The Pilgrim

by Paul Almond

  The man looked at me. “A solution? What kind of solution?”

  “I believe I know of a fine home that would welcome your children and care for them as they deserve.” I let this sink in, and he seemed to ponder it. He glanced at his wife, who was still immobile.

  A crafty look came over his face. “When? When would they take them?”

  “This very minute,” I said, for some odd reason. “Yes, this minute! Now, while your wife is resting. Just quietly dress your children and give me their clothes and playthings. Clayton and I shall take them forthwith to the family I have in mind, and you need never be in trouble again.”

  What an astounding sentence I had spoken! I actually shocked myself. Of course, I had no place to take them. Of course, I had no idea what I would do with them. I had no experience of little children like that, save at Christmas and during holidays after little Earle was born. But this was an entirely different situation: two children, messy, dirty, most likely starving. Whatever was this young clergyman thinking?

  The man seemed to undergo a transformation. He began to look shiftily around the room. Then he nodded. “Not a bad idea. I’ll get them ready.”

  What on earth had possessed me? Perhaps the Lord had indeed spoken and I was just following His will.

  In due course, the children were ready, but unfortunately, just as we were leaving, the gust of cold air from the open door awakened the wife and she rose. “Where are you going with my babies?”

  “I’m taking them to safety, good lady, where they will be well cared for.” With that, I grabbed up one child, Clay grabbed the other, and we hurried out to the komatik. Of course, by now, the two children were thoroughly frightened and screaming for their mother.

  “You son-of-a-whore!” She rushed to the door. “You child stealer, you bastard!” She tried to run out after us, but thank heaven her husband restrained her, holding her firmly inside the door, trying to calm her down.

  “They’ll be well looked after!” I called back, hoping I’d be forgiven the manifest lie. We both leapt onto the komatik, holding the children as tightly as we could, and Clay shouted at the dogs. They took off like rabbits and away we went — with the taunts of the drunken woman trailing after us as she screamed her wild oaths into the late afternoon air.

  Chapter Ten

  After travelling a mile or so and seeing we had not been followed, we stopped in a sheltered cove out of the wind and tried to make our screaming kids relax. I had very little experience but fortunately Clay, the wonder, had brought up his younger brothers. I didn’t know what we should give them, but we started a little fire, heated some water, and moistened some hardtack, breaking it into little pieces that Clay fed them with his fingers, giving them some warm water to drink as well. Then he set about fashioning a makeshift seat on the komatik for them between his knees.

  My mind was, of course, working overtime. Whatever should we do with them? I was hoping I had done the right thing, but now what? Clayton, bless his soul, did not question my decision. In fact, he reinforced it. “We could’a never of left ’em there,” he said as he fed them with little cooing sounds. It was plain they were starving; their crying gradually stopped with the attention Clay was giving them.

  Without looking at me, he mumbled, “So what do you think we’re gonna do now?”

  “No idea,” I admitted. “How far are we from the next settlement?”

  “Next biggest could be Old Fort. A good day away, I’d say.” He shrugged. “Never been this way before, maybe once when I was little with my cousins.”

  Oh dear, that meant spending the night with them, an eventuality that had not struck me before. “Well, we’d better find somewhere to stay so we can make them comfortable.”

  Clayton agreed, and we turned inland on a trail that had been fairly well travelled. I didn’t want to get lost, for sure, but then again, I wanted us to have a comfortable night in the middle of a forest, or under some overhang, which is what in the end we found. We pulled up by what appeared to be a good indentation in a rock face, almost a cave surrounded by woods, perhaps often used, for this was exactly where the trail led.

  We took our time before nightfall to arrange our bedding and to make a fire on which we heated more food for the twins and ourselves. The novelty of what was going on seemed to keep them from too many bursts of crying, Clay doing wonders at maintaining their good humour. I was not looking forward to the night, but the weather was with us, the night clear and frosty; with all that had been going on, we slept well.

  The next morning, I could see that civilization must be reached as quickly as possible. The children had to be changed, bathed, their abrasions looked after, and then what? Would I bring them with me all the way to Blanc Sablon, or even l’Anse au Loup? And then back again, all the way to Mutton Bay? How on earth did I expect to do that? What a pickle! Before too long, the twins had eaten enough; Clay had even tried them on dried fish, which apparently they had been able to get down. “So we’d best be off,” he suggested. We made sure they were well wrapped up and I got on the back of the komatik. Clay rode on the front with the twins between his legs, firmly strapped in. Off we went. The rocking of the komatik happily put them both to sleep.

  Well, the answer would have been obvious had I given myself time to think. Of course, Gene and his family, that should be our first stop. Once he knew these circumstances, surely he and Anna Bell would take charge. I’d go on with the obligatory pastoral visits as far east as Blanc Sablon, and even beyond to L’Anse au Loup — not really in our parish, but since the Rev. Mr. Gifford was no longer serving at Forteau, which usually took care of L’Anse au Loup, we of St. Clement’s administered there. So now, better make straight for Gene at St. Paul’s River and eschew stops on the way.

  A hard day’s sledding found us beyond Old Fort and as night came down we both agreed that we should press on, for a nearly full moon shone in a clear sky; we could see our way with the reflective snow doubling the light. Not difficult, either, for we had come out in the morning onto the flat gulf ice and were following the shoreline. But then we realized we had better give the dogs another good feed, so Clay got out seal meat and fed them, and on we went. They often, if not always, ate twice a day.

  So about two or three in the morning we arrived at the settlement of St. Paul’s River. One house was nestled close to the mission building: the parsonage? When the dogs arrived they set up a chorus of barking, knowing this leg of their journey had ended. I banged on the door several times, waking Gene.

  He welcomed me with open arms. “I’ve been waiting for you, John. I’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in.”

  “First, come and see what I’ve got here.”

  He was in his pajamas, so he could not. I turned to Clayton. “Bring them in. I’ll come and help.” Gene went in to light a couple of lamps while we undid the children’s wrapping and picked them up as gently as we could. For some reason, they both remained asleep. When Gene opened the door again, his face fell. “What on earth have you got there?”

  “Twins!” I said. “Lovely little souls. I’ll tell you all about it, but first, let’s get them in out of the cold.”

  He ushered us in and went to feed the stove more wood. We laid them down near the heat, but unfortunately they woke up and began to cry.

  “Ssshh, please keep them quiet. Anna Bell is sleeping; she was up late with our own child. I don’t want to wake her.”

  From upstairs came the call, “Gene? What’s going on?”

  I looked at Gene. His mouth opened and shut. He obviously had no idea what to say.

  Of course the noble Anna Bell came down and took in the situation. Immediately she set about heating water to bathe the children and look after their cuts and bruises. I, meanwhile, recounted the whole story, with Clay nodding and throwing in such comments as, “There’s no way Mr. John could’a left them there, Mr. Bishop. No way he could’a. He did the right thing, oh yis yis yis.”

  And then came the inevita
ble question: “Just what do you intend doing with them after Anna Bell has them cleaned up?”

  I shrugged, rather helplessly.

  “Well, let me say right away,” Eugene declared, “that we are in no position to adopt more children. And that is that!” He was not only firm, but I detected a sizable annoyance growing. He went to pour us both a cup of tea, glancing at Anna Bell who was still dealing with the twins. Not used to being mothered by a caring woman, they began giggling and chuckling as she tickled them while she cleaned them up. Such a fine woman.

  “First thing in the morning I’ll have to wash these filthy rags,” she announced. “We’ve got no clothes here for them. Maybe a parishioner will lend us some. We’ll send them off with you nice and clean, I can promise you that.”

  Well, what else had I expected? No, I had thought the Bishops would take them with open arms, but I did see the impossibility of that now. Just think again, I told myself.

  Had I acted too quickly? Should I have waited till my return trip? No, Clay had certainly made that clear. We’d done the right thing: there had been no time to lose. The question was, what was the right thing to do now?

  Clay and I were given the spare room in the parsonage with two beds; we didn’t wake up until noon. I had spent the first hours of my bedtime worrying, so in a sense my tardiness was understandable, but nonetheless I did feel guilty for a lot of reasons. I woke Clay and we dressed and went downstairs. I knew I would have to appear properly contrite.

  Anna Bell was dealing with the twins, keeping them occupied and doing a good job of it. She had also made a sumptuous meal for us before sending us on our way. I had made it clear the night before that we’d carry on to the eastern end of the parish as quickly as we could, and at the same time look for a good home that might accept the twins.

  Anna had cooked murres, nice plump little seabirds that Gene had been given in return for a wedding. She had turned them into a lovely thick stew with turnips, potatoes, and carrots, which they kept in the vegetable cellar of the parsonage. Gene perhaps felt a bit guilty for his peremptory rejection of my two charges. At any rate, we said grace and tucked into our meal.

  “John,” Anna Bell said, “Eugene and I have been speaking this morning. We have decided to keep the children while you travel east. It didn’t seem fair to send the poor darlings off before we’ve had a chance to dose them up with good nourishing food, or heal their various bruises and cuts. I do think,” she glanced at Gene, “they had been knocked about quite a bit. I found welts all over their little bodies.”

  “I must say, John, you did the right thing,” Gene admitted. “I’m only sorry that I cannot burden Anna Bell at this point, but I’m sure you’ll find a family willing to take them.”

  “Oh yes,” I replied brightly, at the same time pleased that Clay and I could finish this next jaunt unencumbered. I also felt optimistic that we would find somewhere for the twins; otherwise, why would God have placed them in my care to start with?

  In due course we left in fine weather. In fact, the sun shone rather too brightly, for by evening my eyes were aching. Gene had told me he’d gone around to the major settlements at Christmastime with a borrowed team, so I was to visit the smaller places, making sure to stop in at every cluster of homes and bring God’s word to those starved for any spiritual nourishment. The settlements became a blur: Salmon Bay, Five Leagues, Little Fishery, Middle Bay, Belles Amour (sic), and Bradore (from Bras d’or, Golden Arm) so many, up to Long Point, Blanc Sablon, Forteau, and finally L’Anse au Loup, my most eastern reach. But Salmon Bay stands out in my mind, where I found a home built only of wood and oddly enough, earthen sod. Several homes I had seen and visited during the whole tour were simply shacks, but this one in particular I felt the need to visit. The wind had blown the snow off the roof so I saw plainly the sod that covered it. The Sinnicks welcomed me; they lived in the one room, which was almost like a cave. As luck would have it, a storm blew through and kept us captive most of the day.

  Nancy Sinnick was doing her best to look after us, but she had almost nothing that I could see in the way of nourishment, only bread and weak tea for breakfast, nothing really for lunch. So Clay and I brought in the rest of our dried fish, and some tea, molasses, and cornmeal we had kept for the dogs, but these good people needed it even more than the team. Imagine trying to feed three children and a grandmother, who lay on a mattress in a corner, never rising. “Mamma’s not gonna last the winter,” Nancy whispered, shaking her head. “And our oil’s running out: I just got enough to light us ten more days, then it’s the dark, God help us.”

  “I just wish I had that dog team,” Maurice Sinnick said. “I’d be back every day fishing in that there lake.” He had lost his dogs, I found out, because an injury to his leg meant he had not joined the seal fishery this year, and so not managed to get winter food for the team.

  At the mention of a lake, Clay and I traded glances. “Lake?” I asked. “Why don’t Clay and I take you back tomorrow, if you’ll show us the way? We can spend the day fishing through a hole in the ice.”

  The poor man brightened, and his eyes even grew moist. The thought that members of the clergy actually did something more than offer a few pious prayers seemed to have touched him.

  We ate dinner on the table neatly covered in a tablecloth made from flour sacks. Mind you, these sacks serve a multitude of purposes here, from dish towels to bed sheets, which consisted of four sewn together. The family ate with such delight, unable to keep their ravenous appetites hidden. I had heard of many in our parish too poor to buy thread, and now I was witnessing this reality, though I quickly put the thought out of my mind. No point in dwelling on the negative.

  After the meal we sat around as I watched the wife pick apart an old canvas coat. I asked her why.

  “Getting thread fer me mendin’. These clothes is some horrible. If I don’t mend ’em, they’ll drop offa us.” They had run out of clothing for their eldest child who had no siblings for hand-me-downs. The lad badly needed a heavy coat, so Nancy was trying to cut down her old mother’s, who would not be going out anymore herself, for sure.

  The next morning after the storm had blown away, the three of us set off with our team for the lake some ten miles back in the interior. Maurice had brought a heavy axe, and I watched him walk across the lake ice with practised eye. At one end where a stream entered, he found the ice thinner so there we chopped our hole. While he went to cut some boughs for a windbreak and get us blocks of iced snow to sit upon, we started to fish. He impressed us with holding the line still: if it’s for smelt in a salty inlet, you jig a bit to attract them, but for trout in a lake, the line stays slack, as trout are suspicious.

  Out here in the vast silence, the snow-covered tundra rising in the distance to darkened hills with their smattering of spruce, and the wind soughing in the bare birch and alder at one side of the frozen lake, I did feel that sense of peace that I had been missing with my many pastoral duties. Is it not, I asked myself, the duty of a missionary to drink in His essence from time to time? To allow moments of calm for one to absorb His presence? I breathed deeply, gently leaving the line still in the hole. Nothing to do, at last; I tried to empty my mind of all those ever-crowding duties. Peace descended.

  Clay broke my reveries with a shout, and pointed to my nose. “Rub it, Mr. John, frostbite.” With the intense cold, he had often reminded me that we must check each other for such signs. Fortunately it was caught early, and after getting down out of the wind and rubbing it, the flesh returned to normal but burned as though I had placed a hot poker on it.

  That fine day and the next produced not only spiritual food for the Sinnicks, but a good stock of trout to nourish them in the weeks ahead. Not only had I brought them a fresh incitement to worship the Lord, I reflected, but had done good work in feeding His flock.

  After feasting on fresh trout and hot tea, I found myself sleeping soundly, albeit on the one patch of floor left. I couldn’t believe how poor some of these
livyers were in the Canadian Labrador. On my return through St. Augustine, I’d try at least to buy a stock of oil to light the Sinnicks through the rest of the winter. But now the room seemed snug and warm with its few furnishings, mattresses on the floor, two chairs and a table, handmade as all of them up here were. No draft entered the heavy sod coating that protected the modest dwelling. I wondered why more people did not resort to this type of building material — it was certainly warm and secure.

  So now, returning from L’Anse au Loup, we set our sights once more on St. Paul’s River settlement, some seventy-five miles to the west, visiting those houses we had not seen or stopped in on the way out, taking us three days. Time enough for Gene and Anna Bell to have found a family for the twins there, perhaps?

  Oh yes, in my mind the problem of the twins had become acute. At one of the houses in Middle Bay, I had asked a carpenter to make a small device to lace onto the komatik behind our larger supply box, to act as a wind break. So I had little fear of the children’s well-being on the return, but I wondered what could be done at Aunt Minnie’s.

  I think Gene and Anna Bell were relieved that I did not press them to keep the children any longer, and professed pleasure with the coach box that I had arranged on the komatik. We all had a lovely evening, discussing theology and planning what we might do the rest of the winter. I did have my trip westward to make and then we’d be locked in for April and May when the ice began to break but the waters were not yet open. Then, we promised to meet and possibly return together to Quebec in midsummer for the general synod. Gene would be finished with his tour of duty here, for he felt certain that now with a wife and child, the Bishop of Quebec would not require a third year in the Canadian Labrador.

  So the next morning, full of trepidation, we loaded the twins, whose names, Tom and Tessa, had been given by Anna Bell at Gene’s baptismal service.