by Paul Almond
Although the fog was still forming a heavy wall around the house, Perce and Howard went outside midmorning with shovels. Although they said nothing, I knew they were preparing a grave. Late that afternoon, in a simple ceremony, I consigned the baby’s body to the frozen earth. We reported back to Becky, and although the sorrow was intense, I could see that this ending might help her recognize that her own life lay ahead.
Chapter Nineteen
With the rise in temperature, the sooner we left, the better. After a good breakfast, I went outside to check the weather. The fog had crept away, only to be replaced by lightly falling snow. Then I noticed some odd-looking devices on the komatik.
“What have you been up to?” I asked Perce.
“I had the idea to attach some floats.” He must have seen my frightened look because he added quickly, “Oh, just in case of emergency. I seen it done before.” He shrugged. “You never know, that’s all.”
I went in for the last time to see Becky and found her improving. Amazing how the young recover! During the night, Aunt Alice had been able to feed her more cooked caribou. I kissed her on her forehead, saying that I wanted to baptize her newborn next year, at which she smiled. Yes, a pretty girl, I could see her loveliness returning. We said our goodbyes, piled on the komatik, and headed off.
The trail soon brought us to the point of shortest crossing over to the mainland. With the snowfall it was hard to see across, but the sight that greeted our eyes was, to me at least, frightening in the extreme. In the night, the wind had shifted and the great flotillas of drift ice were no longer wedged against the shore. How on earth would we ever get across? I looked over at Perce. He was anxiously scanning the strait, then walked to a higher point of land, where he stood surveying the pans. Then he came back. “Darn thing is the snow. Ya can’t judge the thickness of the ice. We’re just gonna have to make a try.”
My heart was in my mouth. But shouldn’t we wait? At least until some boat could break through to rescue us? Or another freeze-up came? Indeed, I voiced this suggestion, and added, “Or just wait till the wind shifts back? It might pack the ice floes again.”
“We could wait forever,” Perce said. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll get to that mainland.”
Well sir, we got ourselves on the komatik, Aunt Alice on the after part for she was the heaviest, Perce and I hanging on just ahead. “It will keep the nose up,” Perce explained.
The dogs seemed anxious to be off for some reason. When he shouted, whip at the ready, they charged across the ice, mostly unbroken near the shore. But after a hundred yards, we started crossing from floe to floe, choosing whatever gap was the narrowest. We veered this way and that, and I almost began to relax — when the next ice floe as we struck it, tipped right up. Oh Lord! I thought, just when we least expect it, down we go!
Perce cracked the whip and the first three dogs dug in their claws while the dogs behind swam in the drink, but the lead dogs pulled them out until they too got a grasp. The komatik had splashed into the water, but we held on for dear life as it started to sink, and our tremendous team with all their strength pulled us up onto the lip and out onto the pan.
Heavens, I thought, I don’t want many more of those.
“Fun, eh?” Perce called excitedly as the team then veered to the right to get on to another equally flimsy fragment. But no amount of loud encouragement would make me feel less than absolutely terrified — not so much the fear of drowning as an irrational panic that gripped my very soul.
“Look!” I pointed. Sure enough, through the snow we could see the contours of the mainland shore not a hundred yards away. But between us lay a good spread of black, icy water. We were on a broad floe that seemed safe, so Perce called the team to a halt. We got off the komatik to stretch and prepare for whatever may come.
“I don’t think we better try swimming that,” Perce said. “I see some good floes there to our right. We’ll try them first.”
We clambered back on the komatik, and Perce rallied the team. With great agility and force, they leapt the gap of three feet onto the next pan and our sled straddled the widening gap.
The same with the next pan, and the next, all gaps being three or four feet across. But we were getting no nearer the shore. The snow was now coming down hard. Any view of the mainland and its ballicatters was lost.
“What happens now? Do we go back?” I asked.
Perce turned and pointed. Behind us, the floes had separated even more. In fact, they were drifting out. Just deep, widening water behind us, and an open stretch ahead.
We stopped and considered. What would be our best direction? We could hardly see through the falling and driven flakes. The mainland lay across freezing water, black as agate and probably deep. Lord, I was petrified. Our floe seemed to be drifting away, too. We had to decide fast. But decide what?
“We’ll give her a try that way.” Perce pointed to his left. I shuddered, crossed myself, and got onto the sled with Alice. But the gap to this next floe was widening. The team charged ahead, leaping into the water and swimming across a fully eight-foot-wide gap, struggling up like drowned rats and behind them, in splashed our komatik. Down we sank.
But then, our weight being on the back, the front runners were up. I clung to the rigging and also held Aunt Alice on tight. Our team struggled hard, with us now sinking and getting drenched but somehow, the dogs pulled us over the lip and onto the pan.
Another floe lay across more icy water, but we were gasping and spluttering. Enough! I thought. But the dogs raced on. They leapt onto the pan, which rocked and then as the sled hit, tipped precariously. Yes yes, finally we’ll tumble sideways to our fate. Perce leapt off and, on all fours, tugged at the komatik to keep it from slipping into the drink. Miraculously, to our left, I spotted the contours of the mainland — only fifty feet off, beyond this pan. But no! Between us lay another threatening channel. Our lead dog Nipper turned and, with a new burst of energy, set off hard and fast.
Beyond this floe, a good twenty feet of menacing blackness lay ready to enclose us and send us to our Maker. Surely here we’d end this whole bizarre episode. Perce called loudly for a halt, but for some reason, Nipper did not stop, nor did she heed Perce. The dogs threw themselves into this crossing, and surely our komatik headed straight into our agate sepulchre.
Without slackening their pace the team splashed in and swam hard. It all happened so fast I had no time to do anything but hang on. The sled dove off the shelf, and down we sank. Down, down, and as the water was about to cover our heads — all over, I thought — the lead dog reached the shallow bottom. She and the others dug in their claws and kept hauling hard. Up onto the ice they strained, pulling us surely forward, and lo the komatik struck bottom, and before our heads disappeared under the surface, we began to move forward and up, and finally, onto the shore. The shock had taken all our breath away and we gasped for air.
But we had hit land. Our team had pulled us to safety. With a wild, happy whoop, Perce called for a halt. But Nipper again ignored his commands and the team tore onward until — what did we see? — a rickety shack. Presumably it had been placed here for just such emergencies. The team pulled up at the door. We tumbled off and dove inside, sopping wet, freezing, chilled, astonished at our good fortune. The door had been left unlocked, and this time I did see firewood beside the stove.
I shall be forgiven if I say that normal proprieties observed all over the civilized world no longer held good for us. Hurriedly, we stripped down to our underthings, Aunt Alice included. Perce had quickly built a fire and, hanging our sopping clothes around, we huddled close, teeth chattering, and slowly began to lose the deadly chill in our bones.
We arrived home late that night, damp and uncomfortable, of course, but so happy to be alive. We took Aunt Alice home first, and then Perce headed for Aunt Minnie’s to drop me.
Lorna had not gone to the Vatchers after dinner but had stayed home waiting, on the off-chance I might arrive that night. She felt
certain, so she told me, that I would not shirk my responsibilities for tomorrow’s Sunday services. We hugged briefly, and she exclaimed, “Lord, Jack, you’re sopping wet!”
“Not as wet as I was before.”
“Get upstairs this minute, and change,” she ordered. “Bring me your wet clothes. I’ll stoke the fire. And then you need some hot soup.”
Aunt Minnie’s door opened and out she came in her dressing gown. “Has the poor lad come back?” And then she saw me. “Whatever ’ave you been up to?”
“Well, Aunt Minnie, I have a lot to tell you. Suffice it to say that Becky Green is recovering, but I’ve been ordered upstairs to undress, and undress I shall. I’ll be back down with the whole story in a few minutes.” Indeed, I felt so happy to be back and lucky to be welcomed in this fashion.
As I was changing in my bedroom, a curious thought struck. Would I not like to have Lorna always there, welcoming me after every expedition? Oh yes indeed. I resolved to do some serious thinking about this over the next few days. And with that, I put on warm, dry clothes, went below, and recounted our whole saga.
Sunday night in early May, I was lying in bed having a bit of a read. My Vespers service had been short, for thunder heralded the beginning of what might be the major storm of the spring. Everyone counted on a great rainstorm to wash away the winter’s debris and carry it out to sea. It never failed to turn up at just the right time. It would drench the communities so heavily that they could start afresh with a clean slate for the summer. During the long winters, most families just emptied their slop pails out behind the house in the snow and everyone counted on this deluge to take it all away, detritus from dogs, everything.
After the service Lorna and I had hurried home, expecting the downpour any second. But instead of that, sheet lightning lit up the sky and thunder boiled around. Nothing I enjoy more than a good thunderstorm, and I hadn’t seen one since last year. So I got into bed and lay looking out my window which faced up the sloping hill toward a couple of houses and the low mountains behind Mutton Bay.
The thunder continued to rage and all at once, a great jolt struck — I swear I saw lightning knife down into the next house, which shook under the impact. I stared for a second, then leaped out of bed and tore down the stairs. Behind me, I heard Lorna call out, “What’s happening?”
I shouted, “Lightning struck the Evans house. Come help.” I threw on a coat, hauled on my boots and ran out. As I raced up toward their house, the door burst open and Mrs. Evans emerged, lugging the body of her husband, which she laid on the house bridge. The children came out after her. “It struck us. The lightning. He’s gone, I think.” She began to cry.
I tore up the steps to look at Mr. Evans, and then glanced in the open door. Flames had caught the curtains at one side, and I could see broken dishes scattered around the room. Lightning for sure. “Where’s the water?”
“Around the back in a barrel.”
“Buckets?”
“One under the sink. One out back by the rain barrel. Fred,” she kept calling, “Fred! Speak to us.”
I started into the house, then thought better of it and charged around to the back to get water from the barrel. Lorna arrived and I called out, “Ring the church bell! Quick, get everyone out, we need a bucket brigade.” I grabbed a bucket and ran back in, threw it on the curtains, which helped, but the fire had caught the hooked rug, and smoke was billowing up. “Is everyone out?” I yelled at Mrs. Evans.
“No, no, Fred’s mother, she’s upstairs.”
Heavens, someone still in there? Two men had rushed up and I handed the bucket to one, pointing to the barrel around the back. Then I tore inside.
The smoke was filling the main room and surging up the stairs to occupy the hall above. I started coughing, so I dropped onto all fours and crept up below the layer of smoke hanging under the ceiling. Was this madness to climb into a blazing house? Yes, but so what? On hands and knees I made my way up the steps and got to the second floor, hoping the landing would not catch fire, finishing me off. I scrambled to the first door: the bedroom was empty. The second. Empty. Pray God this place wasn’t going up in a great explosion, as I had seen in the Gaspé. I came to another door, and an old lady rasped, “What’s happening?”
“Quick, Mrs. Evans, the house is on fire, you’ve got to come down. Right now!”
“No no I can’t, I’m not dressed. Get me my dressing gown.”
“No time!” I went into the room and when she reached out I grabbed her arms and tugged hard. “Get out of bed, quick, you have to come down.”
“No no,” she shrieked. Funny people in an emergency: more concerned about propriety than saving life. I pulled her hard and she tumbled out of the bed onto the floor. She screamed, “Stop it, stop it!”
I grasped the mat on which she had fallen and, in spite of her loud protestations, tried to keep under the thickening smoke as I dragged it toward the stairs. “Come now, Mrs. Evans, we have to get you outside.” I could feel the scorching heat.
“No, no,” she howled, “I’m not dressed.”
I heard the flames crackling and items falling. Nothing for it but to pull the rug, with her on it, down the stairs. I tried to block the sounds of her yells and the thumps her body made as it struck each step. A few bruises versus her life, indeed.
I got her to the bottom and hauled her quickly out onto on the house bridge. Then in the fresh air, I was able to rise and so I lifted her up and half-carried, half-dragged her, howling in pain, to safety on the grass.
“Emma, Emma, gimme a coat!” she cried.
Already the church bell had been ringing and men were gathering. Most of them brought their buckets because, as I learned later, lightning often strikes houses here where there are no tall trees. Fortunately, we were not a hundred feet from the water, so full buckets had begun to pass up the line, with empties going down.
Lorna came running across to fall in beside me. “They all safe?”
I shook my head as I slung the full bucket up to the next man. “Fred Evans is dead. Struck by the thunderbolt. The others are fine. I got the old lady out.” I was panting, of course, but I said, “You got the church bell going, good girl! With the village coming, think we might save their house?” I looked up into the black night. Why, oh why had the rain not started?
“We need a second line,” she said, “the Morency house over there, it needs wetting down.”
“Good idea!”
She was off like a flash, grabbed three or four other men, commandeered buckets, and made a smaller and thus more widely spaced bucket brigade to protect the Morencys. My only thought, as I kept handing up the buckets, was how well we worked together, Lorna and I. It did augur well for our future together!
And then down came the rain. Torrents. The village was safe.
Chapter Twenty
Not too long afterwards, the ice cleared enough so that we could expect the schooners to arrive any time soon. Owen Cheveller dropped in and suggested we set about preparing our mission boat. June was now beginning and most of the children had been taken out of school to help the family get cod traps ready, knit new nets, repair the old ones, and set up the fishing boats. So Friday I called a halt to school lessons and the next week began working on the Evangeline with Owen. It needed a new coat of paint and some repairs to the hull; I had always felt that the interior could do with a bit of love and care, as well.
Such a relief to have my mind no longer clogged by figuring out how to keep two schoolrooms full of obstreperous kids busy, active, productive, learning not only their ABCs but something of the history of our country, what lessons we could take from the Bible, and other information that I might present vividly enough to keep them interested. Owen and I worked side by side, and my thoughts turned toward my most pressing, and needless to say enjoyable, preoccupation, my relationship with Lorna. The last couple of months, we had both been inordinately busy, anchored as we were to our home base by the breakup of the ice. Now that I was abl
e to concentrate, I realized we had grown a little more distant — certainly something I had better see about.
But more than that, I really wanted to take a good look at our future together. Over the last six months, I could see that she really did care for me, even deeply. I admit, quite frankly, that I hadn’t paid as much attention to this as I should have. Oh no, much too interested in my new ministry and caring for my flock: they came first. Whereas I believe that, for a time, I may have taken first place in her life. Must that not have been difficult for her — without that devotion being returned hundredfold, as it should be, were she my wife?
What a thought! My wife. The idea grew upon me, as I painted the boat rather mindlessly, exchanging fragments of gossip with Owen. Oh yes, looking ahead, clergymen needed families. And I have certainly never met any girl who overwhelmed me as had Lorna, even, as I reflected, from the moment on that schooner when she came out and I set eyes on her, beaten and bedraggled, a lass in the direct need of love and attention. And yes, at that time, that is what I gave her. But since then, had I not taken her for granted?
How should I rectify this situation? Make a full confession that I had not been as attentive as I wanted? Tell her how deeply I also care? Yes, both these might help. But to what end? Inevitably, however I thought about it, I came up against this main question haunting me: should we get married now? And my first instinct was to shout, yes!
But then what? When, or where? Probably down with her family in Nova Scotia. Or perhaps in the Gaspé? Or why not here, among these good folk whom we now know so well. What a range of options! Yes, and then I castigated myself. You idiot! Don’t you think that she will have her own definite desires and points of view? Leave that to her. The first problem, I told myself, is when and how to propose. If indeed that was the course of action I must take.