Taking the Reins (14 page)

“Hey!” she cried out, stifling a laugh.

He swung around, the look on his face so fierce she jumped back.

“Never creep up on a man that way!”

“I didn't creep, I only walked. Can I help it if you didn't hear me?”

William turned his back and continued working. Of course he wouldn't think it was funny. Why should he? Too late, Katherine remembered how cross she had been at him. Even so, he didn't need to yell at her. He didn't need to turn away and pretend she wasn't even here. “That's what you did to me when I was fetching water that day,” she reminded him.

Still he didn't answer.

“You're doing an excellent job,” she said.

He acted as if he did not hear.

“Thank you for helping George. He could never have accomplished half so much by himself.”

No reply.

“William?” Maybe he wasn't interested. Maybe he didn't care. But William was the only person who had really listened to her after Susan died, and she missed his company. She needed to confide in him now, whether he liked it or not. “I'm learning a lot at school, but I haven't made any friends. No one likes me except for the little ones. The only girl in the whole town who speaks to me is Emma Curtis, and she doesn't even go to school. But guess what?” Katherine realized she was babbling. She forced herself into silence. Perhaps curiosity would get the better of him. Perhaps not.

She waited. She put out her hand, palm upward, watching tiny grains of snow land and melt away in the warmth of her skin. It seemed William was too busy to talk to her. She turned to go.

“What?”

“Oh, William, I found Nugget!” She smiled up at him. “She belongs to Emma, who wants to call her Liberty, which is a stupid name. But luckily for me, Emma doesn't know how to ride, so I'm teaching her. That means I get to ride Nugget every day.”

“It is good you have a friend. This is what you wanted most of all.”

“I did. But Emma's not really my friend, she's...well, she's just Emma.”

“Then you must learn to be a friend to her,” William said. “Katherine, our fathers are right about us. We cannot be friends. Our worlds are too far apart.”

“Oh!” What was he saying? Katherine bit her lip.

“Next summer I will marry – a young woman from a nearby village.”

“Oh!” she said again. “Oh, but...”

“She will be a good wife for me.”

“All right then.” Katherine knew this was true, the way it must be – she had known it all along, really. But seeing William again like this made her remember how much she had liked him. How he had been a friend to her when she felt so alone. “Congratulations. I'm certain you will be very happy.” She turned away because her eyes began to water.

“Katherine?” William stepped closer.

She focused on the toes of her boots, on little white pellets landing on them. A skiff of white covered the ground at her feet. William placed his fingertips under her chin and raised it until she was forced to look up at him.

“It's the cold wind,” she explained. “It makes my eyes water. I'm not used to the cold, you see, in Victoria...”

“You also will be happy in your life,” he interrupted. “This is good.”

“Yes.” She gulped and pulled away. She darted back to the cabin, her head down against a rising wind.

Six inches of snow covered the ground, and brittle stars hung in a cold black sky the next morning when everyone crowded into the wagon to which George and William had affixed runners. They pulled into Hope with a pale sun struggling to sweep away the stars.

Black smoke billowed into the sky from the sternwheeler's smokestack, showing that the crew were pouring on coal to build a full head of steam before tackling the rapids. A blast of the horn echoed through the crisp air.

“Hurry,” Father said, “or we'll be left behind.”

In the rush to climb aboard, Katherine didn't get a chance to say goodbye to William, and when she looked back from the deck he had disappeared. She realized, too late, that she hadn't apologized for Mrs. Morris' rudeness.

On reaching Yale, passengers disembarked and supplies bound for the general store were unloaded quickly so the boat could head back downriver. They said their goodbyes to Mrs. Morris while still on board.

“Well, I can't say I'll miss her,” Father remarked as the boat pulled away.

“Is she like that all the time?” George asked.

“She's usually kept busy in Victoria,” Katherine said. “So I don't see too much of her.”

“Luckily for you.” George bent to pick up a parcel destined for the store while their parents hurried ahead to open the doors.

Christmas morning, George and Katherine followed their parents, boots crunching over new-fallen snow, up a small rise to a little white church tucked at the base of steep mountains. The lower slopes, stripped barren in the building of Yale, might be ugly come spring, but today they sparkled pure white under a fresh blanket of snow.

Their parents clung to one another, arm in arm, their heads bowed. Katherine knew they were thinking of other Christmases. They were thinking of Susan. She glanced at her brother, but he refused to look her way. He grunted as if in pain, his breath rising into the crisp air.

“Oh, George,” she whispered, slipping her hand through his bent arm. She could say nothing more. Nothing more was needed. George patted her hand. Her eyes stung.

It seemed the entire town was gathered in the church. And after the service almost everyone remained to chat in the warmth of the room.

“How are you enjoying school in Victoria?” asked a young mother with a baby in her arms, a child clutching her hand and another clinging to her long skirt.

“Very much,” Katherine replied. “I'm learning a lot and I always enjoy helping the little ones with their schoolwork.”

“Oh, if only someone here in Yale would do that! I try to teach my children at home, but there is so little time, what with washing and cooking and growing food and caring for the youngest ones.”

“Yes, it must be difficult to do everything yourself.” Katherine watched a group of children, eight or nine of them, chasing one another about the room while their mothers tried in vain to get them to settle down. She thought of the plans she and Susan had shared. The dream of starting a school.

The rich aroma of slow-roasting goose wafted out to greet them as the family approached their comfortable living quarters behind the store. Hungry, they hurried inside. It was mid afternoon of the following day when townspeople began dropping by. The women brought warm pies and cakes, while some of the men carried whiskey bottles tucked in their pockets. The women and children remained in the kitchen while the men, including George, wandered into the small parlour. Other than Katherine and George, everyone was either an adult or a child under ten.

After serving coffee and passing around a plate of food, Katherine wandered aimlessly through the crowded room, too young to chat with the women, too old to play with the children. She paused at the woodstove and raised both hands to its warmth.

“Can you read?”

Seated on a braided rug, a small girl balanced a heavy book on her knees. Katherine recognized her as the one clutching her mother's hand at church the day before.

“I got this book from my grandmother. She lives a long ways away in Scotland.”

“Would you like me to read you a story?”

The child nodded.

“Good then.” Happy for the company, Katherine settled beside the little girl and started reading. But the story was long and preachy and threatened to put both of them to sleep. Closing the book, Katherine began to relate one of her favorite stories from childhood. Other children began to gather around her, sitting on the rug near the stove.

“I have a book too,” said one of the boys, holding it up. “But it's hard to read by myself.”

“Then let's read it together,” Katherine suggested. The boy sat beside her, reading aloud, while she helped him over the difficult parts.

“Can we come back soon?” he asked his mother as they left.

Katherine smiled to hear it.

The following day was a quiet one. Snow fell steadily, making walking difficult. The store was open but not as busy as usual. At this time of year it did a good enough business with local folk, but come spring the store would be bustling once more with miners purchasing supplies before heading up the Cariboo Road to seek their fortunes.

Katherine settled in the parlour to read, but the book didn't hold her interest, and she grew restless. She stood and went to the window. Snow fell so heavily it obliterated the river directly across the road. She decided against a walk. What was there to do? She wandered down the short hallway and paused at a closed door. She knew it led to the attic and wondered what treasures might be stored up there. Perhaps there were books just waiting to be read.

The door creaked open on a dimly lit stairway. She followed the dusty stairs to a long, rectangular room. The steeply gabled roof sloped to meet the floor along each side. At each end, a small window offered light enough to see. She paused beneath the ridge and surveyed a large, empty space high enough to for an adult to stand in comfortably.

Katherine hugged her arms around herself in the quiet
cold. She thought of the children here who couldn't read their new Christmas books. She pictured little desks around her. Shelves lined with books. Lanterns hanging from beams overhead. She shivered. A woodstove for warmth. She hurried back down the stairs, closed the door, and wandered back to the parlour, deep in thought.

The night before returning to Victoria, Katherine could think of little else but Nugget. If all went well, she and Mother would arrive safely in Victoria by the following evening. The day after that, she would see Nugget again. And Emma of course. Katherine was surprised to realize she looked forward to seeing Emma as much as Nugget.

“This has been a good Christmas,” Mother said, packing her bags to accompany Katherine. “Better than I could have expected – without Susan.”

Katherine nodded. Her eyes misted, thinking of her sister, but for Mother's sake she managed a smile. “It was fun having so many people to visit.”

Mother folded her nightdress. “I shall be sorry when Mr. Roberts comes home in spring and we need to return to the farm. More so now that your father has finally realized farming is not for us.”

“I wonder...” Katherine said, picking up a book of Mr. Brett's and placing it with her packed clothing. “Mother, I have an idea. Do you think it would be all right if I wrote a letter to Mr. Roberts?”

“Whatever for?”

“I'd rather not say just yet, but there may be a solution to make everyone happy. Could you please give me his address in Jamaica?”

Mother looked undecided.

“Just one letter, Mother. I will let you know if anything comes of it. I promise.”

Her mother put down the blouse she was folding. She glanced toward the parlour, where Father was reading by the fire. Then she walked over to her writing desk and retrieved the address.

13

E
mma pushed open the gate and followed the gravel path to Mrs. Morris' front door. Wind whistled around the corners of the small house. A strong gust whooshed up from behind, speeding her along. Her stomach ached almost as bad as back in Manchester where she went days without a scrap of food and nothing but mud-brown water to drink. This pain, though, was not due to hunger. It was brought on by fear.

She should never have come here, even if Katherine did tell her mother about Emma being a housemaid and all, and Mrs. Harris didn't mind. Neither of them suspected she was a brideship girl. Who didn't look down on brideship girls, she'd like to know? Paying passengers thought them no more than
living freight,
and didn't the townsfolk line the streets to mock the girls that first day off the ship?

She stared at the closed door. “This will be somethin' ‘orrible,” she muttered. “Imagine me, Emma Curtis, gettin' meself invited to tea at a proper toffken.” She turned away, into the wind, ready to run off. Her cloak flapped around her like a great sail, and she grabbed at it. Her eyes fell on the opal ring. Would Mama be proud of her now?

The door swung inward. Emma stopped breathing. What if it was that Mrs. Morris just now leaving her house?

“Emma! I saw you on the walk, but you took so long to reach the door I couldn't wait. Come in, it's cold out there! My mother is eager to meet you, I've told her all about you.”

Emma's stomach twisted. Not all, she thought. Not half. And if the truth came out, not one of them would speak to her ever again. Even Katherine would be shocked.

Katherine took Emma's cloak and hung it on a tall wooden stand. Then she led Emma into the parlour, a small, gloomy room cluttered with furniture. A woman sat in a stuffed armchair, stitching a dress draped over her lap. Her hair, in the soft lamplight, shone pale gold. Seeing Emma, the woman set aside the dress and stood up.

“Mother, this is my, uh – my friend, Emma Curtis. Emma, my mother, Mrs. Harris.”

Emma stared in surprise. She knew this woman was older than Emma's own mother had been. And yet she moved with such grace, the knuckles of her hands were not swollen and sore, and her face was scarcely lined. And how those blue eyes sparkled. She still looked pretty, even at her great age! Mrs. Harris smiled and revealed a row of strong teeth, not one of them missing. “It's lovely to meet you at last, Emma. How do you do?”

“It is a pleasure to meet you too,” Emma managed to say. Her voice sounded strangled and the beat of her heart pumped loud in her ears.

“Please, sit down. Katherine will fetch the tea as it's the cook's afternoon off.”

Emma perched on the very edge of an upholstered chair. She was an impostor, she should never have come. Katherine gave her an odd look, as if wondering why Emma was acting so strangely. Then she turned and left the room.

“Katherine hasn't told me where you are from, Emma. Did you grow up in England?”

“I...yes.” Wind screamed around the windows. Emma listened for a harsh footstep, afraid Mrs. Morris might be at home. Emma had encountered that woman once before and, like as not, she would recognize Emma.

“And what part of England would that be, if you don't mind my asking?”

Emma did mind, but she had no idea how to change the subject. “The north,” she said, hoping to leave it at that. But when Mrs. Harris said nothing and only waited, Emma added, “Manchester.”

“Oh yes, the manufacturing town.”

Emma nodded, wishing she could leave now.

“I understand thousands of paupers live on the streets of Manchester.”

“They have no other choice.”

Mrs. Harris glanced up, studied Emma for a moment, and returned to her stitching. “Katherine tells me you're learning to ride?”

“Oh, yes!” Emma replied, grateful to be on safer ground. She spoke carefully, testing each word before speaking it aloud. “I am enjoying it immensely! Katherine is an excellent teacher.”

“I expect she is. Tell me, what is it your father did in Manchester?”

Uh. What to say? “My father,” she said, fumbling for words. Just in time, Emma remembered that Tall Joe had asked her to convey his regrets. “My father was very disappointed that he could not join us today but he and his cousin are meeting with Governor Douglas to inquire about pre-empting some land for a farm.”

“Yes. He sent me a note this morning. How unfortunate. And Mrs. Morris has left for a previous engagement, but I think Katherine mentioned our hostess was busy today?”

“Yes,” Emma's shoulders relaxed. “Unfortunate indeed.”

Katherine burst into the room, carrying a tray with teapot, cups, saucers, cream and sugar, various sandwiches cut into tiny sections, and squares of little cakes. “If you want my opinion,” she said, “it's not unfortunate at all. We were quite glad to be rid of her.”

“Katherine!” her mother scolded. “That is no way to speak of our hostess!”

“I'm sorry, Mother,” Katherine said, and winked at Emma. “Even if it is true.”

Mrs. Harris shook her head sadly.

After that, things went much more smoothly. They discussed Victoria and Hope and the huge differences between the two communities. In the one, townsfolk liked to pretend they still lived in Britain, with all its strict rules of behavior and firm division between upper and lower classes. In the other, everyone worked hard simply to stay alive and had no time to fuss about rules that held no meaning for them.

They talked about farm life too. “It won't be easy for you,” Mrs. Harris warned Emma, “not when you're used to an easier life.”

Easy? Her life? Just then, taking a sip of tea with the cup held daintily by its delicate handle, her little finger curled perfectly, and trying her best to look ladylike, Emma choked. She tried but couldn't stop coughing.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Harris put down her cup and saucer and hurried over.

“Katherine, run and fetch a glass of water.”

“I am so sorry,” Emma gasped when she was able to speak. She accepted the glass from Katherine and took a small sip. She was mortified, she had tried so hard to be on her best behavior.

“That's perfectly all right,” Mrs. Harris assured her. “It could happen to anyone.”

“I'm sorry if we frightened you, telling you what hard work there is on a farm,” Katherine said.

“I think I will like it,” Emma told them. “My mother grew up in the countryside and always wanted to live away from the city.”

“Well, you must be certain to tell your father you will need help,” Mrs. Harris said. “What with three men to cook for and clean up after as well as all the farm chores that fall to us women.”

Me have a girl helping out? And what would Mama think of that?
Emma almost smiled. She was glad she came after all. Katherine's mother seemed kind enough, and these little cakes were delicious. She reached for another.

Then it happened.

The front door flew open along with a gust of wind. In walked a woman Emma recognized immediately. If there had been more than a drop of tea left in her cup, she would have spilled it, her hand shook that badly. Emma held the saucer with one hand and steadied the cup with the other, afraid it would shake right off and crash to the floor. She averted her face.

“Mrs. Morris,” Mrs. Harris said, rising to her feet.

Katherine stood up too, and Emma followed suit. She kept her head bowed, staring into the teacup clutched against her stomach. With any luck Mrs. Morris would not recognize her.

Mrs. Harris went on. “I'm so pleased you arrived home in time to meet Katherine's friend, Emma Curtis. Emma, this is...”

“You!” Mrs. Morris raised her gloved hand and pointed a trembling finger at Emma. “In my home! If I had known it was you...well, I never!” She turned to Mrs. Harris. “This is the very girl I told you about,” she sputtered, “the one who dared to insult my very good friend, Mrs. Steeves, whom I introduced you to only yesterday!”

Katherine narrowed her eyes. She happened to know Mrs. Steeves was about as pleasant a person as Mrs. Morris herself. “Whatever Emma said, I'm certain Mrs. Steeves must have deserved it,” she said.

A deathly silence settled over the small room. Emma continued to stare into her teacup, trembling on its saucer. Katherine glared at Mrs. Morris. Mrs. Morris appealed to Mrs. Harris. Mrs. Harris frowned at her daughter.

“Do you see what I'm expected to put up with? Your daughter has no respect for me whatsoever!” Mrs. Morris whined.

“Katherine!” her mother said. “That is entirely unacceptable behavior. You must apologize at once.”

But Katherine was too angry to speak. This woman was unendurable. She would never apologize, no matter what her mother said.

“And to think,” Mrs. Morris sputtered, “to think your daughter had the nerve to invite one of those dreadful
Tynemouth
wretches into my home. My home!” She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Oh! It's all coming back to me now. The girl is a cripple no less. A cripple and a brideship girl who works for that dreadful woman Governor Douglas chose to marry!”

At this, Mrs. Harris went white and her eyes blazed. “A cripple, because she limps slightly? I suppose you call my husband a cripple too, behind his back. And there's no need to insult Mrs. Douglas either. She seems to me a good woman even if she is not British.”

She glanced over at Katherine. “I will admit Katherine has been unforgivably rude, but Emma here...” She broke off and turned to the spot where Emma had been standing a moment before. It was empty. “You've frightened her off, the poor child!”

“Good riddance is all I can say!”

“And I'll tell you what I say...” Katherine began, but her mother cut in.

“You are dismissed.”

“But...”

“Katherine, go to your room immediately. I shall deal with you later. Mrs. Morris and I have matters to discuss.”

Katherine stomped out of the parlour. She ran up the narrow staircase, slammed the door to her room, locked it with the key, and plopped herself down on the edge of the bed. Board money or not, Mrs. Morris would kick her out now and Katherine would have to return home with her mother. No more school, no more Nugget, no more friend.

Emma had never once mentioned being from the brideship,
Tynemouth
. If she had, would things have turned out differently? Would Katherine have confided in her mother? Would they have invited Emma for tea had they known? Katherine couldn't say for sure. One thing was clear though. Emma still didn't trust her.

Well and what a fool she had been, Emma told herself over and over as she scurried away from Mrs. Morris' house, her head bowed against wind-driven rain. She should never have gone. What's more, she should never have started to like Katherine. Get close to someone and they died on you or sent you away, one of the two, and shame on her for forgetting it.

Emma saw the horrified look on Katherine's face as she listened to Mrs. Morris' vicious words. And Mrs. Harris too looked mortified to learn she had invited a brideship girl to take tea with them. One of those half-starved orphans plucked from the streets and workhouses of England. Up to no good, an' that's for certain-sure.

She kept her head down, fighting tears. Her leg ached and she limped badly but didn't care who noticed. She started across the James Bay Bridge. Battered by high winds off the harbour, the bridge deck trembled beneath her feet. A strong gust whipped up and tossed Emma hard against the railing. She regained her footing and hunched into the wind, clutching her cloak close while rain pelted her face so hard it hurt. Out of nowhere, a strong arm slipped across her back, a solid body came between her and the wind. She glanced up.

“Oh, Edward, you frightened me!”

“Didn't mean to. I saw you fighting the wind and thought you could use some help.” He kept walking as he spoke. Helping her along with him, he shielded her from the full force of the wind. A little thrill shivered through Emma. Edward was such a comfort. And he fancied her, she was certain of that. She smiled at him.