Trapped in Ice (2 page)

“But this surely can't be the
Karluk
.”

“Don't know whether it is or isn't. I know this is where you asked me to take you,” he replied, as he removed two more bags and placed them on the pier.

“But ...” she stammered.

“Why don't we ask that man?” Michael interrupted, pointing to a sailor who had just come up onto the deck of the ship.

Mother walked over and called out, “
EXCUSE ME
!” The sailor who stood below us wore a large baggy sweater and ragged pants. He couldn't have been more than sixteen years old.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Could you tell me where we could find the
Karluk
?”

“Ya found 'er, ma'am, right 'ere under your eyes.”

I turned to Mother, and was struck by her look of confusion. I think the sailor saw the same expression.

“Somethin' wrong, ma'am?”

“Ah ... no ... I just ... do you think you could help us move some things aboard?” she asked.

“Sure t'ing,” he answered. He climbed up a ladder and joined us on the dock. His hands and face were covered in dirt and grease and his dark hair was soaked with sweat. Even amongst all the other smells along the dock I could make out the stench of his sweat. He'd obviously been working hard. He stared at the small mountain of boxes and bags on the pier beside the carriage.

“I'm Jonathan Brady, ma'am. Me friends call me Jonnie. And who would ya all be?”

“My name is Mrs. Kiruk and these are my two children, Helen and Michael.”

He wiped his filthy hands on his equally filthy sweater and then reached out and shook our hands.

“An' who is all of this stuff for?” Jonnie asked, spreading his arms out over our things.

“It's all ours,” Michael answered.

“Yours?”

“Yes, ours. Things we'll be needing on this expedition,” Mother replied.

“Ya don't mean ya'll be comin' along with us?”

“Of course. I'm the seamstress and my children will be accompanying me on this trip.”

Jonnie looked even more puzzled. “Does the Cap'n know about all of this?”

“I don't know about the Captain. I was hired by the leader of the expedition, Mr. Vilhjalmur Stefansson,” Mother answered.

Mother had said Mr. Stefansson's name with a sense of pride. She'd told us all about him: how he was a world-famous Arctic explorer and hero. She'd said I could meet a real-life hero instead of those phoney characters I was always reading about.

“Yes, ma'am ... but does the Cap'n know?”

“That would be a matter between Mr. Stefansson and the Captain. Are you going to help move our things?” asked Mother.

“Course, ma'am,” he replied, picking up the first of our possessions and starting down the ladder with a heavy trunk on his shoulder. Michael and I both picked up a couple of small bags and followed him. I hesitated at the top. I didn't think I could hold the bag and balance myself going down the ladder, especially while wearing my best dress, which was long and bulky.

“Move over,” Michael called out, pushing me slightly off to the side.

I watched enviously as he glided down the ladder. He was like a little monkey and had no fear of falling. He was always climbing over fences, onto the roofs of buildings and up to the top of trees. I thought he was happiest when he was in the highest branches, swaying in the breeze.

Where we were going, up to the high Arctic, there aren't any trees. When Mother had told Michael, he'd said he wasn't going to go.

For me, I could care less about any old trees. I was sad to leave my friends behind and I was looking forward to going into eighth form. Even worse, it wasn't like I could be sure of making new friends. Where we were going there might not even be anybody my age ... probably no other children ... except for my brother. I guess in some ways it really didn't matter. We had to go somewhere, whether it was here or someplace else.

Michael jumped down the bottom three or four rungs of the ladder and landed noisily on the deck. I watched from up above, clutching the bag, trying to figure out what I was going to do.

“Here, toss it down,” Jonnie called.

I held onto the top railing of the ladder, leaned over and dropped the bag. He caught it gently in his arms.

“I'll get a cargo net an' we can bring 'em all down with the boom,” Jonnie suggested.

Mother walked over to my side and placed an arm around my waist.

“Don't be disappointed, dear. This is only the transportation to our new home. I'm sure it will be all right.”

“I'm not disappointed ... not too disappointed anyway.”

Mother smiled. “I know it's not like those fine ships in all those books.”

That was certainly true. The ships in the books I read were always graceful and dignified and fit for royalty. This was just a tramp ship.

“And even though it's an old ship I'm sure it's safe,” she continued.

I nodded, although until she tried to reassure me I hadn't thought there was even a possibility it wouldn't be safe. Now I was worried.

Mother and I carried a couple of the bags, those that weren't too heavy, over to the edge of the pier. Meanwhile Jonnie swung the boom over and lowered a net onto the dock. As he loaded our bags into the net, Mother supervised from above, giving him directions and explaining what was fragile and what needed to stay upright.

I wandered along the pier to the back end of the ship to check the name. I'd read about pirates, and I worried that we might be “shanghaied” and sold into white slavery or killed on the high seas or ... But there was the name in faded red paint—
Karluk
.

I was now far enough away that I couldn't hear what Mother was saying any more, but I could see Jonnie shaking his head in agreement. I walked back towards them and I could hear him saying, “Yes, ma'am” or “No, ma'am,” and I figured he was pretty smart to listen to what she had to say. Mother is a very determined woman ... at least she is now.

Before Father died, I'd always seen her as being gentle and soft and kind to a fault. But now she was different. It was as if she just didn't have the time to laugh or smile. She always seemed to be doing one thing or another, or to be worried about something. I never thought she approved of Father giving Michael the belt when he needed it, and believe me he did need it, but she's taken the switch to him a few times this past year herself.

Once everything was secured in the cargo net to Mother's satisfaction, Jonnie went back onto the ship to work the boom. Michael and I followed closely behind him. From the deck I looked up and saw Mother climbing down the ladder. The folds of her green dress billowed around her, revealing wisps of petticoat underneath. It was obvious her dress, her best dress, was not suited for such activities. Her hat was perched precariously atop her head, held in place with a hatpin. Jonnie noticed her coming down and scrambled over to offer assistance. I knew there was no way she was going to accept his help. I didn't hear what she said, but he turned away with a look on his face like a dog that had just been hit with a rolled-up newspaper. I knew that look from the inside.

Jonnie skilfully lifted the cargo up into the air, swung it over the side of the ship, and gently lowered it to the deck. It was all done so smoothly that even Mother couldn't find anything to object to.

“Jonathan ... Jonathan Cornelius Brady!” called out a voice.

I spun around.

“Where are ya? Lazin' about with work ta be done!”

The voice was coming from below deck.

As soon as Jonnie leaped down from the boom, a man emerged from the hatchway.

“Jonathan, ya best get back ta your work or …” The man stopped in mid-sentence as he spied the three of us standing there. A black woollen cap hid the top part of his face, while a scruffy dark beard covered the bottom half. He walked towards us.

As he got closer, I could tell he was a lot older than Jonnie, maybe even as old as my mother. He had on blue dungarees, a filthy white sweater and a bandanna around his neck. Jonnie ran up to him and started to explain things, but was brushed off with a gesture. The man stopped directly in front of us, a puzzled look on his face, and studied us as if we were some sort of display at the World Exposition. I looked away when his piercing brown eyes caught mine.

“An' who may ya all be?” he asked.

“I'm Mrs. Kiruk.”

I expected him to reach out his hand and introduce himself the way Jonnie had done. Instead his face became even more troubled.

“An' what's your business here?”

“I am in the employment of the Canadian Arctic Expedition. I am the seamstress.”

“You're the seamstress? An' these two?” he asked, pointing at me and Michael.

“These are my two children,” Mother answered, her eyes focused directly on this man.

He looked down at us. “How old are ya?” he asked me.

“I'm thirteen, sir,” I answered.

“An' your brother?”

“Almost eleven,” Michael chimed in.

“Thirteen an' almost eleven,” he said shaking his head sadly. “It's not right for a mother ta be leavin' her children alone for two years ... isn't right.”

“She's not leaving us,” said Michael. “We're going along.”

“What!” the man snapped. “Are my ears not workin' right, Jonathan? Has all that bangin' of boards we've been
doin' caused my ears ta stop workin'?” he asked, turning to Jonnie. “These little ones think they're goin' along?”

“They are coming along, I can assure you, sir!” said Mother firmly.

I could tell by her tone, the way she said “sir,” that she was not favourably impressed with this man.

“I only accepted this position if my children could be part of the trip and Mr. Stefansson readily agreed. It is all confirmed in this telegram.”

Mother opened her purse and produced the telegram. She handed it to the man. He squinted his eyes and his bushy black eyebrows almost met as he studied it intently. He looked up.

“She's not tellin' lies, Jonathan. It does say right here she was offered the job an' her children are comin' along. Now I just have one more question. I need ta know who the bigger fool is, Stefansson for offering ta take her children, or her for askin' for them to come in the first place.” He handed the telegram back to my mother. Her mouth and eyes opened wide in shock. He turned away. Over his shoulder he called out to Jonnie, “Too much ta be done ta waste time lollygaggin' around.”

Mother continued to stand there, in shock. I had never seen her at a loss for words. I couldn't imagine her allowing such a crude and unfair comment against either her or Mr. Stefansson.

“
EXCUSE ME
!” yelled Mother to the retreating sailor, who spun around at her words.

“Is it your custom to speak ill of people who are not present? People like Mr. Stefansson?” she asked.

“If he was here he'd be hearin' my words himself.”

“Brave words. Would you still be so brave if I was to tell him of your comments?” asked Mother.

The man chuckled. “Ya go right up ta the end of the pier, turn left an' go ta the Four Anchors Hotel. You'll find Mr. Stefansson there, makin' plans for the voyage. You go an' tell him my words an' save me a trip. I've got too much ta be done ta go an' tell him myself.”

“And who should I say was questioning his directions?” Mother continued.

“Ya just tell him it was Bob ... Bob Bartlett.”

“I'm sure Mr. Stefansson will be very displeased. Perhaps he will inform the Captain of your insolence.”

Jonnie and Bob exchanged funny looks and started to chuckle.

“The Cap'n isn't too pleased already,” he said. “Come on, Jonathan, there's plenty of work ta be done on this old scow before we sail.”

As he ducked into the hatchway, Jonnie followed right behind. His words hung on the now silent air and made me more than a little bit uneasy.

 

 

Chapter Two

I 
LOOKED UP
and could just see the sign over the top of the building: Four Anchors Hotel and Dining. The hotel was tall, four stories high, and built of red brick.

“Should we wait out here, Mother?” I asked meekly. “NO!” she stated, much more loudly than I expected.

“I mean, no dear, I think it would be best if you and your brother come inside with me. The weather is starting to blow up a bit.”

I was reassured, although the weather didn't have anything to do with it. I didn't want to be left outside to take care of myself and Michael. I didn't feel comfortable with the people who were milling around. There were men, mostly sailors, strolling along the street, alone or in groups. They were too loud, and some were singing and Mother said she could smell alcohol on their breath as they walked by. There were also a few women, all dressed up as if they were going somewhere fancy, walking up and down the street as well. But, unlike the men, who seemed to want to be too friendly, the women crossed the street or looked away as we came close.

Mother pushed against the big revolving door of the hotel and Michael and I collided trying to get into the next compartment. We ended up in the same one and the door
bumped heavily against my back foot. It almost came to a complete halt before it opened up into the lobby and we stumbled out.

“Stand,” Mother ordered, pointing to a spot by a large potted plant beside the door.

There were big, dark paintings of ships at sea. The frames were heavy gold and stood out against the red velvet wallpaper. The carpeting was a rich royal blue but there was a worn-down path leading from the door to the counter. Above our heads hung a gigantic crystal chandelier. It was coated with dust. There was a damp smell in the air as if the whole place needed a good airing out. I suspected it was once something special. I could just imagine men and women in their Sunday finery, high tea and crumpets, bellhops in fancy uniforms and …