Chain Locker (32 page)

It took most of the day and all the fat and pelts they had to get the rest of Jackie's clothes dried.

“There's the killer with a fire on the ice or snow,” Henry said, as he carefully dragged the nearly consumed skin out of the slush. “You got to keep moving the thing around or it'll drown itself from its own heat. Now, if we were in the woods in the fall of the year, we would have warmed the ground up by now and would have a nice warm spot to sleep on. But all we got here is a bed of slush. How are you enjoying that drink of water?”

“Oh, man, it's some good.”

“When you get back in school you can tell your buddies you were drinking melted snow out of a flipper cup. Pretty smart, eh?”

“Pretty smart. Where did you learn that trick?”

“I guess you could call that a Henry Horwood original. I just hollowed the flipper out a bit with the knife. Sorry about the blood and the other old gurry in there.”

“It all tastes good to me.”

“You ready for some cooked seal meat? Well, sort of cooked, I guess.”

“Sure. At least it's warm.”

“You sure you didn't plan all this to make me light this fire? There's definitely too much luxury here now.”

“I'll let you know when there's too much luxury.”

Henry's expression changed as he let out a long sigh. “Jack, b'y, you gave me some awful fright there.”

“I'm sorry, Henry,” said Jackie. “You were right. Talk about stupid; I—”

“No, no, I'm the one who needs to say sorry. The thing is, Jack, you were down there a lot longer than you shoulda been. It took me a while to come after you.”

“What?” Jackie stared at him, puzzled.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I… I'll have to tell you later,” he said. “I don't think I can do it right now.”

chapter thirty-six

While her father lay on the daybed reading
The Family Fireside,
and her mother sat knitting in her rocking chair by the stove, Emily sat at the kitchen table, her arms folded, staring at the floor. The pleading words of the letter rolled through her head. Poor Henry. How he must have suffered over the past months. And how she had added to his misery.

“It's nice that you have poor Gennie settled away in the hospital,” said Ada, trying again to break the silence. “She must be worried, is she?”

“What?”

“I say, Gennie must be worried.”

“Yes.”

“She's brave, though.”

“She puts up a brave front but how can she not be worried, facing the prospect of months in hospital and not knowing if her health will get better or worse?”

“I'm sure it was a big help for her that you were there to help get her settled in. And it's good that Mrs. Pardy is going to take over her class until the board finds somebody else. My, that will be hard for her; she's not as young as she used to be.”

“She'll just have to manage. She can't start until Monday, though.”

“Oh! What are you going to do? Do you want me to come in and give you a hand?”

“I'll be okay. There's just tomorrow. Jessie Locke is always interested in helping out with the little ones. She likes to get a little bit of experience.”

“Oh yes, she's nice and sensible. She must be sixteen by now, is she?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely girl. I'll bet she'll make a grand teacher.”

“Probably.”

“Did I mention that Reverend Hudson is going to come by this evening?”

“No, you didn't,” Emily sighed. “What's the occasion?”

It was Thursday and with no encouraging news about Henry, Ada had decided to start implementing her fallback plan. “He would like to pray for the people lost on the sealing ship.”

“Can't he do that in his own home? Why does he need to be here?”

“He's our pastor, dear. He just wants to be helpful.”

“Helpful to whom?”

“To you. I asked him to come over and pray for you; I'm worried about you, my dear. I'm sure he will pray for Henry's safe return, too.”

When will she ever get the message, Emily thought. She's still trying to match me up with Basil. Under other circumstances she would have confronted her mother, but tonight she lacked the stamina. She had just made another decision that would use up all her inner resources: she could no longer put off telling Basil the truth about Henry; she would definitely bring it up this evening.

When the anticipated knock came, Ada continued knitting while looking over her glasses and waiting for Emily to answer it. Emily ignored it and kept working at her lessons. Ada laid down her knitting with a loud sigh and walked to the door, the sound of her leather heels clumping across the canvas floor. Basil soon appeared, wearing the black apparel of his office.

“Reverend Hudson is here to see you, Emily,” her mother announced.

“Good evening, Emily,” said Basil, in a professional but friendly voice.

“Hello, Basil,” Emily replied, getting up from the table and giving a polite smile.

There was an awkward silence as the three stood looking at one another. Across the room, Emily's father was standing with the newspaper in his hand, waiting to be acknowledged.

“I've come to pray with you, Emily, for the safe return of your friend,” Basil said smoothly. Then, noticing Emily's father, he added, “Good evening Mr. Osmond.”

“Good evening, Reverend,” Jim answered. With that out of the way, he sat back down and returned to his paper.

“Perhaps you might want to sit in the parlour,” Emily's mother suggested. “Sadie and Olive was over today and we had a cup of tea in there, so it should still be warm.” Emily shot her an accusing glance—Sadie and Olive did not rate a fire in the parlour on a weekday—and headed down the cold hall with Basil in tow. The parlour was indeed warm, thanks to a fire roaring in the stove. They sat across from one another. Emily waited for Basil to speak.

He wore an expression of concerned confidence, as he set out to convince Emily that it was time to move on. Inside he was less sure of himself. “You look tired, Emily,” he said gently. “I know you must be worried about your friend. The strain is hard to bear when there is such uncertainty, not knowing if a person is alive or…that is, I want you to know that I am here to support you in this time of trial. If there is anything I can do, you know you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Basil. I appreciate that.”

“What is your friend's name?”

“His name is Henry and, Basil, he's more than a friend; he's…”

“No,” he interrupted quietly. “No, Emily; you don't need to tell me anything more. I know that this person was…is important to you and is in danger and that you are concerned for his safety.”

“Yes, I am concerned for his safety,” Emily replied, looking down at her hands in her lap. “I wish I knew something, anything. It's the not knowing that's so hard.” She kept her head down and twisted her college ring around her finger. It appeared that she might be crying. Seeing her grief, Basil resented Henry, jealous that Emily seemed to have stronger feelings for Henry than for him.

“I understand that there's a young man or even a boy with him, and that they were last seen on a piece of ice drifting away. Do I have that right?”

“I suppose that's right,” she replied. “We don't know very much other than what Simeon's message said. We think there is a young man named John Gould with him. He's on the missing list as a stowaway.”

“Dear me, his parents must be worried. A stowaway. My, my.”

“Yes.”

After a moment Basil asked, “Would you like me to pray?”

“Yes, please.”

Emily had attended church all her life. She had a simple faith in a personal God and believed that it was important to pray in times of difficulty. She closed her eyes and listened as Basil prayed with heartfelt sincerity, with references to God's goodness, His love and, above all, His power over nature and His ability to save Henry if He so chose. Her thoughts drifted to Henry's open, friendly face. She could see him laughing and making her laugh; rowing the little rodney as she sat in the stern on a warm and calm summer's day; berry picking last fall, the bushes blue with berries; pointing up at the constellations in the midnight sky and explaining how to navigate by the stars and impressing her with his vast capacity to remember details; skating on the harbour at Christmas; and, of course, his simple declaration of love to her. When Basil finished with “Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen,” she kept her head down, not wanting Basil to see the tears on her cheeks.

“Emily dearest…” said Basil, with genuine concern in his voice as he put his arm around her.

She gently pushed him away. “I would like to be alone now, Basil. Thank you for coming.”

Basil rose reluctantly and went to the kitchen, where he spent a few minutes with Emily's parents and then went on his way.

On the walk home his mind was racing. What he had come to suspect had just been confirmed—he indeed had a rival and Emily had wanted to come clean. He had decided beforehand that there was nothing to be gained from knowing any of the details about Henry and his relationship with her. He had never seen him and never would because he was probably already dead or close to it. Better to achieve some goodwill by sparing her having to tell him the whole story.

He had struggled to maintain his composure after seeing the woman he loved distraught over another man. He could reasonably accuse Emily of being less than forthcoming—maybe even devious—for not telling him about Henry before. She, no doubt, having seen little of the world, had settled for this relationship with one of the locals, and when he had come into her life with so much more to offer her, she had been attracted to him. It was to be expected from a woman of her calibre. She was struggling with the situation he had put her in. She would need time.

No doubt she was feeling a certain loyalty to the poor fellow, especially now that his life was in danger—as she saw it—but Basil had convinced himself that Henry would not be coming back. Nobody could survive out there on the ice; he marvelled that people survived as long as they did here on the land! There was nothing he could do to improve Henry's situation, even if he wanted to, so he need not feel guilty about not wanting to. He would patiently wait until events played themselves out and Emily had come to terms with Henry's death. He would help her put this short and painful episode behind her. He just had to make sure he did not let his own emotions lead him into saying something he would regret. It would be difficult, as it had been this evening, but he certainly had the advantage over his competitor. It was just a matter of time and patience.

In time, Basil would take her as his bride to England, where she would live a far better life with him than she could have in this dreadful place, with the houses built on solid rock, practically no soil, a few stunted trees, and this ghastly winter. A life of toil in this place would lead her beauty to soon fade and she would grow old before her time. She would be much better off with him in England.

Emily, meanwhile, lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was past midnight on the fifth night since the ship had been destroyed. She had had little sleep. The magnitude of the rescue effort was now well-known, not only in Newfoundland, but throughout North America. The story had even caught the attention of the United States media because of the three Americans aboard, one of whom, Varick Frissell, had already achieved a degree of fame because of his adventure films.

There had not been a single encouraging word about Henry, not one tiny snippet on which she could place some hope. For a minute before she opened the letter, she allowed herself to believe that Henry had written it from St. John's and that he was alive and well. But the story he related in the letter and his subsequent suffering had compounded her despondency. He needed her. She felt utterly helpless.

The official reports said he was missing. If Simeon had any further news he would surely have sent another message. She thought about Henry's parents. They too would only have the news that had come through Twillingate. She decided to go to Cottle's Island to see them on Saturday if she could convince her father to take her on the horse and sleigh. It would be a welcome diversion for her and she was sure they would appreciate a visit.

Basil had been very honourable this evening, she thought, closing her eyes. Not as overbearing as he had been recently. She was glad he had stopped her from telling him about Henry, even though he had a right to know. Her emotions were too close to the surface to have gotten through it. Basil was a complex individual. With his good looks, eloquence and intelligence, he could have distinguished himself in any number of professions. She wondered what had drawn him to the ministry, less a profession than a calling, supposedly for the humble and for those at least aspiring to serve. Basil had demonstrated no such aspirations from what she had observed. And why had he come to Twillingate, only to want to leave again so soon? She could understand his not liking the place, having no connection of any kind, but he should have checked it out before he came. That got her thinking about England, the faraway Mother country that she had been taught to honour and respect. To be patriotic here was to love not only Newfoundland, but also England and all things English; she had been singing “God Save the King” at public gatherings since she was old enough to talk.

Going to England was not one of the options she had considered when she thought about leaving Twillingate. She had always thought of Canada or the United States. What would life be like as a minister's wife in England, she wondered? No doubt a talented preacher like Basil would eventually have a large church in a sizeable community. She would have a high profile, in charge of women's ministries perhaps, chairing committees and organizing parish events. That held a certain appeal, and a vicar ran little risk of drowning at sea. There might even be a household servant or two to attend to her. She was not sure how she would feel about that.