“Lots of room on the raft. Even has a sail on it.”
They laughed and got ready to go fishing codfish, now that Mickey’s clothes had dried and the trout were eaten. They threw some dirt on the remaining embers of the fire and headed for their favourite spot on Bras d’Or Lake – the Rock, a group of shale rocks that jutted out into the water.
As they crossed the train tracks and started down the embankment to St. Andrew’s Channel, JW glanced ahead to the beach where they had left their raft. It was now leaning up against a large stone. The small piece of canvas that was their sail covered the gap between raft and rock, like a lean-to. JW marvelled that the wind and tide could have thrown it that way, but as they made their way down the bank, someone came out from under the sail and hurried down the shore, away from them. JW noticed the man walked with a limp, his sturdy stick seemed to propel him down the beach. A small pack was slung over his shoulder. JW called after the man, but he did not stop or turn around.
Chapter 6
JW and Mickey had split the cod they’d caught between them, and JW knew it would be appreciated by both of their mothers. He had more than they could eat in a week. JW was glad he’d taken a burlap sack rather than just a creel.
After catching the codfish, Mickey had wanted to stop at the pond to try his luck at catching a few more trout. It was late afternoon before they had called it a day. Mickey set off to walk the railway tracks into town, but JW had decided to take one more look at the lake before heading home.
He'd stood on the railway tracks looking at the land mass across the lake, guessing it to be a couple of miles, perhaps a little more. With the raft, they had explored a bit over there, but JW longed for the day he might sail even farther and see what was on the other side of those hills.
Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen movement and turned to see the old man straightening the raft into a lean-to again. JW slid down the embankment and walked the short distance to where the man stood. JW saw him tense as the shore rock crunched beneath his feet, alerting the man to his presence.
“Who are you?” JW asked.
The man looked at JW and seemed to consider his words before answering.
“Just an old man out for an adventure.”
JW smiled at his words. The man spoke with a slight accent. “And where will this adventure take you?”
“Here and there. I plan to keep to the tracks to see where they take me.”
“I saw you earlier here at the raft,” JW said.
“Yes, is it yours?”
JW nodded.
“I hope you don’t mind. I was a little tired and wanted a rest out of the elements.”
“I don’t mind.”
JW felt that the old man was done speaking, and turned to leave. “Goodbye, enjoy your adventure.”
How curious, JW thought. On his walk home, he realized he hadn’t gotten the man’s name, nor had he given his own.
—
The old man watched as JW climbed the embankment with an ease only the youth are capable of. He would have to look for a simpler route to get back up to the train tracks. He had considered staying under the shelter of the raft, but it was likely to be a clear night; there were no clouds in the sky, and the quarter moon this evening would provide enough light to make his way. The rocks shifted under his weight as he picked his way along the sloping beach.
Nearing the railroad trestle he stepped around a burlap sack that was half in and half out of the water, absentmindedly prodding it with his staff. The sack appeared to move on its own accord, as though alive.
Thinking he had imagined it and not knowing what he might find, he bent over and cautiously began untying the baling twine that held the sack shut. It was too tight, so he pulled a small knife from his pocket, cut the knot and slowly opened the bag. Immediately a stench washed over him, and he staggered back at the sight of perhaps a half dozen tiny kittens and an equal number of fist-sized rocks. All sodden. All dead. Someone had callously put the unwanted kittens in the sack and dropped them off the trestle into the lake. He knew that people committed such acts but had never seen it for himself. Dead before their lives could begin in earnest.
Such disregard for life was nothing new, but he practiced what his mother had taught him. He respected all living things and gave thanks when he had to take a fish or animal’s life and only took what he knew would get eaten.
He carried the bag over to the side of the embankment and pulled a large rock aside. He removed some dirt from the resulting hole to make a spot where he could bury the little kittens. He ignored the tear that made its way down his cheek as he thought of the little value that was put on life. He knew times were tough, but surely homes could have been found for the kittens.
He lifted the bag and gently laid it in the hole. As he started to put the earth over it, the sack moved again. He pulled the bag open and was shocked to see a little head looking up at him, mewling. He reached in and pulled the little one out. Placing the kitten on the grass, he took a second look in the sack to make sure there were no others alive. He quickly covered the bag in the hole with dirt and placed the rock back on top to keep the scavengers away.
A small freshwater brook ran to the lake, and he dipped some water into a little tin cup he carried with him. He then gathered some dry pieces of wood and started a small fire so he could warm the water. He didn’t want to wash the kitten in the cold water.
He wondered how long it had been in the bag and thought it unlikely that it would survive, but that was not up to him. The water warmed, he splashed it over the little one washing away the vomit and feces that soaked its fur, trying to wash away the smell of death. Drying her with a rag from his pack, he smiled as she started purring.
“Vous êtes belle chaton. I’ll call you Beauté.”
After adding a little bit of sugar, he gave her a small amount of the warm water to drink, but he knew he’d have to find her something to eat. He had noticed a sparrow flitting around a tree close to where he’d buried the other kittens. He looked in the branches of the trees and saw a small nest with several eggs in it. He apologized to the mother bird, who watched him reach into the nest and flew ever closer in her desire to protect her eggs. He took only a single egg.
Holding Beauté in his palm, he cracked the egg, tipped her head back and poured the contents down her throat. She smacked her lips as the egg made its way to her stomach. Feeling badly for the mother bird but wishing for Beauté to survive, he took another egg and repeated the action. He hoped the food would make her stronger. He laid the kitten on the grass, and she wobbled over to the warm water and drank some more. She wobbled back to where he sat, climbed into his outstretched hand and went to sleep.
Chapter 7
JW heard the whinny from Lightning as he entered the yard that evening after studying with Beth. It was full dark now with only a quarter moon to show the way to the barn. The few stars seemed to be winking as clouds moved across the night’s sky. JW felt his breath catch in his throat as he pulled the door closed behind him; for a moment, it was like he was back in the mine without a headlamp to show his way. His quickened pulse made him feel like the boy who’d waited for Red to rescue him from the darkness on his first night underground, and he didn’t like the feeling. He’d never forgotten to light his headlamp after that night. The absence of light had been totally disorienting, the brief moment of panic overwhelming.
“Hey, Lightning, old boy. What’s the matter?” JW said in a voice he hoped sounded more confident than he felt at the moment. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he could make out shadows in the barn. In the dim light he saw that the stall was clean and there was enough hay for the night. Petting Lightning, he whispered soothingly that everything was alright and turned to leave the barn. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move toward the door.
“Hey,” JW called out, as someone pushed ope
n the door and started off running through the field. “Hold up,” he said and started running. He quickly caught up with the person. Grabbing the shoulder, he spun around what turned out to be a frightened old man.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t steal anything. I was trying to get out of the cold for the night. I would have been gone before morning. I’m just passing through. I’ll be on my way now, if you’ll let me.”
JW looked at the man. He was the same one he’d met earlier on the beach. He appeared older and looked tired; JW was sure he must be hungry as well. “There’s no need to run off, sir. I’m sure my ma and da wouldn’t want you to leave. Come on to the house, and I’ll make you a cup of tea. I’m sure there are at least some biscuits for a lunch.”
“We meet again. No, thank you. I don’t want to be any bother.”
“It’s no bother, we share here,” offered JW.
“Well, a cup of tea would be appreciated. But if you could just bring it out to me without your folks knowing about it, I’d be thankful. Name’s Lejeune. Pierre Alfred Lejeune, but everyone calls me Alfred.”
“I’m John Wallace Donaldson, sir, but everyone calls me JW– everyone except my mother.” JW reached out, and they shook hands. “Well, Mr. Lejeune, let’s go to the house. Ma and Da are in bed for the night, so nobody’ll know about you until I tell them.”
The old man slowed his pace, leaning more on his walking stick as he neared the door, approaching cautiously as Gulliver rose up from his place by the entrance. He seemed to relax as Gulliver’s tailed wagged, and he reached his hand out for Gulliver to sniff.
JW made his way to the kitchen. The lamp was still on, the wick turned really low. JW knew his parents had been expecting him soon. He was glad the stew pot was still at the back of the stove, and that it was half full. He dipped up a bowl for each of them and took some biscuits out of the cupboard. JW placed the food before the old man, who followed JW’s movements with his eyes, eagerly awaiting his cue to begin eating.
JW watched as the old man bowed his head in thanks, mouthing a few silent words. He ate slowly, savouring each mouthful, stopping only briefly to extend a compliment.
“This is just like my Jenean used to make. Thank you.”
JW saw tears well up in the old man’s eyes. He thought perhaps they were at the memory of his Jenean – or maybe because someone would extend a little kindness to an old man. He noticed Alfred was reluctant to eat the last bit on his plate.
“Eat up,” JW said. “There’s lots more in the pot.”
“Oh, I couldn’t eat another bite. I am just sorry to see the night coming to conclusion. I must get on my way.”
“Well, have some more tea, and please tell me a little about yourself.”
“My story, I don’t think is very interesting, but I will tell some of it, if you’d like, and more tea would be nice, thank you.” JW poured some tea, and the old man quietly began to speak. “I grew up on the other side of the Island and spent much of my time working the land and on the sea. I’m good with my hands, but now I’m old and ... alone. My wife, Jenean, passed a couple of years ago, and we were never blessed with children. We lived on her people’s land, and her brother’s son and his wife recently returned to the Island and needed the house. Oh, they offered me a room, but I guess I was a little too proud or ... angry, so I set out for Boston. I have a brother there. I thought I would hop on a freight train, but I’ve since learned I am too old to run after trains, and I cannot hop like I used to.”
JW burst out laughing but stopped quickly, not wanting to wake his parents or offend Mr. Lejeune. He had laughed thinking of how quickly he’d caught up to the old man. When Alfred saw the now serious look on JW’s face, he started to laugh, and soon both of them were chuckling.
“I planned to stay close to the train tracks,” Alfred continued. “I found your raft last evening for shelter. When I saw your barn off in the field, I hoped I could just slip in and out of it undiscovered. I’ve taken up enough of your time. It’s late, and I should be on my way. I’m sure I can find shelter along the way, and with a full stomach, I should be able to walk for hours.”
JW watched as the old man tried to force his eyes wide open, as if to show that he was ready to set out on a journey. He looked closely at the old man and the silken grey whiskers that neatly covered his chin. For a moment, he thought of Tennyson’s grey whiskers and wondered if perhaps both were close to the end of their life. He pushed the thought away.
“Let’s go back to the barn. It’s warm, and you can spend the night before heading out again,” JW said, and Alfred gave a grateful nod.
JW walked ahead of Alfred and opened the door to the barn. He let the old man enter before him. “Sit there,” JW said, pointing toward a bench. “I’ll be right back.”
A shed and small forge stood in the field adjacent to the barn, about twenty feet away, hidden from view of the house. The forge was his grandfather’s. He had been dead more than ten years now, which was about how long it had been since the forge had been in use. It was strategically placed to ensure that no sparks could reach the barn, where the dry hay would ignite. The shed had been called into action now and then when his father was restless after a tiresome back shift shovelling coal and needed the solitude to sleep. Now, as overman, JW’s father seldom used the cot.
“I cleared away some stuff, and got a little fire going in what used to be my grandfather’s work shed,” JW told Alfred. “There’s a single cot in there with clean bedclothes on it. You’re welcome to rest up there for the night. I don’t see your belongings?”
“I dropped my pack in the field by the barn,” Alfred said, and looked at JW.
“I’ll go look for it. Be right back,” JW said, and left to get it. It had gotten darker since they’d gone in the house. JW wasn’t sure where to look but figured Alfred had only run about fifteen feet before JW had reached him, so he thought his pack should be easy to find. Squinting, JW saw a small sack a few feet from the barn. Picking it up by the twine, he swung it around his back. He felt something move and then heard a small squeal. He lowered the sack to the ground and saw a little head pop out. A young kitten looked at him in the darkness. JW thought it looked too young to even be weaned from its mother, and he wondered what Alfred was doing with a baby kitten. He put the kitten in one hand and carried the pack in the other.
Opening the shed door, JW was surprised to see how clean Alfred had made it look in a matter of minutes. It had been swept, and the teapot he’d filled was on the stove.
“Oh, I see you’ve found my friend,” Alfred said.
JW had put some biscuits and a jar of milk on the counter so Alfred could have breakfast before he left in the morning. JW put a little of the milk in a small tin bowl and laid it on the floor for the kitten. He couldn’t help smiling at the black face smeared with the cow’s milk. He doubted Gulliver or Tennyson would be too pleased with the kitten, but since it was only for the night, he didn’t think it would matter too much.
“Perhaps you’d like to keep her,” said Alfred. “I see you have a cow, so she’d have lots to eat. Once she gets bigger she would be able to keep the mice and rat population down. I found her ... on my travels. You’re welcome to her if you want. She has been good company, but I don’t have much to feed her.”
“No, I don’t think she’d feel too welcome here with Gulliver or— Well, I think it best she go with you.”
Chapter 8
The twenty minute walk to church was refreshing. The bell began its loud clanging, calling the parishioners from their rest, letting them know the service was about to begin. JW sat with his parents, and Beth sat across the aisle with her mother and sister. JW was anxious to tell Beth about Alfred, and the cat. He didn’t know if the cat had a name but knew Tennyson wouldn’t be too pleased to see it. Afterwards, hurrying down the steps of the church, JW knew he’d have a few minutes before his parents would start on
the walk home.
“After I left you last night and got to my yard, I heard Lightning fussing in the barn. I went in and everything seemed alright, but then I saw something move, and the next thing, someone rushed out of the barn. I caught up to him, and it was an old man,” JW said.
“Really?” said Beth.
“Yes. I forgot to tell you last evening, I met him on the beach earlier in the day, after Mickey had left. He said he was out for an adventure and was following the railroad tracks. Once you mentioned what Davey had said, I forgot everything.... But I learned last night that Alfred, Mr. Lejeune, is from the other side of the Island. I fed him, and he’s staying in Grandpa’s work shed. It has a bed and stove in it. I straightened it up a little for him, but he swept it clean. Ma and Da don’t know about him yet. I even put some milk down for his kitten.”
“Kitten? He’s got a kitten? I’d like to see that. Do you think he’d mind if I came over later to see it?”
“I don’t imagine Alfred— Mr. Lejeune would mind. He said he’s on his way to Boston, so I don’t know how long he’ll be around. But he does look pretty tired. He sure has a good appetite. I dipped him up as much as me, and he only left a single forkful,” JW said. “He offered me his kitten, but I told him that Gulliver wouldn’t be too happy about a cat around. I didn’t mention Tennyson, but can you picture a cat and a rat? Gullie and Tennyson barely tolerate each other.”
“I could make room for the kitten, if Mr. Lejeune wants to part with it. The barn is clean and dry. I mean, if he doesn’t want to keep it,” Beth said.
“I’m not sure. He did say she was company for him. I think maybe he thought giving her to me would be a sort of repayment for the food and place to stay. But we could ask.”
“Oh no, we better not, or he might feel like he has to give her up. But I could still go over and see her later.”
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