She'd learned about postage stamps in Halifax and had grown fond of using them on letters. What a careless waste this might have been. She got the key to the sewing chest in the parlour, opened it and placed the four stamps carefully among some letters that Mother had stored there. Now they wouldn't be lost. She reminded herself to mention them to Mother when she got back home.
But once she got back to her cleaning, she quickly forgot about them altogether.
Newfoundland's new prime minister, Frederick Alderdice, sat at his desk and pondered the impossible task before him. He had tried taking a hard line in negotiations with the British on Newfoundland's debt, insisting on rescheduled and reduced payments, and even threatening them with default, but the Brits had called his bluff. They threatened not only to withdraw any financial assistance of their own, but also to engineer the immediate withdrawal of the Canadian banks from Newfoundland, which would close Alderdice's last remaining avenue for borrowing. His government would be left with barely half a million in the treasury. There would be no way to maintain the civil service. People would be starving by Christmas.
The next instalment on the country's debt was coming due at the end of December, and Alderdice had no choice but to turn to those Canadian banks to find the $300,000 required. He was preparing one last sweep of the expenditures to prove to them that spending had been cut to the bone. He'd already made considerable cuts to the size of government, including the unusual step of leaving the post of Colonial Secretary vacant. He'd left the Deputy Colonial Secretary, Arthur Duke, in charge over there. He got Duke on the phone that morning and summoned him to the Colonial Building.
“You'll forgive me if I don't get up,” he said, when Duke arrived, “but it takes so much effort to get myself up those damn stairs that I need all the rest I can get once I'm here.”
“Of course I understand, Mr. Alderdice,” said Duke, discreetly eying the two canes leaning against the wall. “Elevators are a regrettable omission from many of these classically styled buildings.”
Alderdice was impressed with this tactful reply. “Well, Arthur,” he said, “I'm afraid we're up against it now.”
“I've no doubt we are,” said Arthur, obligingly.
“I'll tell you a little secret,” Alderdice continued. “The Brits are pushing for the suspension of our constitution until we get our finances
straightened out. It'll likely take place during the fall session of the House. Elections in this country will soon be a thing of the past. Pretty soon, the place is going to be run by men like you. Bureaucrats”
“I prefer to describe myself as a civil servant, Mr. Alderdice.”
“Quite so,” Alderdice replied. “One who's earmarked for promotion, I would venture to say. But, in the meantime, I need your help to reduce the expenditures even more. I'll give you a month. You have to visit all the departments in turn and bring your recommendations to me, personally.”
Duke unzipped his valise and withdrew a sheaf of papers.
“I'm assuming, Mr. Alderdice,” he said, “that there are to be no exceptions, not even the Department of Public Charities.”
Dulcie's rubbers slapped gently against her bare legs as she walked slowly through the cabbage rows. The soil contained a delicate crust where it lay in the sun; beneath the leaves, it remained dark and cool. The odd rotten capelin stuck out and flies hovered for a taste. The two beds of cabbage were in marvellous shape. Dulcie had kept the snails at bay all summer and the leaves were full and green. The trying work of weeding and constant surveillance was nearly done. Soon, these would be ready for the cellar.
The potatoes were doing well, too. Dulcie brushed their soft leaves with her hands, sensed the coolness beneath the low green canopy. She squat down to let them brush against her cheek. Potatoes stayed in the ground well into September, so she hadn't been here for the last six harvests. She always got a feed of the tasty small ones before she went back to school, however.
It wouldn't be too long now before Miller Norris's car came flying across the beach road to take her into St. John's to catch the boat. She pictured her friends waiting for her on the waterfront: the high-spirited and mischievous Mary Ann Curran from Brigus, chubby warm-hearted Maybel Mitcham from Bonavista Bay, shy Mary Lyons from Bareneed, sweet Bessie Mayo from Burin and, of course, her favourite, little Mary Snow from St. John's, who had come to school two years after Dulcie and whom Dulcie had more or less adopted and looked after ever since. Leonard Bishop, the boy from Conception Harbour who was so good at making funny faces, would be there, too. So would Israel Allen, the Jewish boy who came all the way from Cape St. Georges, a dark-eyed fellow with good looks, an excellent soccer player and a very nice dancer. He would likely ask Dulcie to dance with him again this year in the ballroom of the ship. Israel was already in high school, just one year ahead of Dulcie.
People were very kind to Dulcie here on the Shore, but how could there ever be such friends as she had in Halifax?
Four more years of school.
High
school. She loved the image, so civil and respectful, that the expression brought to her mind.
High
-minded.
High
purpose.
High
Mass.
High
school.
Dulcie looked up to see Neddy Collins's horse and dray coming over the rise with the mail. She strolled back to the house as she watched him make his way down the hill. She got a glass of water and sat in the rocker beside the cold stove. She noticed Mother pass the window, probably on her way to get the mail. She kicked off her rubbers and stared for a moment at her naked feet. Later, she would pike some hay into the manger for Dan. Then, it would be time to get the cow into the stable for milking.
She hauled on her rubbers again and went outside into the bright sunlight. The sun's heat weighed heavily on the day; she felt a little like she was moving through water. She turned to see Mother leaning against the side of the house, staring out to sea toward the Virgin Rocks. There was a letter flapping in her hand; the hand was fallen lifeless to her side.
“What wrong?” Dulcie spoke the words out loud.
Mother held out the letter and Dulcie took it. She saw two black lions holding a coat of arms and the words “Department of the Colonial Secretary.” Then, she read such impossible words in that letter; words which could not, must not mean what they seemed to say. Such terrible words could make you wish that you had never learned to read.
“Why?” Dulcie asked.
Mother drew a circle in the palm of her hand. “Money,” she said. She threw her hands open in a fruitless, helpless gesture. “They say no money.”
Dulcie threw the letter to the ground and ran, sobbing, into the house.
When William received the phone call from Leona he went straight to Arthur Duke's office. He wasn't sure what he was going to say or do when he got there. He just went.
In the hallway outside the office, a man in overalls was removing the framing from the frosted windowpane in Arthur's office door. William brushed past the fellow and entered without knocking. Arthur Duke was standing beside a set of bookshelves, sipping tea and wearing what looked like a brand new blue serge suit.
“It's hardly the time to be doing office renovations, Arthur,” William said. “Isn't everyone expected to make sacrifices these days?”
“It's nothing major. The window is merely being changed to reflect my new title as Secretary of State.”
“I see.”
“Secretary of State is the new name for the Colonial Office,” Arthur continued, as he carefully moved behind his desk.
“Well, congratulations,” said William, a rising anger trembling in his voice. “Your time has come, Arthur. These hard times will require the cold-blooded resolve of men like you.”
“Look, William, I can see that you're upset. You've obviously heard the news about the deaf contingent and ⦔
“Yes!” William shouted, his anger bursting forth. “I have heard about your most recent act of
public service
.” He let the phrase drip with sarcasm before he added, “You bastard!”
Duke gagged on his sip of tea. “Now, see here, Cantwell!”
“You make such high claims for your office, but you've cheapened it by your sick desire for revenge.”
Arthur laid down his cup. “Sit down,” he said, pointing to William's customary seat. “Give me a chance to explain. The contingent was quite large and â”
“They're not a
contingent
, Arthur. Don't talk about those children as if
they're a shipload of soldiers headed for France. God knows, I played my own part in that sad business. These are helpless children trying to have a decent life, a better future. You've robbed them of that future just as surely I helped cut short the lives of⦔
William regretted the words instantly as he watched the realization dawn in Arthur's eyes.
“Now I finally understand what this has been about all along,” Arthur said. “Why you've been so dedicated to that Merrigan child. Come now, William,” he added softly, “did you really think your sins would be expiated by the education of a schoolgirl?”
“You bastard,” William repeated, barely holding back from throttling Arthur Duke on the spot.
“I did what was necessary for the good of the country, William, and so, by the way, did you.”
William was suddenly overcome with a leaden fatigue. He slumped into the chair that Arthur had proffered a moment ago.
“You could have spared those children, Arthur, and you know it,” he said.
“I am a civil servant. I do what is required of me.”
William stood up and looked at him. “You're a disgrace.”
Arthur's lips curled into a nasty sneer. “Get the hell out of my office. You should thank me for the job I've done. After all, I've spared you the unpleasant business of delivering the bad news yourself. I am your lowly civil servant. I deliver your messages for you. Fast and efficient, and all for the cost of a postage stamp!”
“Damn you to hell!” William said, and stormed out the door. He slammed it hard behind him and didn't even bother to look back at the bright stream of shattered glass that went crashing to the floor.
William arrived in Knock Harbour late the next day. He left his bag in his customary room in Thomas Tobin's house and walked in the fading light to Leona's. For the first time in all the years that he'd been coming there, Dulcie did not greet him when he entered the house.
He sat in the parlour with Leona as night slowly descended. They talked in oddly hushed tones, as if fearing Dulcie might somehow overhear.
“I spoke to the prime minister yesterday, Leona, after I got your call. He said there was no way to reverse the decision or make exceptions. He said it was too late for that now. “
“It was Arthur Duke's name on the letter.”
“The bastard has struck us a serious blow.”
“I told you he never meant me no good.”
“You were right. I hate to say it, Leona, but it looks like he may have won.”
Leona got up and walked into the kitchen. He followed and watched as she took a lamp from a shelf and lit it.
“You wait for me here, William. We're not beat yet.”
He watched her go out the door and disappear into the night.
She walked through the backyard and took the meadow path toward the droke. Her pace quickened involuntarily and she found herself running along the path with the lamplight swinging wildly onto the shorn grass at her feet. There was no moon, so when she emerged from the trees into the cove she found the water solemn and black. She heard the indifferent waves curl and break listlessly against the shore.
The lamp suddenly sputtered out and left her in near-total darkness. She angrily sent it spinning into the water. Her eyes soon adjusted enough to see that she was standing on the very lip of the bank. It was a three-foot drop to the shore. She jumped into the blackness and landed heavily on the rocks a few inches beyond the reach of the waves. She turned sharply left and followed the arc of the cove to the other side. She stopped by a hulking, yellow stone that ran back into the trees. She crawled along it past the lower branches of some spruce trees which tore at her face and hair. She knew exactly how far to go before digging. Damn! She had forgotten the spade. She tore into the damp earth with her bare hands. There would be no need to replace the soil this time.
Tonight she would bring the secret to an end.
Her chest wrenched painfully with a sharp uncontrollable sob. She stopped digging and forced herself to breathe. This was no time for panic. She had to be calm now. For Dulcie. She continued the excavation with deliberate slowness, pushing the dark soil aside with her hands into a growing pile. She was looking for the rough flat wooden surface of a trap door, the cover to the little secret cellar she'd built here all those years ago; a smaller version of the one the Frenchman had helped her build to hide the rum. Strands of hair escaped from the tight bun at the back of her neck, fell across her face and eyes, got tangled in her mouth. She brushed at them with a soil-stained hand and kept on until, at last, she felt the top of the little trap door. She felt in the dark for the round metal handle and pulled it open.
William was standing in the yard holding his own lamp when she stumbled out of the darkness. She offered him a thick cardboard box with a heavy fabric belt drawn tightly around it.
“My children ⦔ she said at last, in a voice so small and distant that he barely recognized it as hers. “The sea stole them from me and gave me this. It's all I have left of them. I wanted to keep it forever, but now it's time. You take it, William. It's what they would want. You take it to St. John's and use it to save my girl.”
A little while later they were in the parlour. William had made tea and Leona was sitting, exhausted but calm, on the parlour couch with a steaming cup in her hand. William was kneeling on the floor looking in disbelief at the contents of the box he had just opened. One hundred orange brown portraits of a thickly bearded Edward VII stared up at him in neat perforated rows. The numeral 2 appeared in white in the four corners of each stamp. The king's tiny portrait hung on a banner beneath a decorative arch which bore the word NEWFOUNDLAND.