The Survivor (17 page)

“Och, ’twas nothing. Glad to be of help. Right now, lads, barn rafters next!”

***

How on earth can you stabilize roof rafters without any iron spikes or nails? James wondered out loud.

“Mortise and tenon.” Gilchrist hefted a beam with a square hole at one end. “Your mortise is a rectangular socket, like this here.”

“And the tenon?”

“The tenon is that there finger.” He picked up another rafter with a smaller square end shaped into it. “This squared end goes into the socket, the mortise.”

“Looks okay, but how do you —”

“Well, yae drive in the tenon with this here beetle.” He picked up a huge mallet. “You swing it between your legs.” Gilchrist straddled the beam and swung the mallet: tuck tuck tuck, it sounded. “You knock this here beam, well, the tenon, into the mortise of the big beam.”

“Easy when you do it.”

“Now here’s the best bit. You drill a hole through them both, see?” He leaned hard on the drill’s rounded handle, and with a mighty arm circled it so that it drilled a hole through the centre of the fitting. “Your trunnel goes through this here hole in the middle, and holds them together good.”

With that mystery solved, James thought his house would be amongst the most solid on the Coast. Mr. Gilchrist surely knew his trade. But James’s delight was cut short when another argument split the peaceful workers. James put down his heavy axe and walked over.

“No siree,” John was saying, “my sister’s not climbing that ladder every night with a tiny baby!”

“But John, ’tis a fine ladder,” Will countered, “easy to climb. That’s how all houses start. You never put in a staircase at first.” Hot under the collar, Will began to shout. “Ask Gilchrist.”

James hesitated. It was his decision, but the two brothers were his prime helpers. He held out his hands. “Just explain, John. Where would we put a staircase?”

As Will frowned, John pointed to the northeast corner. “Nothing easier. We set it in that corner. Four steps up toward that north wall, then turn and go up along the west wall. Underneath that, we make a closet. Handy to store things. I could put shelves...”

“Sure, we could put shelves everywhere and cupboards and make this a palace. We just don’t have time!” Will shouted.

James felt John was in the right, but so was Will. “How would it be then, if you began the steps and I finished them off later?”

“Good, James,” John said, taking over. “That fine ladder will be great in the barn, Will, where no one climbs with babies into the loft after eggs.”

The argument was interrupted by Catherine, who called out, “Dinner!” She dolloped out stew in the bowls.

“What’s in this?” Will asked.

“Never you mind. I’ll tell you later.”

James knew she had made the stew with cattail roots from the Hollow. Not everyday fare for New Carlislers, but certainly a delicacy for the Micmac. They all tucked in but James could not ignore the fact that Catherine seemed more out of breath after climbing the hill. The due date of the baby approached.

***

That trauma of his first wife’s death in childbirth kept haunting James. He knew his fears to be mainly groundless, so back in New Carlisle, James was only too happy to settle in with the brothers, helping the Garretts do their spring planting — anything to get his mind off his panic at the looming birth.

One evening, exhausted from the long days, he came back with the brothers. As they washed up at the table out along the back wall, the look on his mother-in-law’s face told him everything. “On its way?”

“Seems like it,” Mrs. Garrett responded. “Catherine is upstairs with the midwife. I have a fire going for hot water. All is well. You and the brothers will eat tonight next door at the neighbours’.”

“May I see her?” asked James.

“Of course, but don’t stay long. This is women’s business.”

James went in and climbed the stairs in mounting terror, but he cheered up when he saw Catherine in her new nightgown, comfortable in her parents’ bed. All the lamps in the house had been assembled and stood unlit upon the chest of drawers. He came forward anxiously. “How are you doing, my love?”

“Quite well, thank you, James. But please, try to appear happy.”

“We all are,” the midwife chimed in. “Merciful Lord, it’s a blessed occasion, indeed it is.”

James hadn’t realized how clearly his concern showed. All the same, her reprimanding tone of voice struck him like a blow.

“No no, of course. Forgive me.” He tried to smile. “This will be the happiest night of my life,” he lied. For he was swamped by a sickening gloom, might he never, ever see her again? He watched, helpless, as his beloved wife twisted in the fierce pain of a contraction.

Almost as quickly as it came on, it disappeared. The midwife said cheerfully, “That’s soon, dearie. ’Twill not be long. So off you go, Mr. Alford.”

He and Catherine locked eyes in a loving connection. Then he turned, and stepped heavily downstairs.

The brothers were waiting for him. They got up in anticipation. “We got a surprise for you, James.” John gathered round with the others. “Gonna be fun.”

“Yes, lots of fun,” Will chimed in. “We all want to celebrate with yez. Not every day a fellow’s sister gives birth to a baby! So let’s get going!”

“Oh well, I think perhaps I’ll just —”

“You’ll just nothing!” laughed John and grabbed James by the arm. “Come on now, we’ve got your house built for you, you’re coming to celebrate.”

So off the four young men went, down the muddy main street and north up a side road. Will led them to a shack half buried in the woods, where men sat on rough benches, quaffing pints of rum and homemade beer. As they were settling themselves, a rough-looking oaf came out and Will called, “Innkeeper! Your finest rum. My sister’s having a baby. We’re here to celebrate!”

Innkeeper? Hardly a denomination James would have used — the fellow appeared more like a pirate or a rumrunner. James looked around. No moon, but lots of stars flashing bright across the blackness. On rough tables sat whale-oil lanterns.

The rum appeared, and they each helped themselves to a good slug. James sipped at his, just to show he was one of the boys. “Now what are these plans you have for building a ship, John?”

“Maybe in a year or two we’re gonna get Mr. Day to help us build a coastal schooner.”

“And Will, you’ll be master?”

“No siree, that’s John. Me, I’m only a farmer. Oh, I’ll sail along the first year, just to see my little brother gets to no harm!” He nudged him in jest. And the two set about arm wrestling, after throwing down a challenge. Oddly enough, John won.

After a while, James rose. “Well, I’m off. This was a real celebration! Thanks so much.” All three rose to protest. “No, I’ve really got to get back. Rum doesn’t sit well tonight.” He gave a rueful smile.

After another round of protests James took his leave, and headed back.

***

The sky above James glittered with a million stars. He sat, legs outstretched on the bare planks of the floating dock and leaned back against a stanchion. The highmasted schooners rocking at anchor had a calming effect. High above to the south, he saw Orion striding across the sky with his trusty dog, Canis Major. Sirius, the Dog Star, seemed especially bright. Even Canis Minor was trotting calmly along behind, clearly visible. He tilted his head back further to see the fixed pole star. The rectangle of Ursa Major, the Great Bear, seemed to be ambling happily across his darkened woods, paying little attention to his companions. Hydra, twirled snakelike around the North Star, served to remind James of the evil and misfortunes that sometimes befell, not only sailors, but landlubbers. He shut his eyes quickly.

A time for prayer. If the baby were born healthy, he would write his mother again. He had spoken with Catherine and the next year they would bring her over for sure. Catherine said she would welcome the companionship, especially a hand with chores and the baby. William Sr. had said that he might help with the passage, for he too was pleased that another grandparent might accept to come to that god-forsaken spot. He presumed she was of good stock, though James had been careful to speak of his British background only in the vaguest terms.

James checked upwards again, and saw the gentle Cassiopeia in her rocking chair, knitting calmly. Had she been there knitting for all time? So far as he knew, she would do so far into the future. Perhaps the image calmed him, for suddenly he sat up with a shock. How long had he slept? Orion had been replaced by the noble Boötes. How awful! To drift off while his wife was in labour. With a wave at the great inventor of ploughs and his lovely bright star, Arcturus, James hurried over the broad meadow, peopled as always with the sleeping forms of cattle and sheep. Then he slowed down, heart sinking. All was dark and silent. Like a tomb? Even the dead seemed to be moving in wisps about the town. The long-dead shades of the first settlers: had Catherine already joined their ghostly throng? He turned along the Garretts’ street. On the corner he saw the house, but all the windows were lit. Were they even now laying out her body? He almost cursed himself for his lack of faith. Ah well, the moment had come: he must, like Caesar, cross his Rubicon. He mounted the steps.

Sounds of jollity, whoops of joy. Could this be true? He strode quickly to the door and threw it open. Everyone was in there, neighbours included, celebrating.

“The happy father! Come in, come in. Run upstairs. Catherine has been asking for you. She’s really worried. Where have you been? Run up quick.”

He needed no second urging. Up he went, and there she lay, the baby in her arms. “Well, James, we did it! It’s a girl.”

Chapter Twenty

Soon after the baby girl’s birth, James decided to return alone to finish the half-completed house. Catherine should remain a while longer before bringing her newborn into the wilderness. They had named her Mariah: Mary, the mother of his Lord. An acknowledgement.

Once back in Shegouac, he knew he must first visit his other baby, John, in the Micmac community behind Port Daniel. He found the band in fine spirits and decided to stay two days this time, especially wanting more time with his son, and with the aging Tongue, whom he found slowing down somewhat. Sunrise had gone back with her husband to the encampment at the mouth of the bay in Listiguj.

He bartered items for a new bow and arrow; this winter with Catherine and Mariah he’d need meat for sure. With his musket he might bag a moose, but remembering his nearly fatal encounter back in the Highlands, James determined to hedge his bets and get a spear. He did reveal details of his new wife, though not of their daughter. Soon he’d start the difficult, perhaps even impossible, negotiations to fetch his Native son for integration into a white settler’s life.

Two weeks later, at work on his own barn roof, James saw a boat rowed by two sturdy men and poised between them, a woman holding a baby. Catherine! He scrambled down the ladder and raced to the brook’s mouth. Any doubts were cast aside — Mariah must be healthy for Catherine to come home this early.

And what an arrival! Wading out into the waves, he picked her up and carried her and Mariah ashore as her brothers John and Joseph pulled the rowboat up onto the beach.

“I’m sorry, James, I just couldn’t wait. I didn’t want you to miss one minute of your daughter’s growth. Look, even in three weeks, hasn’t she grown?”

Indeed she had. “Thank you Catherine, thank you so much.” Delighted, he led them back along the trail, the brothers carrying additional food supplies.

William Sr. had finally promised his son the wherewithal to begin his boat. So now, with the spring planting over, John was spending a couple of weeks here helping James on the house. He wanted to learn something from James of the lore of the sea, and any seafaring yarns. And so John and James worked together, first making the farmhouse a fitting establishment for the lady Catherine and her lovely daughter. Young Joseph had rowed the boat back the next day.

While they worked around, James let his newly bought chickens loose to scratch among the trunks for sustenance. So easy to feed and keep. Eggs for the summer; Catherine’s idea was bearing fruit. He especially loved the sound of the rooster waking him in the mornings as he slept on the rough boards by the fire. He’d gotten a rooster so the eggs would produce more chicks. During the winter, Catherine could butcher a hen every couple of weeks to augment their supply of meat. Already it was beginning to feel like a farm.

“You know, James,” asked John, “with this here barn getting ready, when are ya going to get yourself some animals?”

“An ox, an ox is first. But how can I ever pay for it?”

“Scarce as hens’ teeth, them baby oxen,” John agreed. “I’ll watch out for one, but every calf — well, the owners want them for themselves. Impossible t’buy, I’d say. Them that can afford one, they’s after one, too.”

“So I’ve seen.”

“Any bull calves to spare, the farmers butcher in the autumn. Gotta get food somehow.”

James nodded. “But without an ox, how can I clear my land?”

“Now James, where’s the tar?” John changed the subject. “With the barn roof finished —”

“Tar? I’d forgotten. Oh dear!”

“A roof without tar, how long do you think it’ll last in our weather?”