Chain Locker (15 page)

“I remember the first Frenchmen I met. I was working one winter up to Millertown before I went to sea—working with the bucksaw, cutting wood for the mill in Grand Falls. My great uncle had the contract to supply fifty thousand of pulpwood over the winter, so I got on. The first night at the camp, my buddy and I were eating in the cookhouse and these three fellas across the table from us started goin' on with the foolishest old gibberish you ever heard. They were looking at us and then one of them would say something and the other two would burst out laughing. We didn't know what to make of it. At first we thought they were talking in unknown tongues like they do in that new Pentecost religion, but whatever it was we figured they must be making fun of us, so my buddy decides he's not puttin' up with anymore of that and he invites all three of them to go outside and settle it!

“So one of them starts talkin' in English and says no, no, they weren't making fun of us at all, but talkin' about a buddy of theirs up in Canada—New Brunswick, they were from. I guess I reminded them of him.”

“There's Frenchmen in New Brunswick?”

“They got at least three, and they turned out to be the best kind of fellers.”

chapter nineteen

Sunday morning was well underway for most people in Twillingate when Gennie coaxed her body out of bed. She had never been one for early mornings and loved to sleep in on Sundays, being only an occasional churchgoer, but Emily had talked her into helping manage the children, who would be singing a couple of songs for the congregation. By the time Gennie finally strolled up to the church door, Emily was frantic. She hustled Gennie into the Sunday school room with Mrs. Pardy and the youngsters, and was just getting settled at the organ when Basil made his appearance.

Looking regal and dignified in his black robe, he took a moment to arrange his notes. As the rich tones from the organ filled the church, he beckoned all to rise and he began singing the first hymn, his clear voice ringing out. With her small hands dancing across the keyboard and her feet pumping the pedals, Emily's body moved subtly as it released its musical energy. Basil led them through the familiar words of the hymn, his arms waving like a maestro. “Rock of Ages, cleft for me; let me hide myself in Thee. Let the water and the blood…” It was the start of a lively couple of hours, the winter's cold left outside, the realities of his listeners' harsh existence postponed for a brief interval.

Hearing the heartfelt songs of aspiration, Gennie was reminded of her mortality more than at any time in her life, and found herself thinking of her family and home. As the singing wound down, Emily nodded to her through the door, and Gennie put those thoughts aside. She and Mrs. Pardy scurried around getting the children lined up, and paraded them in front of the congregation for their brief performance. The two women kept a semblance of order, whispering to this one and motioning to that one, while Emily played the organ and sang along enthusiastically to keep them motivated and more or less on key. More interested in waving to parents and grandparents than in singing, the smallest ones wriggled while the whole audience held their breath lest the sound of their breathing distract the performers. A couple of little girls unconsciously gripped and then pulled the fronts of their dresses up to their chins as their worried mothers looked on helplessly. Elsie Porter's brother Gerald, a fine singer whom Emily was counting on to lead the little group, stood and stared, his round eyes gawking at the audience, his mouth hanging open with only his breath—and little of that—coming out.

The performance was a huge success anyway, and the applause was loud and long as everybody exchanged smiles and nods of approval.

The new minister, declared by all to be “a good hand to preach,” stepped up to the podium armed with his large, dog-eared Bible. “Are you saved?” he thundered. “Have you been to Jesus for the cleansing power?” he implored, on his tiptoes while his body quivered with intensity. Then, pausing and looking solemnly out over his flock, he waited for the words to sink in. “Have you been washed in the blood of the lamb?” he asked in a more subdued voice. Saved or lost, they all loved to hear him speak, this mysterious pastor with his impeccable English.

His audience, most of them solid church members, settled back and listened with accord to the familiar words of the old conservative gospel, rich in metaphor and imagery. They nodded their agreement, secure in the knowledge that they could answer all three of the minister's questions in the affirmative. Basil cranked it up, taking everybody to hell and dangling them above the firepit until their feet were hot, reminding them of their need for repentance. Most had taken the journey many times and always returned examining themselves—never wanting to be overconfident—to ensure that their final passage would not be in that direction. A few looked worried. Others said “Amen!” soliciting nods of agreement from the person beside them.

She had only heard him a few times, but today Gennie carefully measured every one of Basil's words and applied them to her own life. The message was making her uncomfortable and she found herself getting angry at him. This wandering around while he spoke annoyed her, too; why didn't he stay behind the pulpit where he belonged instead of strutting around, the pompous so-and-so? He's probably irked by having to shorten his sermon this morning to accommodate the youngsters, she thought. He should be paying more attention to his large flock instead of lavishing so much time on one person, and that person is much too easily taken in by his overtures. Yesterday's conversation troubled her; she was sure that Emily had bolted because their discussion was getting too close to the truth.

As Basil rumbled on, Gennie's thoughts went to Henry, more deserving of Emily than anybody she could think of. In her opinion Henry was a better man for Emily—hardworking and intelligent and with a similar background. He was exceptionally good-natured and possessed of an unusual charm, which Basil, though suave and worldly, lacked. He was one of the few people who could make Gennie laugh; with the challenges of life in outport Newfoundland, a sense of humour was in some ways better than riches. Basil, on the other hand, was a bit of a stuffed shirt, which down-to-earth Gennie was not used to. And what was he doing in Twillingate anyway, one supposedly blessed with so much education and talent? Why wasn't he the pastor of a big church in England making a name for himself?

As they walked to Emily's house for dinner, Gennie was determined to get to the bottom of matters. “Emily I got something to tell you, but I got something I want to ask you, too.”

“Now I'm curious! Well, why don't you give me your news first and if it's juicy enough maybe I'll answer your question.”

“I'll be going into the hospital as soon as they can find me a bed. It turns out that I got TB after all.”

“Oh, Gennie, no!” Emily said, stopping to put her arm around her friend.

“Oh, Gennie, yes,” she replied. “What's meant to be will be, I guess.”

“You poor dear; that's terrible!” Emily replied, biting her lower lip and trying not to burst into tears.

Gennie was touched—but not surprised—by Emily's sincere concern for her. She had been drawn by Emily's kindness when they had first met at teachers' college in St. John's. Emily always made her feel comfortable and fully accepted her; she considered Emily her best friend.

“How serious is it? They won't have to take out any of your ribs, will they?”

“You don't want to see me walking around with a list to starboard, eh?”

“That's not funny, Gennie. What does the doctor say?”

“Doctor Wood says they caught it nice and early so I might be able to come back teaching in the fall. He says a few months of rest should fix me up. Lazin' around is more like it!”

“Well, you're unbelievably fortunate to be in a place with doctors and a hospital. You make sure you take full advantage of it.”

“But I feel like I'm deserting you and the youngsters in the middle of the winter. I don't know how you'll be able to manage.”

“Don't you worry about that, now. I'm sure Mrs. Pardy will be glad to help out. We'll manage somehow. Why didn't you tell me about this yesterday?”

Gennie shrugged. “I just didn't feel like it.”

“So, what was it you wanted to ask me?” Emily asked, as they continued walking.

“What's going on with you and Basil?”

“Quit beating around the bush, Gennie,” she said gently with a little smile. “Tell me what's really on your mind.” Emily didn't mind Gennie's directness, but she could also be tenacious. She should never have told her about Henry's proposal.

“No, you quit beatin' around the bush. I got a feeling it's getting more serious between you two.”

Oh Gennie, she groaned to herself. Why won't you put your energy into cultivating your own love life instead of interfering in mine?

Emily stopped walking and took a long, deep breath. It appeared that seeing her happily matched was important to Gennie, so she confided, “Basil told me he loves me.”

Gennie rolled her eyes. “Sure he barely knows you? I'd say he loves hisself too much to love anybody else, anyway.”

“Himself.”

“And I'm sure he's not the first one to say he loved you. How many men have told you they loved you?”

“What are you implying? That I'm loose or fickle?”

“No, I'm implying that you're beautiful. I've seen men around you; they're like dogs in heat.”

“Gennie! Mercy!” Emily glanced around to see if anybody had heard. “Now stop that talk; you're embarrassing me. When do they think they'll find you a bed?”

Ignoring the question, Gennie continued, “Where do things stand with Henry, then? I hope you're not still stringing Henry along while you're seeing Basil.”

“No. Actually, I cut it off with Henry.”

“Oh, glory! Emily, I think you're making a big mistake. Men like Henry Horwood don't come along every day. He really loves you, not like that other one. All he wants is—”

“Stop!” Emily cried in a shrill whisper, glancing around again.

They were almost at Emily's house and not a moment too soon.

“What's the matter with you?” said Gennie. “I was just going to say that all he wants is a pretty wife to show off to all the men in his congregation. What did you think I was going to say?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, do you love Henry or not?” Gennie asked.

For a moment, Emily looked a little lost. “Frankly, Gennie, I…I don't know. I can't get Henry out of my mind. I wonder now if I did the right thing.”

Gennie had to stop for a moment and catch her breath,

“Are you okay, Gennie? Let's walk a little slower; we're almost home. Let's talk about something less upsetting for you.”

“Never mind that; I got one more thing to say,” Gennie replied. “I think you do love Henry, but you're afraid to admit it to yourself because he's an ordinary person from New World Island, not America or England, not even from St. John's. You're trying to make your head rule your heart and if you do that you'll never be happy.”

They had arrived at Emily's house. Putting on her perkiest voice, Emily declared, “Here we are Gennie. Let's go in and have—”

The door swung open and there was Ada. “Hello, Gennie,” she said. “I'm some glad you could come over for a bite of dinner. We need to get you fattened up, my dear.”

“Suddenly I feel like Gretel,” Gennie whispered to Emily. “I hope I'm tasty when I come out of the oven.”

“I invited Reverend Hudson and—oh, there he comes now. Come in, come in and get your boots off and make some room in the porch.”

“Oh my, hurry up Gennie,” Emily mocked her mother. “The minister is coming.”

Ten minutes later, everyone was at the table. “It was so nice to see you at church this morning, Gennie,” said Basil. “You looked like you were deep in thought. And might I say what a lovely dress you're wearing today. You stood out in the crowd.”

Gennie blushed. “Thank you. I was interested in what you had to say—”

“Oh, really? Any part in particular…?”

Given her situation, how could Gennie not have been moved by Basil's message, Emily thought. She sat quietly, wondering if she should bring up the shattering news about Gennie's health. She decided to leave that up to Gennie. Meanwhile, she watched as the man who had recently told her he loved her navigated the conversation towards his sermon. She could not help noticing the skill with which he elicited praise about his preaching, especially from her mother: “Do you think I got the point across?”… “Oh, yes, Reverend; I never heard it put better.”… “Do you really think so?”

Gennie's words, “I'd say he loves hisself too much to love anybody else…” kept echoing in Emily's mind.

chapter twenty

Jackie had just finished cleaning up after Sunday dinner when an older, somewhat serene gentleman, who everybody called Uncle Hayward, came into the galley for more tea. “I believe we might be in for a nice peaceful evenin',” he said, thoughtfully stroking his long white chin-whisker. “Should be a great time to sing a few hymns and have a few testimonies from some of the brothers, and get happy in the Lord, seeing as how we missed our chance to keep church this morning.”

As Jackie refilled his mug with tea, he couldn't help noticing that Uncle Hayward was missing a finger. “How did you lose your finger, Uncle Hayward?” he asked.

“The seal finger got that one, my son.”

“Seal finger?”

“Yep,” he replied, as he went on his way, humming “Nearer My God to Thee.”

“Tha's what happened to mine,” Reub yelled from the back. “You look around at the crowd on this one and you'll see a few missin' fingers.”