He won’t say the words again. Won’t nudge them out like a young robin fresh from the nest, only to see them dashed to the ground like they were in the storeroom of the ship those long months back. They perch in him, in both of us, teetering on the edge of flight. Or failure. I feel them battering their wings inside my heart.
Say it. Say it. Say it.
“Mick.” I take a deep breath and let go. “I love you.”
The words hang there for a moment between us. My stomach lurches with the sensation, as though I’m falling from a great height.
But Mick only stares at me, dumbfounded.
“I’ve always loved you,” I continue. “I know I should have told you long ago, but I was scared.” I swallow. “Like I only had so many pieces of my heart left to lose. But Mick, seeing you again, ’tis like … like a ...” I grasp for the words fluttering inside me.
“A knowing,” he says, taking my hands again.
“Yes!” My heart soars, and despite my wet clothes and lack of a cloak, I feel as though I house a glowing coal. It radiates from my very core. “A knowing.”
“Mick, whatever stories I’ve yet to live, I want to live them with you. Whatever epic battles lay ahead, I want you by my side. For as truly as I hold this knot, I feel, I know our souls are just as intertwined, woven together by God himself.”
Mick moves closer and gently takes my face in his calloused hands. “So you’re not a nun, then?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says, as though he’s afraid a bolt of lightning might strike as he lowers his face to kiss me. But surely it does. It jolts our hearts as our lips meet, stirring up all those unspoken words. They flutter between us, around us, in a flock of heart whispers, making me dizzy.
I’ve no question where I belong. No doubt where my past and future lie. My heart has known my path all along, really. All it needed was time and the courage to fly.
A string of birds crosses the sky over Bytown. Spreading their wings, they glide and alight in the bay below, honking their arrival.
The geese are home. Finally home.
INTERVIEW WITH CAROLINE PIGNAT
Photo credit Tony Pignat
You were born in Ireland and lived there during part of your childhood, so your family did not participate directly in the migration you describe in Kit’s story. Very briefly, what was it that made you want to tell this story?
I read the historical novel, The Silent People by Walter Macken, when I was sixteen and visiting Ireland. It tells the story of a famine in the 1700s. Having grown up in Canada, I did not know much about Irish history and I was amazed by the facts: families (indeed whole villages) starving to death, evictions, mass emigration, all because of a failed crop. They called it a “famine,” but there was still plenty of food in Ireland – just not for the poor.
The Irish culture is known for its strong faith, quick humor, and generous hospitality, and I wondered how such people endured the reality of those harsh historical facts. I wondered, after all they’d endured in Ireland, how these people could find the strength and will to leave with nothing and start a new life in Canada.
Even though our immigration was nothing like theirs, I know what it is like to miss your homeland and your extended family. I know how it feels to be divided between two places. As someone who gets to go back and visit fairly often, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for those early immigrants who had to leave their Irish homes, family and friends forever. In those days, the people in Ireland had wakes for people who left for they knew they’d never see them again.
I wrote an assignment in a grade eleven Writers Craft class over twenty years ago that was inspired by that summer’s holiday in Ireland and reading of The Silent People. It is the seed of Greener Grass.
Research is a very important part of writing historical fiction. What was involved in doing the research necessary to write this book?
I read a lot of non-fiction about Irish history, the Great Famine, and the Irish culture. Thanks to a grant from the Canada Council for the Arts, I had the opportunity to tour many museums, famine exhibits, cemeteries, and historical and heritage centers in Ireland during 2006. I visited places such as: Muckross Farms, Skibbereen Famine Museum, Abbestrewery Cemetery, Cobh Museum, National Museum of Farm Life, Wicklow Gaol; I took a day sail on the replica famine ship Jeanie Johnston and toured the Dunbrody.
Much of the story evolved as I researched. For example, it wasn’t until I was touring Wicklow Gaol and saw the registry for “Child Inmates” from 1846-1850 that I realized children were stealing food and getting arrested for it. I knew then Kit had to commit a similar crime and meet many of these real life children.
I use binders to help me keep all my research organized. Okay, I obsess about them.
In telling your story, you have brought to life a number of real historical figures. What is the challenge to a writer in using real people in a work of fiction? Why did you choose to make use of them, rather than creating fictional characters in similar roles?
The challenge in using real people is to represent them as accurately as I can. Again, research is key. The historical figures like Captain McDonald, Father Robson, Dr. Douglas or Sister Thibodeau are minor characters in the story, but I wanted to accurately name them as a tribute to the important roles they played during that time in history.
For more developed characters like Mother Bruyere, I had primary sources like her letters to give me a sense of her personality. I also had the archivist of the order read everything I wrote about Mother Bruyere. That was a condition of the archivist’s assistance but it reassured me that I had caught the spirit of Mother Bruyere.
I chose to make my antagonists, Lynch and Lord Fraser, fictional, but based them on my research of many other landlords and middlemen of the time. That gave me the freedom to change their actions and personalities to suit my plot.
A few background characters (the Hyland family from Carrighill) were my mother’s people whose names I discovered on a census from that period. Because I had nothing but their names to go on, I decided not to impose a personality and left them in the background, but I wanted them to be present.
In your story, while Kit wants to keep what remains of her family together, she fails; Jack sets off for the farms and lumbering trade of the Ottawa River, and Annie is adopted by a family who can give her a decent home. In your research, did you come across accounts of similar family breakups that occurred during this period?
Yes. The number of orphaned children really surprised me. Mother Bruyere runs an orphanage for young Irish children as well as St. Raphael’s House for Irish teenage girls. Even at Grosse Isle, many children arrived as orphans. In one letter from Lord Elgin, he writes “ … nearly 1,000 immigrant orphans have been left during the season at Montreal and a proportionate number at Grosse Isle, at Quebec, at Kingston, Toronto, and other towns.” Father Cazeau himself found homes for 453 orphans. They often kept their Irish surnames; however many carried the typhus into their new families.
There are also advertisements in the local papers of the time of people trying to locate family members. The tragedy is that most of the poor Irish were illiterate.
One of the strengths of your story is the voice of Kit—the “lilt” of her telling, as Brian Doyle has called it. If you could name one person whose voice inspired this distinctive style, who would it be?
My mother.
According to your story, the Irish who came to Canada as a result of the potato famine and the disruption of their lives in the 1840s were treated badly when they arrived in Canada. Do you think this is also the way other immigrant groups have been regarded when they arrived here?
Yes. Though not all arrive in Canada with dire circumstances as those immigrants escaping wars, disasters, or exiles, I think people see immigrants as people arriving with “needs.” Perhaps they need education, or health care, or employment; either way, the general public tends to react with stereotypes and p
rejudice, particularly if the group sticks to itself (Little Italy, Chinatown, etc.). If you add something like a contagious disease (typhus) or a job shortage, people are even more hostile to the newcomers. As people gain an understanding of the newcomers and their culture, they feel less threatened about what it’s costing and more likely to see what that culture brings to the community. Ironically, it seems that the last group that experienced racism is okay with doing it to the newcomers. It reminds me of grade tens making life hell for those “minor-niners.”
In the fall of 2009, the first novel in which you tell the story of Kit and her family won a Governor General’s Literary Award, the most prestigious prize for children’s literature in Canada. How has that affected your life as a writer?
The award, like the Canada Council grants, is a great affirmation of my writing. To be so supported and recognized for literary excellence, particularly so early on in my career, makes me feel both honored and challenged.
What advice do you have for aspiring young writers?
I give them the same advice I continue to give myself: read lots and write lots. Keep learning the craft. Persevere and, most importantly, enjoy the ride.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The summer of 1847 is known as the Summer of Sorrow. A tidal wave of Irish immigrants flooded Canadian shores. Thousands did not survive the journey. Thousands more succumbed to typhus and were buried at Grosse Isle. As the surviving immigrants moved inland, typhus traveled with them and many more Irish and Canadian people died. Yet the more I learned about the summer of 1847, the more it became a story of hope.
In times of tragedy, hope is found in one helping hand. Dr. Douglas, Father Robson, Father Cazeau, Mother Bruyere, Sister Thibodeau—these are just a few of the numerous Canadian men and women, the tireless heroes who dedicated themselves to the care of the Irish that summer. They reached out, showing extraordinary compassion and generosity, despite the dangers of disease. Soldiers, sailors, nurses, nuns, doctors, ministers, and priests, many, like Father Robson, lost their lives. But they did not lose hope. What a testimony of Canadian compassion. What an inspiration to the Irish.
Though some dates are modified to fit the plot (i.e., Dr. Benson died in May and Martha Hagan was already a nun by that summer), I have tried to weave in as much historical fact as possible.
THE CROSSING
Built in Quebec in 1845, the Dunbrody, like many ships of the time, served as a cargo ship carrying timber from Canada. Fitted with bunks for passengers, she carried Irish emigrants from New Ross to Quebec from 1845 to 1851. Crossing at the peak of the famine in the summer of 1847, she carried 313 passengers. The Erin and Dunbrody left New Ross for Quebec on April fourteenth, 1847. The journey took about six to eight weeks. Of the almost 100,000 people that sailed for Quebec in 1847, 5,282 died during the crossing and another 3,389 succumbed to illness once they arrived.
GROSSE ISLE
5,424 persons who, flying from pestilence and famine in Ireland, in the year 1847, found in America, but a grave.
Inscription on the monument in the Irish Cemetery at Grosse Isle.
Grosse Isle is an island in the St. Lawrence fifty kilometers east from the port of Quebec. From 1832 to 1937 it served as a quarantine station. The season of 1847 brought the greatest number of immigrants to Grosse Isle, most of them Irish. Anchored for days until space could be found on Grosse Isle, many healthy passengers caught typhus and later died. Structures on the island were built to house 200 sick and 800 healthy passengers, but that year over 98,000 arrived. The priests and doctors mentioned in the novel were actual men who served on Grosse Isle. Doctor Benson was a passenger on the Wandsworth who offered his services upon reaching the island. Father Robson, known for his strength, often carried the sick right out of the hold on his shoulders when no one else would touch them. Like many other dedicated caregivers, Father Robson and Doctor Benson died from typhus that summer. Hundreds of children, like Annie, were left orphaned. Thanks to Father Cazeau and hundreds of Quebec families, over 450 Irish orphans were adopted that summer, many of whom kept their Irish surnames.
BYTOWN
Over three thousand Irish arrived in Bytown that summer, many with typhus. Their care fell to Mother Bruyere and her Sisters of Charity. Her letters to her Superior in Montreal show a woman of great faith and determination in the face of enormous need. Though she’d only arrived in Bytown two years before, Mother Bruyere (aged twenty-nine) and her small band of twenty-one women not only cared for the thousands of immigrants, but also opened hospitals, orphanages, schools, and Saint Raphael’s Home. She was an integral part in the foundation of this small town that would one day become a nation’s capital. For her decades of tireless work with women, the poor, and as a champion of health care and education, the Vatican is considering Mother Bruyere for beatification.
The Songs and Poems
“Shores of Amerikay” – Traditional
“The Flying Ships” by Thomas D’Arcy McGee from The Poems of D’Arcy McGee With Copious Notes, New York; Boston; Montreal: D.J. Sadlier, 1869.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks so much to:
The Canada Council for the Arts, whose support allowed me the opportunity to thoroughly research this novel.
Peter Carver for being my North Star. Your guidance, affirmation, and brilliance not only keep me on track, but make the journey a joy. I look forward to our next adventures.
Richard Dionne, Lori Avakian, and the Red Deer Press crew for your continuous support and hard work.
Marie Campbell for your encouragement and navigating advice.
Alan Cranny, my father, for capturing the spirit of the story in the art of the cover and to Marion Pignat, my daughter, for your awesome photography.
Elizabeth Tevlin for your insightful feedback and wonderful humor.
Maureen Dufour for wise words in discernment.
Roger Chartrand for wild words in French.
To my family and friends who continue to support and inspire me in ways too many to mention. Thanks for being great traveling buddies.
We are blessed with faithful stewards of our past who share it so passionately with our future. You have all helped ensure that this novel rings true. A special thanks to experts in the field:
Sean Reidy and his knowledgeable Dunbrody crew in New Ross, Wexford. Sean, your hospitality is outdone only by your generosity and eagerness to share Dunbrody’s story. Thanks also to the staff of the replica famine ship, the Jeanie Johnston, for helping me sail into the past.
Israël Gamache of Grosse Isle and the Irish Memorial, Quebec. Israël, your passion for your work burns bright. Thanks for igniting it in others.
Authors Marianna O’Gallagher, Rose Masson Dompierre, Andre Charbonneau, and Andre Sevigny for your detailed research of Grosse Isle.
Steve Dezort, Program Manager, Bytown Museum, for helping me unearth the history in my hometown.
Authors Sister Paul-Emilie, Emilien Lamirande, and Linda Fitzgibbon for your detailed accounts of Mother Bruyere and Bytown.
And a special thanks to Sister Louise Seguin of the Sisters of Charity. Your generosity with your time and knowledge was such a gift. Thank you for helping to bring Mother Bruyere and her companions to life in my heart.
A special thanks to:
Tony, Liam, and Marion. You make me laugh; you make me hope; you make me proud. You are what matters most. I love you guys.
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