Beginning Again (5 page)

“I'll watch over him,” I said. “And, Sarah, if you don't come out this instant, I'll come in after you.”

Just then Mama moaned, and Mrs. Boyce murmured soothing words. Terrified by the sound Mama had made, Sarah came running out, hands clasped over her ears.

“Let's have a swim to cool ourselves off,” I suggested.

I led all of them well below the swift waters at the base of the mills, where I knew of a safe spot. There was some beach, and the current was not strong. I would have preferred the swimming hole farther downstream, but it was too deep for Robert to paddle. We stayed a long time, our thoughts on what was happening to Mama. My head, and Smith's, too, kept turning to look back in the direction of home, but Stephen and Robert splashed and laughed. A very subdued Sarah sat on the bank wiggling her toes in the cool water. Just about the time I thought we ought to return to see how things were, I heard Elizabeth calling us. I ordered the three boys out of the water, and we climbed back up the bank.

Elizabeth met us at the edge of our holding, smiling happily. “A girl,” she announced. “Now you lads only outnumber us two to one instead of three.”

“Maybe she won't be at all like Sarah,” I whispered.

We did not have to remain outside waiting for long. Mrs. Boyce soon appeared in the doorway and beckoned to us. “You may come and see your mother now.”

I was glad I had taken everyone swimming. The boys looked shining clean. Sarah had not washed, but she never got as dirty as they did. Elizabeth was in the lead, and I brought up the rear as we crowded into the ground floor bedroom. Mama lay looking pale and tired but contented, propped up on pillows, in her arms a tiny bundle wrapped in a piece of fresh linen. From the top peeked something beet red.

“She's beautiful,” Elizabeth said softly. “Come closer, Sarah, and have a better look.”

Sarah moved in, but shut her eyes and shoved some fingers in her mouth. Smith and Stephen also looked unhappy, and I felt uncertain myself. I tried to remember Robert when I first saw him. I had forgotten how small and ugly a newborn can be. I thought Elizabeth was only saying the little red thing was beautiful to please Mama.

“What will you call her, Mama?” I enquired hoping to cover up my feeing of embarrassment.

“Papa and I have decided on Margaret, as long as the rest of you like the name,” Mama said, her voice soft. “And, Ned, I can see you don't think much of her. Just wait a few days and she'll look prettier.”

“The name's fine,” I said gruffly, even more embarrassed.

Papa rode in on the stallion late the next day, followed by Sam on the mare, the colt running behind her. Cade was staying on our land because many vegetables were waiting to be picked before they got past their best. While I helped Sam rub down the horses, Papa went to be with Mama.

“I had sensed your time was near,” he was saying when we joined the powwow in the bedroom. “I was thinking of coming home when Sam appeared.”

For a few days Robert's nose was out of joint. He had been sleeping on a mattress on the floor of our parents' bedroom since he had outgrown the cradle Papa had made. Now Margaret lay in the cradle, and Robert's mattress went between Elizabeth's and Sarah's. There he would not fall out of the loft if he rolled off his mattress, and he would not be disturbed if the new baby cried in the night. All the same, he resented the newcomer in his cradle. To make up, Mama cuddled him as much as she could.

We were all watching for Uncle William when Cade joined us. He had come floating downstream, the bateau filled with early vegetables from our land. We made several trips with the cart to Buell's Bay to bring them all home. The wooden furniture was ready, and Mama thought it looked quite presentable. Elizabeth was braiding a rug for the new parlour when Mama could spare her.

Sarah had worked a sampler to hang on the wall. In the centre was a pictuure of a cabin that resembled ours without the new part. Across the top she had embroidered the words “God Bless Our Happy Home”, and along the bottom “Sarah Seaman, May 1st 1791”. I thought, how absurd that Sarah should spend so much time on that motto. She was so often the cause of breaches of the peace in our household.

On the first day of August, Mr. Coleman came home and informed Papa that a brigade was unloading at Johnstown. It was carrying passengers from Albany, and ought to reach Buell's Bay the next day. Papa resolved to meet the boats, but late in the afternoon a customer ordered five scythes and some other tools. He was in a rush because he wanted to depart for his land, in a back township, before any more of the summer was gone.

“Ned,” Papa told me. “You'll have to meet the brigade. Take the stallion and cart. Your uncle's bound to have some baggage. I can't go, nor can I spare Cade or Sam. I can't afford to let such a fine order go to another blacksmith.”

“Wouldn't it be more polite if Elizabeth came, too?” I asked slyly, knowing how much she would like to escape from the house for a while.

“If Mama can spare her,” Papa agreed.

Wonder of wonders Mama could. “William will recognize her for she looks so like Mother, and she can bring some things I need from Buell's.”

We wanted to leave right after breakfast, but Papa said noon would be soon enough. He needed me, and Mama had plenty for Elizabeth to do. We were disappointed, but even if the brigade came directly from Johnstown it could not arrive much before midday. After an early dinner we took our leave, scrubbed faces making up for decent clothes. Elizabeth sighed happily. How nice it seemed to be by ourselves for a change, away from the rest of the family.

Buell's Bay had only five houses, a few other buildings, the all-important store, and the jetty. Still, because it was the landing place, people were always coming and going. Near Mr. Buell's we saw Jesse Boyce driving a cart loaded with boxes and hailed him.

“Has the brigade come?”

He drew up. “Yes, and moved on.”

“Did anyone get off here?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

“Five passengers,” he reported. “And if one of ‘em ain't your uncle from New York, I'll eat my hat!”

“Does he look like our mother?” I asked, but Jesse only cast his eyes heavenwards and slapped the reins.

“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth murmured. “I hope Uncle won't be affronted because none of us were waiting when he arrived”

“Let's hope Jesse's right, and Uncle did come with this brigade,” I said, slapping the stallion out of his sedate walk. “So Mama's long wait will be over.”

T
hree men were standing on the jetty, but I knew immediately which one was our uncle. He had to be the neat, elegantly clad dandy striding back and forth, the picture of agitation. The tight fitting pantaloons and elagant coat marked him as a man of fashion. How out of place he appeared in the woodland clearing that was Buell's Bay. He looked as though he belonged on the streets of Montreal or Quebec, I suspected, though I had not seen either city. So, that was why Jesse promised to eat his hat!

We tethered the horse to some fencing, and marched up to him wondering how to break the ice. His mouth was set in a pout. Daintily he flicked some dust from his sleeve, pursing his lips when he noticed that the ruffle poking from it was less than snowy white. Above all, he looked very out of sorts, and I sensed a storm brewing.

“Mr. William Jackson?” I queried, bracing myself.

“I am he,” came the chilly reply.

“Uncle William?” Elizabeth showed more presence of mind.

Now he stared harder than ever, and I faltered, very conscious of how scrubby we looked. Clearly here was a state of affairs that called for Papa. Even when shabby he had an air about him that could overawe. Fortunately Elizabeth was on her toes.

“I'm Elizabeth Seaman, and this is my brother Nehemiah. We've come to meet you. Our father has some work that is urgent or he would be here himself.”

Uncle paid scant attention. As soon as my sister paused, the dam burst. What a dreadful journey! What frightful blockheads he had met along the way! Were there no civilized folk west of Montreal? How could anyone bear to exist in such a howling wilderness? It was inhabited by wild beasts and uncouth scalawags! We stood dumbfounded, wishing he would lower his voice. A small crowd had been attracted by the spectacle he was making of himself—and us.

“Are these yours, sir?” I asked, pointing to two large portmanteaus and a leather hatbox. The sooner we left the better. Some rough bumpkin might decide to cool our elegant kinsman by dunking him in the river.

“Yes,” he replied. “Have you a carriage waiting?”

Merciful heavens, a carriage! Hadn't Mama told him anything about life here? A snicker behind me showed that the mood of our audience had changed for the better.

“No, sir,” Elizabeth said apologetically. “Because we don't have any decent roads. We've brought our cart, though, and you may ride in it, along with your bags.

Each of us picked up a portmanteau, leaving the hatbox for him, and started towards the stallion and cart. Again Uncle was not pleased.

“Ride in that?” he exclaimed. “I'd rather walk. But first I must have some refreshment. Is there a tavern anywhere near?”

“No, sir,” said I. “But you can get rum or hard cider at Buell's store. We're to stop there for some things Mama wants.”

For the first time he looked at us with a hint of approval in his gaze. “At least you don't call your parents Pa and Ma. It's so vulgar.”

“They don't like it either,” Elizabeth explained. “Let's leave the bags in the cart. Buell's store is this way.”

He shrugged and allowed himself to be led there. Hard cider improved his disposition somewhat. Elizabeth bought a loaf of sugar, two pounds of tea, a gallon of rum, and some sweetmeats. We would be living better than usual in Uncle's honour. Everything went on our bill, which Papa settled in services to Mr. Buell if he was short of cash.

“How far must we walk?” Uncle asked peevishly while I was leading the stallion.

“Just three miles,” Elizabeth said brightly.

He fixed his mouth in a thin taut line. His highly polished boots, we soon discovered, were no match for our moccasins. After the first mile he decided the cart did not look so uncomfortable after all. We had to boost him aboard, for in those tight trousers he could not spring up on his own.

We finished the walk to Coleman's Corners in dreary silence. Was this visiting uncle going to look down his snooty nose at everything he saw in our settlement? At least he would be impressed by our house, with its new wing.

“Here we are,” Elizabeth said when we were within sight of our place.

“Where?” Uncle cried, looking in every direction but the right one.

“Right there,” she repeated, pointing.

Uncle William clutched his forehead and shuddered. “Not that pitiful hovel?”

That made my blood boil, but I remembered one of Papa's sayings, “least said soonest mended.” Let Mama handle her bad mannered brother. How dare he be so insulting? At that moment Papa came out of the shop, waved, and ran into the house. By the time we had helped Uncle William climb down from the cart, the whole family had come pouring outside, except for baby Margaret. For the first time Uncle's face lit up.

“Martha,” he murmured softly to Mama. “You haven't changed a bit.”

Mama laughed up at him. “Such flattery! After all these years I know I look older. And you can put away that famous Jackson charm. It doesn't cut any ice with me.”

“All the same I'd have known you anywhere,” Uncle insisted. “You, too, Caleb,” he added.

When he turned to shake Papa's hand, he became cool and distant. Cade and Sam took Uncle's bags into the new bedroom while I put the stallion in the stable and gave him a quick rubdown. When I returned to the house, Mama and Uncle William were seated in the parlour. Papa had served our visitor some rum, and Elizabeth was bustling about making tea and setting cakes on a plate. Papa looked woebegone, and Mama's face was set in stubborn lines. I knew my parents were being treated to the same recital Elizabeth and I had already endured.

Uncle glared at Papa. “How could you bring Martha here?”

At that Mama sprang to his defence. “This is a new country, William. We came with next to nothing. Caleb has worked his heart out to give us what we now enjoy. Elizabeth and the three eldest boys, too. Do you think the frontiers of New York or Vermont are any more civilized?”

“Perhaps not,” Uncle argued. “But if only Caleb had never joined the Loyalists. You wouldn't have become penniless refugees.”

Mama held her head high and glared back at him. “Money isn't everything! I'm a contented woman. In fact, I've been happy ever since Caleb and I were married. Make no mistake, William, I have no regrets! You're welcome here, but please, let's have no more criticism of my husband, or our way of life!”

Uncle looked utterly taken aback. The rest of us stood about, very ill at ease, wondering what would happen next. Would Mama try to smooth things over, or order her brother to leave? Eventually Uncle managed a wan smile.

“A truce, Martha. You were right to scold me. I should have minded my own business under your roof. Caleb,” he turned to face Papa. “I apologize.”

“Let's just forget anything unpleasant was every said,” Papa murmured, practicing what he preached. “Now, please give us news of Long Island.”

They chatted for some time about brothers, sisters, cousins and so forth while we tried not to fidget. Since we had never met any of these relatives, their names meant little to us. Later, when the talk became general, we were able to ask Uncle about things that interested us.

“What do you do for a living, sir?” Sam wanted to know.

“I don't have a trade like your Papa,” he replied.

We all looked confused, and Mama helped out. “You have your estate to manage, William. And business interests.”

“Yes, but they don't take up much time,” came the reply. “Good shares in two banks and more in a schooner fleet keep me comfortable.”

“What do you do all day?” Sam pressed him

“Well, I sometimes go to my club in New York. And at home we have plenty of parties and balls to attend. And I do a lot of foxhunting.”

That struck a sympathetic chord in Sam. “Foxes are a nuisance here, too,” he said. “If they ever bother our new chickens, I'll sit up through the night with a loaded rifle till I get them.”

Our guest was looking haughty again, and Mama jumped in. “Uncle means riding to hounds, dear.”

Sam looked scornful. “You shoot foxes from a horse?”

“Shoot!” Uncle's eyes widened in horror.

I thought he was about to call Sam a blockhead, but he curbed himself, glancing at Mama. Instead he said, “Foxhunting is a sport. We ride after a pack of hounds. They catch the fox.”

“Not at all efficient,” was Sam's rejoinder.

“It's not supposed to be,” Uncle said patiently. “But I do like shooting, too. You must have lots of game around here.”

“Now that's what I call hunting,” Sam said. “We bag partridges, ducks, wild geese, pigeons, deer, even moose. We go after bears when they're bothering the farmers. By the way, our dog's a great retriever.”

Uncle looked dreamy. “In the autumn we shoot pheasants, too.”

Will you come out with me some time?” Sam asked eagerly.

“Name the day,” Uncle said, smiling. “Being out in the wilds may have its pleasures after all.”

Now everyone relaxed. Uncle's visit might not be the ordeal our first encounter with him had implied. Elizabeth served tea around the butternut table, assisted by Sarah, who was being helpful and acting shy in the presence of a guest. By the time the repast was over, Uncle was no longer feeling superior to us. Mama told him of our estate, and of our plans for it. Cade and Sam vied with each other to describe the timber raft we intended to build once we had enough trees cut down. I did not try to compete, and I sat back, watching and listening to everyone else. I would have plenty of opportunities to talk with Uncle William alone and get to know him.

“How large is your estate, Caleb?” he asked Papa.

“We have altogether 208 acres in our grant of land. It's about eighteen miles farther up the St. Lawrence from Buell's Bay.”

“That large!” Uncle commented. “Mine's only fifty acres.

Papa chuckled wryly. “You'll notice quite a difference when we take you there.”

“Some day it will look as pretty as Long Island, William,” Mama added. “With green fields and neat fences. And you'll love the view of the river and the Thousand Islands.”

“We'll never be land poor here, William,” Papa continued. “I haven't told my children yet, but now's as good a time as any. When each reaches age twenty-one, or earlier if married before that age, he or she is entitled to 200 acres freehold, and without paying a penny.”

“Wonderful,” Cade exclaimed, echoed by Sam.

“Are you saying that each settler here gets 200 acres of land for free, Caleb?” Uncle William asked him.

“No, only Loyalists and their sons and daughters,” Papa explained. “All others have to pay a fee to have the land registered. So you see, I'm not as much a loser as you've assumed. The government could not afford to pay Loyalists for everything we lost, but at least we have land. And Mr. Buell, the storekeeper at Buell's Bay, tells me that Canada will be divided this year to make two new provinces, one for the French downriver, the other for us Loyalists. Soon we'll have our own laws, a governor and an assembly. I'm delighted to be a part of this great dream, this fine new world.”

“I understand now,” Uncle admitted. “I really must apologize for misreading the situation so badly, Caleb.”

We rose from the table and moved back to the parlour. “Sam,” Uncle said. “If you'll fetch my portmanteau from the bedroom, the blue one, I've brought some small gifts.”

That was the kind of order Sam liked, and he was very prompt. We were soon gasping at the array of presents spread round the parlour. Christmas had never been like this, not even back in Schenectady. For Mama, Uncle had a length of red velvet, enough for a cloak, and for Elizabeth a similar length of green. A bolt of muslin would make dresses for them and Sarah, too. For the younger ones he had a primer, some story books, and wooden puzzle. Put together it was a map of New York State.

Cade and Sam were happy with hunting knives, and for me he had a spy glass, the perfect gift. A knife would have been welcome, but I could always borrow my brothers'. I would have great fun watching schooners with that glass as they passed in the channel beyond Grenadier Island. Lastly, Uncle handed Papa a piece of peacock blue broadcloth, and some deep red shagreen for lining.

“I longed to have my tailor make a suit in the latest fashion, but I wasn't sure of your size,” he told Papa.

“We can't thank you enough,” Papa spoke for us all.

Uncle looked dubious. “I fear the cloth's not practical for the life you lead.”

Mama rose and hugged him. “If you knew how I've been aching for something elegant to put on, you wouldn't have any qualms.”

The shock of finding us in such a primitive place was beginning to wear off. Uncle now seemed willing to make the best of his new surroundings, and he really showed what Mama meant by the Jackson charm. Smith blurted out how we had scrambled to build the new wing, and Uncle was lavish in his praise. When there was a lull I decided the time had come to talk with him myself.

“Now that you've seen the house, may I show what else we have, sir?”

“Indeed you may, Nehemiah,” he replied.

“I answer to Ned, usually,” said I. “Nehemiah's such a big mouthful, especially for the young ones.”

“Ned it is,” he said with a grin. “Lead the way.”

I admit, our other buildings were not much to look at, but he told me they were practical. He admired the hen's flock of growing chickens, and the ducklings floating in the water-filled hole like that at the McNishes. But he spent most of the time with the horses.

“Your father was always the best hand with them I ever saw,” he said. “That's a very fine colt, and I like the filly's clean legs.”

“We'll raise pigs and keep a cow or two when we can grow enough feed to winter them,” I explained.

“I'd like to present you with a cow,” he said. “With a new baby to feed, your mother needs milk for the sake of her teeth.”