a message. One for you and Joe.” I glance up at Joe. “He said to tell you you’ve got all you need right in here.” I poke her chest. “Sure, haven’t you the—”

  “Murphy spirit,” she finishes proudly. She slips her other hand in Joe’s. “See, Joe? I told you. I wasn’t just dreaming. ’Twas Grandad. He told me that before the angels came to take him to heaven.”

  Her faith moves me. I wish I could believe so wholeheartedly again.

  “Your brother … I mean, Mick,” Joe says, “he’s all right. I got to know him a bit better the last week together in the sheds.”

  “He near got himself killed a few times trying to find you, though,” Billy continued. “The soldiers caught him twice sneaking through the bush and once trying to swim around by the shoreline.”

  I’d seen Mick’s attempts at swimming back home. He’d tried it just the once and, God love him, he’d scrabbled and spluttered like a drowning cat.

  “He never did stop trying to find you,” Joe adds.

  I wonder what lengths Mick would have to travel to find me now.

  I wonder if he will.

  BYTOWN

  CHAPTER TWENT
Y-SEVEN

  The steamer chugs along the river, spewing black smoke from its twin stacks as its wheel turns. Just being on a boat again makes me feel ill. I swore I’d never do it, but I have to find Annie. She is out there, somewhere. At least this time I’m not in the hold. At least now I’ve land in sight.

  Brigid lies curled at my feet like a cat by the hearth as I stand with Joe at the ship’s railing. I close my eyes and breathe deep for the first time in a long time, the fresh air such a blessing after my weeks in the stifling tents and clammy hold. Thick woods rise and fall along the rolling shoreline, broken here and there by a church spire or barn roof. Smoke trails from cottage chimneys, wispy reminders of normal lives. Lives I wonder if we’ll ever live again.

  The sicker passengers, those still feverish and rashy, lie in the large room beneath us. They’re in worse condition than I thought. Far too ill to be discharged, let alone travel. Why separate us on the island only to throw sick and sound together on the steamer? But I suppose Dr. Douglas and his team can’t handle so many. Even more yellow-flagged ships sat waiting in the bay as our steamer left. I only hope the people of Bytown are ready for us. We’ve been on the Saint Lawrence for two days and, word has it, we’re now on the Ottawa River. The one that will take me to Bytown. To Annie.

  “The captain says it’s up there on the left, just around the bluff,” Billy says, coming to join us.

  “I hardly know how the captain got a word in edgewise,” Joe chides. “Sure, you talked the poor man’s ears off!”

  “And how am I to learn if not by asking?” Billy says. “I was born this handsome, but do you think I was born this brilliant?”

  “Billy,” Joe looks at him sideways. “You’re about as brilliant as a mud puddle and as handsome as its wallowing sow.”

  But Billy isn’t one to be put off. “Well, when I make my fortune here in Upper Canada, ’twill be money I’m rolling in, you may be sure. And there’s nothing more handsome than a rich man.”