The Survivor (22 page)

Catherine had stoked the fire, got a kettle boiling, and was able to hand around piggins of valuable tea, though some visitors had to share, there not being enough to go round.

During the ensuing encounter, Tongue translated for Catherine their delight at what the young couple had managed to achieve in such a short time. James gave all credit to Catherine’s United Empire Loyalist family. He went on to promise that he would bring John back to the encampment and never let him lose touch with his Native roots, of which he should be justly proud. None of them made mention of Little Birch, for the names of the dead were rarely spoken.

When the time came to leave, as they wanted to be back before nightfall, Full Moon picked her grandson up. She hugged him and kissed him and closed her eyes, from which tears began to fall. James glanced at Catherine.

She, too, had tears in her eyes. “Tell her, James, we shall always be grateful.” James translated and Catherine went on, “Tell her that I shall look after John as though he were my own. He will be treated as I would treat my firstborn.” James translated, though his brimming emotions almost put a stop to his words. “I shall make sure that he grows into a fine young man.”

When James had translated this, he saw Full Moon crying and others holding back tears.

Finally, he walked with them down to their canoes, and stood as one stricken, looking out over the blue-grey sea, waving after them until they rounded the last point and disappeared.

Chapter Twenty-Five

On the bay, a single boat approached.

James and Catherine stared anxiously. Two men? Not Micmac. They appeared to be settlers. Arriving from the west, presumably from Paspébiac or New Carlisle.

“I’m going inside,” Catherine said firmly.

“They’re only settlers. Don’t worry, Catherine. I’ll go down.”

“Be careful, James!”

He picked up his firearm and strode off down the hill. The trail had been purposefully designed so bushes would obscure his movements from the bay. Halfway down, at an opening, he peered again: two oarsmen for sure, in a fairly new boat. With their backs to him as they rowed, they didn’t see him until they were close to shore. The man in the stern turned and said something to his companion in the front, who was pulling hard. They both wore heavy jackets.

James waited on the beach till they arrived and then helped them pull the boat up above the high-tide line. “We seen your building from the bay,” said the man, getting out of the stern. “I’m Bill Mann. This here’s my brother, Isaac.”

“I’m James Alford. You folks in to check out land?”

“Isaac figured there might be a vacant piece hereabouts. I brung yez a letter.” Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a parchment package, sealed with wax. Such was the custom of the Coast to pass on letters like this.

“Lotsa land, lotsa land hereabouts,” James said, and looked down at the package. “Old Garrett gave it to us.”

“Good acreage on that other side of the brook, if you want it.”

“Thanks,” said the man called Isaac. “John Gilchrist claims she’s a right pretty spot here.” Isaac’s bushy beard hid a slightly mean mouth. His heavyset shoulders were stooped; James guessed him to be a carpenter, probably early thirties. His brother Bill seemed somewhat less taciturn.

“If you’d like to come up to the house, my wife will offer you both a cup of hot soup and a slice of bread.” James was dying to find out about the letter.

“Thank you kindly.” Bill looked over at his brother getting his rucksack out of the boat.

“We’ll just take a look-see first,” Isaac muttered. “Thank ye, but we must get back afore nightfall.”

James watched the two of them take their tools, an axe and a saw, and splash across the brook. Isaac turned. “Ya say this here waste land’s not occupied?”

“That’s right,” replied James.

“This here brook got any name?”

“The Micmac call it Shegouac.”

“Shegouac? Thanks.”

“Planning on staying?”

“Just for the day, maybe,” said Bill.

“Good flat land up there,” James called after them.

Isaac had the grace to turn and wave before he joined his brother scrambling up the steep hillside through the bushes.

James hurried up his path to report on the newcomers and read his letter. He was not sure if he liked the demeanour of the person who might end up being his neighbour. But then, any man was better than none. Their clothes and appearance gave them a look of substance; Catherine might well know them. Well appointed, they would not be an added responsibility this winter.

After James told Catherine about the Manns, he handed her the opened letter, eyes glowing. She looked down. “From your mother?”

James nodded. “You can read it if you like.”

“James you know I am not able to.” She blushed. “You read it out loud.”

James frowned. “Your parents didn’t school you?”

She shook her head. “Now go on, read it.” She added, “No need for extravagances like reading. What is there for me to read anyway?”

“Letters.” Gingerly he spread the parchment out on the table.

My dearest son
, he began, trying to hide his intense excitement,
I am sending this short note to let you know I’m in good health and looking forward to the trip next summer, although the thought of a passage over the Atlantic fills me with dread. We hear about so many good people coming to their end, their bodies consigned to the deep. I must now inform you of rather sad news. Your great ship, the
Bellerophon,
has been taken out of commission in the Port of London, and made into a floating prison. After its many great deeds, how dreadful for the Admiralty to consign it to such a fate. I shall try to find out more details.

On a trip to town, Goodman the butler was kind enough to enquire into sailings. I shall take a ship from Liverpool, our closest port. So before long, and certainly after the winter, I shall be with you.

I cannot wait to meet your new wife and her family, and especially, to help look after your children. Your loving mother.

“Welcome news indeed!” Catherine exclaimed. “You must reply at once. The sooner she gets here the better. Mariah will be a year old, and John two. What with all the work, the chickens and bull to feed,” James looked up, “and so many vegetables and jams to put up for the winter, I’d welcome another pair of hands.”

“I’ll write to her immediately. Isaac and his brother can take the letter back to New Carlisle today. And your father, Catherine, will help with the next schooner.”

***

Late in the summer, James had been fashioning a large safety bar across the front door at last when out the door he saw two men arriving. The first wore a bushy beard and a floppy hat under which James saw handsome, if somewhat ravaged, features.

“Hello there. I’m Samuel Allen. This fella here’s John Rafter.”

“Pleased to meet you both.” James went forward to shake hands. John, younger than Sam, had a quick and ready smile. Built like fence wire, he was all muscle and clearly used to working hard.

“Sam is getting to be one of the family, so he asked me along.”

“This is my wife Catherine, old Will Garrett’s daughter. I guess you know them? Come in, come in.”

They appeared wet and weary, having rowed all day. “Us saw your house from the bay,” Sam said. “Mighty fine building.”

Catherine took their wet coats. “I do remember you, Mr. Rafter. You’re a good friend of my brothers.”

“John and Will? That I am, ma’am.”

“John here’s involved in shipbuilding, too,” Sam said. “His mother and me, we figured I should bring him down for a look-see. Your brook’s getting a pile o’ mentions as some fine place. But we stopped in every cove first, to look around.” Samuel studied the house as they went in. “Well built. Old Gilchrist?”

“Sure was,” James replied. “John Gilchrist must have been taken a liking to Shegouac. Told Isaac Mann to come, too.”

“Mentioned it to me, too. We work for Isaac sometimes.”

“Sam here’s a carpenter, builds ships,” John volunteered. “Makes the best blocks and tackles.”

“Isaac’s got a terble pile o’ land up round Matapedia. He don’t need any here. Anyway, he said this here brook looked good enough for us all, and told me I should row down.” He scratched his head. “Seems like Nouvelle River up there, it’s got a bunch o’ settlers already. Starting both sides, now.”

Catherine had hung their heavy outer garments on pegs near the fire. “You’ve been looking along the Coast?”

“Not a lot of land free with a nice brook like this between here and Paspébiac,” Sam acknowledged.

James motioned for them to sit at the table. “Lots down Pabos way, I believe.”

“Anyone live across the brook?” Sam sat down, and John joined him.

“No sir. Isaac Mann came looking. Might have staked out a piece before he went back. But we’d be pleased to have neighbours.” James pulled over a chair. “Winters are long. Safety in numbers, I guess.” Catherine hurried to offer them warmed-over vegetables and set down cups for their tea.

The Manns, including John’s mother, Widow Rafter, and her sons, did end up building a cabin, and came to stay with their children and supplies. The Smiths, prosperous landowners from around New Carlisle, also turned up, and during autumn worked clearing some land further down by the point. But they returned home for the winter.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Spring 1816

The next year, shirt sleeves rolled up, James worked with his shovel out in the spring sun, digging a trench to divert the fast-running water coming off the hill that threatened the foundations of his new house. Thanks to the good store of moose meat from his first successful hunt, they had weathered the winter. But now, in these early days of May, they were happy to see the snow melting at such a furious rate. Happy, but for the approaching trip to New Carlisle. Spring had come at long last, and with it, the worry of their promised visit to Catherine’s family, with the hitherto unknown John, son of a Micmac mother.

What a joy the children had been. Mariah had even begun to stand up on shaky legs. Wobbling on two feet, she’d make a lunge for a chair, falling before she reached it. John, who was by now a handful, would come and tug at her ear. He seemed to delight in her screams, for then he would make a big fuss of kissing her to make it better. James scolded him furiously, but Catherine explained that this was normal behaviour for a two year old. She had been witness to her younger sister Eleanor’s babyhood, so knew more or less what to expect.

That morning, with plenty of snow in melting drifts around the barn, James had let Broad out. What fun to see the animal, by now a growing bull, kicking up his heels, frolicking like any youngster. Earlier, James had been worried that he might not last the winter, for he had gotten weaker, and eaten less. James had not really harvested enough fodder last autumn, so perhaps that was just as well. Now, with easy grazing, if it could be called that, on soggy leaves and a few green shoots, Broad soon revived. Three chickens and the rooster were also in bad shape, though they now seemed on the mend, pecking and scratching among the stumps.

James was hoping to hear from his mother about her early arrival, which would take some of the strain off Catherine. Back at the castle, he’d seen his mother work wonders with the young ones, whom she loved to care for when she had the chance. The sooner she got here, the better.

Soon, they’d be planting again. Catherine had been careful to cut the eyes out of all their cooking potatoes, and to save some dry corn for seed. Last autumn she had identified wild gooseberry bushes in the Hollow, as well as wild strawberries and raspberry canes around the cliffs. Highbush cranberries grew in profusion on the hill, and they intended to transplant some to begin their own garden nearer the house.

James was just standing up to survey the results of his digging when Catherine came out to announce noon dinner.

“Well done, James!”

He shook his head at the trench. “Who dreamed the spring run off would produce such a torrent of water?” Catherine ignored his remark. “And when are you planning our trip to New Carlisle?”

“Pretty soon, I guess. How do you think they’re going to react?”

“James, you’ve asked me that so many times, I for one will be glad when the trip is over.”

“You still haven’t said anything.”

“I haven’t said anything because, as you know so well, I am not one bit optimistic.”

So there it was. Neither of them was looking forward to going. But go they would, and soon.

***

The spring wind had an icy nip to it, although the sun was doing its best to warm the couple as their canoe sped through the grey, beating waves. In the stern James stroked rhythmically; in front, Catherine was resting between bouts of paddling. The two children, Mariah and John, were heavily bundled up between them in the centre. The rocking of the canoe had lulled Mariah into a doze, while John, having been severely warned, sat wellbehaved, playing with a carved wooden horse his father had made.