by Bob Chaulk
“How long has it been now—two weeks?”
“Not that I’m counting,” she replied, as she struck a match and reached inside the stove. “But it has been eleven long and trying days.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a tall, strappin’ twenty-five-year-old male about the house for eleven days.”
“Well,” said Emily as she knitted her brow and concentrated on adjusting the damper. “You’re welcome to Randy.”
“I don’t want Randy. I want a tall, strappin’ male,” Gennie guffawed, delighted at her own wit, which was followed by a fit of coughing.
Gently patting her on the back, Emily said, “Gennie, there’s no need for you to be in here this early. I can see that the stoves get lit.”
“I noticed,” Gennie said. “Why don’t you let the youngsters’ fathers take care of it like they’re supposed to? Then we could come in to a nice warm school like we been doing all winter.”
“I can tell that you haven’t been around here when there are seals on the go. That’s all they think about this time of the year: ‘Did youse see ar swile?’” she mimicked, screwing her pretty face into its most intense expression of anticipation. “And now that there were a few off Long Point earlier in the week, you can be sure there will soon be men scrambling all over the ice, with no interest whatever in lighting the stove in the school. I swear Daddy has sharpened his sculping knife every day this week and he has yet to step out onto a clumper. His gaff and tow-rope are sitting by the door all set to go. You’d think it was emergency life-saving equipment and lives depended on him.”
“They take their sealing seriously, don’t they?” said Gennie, half listening. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s the story with George Tizzard? Did his mother make up her mind yet?”
“Oh, my. Poor little Georgie,” Emily said, frowning. “I honestly don’t know what Agnes is going to do; nothing would surprise me. She dislikes me so much I swear she’ll probably pull him out of school just to spite me. It breaks my heart to see them being taken out when they’re so young, but not many around here see any value in an education. I suppose you can’t blame them: the teenage boys especially are a huge help to their fathers out on the water.”
“Or in the vegetable garden or cutting wood or hunting birds or picking berries or tending the sheep or building boats…” Gennie mused. “It’s hard to keep food on the table without them.”
“I know. But it’s a crime the number of men around here who can barely read their own names.”
“Not one of my brothers finished school. All five of them were in the lumber woods before their fourteenth birthday.”
“Agnes had my blood boiling yesterday,” Emily continued. “It was all I could do to keep from giving her a good smack.”
“Oh, that would have been a nice thing to see now: the teacher giving a parent one across the lip.”
“There was Agnes, with babe in arms and another peeping out from behind her skirts, sticking out her chin and declaring, ‘I only went to Number Five and it never done me no ’arm. I got a ’usband and youngsters and a ’ouse over me ’ead.’ She may as well have added, ‘And what ’ave you got? Sure, you’re nothing but the schoolteacher—an old maid still livin’ at ’ome with your parents!’”
“Of course you’re living with your parents. What would she expect you to do—saw your own logs and build a house?”
“You know what I mean. Find a husband to build one for me.”
“I have no doubt that will happen…and soon,” she grinned. “But not everybody is lucky enough to get a man…”
“Gennie, don’t be silly. You have a lot to offer a man.”
“Like what? TB?”
“Stop talking like that! You haven’t got TB.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. “And even if you do have it—which you don’t—what better place to be than in Twillingate, with a brand new hospital?”
“Never mind that. What’s she got against you anyway?” Gennie asked. “Did you steal her boyfriend or something?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, you’re not far off. She used to be interested in my older brother, Bill, and was always dropping by the house on the feeblest of pretenses, hoping he might be around. Many’s the day when I was in high school that I would come home to find Agnes in the kitchen, chatting with Mama and maneuvering her way to the supper table.
“If you ever met Bill you would know how polite he is—he’s like Daddy. I guess she mistook his pleasantness for something more serious, but he had no interest whatsoever in Agnes; all he needed was eyes to see what a nincompoop she is. She must have thought that Bill consulted his little sister on matters of the heart. Anyway, ever since then she would probably choke if she had to say a good word about me.
“After Bill went away to college she ended up with Uriah Tizzard; they were both eighteen when they got married, and then along came Georgie seven months later. I don’t know how a decent person like Ri Tizzard ended up with Agnes. He probably didn’t know where babies come from and found out too late. I think Agnes is using her son’s future to settle an old score with me. She was so smug yesterday! Poor Georgie.”
Emily fell silent, her large brown eyes downcast. Gennie had often joked that Emily should never play poker because her face betrayed practically every thought in her head. “Go easy there, Missie. Don’t forget what they taught us in college. You can only do so much and after that it’s out of your hands.”
“I know. I suppose with all that’s been going on—this business with Georgie, and those two being underfoot for nearly two weeks—and now I.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Now you what?”
“I have to give Henry an answer. There’s no more time left.”
“Then give him an answer. Say yes.”
“It’s not that simple, Gennie…”
“Only because you’re making it complicated. A fabulous-looking, smart, witty, charming man wants to marry you. That’s pretty complicated, all right. Any girl in town would be delighted to have Henry Horwood for a husband, and if they knew you needed to think it over they would tell you you’re nuts.”
“I didn’t leave home for college only to end up a fisherman’s wife with a houseful of youngsters.”
“Oh, I see. You’re too good for that, are you? You’re gettin’ a bit gatchy, you know.”
“No I’m not! You may think I’m stuck up, Gennie, but there’s more to it than that.”
“Well, I certainly can’t figure out what it is.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of what? Henry?”
“Of course not. I’m afraid of what might happen. When I marry I want some assurance of a long life together. The sea has a habit of taking husbands and fathers away. I mean, your own father is one of them. I just don’t want that to happen to me, plain and simple…Oh, I’m sorry, Gennie; I didn’t say that very well.”
“That’s okay. You’re right. My mother did end up a widow with a houseful of youngsters. But, it looks to me like your family has been spared all of that. Both of your grandfathers are old after being on the water all their lives, your father is still living—”
“That makes me even more fearful; my turn is sure to come. And I can’t ask him to stay home from the sea. Why, that would be like expecting Aunt Beulah Twine not to tap her feet while the accordion is playing.”
“He’s probably like most men around here: the sea is all he knows. Get him away from the water and I bet he’d be content doing something else.”
“Well, he plans to write an exam for some marine officer rating this summer. He’s been getting ready all winter.”
“Emily, girl, you can’t be running your life based on your fears! There’s lots of things worse than having to put up with the disruption of being married to a sailor.” She grinned. “After a few years of marriage you’ll probably be glad to have him out of the house for a while, anyway.”
Emily smil
ed obligingly. Gennie broke the brief silence. “Why do you say there’s no more time left?”
“Henry’s uncle is a master watch on one of the big sealing ships out of St. John’s and he got Henry a berth for the ice. He’ll be leaving in a few days and we won’t have any contact for a couple of months, maybe longer. I simply have to get it settled before he goes.”
“I think there’s something you’re not telling me,” said Gennie, “about a certain other person—”
There was a commotion outside, and then the faint and earnest thumping of what could only be a grade two hand on the door, most likely female. Gennie opened it and there stood Elsie Porter with two red eyes blinking from behind her snow-covered face. “Miss, they gave me a mobbin’!” she wailed.
“Oh, dear. Come over here by the stove, Elsie, and we’ll have you fixed up in no time. I’m sure it won’t be the last mobbin’ you’ll get.” She gently closed the door to keep out three rosy-cheeked little girls, one of whom was eating snow from her mitt while another wiped her nose on her sleeve. Gennie suspected they were the guilty parties who had covered Elsie’s face with snow, but she chose not to undertake an investigation and subsequent administration of justice while the victim needed comforting.
“Faith and Gail held me down and Leet mobbed me,” Elsie sobbed. “She even shoved snow down my back.”
“Well, I’ll certainly have a word with Faith and Gail and Melita,” Gennie assured her as she wiped her face and tidied her hair. “But did you do anything to egg them on, now?”
“I double-dog dared them,” Elsie declared proudly.
“There you go, then. It’s one thing to dare somebody—but a double-dog dare; well, you know—”
“I know, Miss. I’m sorry.” She perked up. “Will they have to stay after school?”
“We’ll see. You just stay by the stove and warm up. School will be starting in a few minutes.”
“It’s not very warm by the stove, Miss. Is it lit?”
The arrival of the rest of her students provided the distraction Emily needed from her preoccupation with Henry—who was a far more pleasant preoccupation than Randy and his father. She and Gennie, with the help of Jessie Locke, at sixteen the oldest and most responsible girl in the school, proceeded to set out the lessons for the day. Balancing such a mix of personalities and needs was a challenge that animated Emily, and their energy and sense of wonder—of the younger ones, especially—always served to quicken her love for her calling. But the day passed too quickly and, like Cinderella at midnight, she felt the sparkle of the previous hours drain away as the weight of her decision fell back upon her. She was in no hurry to get home, and braced herself for Randy’s leering eyes.
To her immense relief, neither he nor his father was anywhere to be found. “They’re gone,” her mother declared. “The wind shifted this morning and the ice let up a bit, so they decided to leave. Your father says they should be back in Herring Neck by supper.”
chapter three
On Saturday evening Emily stood in the kitchen of the big house that her grandfather had built for his eight children, waiting for the irons on the stove to heat up so she could press her clothes for church. Her mother sat in the rocking chair by the stove, knitting. “My, it’s some good to have those two out of our hair and to get the house back to ourselves again.”
“Mama, when I walked through the door and you told me they were gone I could have fallen on my knees and thanked God to be rid of them.”
Her mother frowned at this flippant reference to prayer. “Well, you know, when people are in need of a place to stay, you got to help out.”
“If they were relatives, I would agree, but we didn’t even know them,” Emily insisted.
“Perhaps not, but don’t forget that Randy and his father rowed all the way to Twillingate for one reason and one reason only: to take your father’s cousin to the hospital.”
“I know. I know,” said Emily.
“If they hadn’t offered, he might have lost his foot, the infection was that bad. You got to be some careful around a hen hawk, I’ll tell you.”
“A hen hawk? I thought he chopped his foot cutting wood.”
“No, my dear. A big hawk got in with the hens and he shot it with the britchloader. He thought it was dead, but when he went over it got him by the foot. Drove its spur right through his boot before it died.”
“Oh, my!”
“I suppose he didn’t keep it clean because it got infected. It’s a wonder he didn’t get blood poisoning. They say he’s going to be in the hospital for a while.”
“The poor thing; it was just trying to get something to eat,” Emily reflected.
“You know, Emily, it wasn’t their fault the harbour got chinched full of ice.”
“I suppose not, but that Randy gave me the creeps, the way he kept eyeing me up and down.” She grinned, “I’m actually so thankful to them for leaving that I feel like sending them some money to show my gratitude.”
She licked the tip of her finger and dabbed it quickly on the iron. Satisfied that it was hot enough, she carefully flattened the collar of her blouse and started ironing. As she worked, she caught a glimpse of her mother across the room, frowning over her glasses at her. As her daughter met her gaze, the older woman returned to her knitting, clicking the needles with a furious rhythm.
Here we go again, Emily thought. She’s building up steam about something—Basil, no doubt.
Better head her off!
Too late.
“Do you think we should invite Reverend Hudson to dinner after church tomorrow?”
“No.” She continued ironing.
“Don’t you want to see Reverend Hudson?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to see Basil. It’s just that I’m very tired with all the recent goings-on, and I was hoping to have a relaxing afternoon on Sunday. Anyway, I’ll see him in the morning for hymn practice before the service.”
“Are you playing tomorrow, dear? I haven’t heard you practising.”
“I tried to the other night but Randy started skulking around the organ and I couldn’t bear it. I’m not worried; they’re all pieces that I know.”
“I don’t know why he has to pick out all the hymns every Sunday. It was so much easier when you and Mrs. Pardy picked them out.”
“I know. Basil likes to be in charge and to have his finger on everything. He says the hymns he picks complement his sermon better. Maybe they do. I just know that it drives Mrs. Pardy up the wall.”
“I was thinking that maybe he’d enjoy a meal of fipper. I don’t suppose he’s ever had it before. Your father got some seals today and he got a few lovely fippers off them.”
“Call it flipper, Mama. Seals don’t have fippers.”
“I could make a nice flipper pie.”
“I’m sure he already has an invitation to go somewhere else.”
“If he does, then that’s that but—”
“For heaven’s sake, okay. But, Mama, I would prefer not to be alone with Basil, if you don’t mind.”
Ada straightened up. “Has Reverend Hudson been acting in an improper manner?”
“Oh, no!” Emily blurted. “Not at all. He has been a perfect gentleman.”
“Well, I’m glad of that!” said Ada, and giving Emily a penetrating look, she returned to her knitting.
chapter four
Emily sat at the organ, off to Basil’s left, with her hands folded in her lap. She was the only person in the church who had a view of him from behind the pulpit as he delivered his sermon. He was tall and slightly-built, with delicate features, and when he was making a point he gripped the inside corners of the pulpit and stood on his toes as though he would propel himself over it and fly above the congregation, ferreting out the malcontents and miscreants and bundling them into Bible class. He had an air of perfect confidence, and his English accent rang with authority among his colonial audience, making what he said indisputable. She could not help comparing Henry to thi
s educated, articulate man. Henry was so much like most of the other men she had grown up with—easygoing, pleasant and self-effacing—and she reflected sadly that he was also one of the men from whom the sea created widows.
She glanced at her music for the tenth time to confirm that she had the correct closing hymn ready; knowing Basil would smoothly transition from the sermon to the hymn, she was watching for the signs that he was winding down. Although she was flattered that such a sophisticated man from England would be attracted to her, she knew her thoughts should be closer to home and Henry’s proposal. But, Henry was so much in love with her that she could afford to be casual with him while enjoying Basil’s attention. Basil was an excellent conversationalist on a wide range of subjects, which Emily appreciated immensely. Such people were rare in her life and she was enjoying the novelty.
She faced today’s dinner with misgivings, though, half expecting that Basil might declare his feelings if the opportunity arose, and she had no idea how she would react. Although she was confident that neither Basil nor Henry knew about the other, she also knew she was not being honest with either of them, and guilt about her dishonesty was adding to the pressure to resolve the situation.
Basil thumped his Bible closed and glanced her way as he started singing and beckoning his audience to rise. Her hands jumped to the keyboard as the congregation stood, rapidly thumbing through their hymn books. In a few seconds Basil’s voice was drowned out as, one by one, those who had found the spot joined in for a rousing chorus of “When We All Get to Heaven.”
As soon as the service ended, Emily slipped out the side door and rushed home to help Ada prepare. She cast a disapproving look at her mother. “Mama, you can’t wear that apron in front of the minister. There’s no need for you to be wearing those old flour-bag aprons. Where’s the one with the pink flowers?”
“There’s nothing wrong with this apron; it’s clean. Two years in St. John’s is after turning your head.”
“I know you and Daddy sacrificed so I could go, but I’m sure we can afford to get you some decent aprons. Tomorrow I’m going to order you a nice new one from the catalogue.”