Day seven NaNoWriMo
CHAPTER TWO
August, 1806
My eyes opened to the soft light of morning spreading over the worn patchwork quilt and across Mittens, the grey tabby that shared my bed. I turned my head and from the tiny attic window I saw the arc of the harbour and the boats swaying through the Narrows. Stretching my fingers and toes as far as I could, I soak in the solitude of the morning. The horses on the street outside whined and snorted. I wanted to stay here for just a minute more, but with a sigh I rose. The clock on my dresser said that it was already seven o’clock. I had slept too long already. The London opened in five hours and I had to ready to ready for Father’s arrival today. I pushed back the covers and tugged my nightgown over my head. The water in my wash basin was cool against my sleep-warm skin. I pulled on my shift, stockings and the brown cotton dress with the low neckline that Mr. Quick preferred I wear. If it garnered more tips for me, all the better. I made my way downstairs, with Mittens weaving around my ankles. Her insistent mews told me she was as hungry as I.
The humidity was heavy in spite of the early hour. I coated a slice of thick white bread with butter and made my way around the kitchen. In spite of the heat and the hour, I set about cleaning and straightening the two small rooms that made up the first floor. I loved living in the cottage on Tarranhan’s Town by myself. If Father came and found the house out of order, he might think it was too much for me to look after the house and to work at the London too. Then he might think we would have to find another way to life. I had been doing this for three years and I was determined to carry on. I surveyed my work and, satisfied, I finally sat to my cup of tea. Mittens strolled across the table in front of me, expecting my strokes and admiring words.
Da had sent me to live with Aunt Josephine and Uncle George when the doctor first diagnosed Mama with influenza. I was only ten, and could not understand my sudden banishment. I snuck in one afternoon, and crept up the stairs while Da was in the outhouse emptying her chamber pot. She had winked at me as I peaked up over the end of her bed, her blue eyes brighter than normal from fever. Her black hair lay lank on the pillow around her chalk white face. He caught me and drove me out with a rage I had never seen from him. He had nursed her himself, fed her broth by the spoonful, washed her wasted body. Because he refused to leave her, he lost his position as bookkeeper with Saunders and Company.
That was when it had all started to go wrong. Da had gone to the doctor's house at ten o’clock the night Ma started to vomit blood. The doctor, in his paisley silk dressing gown, sternly attend her without payment. Desperate, Da wandered the streets that rimmed the harbour, torn between leaving Ma alone and not wanting to return without some help for her. He found himself, out of habit or perhaps black providence, standing before the premises of his former employer. He put his hands in his pockets to warm them against the October chill. His fingers curled around a singular key on a brass ring, forgotten in the circumstances that had led to his termination. He knew where Caleb Saunders kept his additional coin and valuables. Da entered the employee’s entrance, a faded yellow door off the alley. The hatch in the floor under the rug in Saunders’ large office was as he remembered it. He took only enough to pay the doctor’s bill. He ran down Duckworth Street and up Cochrane Street to Dr. Howe’s house, and battered the door with his fists, still clutching the notes in his hand. Finally sensing Da’s desperation, the physician pulled on his wool coat over his pyjamas and had his driver take them in his carriage to the little bungalow.
But Ma did not make it to the morning. Da lay on the floor next to her bed not moving until the next afternoon. At precisely two o'clock, he got up and went directly to the constable. While he was being charged with theft, Ma was carried off to the mortuary. We buried her two days later, when Da was let out for the funeral. When it was all said and done, he pleaded guilty and asked for mercy. The magistrate did show him that, forgiving him the forty lashes to which most thieves were subject, and merely banished him from the colony. But Da’s hand would forever carry the R branded into his flesh that marked him a thief.
Da’s passage was arranged on a schooner headed to Galway. I went to the waterfront to see him off, and tried my best to be his brave Cathy. When he bent to kiss me good bye, it was more than I could bear. I ran away from his outstretched arms, up the hill to Barnes Road , my lungs screaming for air and the tears burning my face in the frigid wind. That night Da made sure he sat with the Captain and shared a bottle of rum he had carefully tucked away in his pack. Da related his story and the Captain, who had a wife and four daughters in Brighton, was more than willing to give him a row boat and let him off in the dead of night near Cape Race.
He showed up at Joyce’s a week after he left. The sound of his voice made me tremble with relief that he was not an apparition. I had been feeling the dark walls of my grief closing in at the loss of them both. He told me that he couldn’t leave me, even on pain of arrest. In his work with Saunders, he had made acquaintance with a number of Catholics from Bell Island, who had offered up their hospitality each time they met. He had gone to them and they had set him up in a lean to on the north side of the island. He had managed to secure hobble work on Belle Island for some Papist merchants who were more interested in his labour than his legal statu. He sent money for my keep and as often as he could, he would come to the town to see me.
In the first weeks following his return, I tried to be happy in my aunt and uncle’s household, but I felt like a burden. I missed the little house that my parents and I had occupied like a separate universe. As often as I could get away from caring for my young cousins, I went to Tarranhan’s Town. My father had given me a key, and I started going in and staying as long as I could. I loved to spent the afternoons looking at my mother’s things, making myself cups of tea in the fine china cup she had brought with her from the mother country, taking weeds out of her garden. Those days were precious to me, and the older I got, the more time I spent there. Da found me there one afternoon, dressed in my mother’s one fancy dress, reading her favorite book of poetry, just as she had taught me. His shock was soon overcome by the realization that this was where I needed to be. From that day on, he allowed me to stay in the cottage, under the watchful eye of the neighbors, the priest and my Uncle George.
At exactly eight o’clock, Da appeared through the back door from the garden. He carried his wool cap crumpled in this hand. His grey coat was dusty and the pockets were hanging off. His eyes filled with tears at the sight of me. “Now Da, don’t be crying’. I’m alright.” I nudged him gently into a chair and filled a mug with hot tea. “Here, have this. It will perk you up.”
“Don’t mind me foolishness, Cathy” he said, waving a worn, brown hand at me. I quickly sliced him prepared some bread, butter and jam for him. He took a large bite, a sip of tea. and let his head fall back in utter contentment. “Now that makes it all worthwhile.” He turned his head to me where I stood at the stove “Like I said, Cath, don’t mind me. It’s just I miss you so. And her.” He took my face in his hands and examined it in a way that made me feel the was trying to see my mother through my eyes.
I put my hands on his shoulders, and felt the sharp bones through his coat. “Are you getting anything to eat at all? You’re like a corpse.” I sat next to him and looked into his face, knowing he could not lie to my face like he could if my back was turned. He put his head in his hands and I wrapped my arms around him.
“Work is scarce right now. But it will pick up. I’m gettin’ a bit old for the heavy stuff, and there’s lots more youngsters around these days.” He straightened himself up. “How are you gettin’ on, my love? Cornelius keeping a gentleman?”
“Yes, Da, he knows better than to step out of bounds with me.” I put on a ferocious countenance and raised my delicate fists to fight my phantom attacker.
Da laughed and shook his head “No, I dare say none would tussle with such a fierce angel as yourself. Is the work hard on you?”
“No Da, not at all.” I said. Da was upset that I had taken on a job as barmaid at the London Tavern provided by his old friend, Cornelius Quick. He was angry with himself that he could not keep us both going on what he was bringing in. I also knew the day would come when Da would no longer be able to tolerate the labour or the rough living conditions on the island. We would have to find a different arrangement then. But for now, I was determined he would not see any discontent on my part.
At his request, we settled into the little parlour, where I read to him from a book I had purchased just two days before at the local book merchant. I fixed him a lunch of fresh eggs from Mrs. Lacey’s down the lane with slices from the thick slab of bacon and more of my fluffy thick bread. Just before he left, he pulled a tiny bundle of cloth from his pocket and pressed it into my hand.
“This is for you, Cathy. ” I opened the bundle and stared at the silver chain and cross that lay in the folds of grey muslin. I recognized it and tears flowed down my cheeks. My mother had worn this necklace every day and had cherished it because it had been given to her by her grandmother. But I had not seen it since Ma’s death, and I assumed that it had gone to the grave with her.
“I’m so sorry, Cathy love, but it was the only thing of hers that I could take and carry with me. Forgive me for keeping it this long. But it’s time it was yours.” He put it around my neck and fastened the delicate clasp. “Happy birthday, little girl.”
“Oh Da”, I laughed through the tears “I’m sixteen years old now!”
“But you’ll always be my baby, just like your first day on this Earth.” He hugged me tight then slipped out the door. I watched him from the door until he gave a wave and disappeared from my sight. I touched the cool silver and thought of my mother, and wondered, as I always did, if I would see him again. With a sigh, I went inside to get cleaned up to start my shift ea at the London.
I approached the tavern with a light heart. The work was busy, but not as bad as the hard labour I could have endured on the fishing flakes or on the farms. Mr. Quick regarded me highly, and had an appreciation for a serving girl who could put a drunken mason in his place with a smile. He also remarked often that there was many a man who came just to see me. The London sat looking over Water Street like a reigning kin. Along with the fine ale and food, men of all persuasions and points of view came in to sit at its wooden tables and discuss politics, philosophy, law. I loved to move among the patrons, listening to the voices that swelled against the worn walls.
The summer heat had continued into the evening, and little breeze made its way through the small open windows. As usual, the place was full to the brim and everyone wanted service.
I was serving pints of ale and steaming plates of stew to Mr. MacBraire and Mr. Shea who were embroiled in a heated discussion across the table. Mr. Shea stopped when I put the plate in front of him and asked me whether I thought orphans should be educated. I was shocked for a second, but I immediately replied “Yes, orphans should be educated, as should all children. Only when all children are taught to read and write will we see the end of poverty in our society”. The two men looked at me with shocked amazement, whether at my ideas or my passion I am not sure.
The man at then next table had been sitting alone when I came in. He was of average height, and I estimated him to be thirty years or more. His skin was ruddy, that of a man accustomed to spending long hours in the sun, regardless of the season. His large hands were rough and calloused, and his sandy hair was in need of a good trim. But his clothes were of fine quality and not worn or dull from washing. His black leather boots rose to his knees and were obviously well cared for. One foot rested casually on the empty chair opposite him, next to a shining black felt hat. I left the table of MacBraire and Shea, and noticed that his glass was empty. I stopped to refill it. His grey eyes slanted slightly upward, rimmed with luxuriant black lashes and I was held more firmly by them than the hand he had placed on my arm.
“Sorry sir?” I stammered, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of a blush warming my chest and moving up my neck.
“No more ale for me.” he stated in a low, smooth voice. I turned to leave, but his hand did not change position. “So you think all young ones should be schooled, do you?” His lips curled slightly at me. I was not sure if his amusement was benevolent or not.
I straightened, releasing his grip with a slight flick of my arm that was a required skill in the London. “Yes I do, sir. But that’s just my view. Take it or leave it.”
“And what use would an education be, pray tell, if they are working in the fields or on the water?”
My ire flamed like a candle wick under a match. “Maybe, Sir, if they had some learning the would not be relegated to the wharves and the woods, and the merchants would have to find their slaves elsewhere.” I spun as if to leave.
Suddenly I felt him directly behind me, the full length of his body pressing against my own. His strong fingers clasped my shoulders as he whispered in my ear “Such a strong will for one so lovely. And a brain to boot.” He released me so quickly I almost tumbled to the floor. Yet, as began to move toward the bar, I heard him say gently. “ I meant no offense. I merely wished to know.” When I looked back, his countenance has softened. My humiliation subsided, and I said with a grin “Another then?”
“Only if you are the one who brings it.” He looked around and announced to the room “This enchantress shall be the cause of my drunkenness tonight”.
“Join the crew, my lad, join the crew” Mr. Quick snorted as encouraging hoots and hollers arose from the crowd.
John Smith came into the London Tavern from then on every Thursday, regardless of the weather. He ate his lunch and supper at the tavern, rarely speaking to anyone but me and Mr. Quick. He made a point of speaking to me whenever I brought something to his table, but he never engaged me in more than the usual pleasantries, the weather or the price of fish. Mr. Quick made sure I was the one assigned to serve him each week.
I was filling his ale mug one day when Margret, the other serving maid, sidled up next to me. “That one’s strange one, idn’t he.” She said, nodding her head toward the table under the window where he sat eating his fish and brewis.
“He’s nice enough to me” I said, not liking to gossip. I knew how much could be at stake from loose tongues, so I was careful to keep my own still.
“Ooh, he fair gives me the shivers, the way he glares at ya with them eyes.” Margret shuddered.
I picked up my tray and hoisted it above my head. “At least he doesn’t leave my arse black and blue from mauling me.”
“I’d say he’d do worse if he could.” Margret said as I walked away. Her words reminded me of my first encounter with Mr. Smith, but since that day he had shown nothing of a dark side at all. I approached his table and laid the cup of ale on it. He smiled at me and asked how I was today.
“I am quite fine right now, Sir. It is supposed to be busy here later on, so I’ll take the calm for now.” I picked up his plate and fork and balanced them on my tray.
He sipped from his cup and eyed me over its rim. “What is special about this day?”
“The word is that a group of men are meeting here tonight for the first official meeting of a society intended to further the life and interests of the Irish in the colony. I thought I heard them call it the Benevolent Society of the Irish, or something like that.” My voice betrayed my interest.
“And why would that be of concern to a girl such as yourself.”
“Only because I am Irish myself, sir, and I want to see my own people live in improved circumstances.” Lingering, I wiped the table in front of him with my rag.
He looked over at the bar. “Do you think Mr. Quick would mind if you sat with me a moment?”
For the first time, I sensed self-consciousness in him.
“I probably should not....” I hesitated, glancing around the pub at the busy trade. “We are only permitted to take one small rest at for supper, and Mr. Quick is the one who tells us when we can do so.” I stuffed the rag back into my apron. “I am sorry.”
He looked disturbed for a moment, like a thunderstorm threatening to erupt. But then he grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with amusement. “No apology needed. “
I went about my business for a few minutes with the other customers, whose numbers seemed to have increased significantly in the few minutes that I had been engaged with Mr. Snow. Persons I had never seen before had filled the main room of the London body to body, and from the noise coming from the yard, that too was full. And all wanted ale as soon as I could get it to them.
Suddenly, Mr. Quick appeared at my elbow and steered me away from the crush. “I’ve had a request, Catherine.” He said, low to my ear to be heard over the confusion. I looked at him, confused. Had I done something wrong? His tone was so serious I was afraid I was going to be shown the door.
“What...what is it?” I asked.
“Mr. Snow over there. He’d like you to sit with him”. Mr. Quick’s large head nodded, encouraging her agreement.
I glanced over, and saw him watching us with interest. “He asked me to do so, sir, but I told him I was not available. I am far to busy....”
“Take your supper now, Catherine. It’s alright with me.” Mr. Quick was unusually concerned.
“But the crowd, I mean...”
“He was quite insistent” Mr. Quick waved a handful of notes before my face to emphasize his point.
Somehow, John Snow had managed yet again to rouse anger in me. I was not some whore, whose attention could be bought. I glared at Mr. Quick, feeling the predicament that I was now in with respect to my employment and my morals. He had always treated me fairly, and had not bartered my body like the stories I had heard about other establishments. But still, I was not inclined to be swayed or used because a man had money. “Must I?” I asked.
Mr. Quick looked as if he too was discouraged by this turn of events. “He is a good customer, Catherine. But I swore to your Da I would look out to you. If you find it too strange, I will tell him no. I just thought that you often spoke to him when he came in, so you didn’t find him distasteful.” He patted her arm. “I will talk to him...”
“No, no, it’s alright.” I said, passing him my tray and my apron. “I will sit with him. But the least you can do is bring me a big bowl of that lamb stew. And some bread.” I crossed the floor and stood next to the table, where John Snow sat, grinning like a cat that had caught a lively, plump bird. He looked at me expectantly. I put out my hand “Catherine Mandeville, Sir. “ He shook it and beckoned to the other chair. I remained standing.
“Please have a seat, Catherine.” He said, pushing it out with his tow. I continued to stand. Exasperated, he finally said “Are you going to sit with me or not?”
“I will, Sir, when you pull out my chair for me, as you would any lady you are about to dine with.” I remained straight as a poker. I felt his eyes surveying the ivory swell of my breasts, the trim sweep of my waist to the slender legs that were slightly visible under my full skirt, the curls of black hair that were loose from my bonnet, and the aquamarine eyes that rested on a point just above his head.
He pushed back his chair with a screech and moved the other side of the table. With exaggerated gestures, he pulled the chair out and waved his arm over it with a deep bow. “Madame?”
I sat with all the grace I could muster and waited for him to push the chair in. He leaned over me, planting the tiniest of kisses on the bare flesh of my shoulder exposed by my gown. When I started to rise, he pushed the chair in quickly and whispered. “How could I resist something so inviting?”
Sitting across from me, he raised his glass. “To me, the luckiest man in this room or any other such in the town.” He drank deeply and offered the cup to me. I took it, and drained it defiantly. He laughed and raised his arm to call Margret over. “More ale for me, and for my guest.” He commanded her. She turned away with a snort, and I was unsure what had raised her hackles more, his tone or my apparent leisure. She returned with a pitcher, a glass for me and the food I had requested.
“Sir.” she said, laying the pitcher on the table between us. “Your highness” she hissed at me, letting the plate fall in front of me, causing the stew to splatter on my dress. She waited hand loosely extended, for her tip. Mr. Snow ignored her, and blithely handed me his handkerchief. Finally she was called away by a shout from Mr. Quick for more ale to be brought to the patrons in the corner by the fire. I knew from the glare she tossed over her shoulder at me that I would pay for it all later.
“So, Catherine Mandeville. I have your cherished company all for myself. “ he relaxed against his chair, still smiling.
I could not raise my face to meet his gaze. “I want you to know one thing, Sir.”
“What is that, Catherine Mandeville” he said, pronouncing each syllable with mock emphasis.
My eyes caught his, and the mirth drained from his countenance at my expression.”I am not some chattel you have purchased, nor should you think that because you have paid a price you are able to do as you see fit.” I sipped the ale in front of me to ease the dryness that gripped my throat. “I will sit and I will talk with you for a little while. But I am a paid barmaid, not a paid anything else. Is that clear?”
“Very clear. I had assumed no different. And now I want to set my own conditions.” He straightened up in his chair and leaned in so that his face was only a few inches from my own. “You are to call me John. Not ‘Sir’ Understood?”
Relief washed over me. I let a smile creep onto my lips, and I dug my spoon into the stew, suddenly famished.
For the next two hours, we talked about his land and business operations in a place called Port-de-Grave. While I had never been there, I had heard about its prosperity from the patrons of the London, and many of its merchants and planters stopped here when in St. John’s plying their trade. He talked of his first wife, who had died quite young during her pregnancy with their first child. I listened to him express his regrets at never learning to read, write or do his figures, as he had to rely on someone else to do those things in his business operations. I offered to teach him, and his face shone with delight. He asked how I had learned, and I told him that my mother had been of the Irish ruling families, and had been sent to a convent in France for schooling before she married my Da. I told him a little of my father too, without revealing his current status. I barely noticed the meeting that had begun and concluded during the time we started. I did notice, however, when the lamps were being turned on in the tavern against the ink black night outside the windows.
“I really must get back to my work..” I said, standing up from my chair.
He stood too, and took my hand tenderly. “Thank you.” He said quietly. “Might I walk you home after you are finished here?”
I tried to be gently in my reply. “Not yet. I don’t know you well enough yet.”
“Perhaps then I can hope for the privilege in the future?”
My other hand rested on his for a moment. ”Perhaps.”
“Catherine?” He asked as I started away.
“Yes?”
“Are there any others....any suitors?”
I chuckled . I thought of the young fellows in the pub and the neighborhood who had approached me in modest and immodest ways over the years. I pitied them more than anything and sent them on their way to find girls more suited to their circumstances. I liked my cottage and my freedom far too much. “Now where would I have time for such nonsense!”
He was still smiling when he got up to leave an hour later. He tipped his hat to me and bade me good night. I stood in the window, watching him stride down the street, and looking forward already to next week.
CHAPTER THREE
The months passed through the fall, winter, spring and summer, and then again. John and I continued to talk on the nights he came in. During the fishing season, weeks would pass between his visits. He would come in then like a man dying of thirst. I began to hope it was thirst for me, not ale that made him rush through the door and tear off his cost as he sat down. Mr. Quick let me have my supper with John, regardless of how busy it was. Some of the other girls resented this freedom I had, but I suspected that John continued to give Mr. Quick enough to make it worth the trouble.
I looked for him every time the door to the tavern opened, and felt my heart sink when it was someone else. I hoped to see him when I was out in the town, at the market, the grocers’, the butchers’. My dreams were filled with images of him and the sensations that I imagined he would invoke, and I woke from them breathless and trembling. I confessed my impure thoughts at confession each week, but they did not subside. Father Molloy asked me one week why, if the man about whom I was having these thoughts was not attached, I did not just marry him. There was no answer I could give him, for to his knowledge Da had sailed off to Ireland. I said my allotted Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers and continued to be tortured.
The August night was wrapped in velvet heat. I rushed table to table, trying to keep the customers in ale and wine. I had relinquished my bonnet and now my hair hung in soaked strings down my back. The back of my dress stuck to my shoulder blades. I called out to Josephine, the newest serving girl, that I needed to go out to the well for some water. The night sky was filled with thousands of stars. The heat had not lifted from the town for a week, and the temperaments of its residents showed the nights of tossing and turning, seeking relief. The air was thick with the smell of manure and rotting vegetables. I leaned against the well and took a mouthful of the searingly sweet cold water from the metal cup and let it fall against the wooden post with a clang. I dipped my hand into the bucket and trailed my wet fingers against the skin of my neck, my bosom and my shoulders. A moon peeked through the trees like the full face of a child, grinning in delight. I was enjoying the quiet when suddenly I was grabbed from behind. My eyes and mouth were covered from behind and I could not breath. My attacker’s grip was sure and strong. I tried to scream but my cries could not be heard. I was sure my life was going to end here in the yard of the London, all alone. I fought as hard as I could, kicking, punching, twisting to get away.
At first, I thought his voice was coming from the great beyond. I tried to focus, tried to put the panic back. Then I heard it again.
“It’s only me, luv. ” Da said, loosening his hands. “I didn’t want you to give me away.”
“You scared the life out of me.” I hissed. “What are you doing here?”. My heart was pounding and my breath was coming in ragged gasps. I looked around the yard to see if anyone else had seen him. To be sure, I pulled him over to the side of the carriage house where the shadows were deeper.
“I needed to see you, Cathy.” his words trembled as if he were crying, but I could not see his face in the dark.
“What is it? What’s happened, Da?”
He sat on the pile of wood splits and put his head in his hands. “I got no work anymore. I’m too broke up for the hard stuff, and that’s the only work on the island now. I was never built for heavy labour as it was, and me back hurts so much these days I can scarce get out of the bunk in the morning. I can’t make enough mending a fence here and a floorboard there to feed meself. And this is summer. I won’t make it when the winter comes.”
I knelt in front of him and put my arms around his frail shoulders. He began to sob full out, clinging to me with all his remaining strength. “I am so sorry, my little one, I’ve failed you so bad.”
“When was the last time you ate?” I asked him.
“Two, no three days ago. A bit of meat and some turnip. I’ve been boiling up some of the weeds from around my cabin. The taste is retched, but they fill the hole.”
Tears now fell down my cheeks as I thought of his suffering, and all for me. If he had gone back to Ireland, he could have found decent work as a bookkeeper somewhere they didn’t care about his brand.
“Shhh. None of that now. Now it’s my turn to look after you, huh?” Again, I glanced out into the yard. It was late, and people were starting to come out of the door onto the street. I heard my name being called. “You stay right here until I come to get you. I will be finished up work and we can walk home together.” I turned to go back in, picking up my water bucket as I did so.
For the rest of my shift, I was heavy-hearted. I wanted Da to be looked after, and I had already been worrying about how he would fare in the long winter months I did manage to sneak a bowl of fish stew out to him as we were cleaning up. Finally, I was able to leave, and I went to get him in the darkness. He was sound asleep against the side of the shed, the bowl still sitting in his lap and his rucksack under his head. My heart broke for this man who only a few years ago had a beautiful young gentlewoman for his wife, a daughter he cherished, a sweet little home and a job he enjoyed going to. I gently woke him and we strolled through the quiet streets. The route I took home along the quietest streets allowed me to avoid trouble, which common place for young women out alone in the town. It served us well too, tonight. Da and I talked about the people he had become friends with on the Island, and about some of the local characters. He still had a way of telling a story that used to enchant family and friends at our gatherings and holiday dinners. For a few moments, I was able to forget our circumstances and just remember when we could take such walks in leisure. I took his arm and leaned my head on his shoulder.
“Cathy, is there a reason no young man was waiting to accompany you home tonight? His tone was light, but his concern was close to the surface.
I, too, tried to sound cheery in my response. “I don’t want that, Da, so I don’t invite it.”
“Is it that you don’t want it, or that you don’t invite it because of me?” He stopped and peered at my face in the darkness.
“Da, I like my life the way it is. I don’t answer to anyone. I don’t have to pick up after some fellow home from the water, or feed a host of youngsters. I can stay in bed on my day off if I want and read books and eat bread and jam without worrying about someone telling me not to spill crumbs on the sheets. And I can have all the ideas I want without some husband shutting me up because I am too outspoken.” I patted his arm.
“Cathy, your mother and I were very happy together, and I hope she didn’t see me as a burden or an impediment to her having her own thoughts and opinions. Surely there has been one man who would treat you as I did your mother.”
I thought of John, and a warmth spread over me. I was happy for the night that hid my blush so well. “It wouldn’t matter, Da.” I saw the cottage up ahead and picked up my pace slightly. “Ah, the lights of home.” I planted a kiss on his cheek and snuggled closer to him. “You’re the only man I need in my life for now. Let’s get to the house and get you fed proper and cleaned up.”
Da stayed at the cottage, in the room that had previously been his and Ma’s. He was already looking healthier than he had in years. He talked of finding work again, but we both knew that was a dangerous proposition. His criminal conviction had attracted some attention, and people would connect his face and the brand on his hand very quickly.Da would come to the tavern and wait in the shadows for me to finish my shift and we would walk home together. He was careful to make sure that no one would see signs of his presence in the house when I was not there. Life settled into a new, but comfortable routine.
I had not seen John for weeks, since before Da had returned. I was beginning to wonder if he had started to frequent another public house. When he strolled in on a quiet Saturday afternoon, my heart lifted. I immediately proceeded to his table with a glass of ale. He glanced at me and sat down. My smile was not met with one of his own. “John, can I get you anything to eat?”
The coldness of his response made me blink. “Nothing today, miss. I am not stopping long.”
“Are you busy these days? How has the fishing been?” I asked, hoping to bring him around.
The dark eyes that surveyed me were hard and glittered with anger. “I do not wish to be interrupted.” He looked around the room. “I think you have other customers more inclined to your chatter.”
The sting of his words brought tears to my eyes but I was determined he would not see me that way. I swallowed hard and said. “As you wish, Mr. Snow.” For the first time, I felt the pain in my heart that so many of the poet described, yet had never understood. I wrapped myself in resignation and carried on through the evening. I went about my work, conscious of his presence, more so when he beckoned Genevieve to his table each time he required service. I gritted my teeth each time she tossed her blonde tresses and flashed her pretty little white teeth. He was obviously appreciative of her attentions. Again, tears threatened. I told Mr. Quick I needed to step outside for a breath, and escaped into the solitude of the yard. Leaning against the wall, I finally let them wash hot over my cheeks.
Suddenly he was standing before me in the lamplight. His hands rested on his hips, and his mouth, though stern, held the hint of a smirk. I turned away from him, not wanting him to see my tear-bloated face or red nose.
“Why the tears, Catherine? It is because you cannot have your cake and eat it too?”
“What are you talking about?” I sniffed, trying to wipe my face with my handkerchief.
He huffed. “You are quite good at acting the innocent, if I do say. Perhaps there is a troupe of dramatists about seeking a leading lady.”
I wheeled to face him full on. “If you are going to accuse me of being false, John Snow, then you had better explain why in clear language.” My hands now too were on my hips.
“I had thought you bright enough to understand. My apologies.” He placed his hands on the wall behind me, entrapping me with his powerful arms. “You tease me and lead me on, and hold me at arms length.” In a mocking falsetto, he said “ ‘Oh no, John, you cannot walk me home, I do not know you well enough...what, other suitors, who me, of course not.’ So I bide my time and treat you gently, because I believe you are worth my patience and my time.” He leaned in, his breath was hot on my face, and his words shot at me like daggers. “But now I find out another has beaten me to your affections. Without some word from you that I have been a fool, hoping in vain.” He pushed his body against mine, forcing me into the side of the tavern. “Perhaps I should have just taken you the first night. I had purchased you, after all.”
I was sobbing now, from heartache and fear. “I don’t know what you are talking about. There is no one else. I speak the truth, John. No one.”
He stepped away from me, and I felt the sudden void between us.”Then who is the phantom who walks you to your home each night?” He grinned cruelly at my startled expression.”Yes, I have been watching you for weeks. I came by late one night, my business taking longer than I had expected. Hoping to see you. But Quick said you had just left, and on my inquiry he said that you had proceeded down Mullett’s Lane. I rushed off after you, thinking perhaps that you would finally permit me to accompany you. And I did catch up to you. Or at least I saw you up ahead. I knew it was you from your laughter. But I also saw you on the arm of a man. A man that you patted, and cuddled and kissed.” He turned from me, his broad back to me. “You could have told me I had no chance.”
My heart was racing. Did I confess that I was harbouring my fugitive father and risk him turning Da in, or lie and say that I was in a romance with some stranger. Either way I risked losing John’s affections, and my Da could end up exiled, jailed or worse. I bowed my head and collapsed to sit on the dirt of the yard, completely spent. My father had given so much for me. I could not betray him for the trifle of a man’s flattery.
John’s face softened with concern. “I have been too hard.” He took my hand. “If you love another, just say. As long as I still have a chance to win you.”
I shook my head. I could not speak any more. I was weary of the burdens I had borne for so long. I just wanted my peace. Finally I dragged the words up. “John, it is no good. It is not what you think, but I cannot say. There is no one else. There will not be anyone. Not for a long time.”
He looked confused, but I could not relieve him.”Go, find another. I am not able to return your attentions. ” I stood up, and he scrambled up too. As I went into the tavern, I said over my shoulder. “It is not for the lack of wanting that I tell you to go. I have other things I must attend to.”
I saw John no more that night, or in the many nights to come. I chastised myself when my thoughts turned to him. There was no future in it anyway, with Da home and me keeping us both going, much less him away from the eyes of the law. I had to take on more shifts at the London and I started to teach reading to some of the merchant’s children in the mornings. There was no other way to keep Da and I in the cottage, and clothed and fed. I was too weary even to keep up the garden. All I seemed to do was change from the clothes I wore to work into my night gown before collapsing into deep sleep. Eventually the dreams of John decreased in frequency. Da was content in the renewed comfort of his surroundings. Months passed, and then years. The young men who had sought me out gradually settled down, and those who did inquire soon discovered that I was not so inclined. I overheard a planter from Cupids, new to the London, ask after me. The others at his table laughed at his ardent interest.
“Beautiful, yes, and even kind.” Phineus Marshall said as I passed. “You’d have to climb up the ivory tower first.”
“I’ve got an ivory tower for her”, Bert Hickey guffawed, making lewd gestures with his big, fleshy hands. My stomach roiled at the thought of him, and at being discussed so openly.
“I’d say it would freeze off before you got the job done.” said Marshall, and they all joined in the laughter.
My cousins got married, one by one, and their families grew. I was a favourite minder for them, and I took every opportunity I could to be in their company. I could forget for a while that my youth was passing when I was with them. Younger barmaids came, and then left as they too got married or had children, or both. The days stretched into months, and then years. I settled into a kind of contentment born of hard work and keeping our heads above water.
I did hear news of John through the years, from the other planters that came to town from Harbour Grace, Bareneed and Port de Grave. There was talk of a young maid who had moved into his house with him, and stayed for a couple of years. Pretty, they said, but not a very smart thing. She seemed ready to settle down with him and have a family, but the next thing anyone knew she was gone, stolen off into the night with a fisherman from Bristols’ Hope, they said. After that, the stories spoke of the expansion of his business empire, and of the vigour of his insistence that his employees work as hard as he did. I tried not to listen, but my heart wanted so much just to know that he was faring well. Those were the only nights that I dreamt of John anymore, but the dreams were of seeking his elusive form in a thick fog, catching glimpses of his face, and then suddenly having him in front of me, angry and murderous as he had been on that last night. Da heard my cries in the night, I was sure, but he asked nothing of me.
My hands grew more rough with the work at the London and in our little vegetable garden. My ivory skin browned in the sun. I trimmed my once trailing locks to my shoulders, caring little for the conventions of polite society with respect to such things. My life drifted into a pattern I anticipated would continue for the remainder of my days. The loneliness settled over me like a blanket of snow, and I grew accustomed to its chill.
CHAPTER FOUR
My basket was nearly full as I made my way around the market. I had some lovely carrots and a few potatoes for tonight’s supper, but I wanted something special to mark Da’s birthday supper. I thought to make a nice cake for him, so I was engrossed in making sure I had everything I needed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone looking my way. When he stepped out from behind the post, my heart froze. I had not seen John at all since that night. I had tried not to even picture him in my mind. Now he was standing before me. His handsome face made the chasm of loneliness open wide before me. I wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms. I smiled, and waited for his response.
“Catherine Mandeville. One never knows who you will meet, even as the town grows larger.” He said with a forced courtesy. He bowed slightly to her.
“How are you?” I asked, not able to let this moment with him end prematurely.
His clothing was new and of fine quality, as usual. The fishery in that area had prospered, I knew, and the price of salt fish had risen in the foreign markets. “I am well. Some say I work too hard, but what else have I to take my time?” He peered into my face.”And you?”
I wanted to say that I was lonely, that I missed his company. But I could not in such a public place. “I have been teaching.” I said.
He stepped closer to me, and his hand came to rest on my elbow. “Do you have time for a cup of tea? There is a tea room around the corner from here?” I glanced at the clock on the shop wall. “Just a few minutes?”
I concluded my purchases and John took the paper-wrapped packages by the string as we left. We settled onto the brocade chairs of the ‘Blooming Rose’. John ordered a pot of tea and scones for us both. As soon as the waitress left, he leaned over the table and took my hand in his. “Are you okay, Catherine? You look tired. Are you well?”
I mustered a cheerful little grin.”I have been working hard.” I sipped the strong hot tea, trying hard to convince myself that I was sitting with John again. The time that had passed seemed to melt away. He asked about the children I was teaching, and laughed at my parody of Madame Hutchingson, the mother of a group of six children who was more convinced of their brilliance than my experience had borne out. He told me about how he had been able to expand his fish stores, and had also built a brand new house on his land. He was in the process of purchasing new furnishings, which was the purpose of his trip this time. We finished the scones and he wanted to order more.
“Oh, look at the time.” I exclaimed. “I have to get home!” I stood up and picked up my bundles. He stood with me. “May I walk you home? I mean if that is not to bold to ask.”
I gazed into his face, and knew what my answer would be. “Yes.” I said. He took my packages, and offered his arm to me as we walked out into the sunshine together. Our stroll to Tarranhan’s Town was pleasant. The buds were coming out on the trees at the behest of the early spring weather, and the sky was the blue of a Wedgewood plate. Everything that I had thought so impossible now seemed essential.
We stood by the wrought iron gate, not wanting to part company. I needed to explain things to him and trust he would understand. I led him to the garden, and sat next to him on the stone bench under the hedge. As the afternoon waned, I told him about Ma, and Da. I told him about Da’s years as a fugitive, and my need to protect and care for him. I told him about Da coming from the island and how I harboured him in the cottage. All the while, John sat in silence.
“I understand if this changes your feelings about me.” I put my hands in my lap and clasped them to stop their shaking. “But I do ask that you keep my Da’s secret. If you care at all about me.”
He sat completely still, and stared out over the sliver of the harbour visible between the houses. Then he turned back to me and took my hands. “Of course I will keep the secret.” He paused. “I have missed you Catherine.”
“And I’ve missed you.” It felt good, after all this time, so say how I felt. “I have to go in now.” I said, remembering the preparations I still had to complete for Da’s celebration. A thought struck me. “Would you be our guest for dinner tonight? It’s my Da’s birthday, but it’s just the two of us, of course. He would love the company.”
“And you?” John asked.
“I would too.” I headed toward the back door, and beckoned him to follow. “You can peel the potatoes.”
I was right. Da thoroughly enjoyed having another person to talk to, especially another man. Da asked John question after question about politics, the goings on in the fishery, and even the latest games of sport enjoyed by the men in St. John’s. I served them a roast leg of pork, potatoes and carrots dripping with butter, crusty rolls, salt pork and cabbage. The highlight was the cake I had made from blueberries I picked on the hill high above the village of Quidi Vidi, with a sweet rum sauce. I found them both lounging against the back of their chairs, legs out, contented looks on both their faces. A swell of happiness washed over me, and some hope that perhaps our lives could take a turn for the better.
John finished his glass of brandy and made his apologies. “I do have some business to attend to on this trip, as tempting as it is to stay here.” He tipped his hat. “Good night to you sir and Happy Birthday.”
I walked him to the gate. The entire city glowed gold in the fading light of the day. “Catherine, thank you.”
“You are welcome. And I would not object if you wished to walk me home from the London some night. You and Da can talk on the way.” I teased.
His long fingers stroked my upper arm. “Catherine, let me help you both. I have room and means. ”
“Oh, John, that is so tempting. But we’re doing fine. much better than we were this morning, in fact.”
“My offer is always open. Just say the word.” He kissed my hand and bowed deep. “Good night, Catherine Mandeville.”
When I went inside, Da was tidying up the dishes. “Thank you, my luv, for such a lovely party.”
“You’re welcome.” I said, gathering up the plates, cups and spoons.
“So you like this fella, John.”He took the dished from me and carried them to the sink.
“I do, Da.”
“A father wants nothing more than to see his daughter happy.” he said. “I just hope he is good enough for you.”
“You’re talking like I’m some prize, Da.” I sat at the table, and Mittens jumped into my lap. I stroked her long, soft fur.
“Of course you are. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”
“Da, you’re foolish, you know that.”
He squat in front of me and looked into my face. “I know I’m the one who asks you all the time when you are going to settle down, but I want you to be careful.”
I chuckled. “I think I can take care of myself.”
“I just couldn’t bear for something to happen to you.”
“Oh, Da, you worry too much. I will be fine.” I stood up and scooped Mittens into my arms.
“All right, all right. “ He winked at me. “Go on to bed. I’ll straighten away the rest of this.”
I lay in my bed, looking out at the night sky. As I wished on the first star that shone through the darkness, I did not care that it was a childish thing to do.
/lorisavorysblog.blogspot.com/">Day Two NaNoWriMo
August, 1806
My eyes opened to the soft light of morning spreading over the worn patchwork quilt and across Mittens, the grey tabby that shared my bed. I turned my head and from the tiny attic window I saw the arc of the harbour and the boats swaying through the Narrows. Stretching my fingers and toes as far as I could, I soak in the solitude of the morning. The horses on the street outside whined and snorted. I wanted to stay here for just a minute more, but with a sigh I rose. The clock on my dresser said that it was already seven o’clock. I had slept too long already. The London opened in five hours and I had to ready to ready for Father’s arrival today. I pushed back the covers and tugged my nightgown over my head. The water in my wash basin was cool against my sleep-warm skin. I pulled on my shift, stockings and the brown cotton dress with the low neckline that Mr. Quick preferred I wear. If it garnered more tips for me, all the better. I made my way downstairs, with Mittens weaving around my ankles. Her insistent mews told me she was as hungry as I.
The humidity was heavy in spite of the early hour. I coated a slice of thick white bread with butter and made my way around the kitchen. In spite of the heat and the hour, I set about cleaning and straightening the two small rooms that made up the first floor. I loved living in the cottage on Tarranhan’s Town by myself. If Father came and found the house out of order, he might think it was too much for me to look after the house and to work at the London too. Then he might think we would have to find another way to life. I had been doing this for three years and I was determined to carry on. I surveyed my work and, satisfied, I finally sat to my cup of tea. Mittens strolled across the table in front of me, expecting my strokes and admiring words.
Da had sent me to live with Aunt Josephine and Uncle George when the doctor first diagnosed Mama with influenza. I was only ten, and could not understand my sudden banishment. I snuck in one afternoon, and crept up the stairs while Da was in the outhouse emptying her chamber pot. She had winked at me as I peaked up over the end of her bed, her blue eyes brighter than normal from fever. Her black hair lay lank on the pillow around her chalk white face. He caught me and drove me out with a rage I had never seen from him. He had nursed her himself, fed her broth by the spoonful, washed her wasted body. Because he refused to leave her, he lost his position as bookkeeper with Saunders and Company.
That was when it had all started to go wrong. Da had gone to the doctor's house at ten o’clock the night Ma started to vomit blood. The doctor, in his paisley silk dressing gown, sternly attend her without payment. Desperate, Da wandered the streets that rimmed the harbour, torn between leaving Ma alone and not wanting to return without some help for her. He found himself, out of habit or perhaps black providence, standing before the premises of his former employer. He put his hands in his pockets to warm them against the October chill. His fingers curled around a singular key on a brass ring, forgotten in the circumstances that had led to his termination. He knew where Caleb Saunders kept his additional coin and valuables. Da entered the employee’s entrance, a faded yellow door off the alley. The hatch in the floor under the rug in Saunders’ large office was as he remembered it. He took only enough to pay the doctor’s bill. He ran down Duckworth Street and up Cochrane Street to Dr. Howe’s house, and battered the door with his fists, still clutching the notes in his hand. Finally sensing Da’s desperation, the physician pulled on his wool coat over his pyjamas and had his driver take them in his carriage to the little bungalow.
But Ma did not make it to the morning. Da lay on the floor next to her bed not moving until the next afternoon. At precisely two o'clock, he got up and went directly to the constable. While he was being charged with theft, Ma was carried off to the mortuary. We buried her two days later, when Da was let out for the funeral. When it was all said and done, he pleaded guilty and asked for mercy. The magistrate did show him that, forgiving him the forty lashes to which most thieves were subject, and merely banished him from the colony. But Da’s hand would forever carry the R branded into his flesh that marked him a thief.
Da’s passage was arranged on a schooner headed to Galway. I went to the waterfront to see him off, and tried my best to be his brave Cathy. When he bent to kiss me good bye, it was more than I could bear. I ran away from his outstretched arms, up the hill to Barnes Road , my lungs screaming for air and the tears burning my face in the frigid wind. That night Da made sure he sat with the Captain and shared a bottle of rum he had carefully tucked away in his pack. Da related his story and the Captain, who had a wife and four daughters in Brighton, was more than willing to give him a row boat and let him off in the dead of night near Cape Race.
He showed up at Joyce’s a week after he left. The sound of his voice made me tremble with relief that he was not an apparition. I had been feeling the dark walls of my grief closing in at the loss of them both. He told me that he couldn’t leave me, even on pain of arrest. In his work with Saunders, he had made acquaintance with a number of Catholics from Bell Island, who had offered up their hospitality each time they met. He had gone to them and they had set him up in a lean to on the north side of the island. He had managed to secure hobble work on Belle Island for some Papist merchants who were more interested in his labour than his legal statu. He sent money for my keep and as often as he could, he would come to the town to see me.
In the first weeks following his return, I tried to be happy in my aunt and uncle’s household, but I felt like a burden. I missed the little house that my parents and I had occupied like a separate universe. As often as I could get away from caring for my young cousins, I went to Tarranhan’s Town. My father had given me a key, and I started going in and staying as long as I could. I loved to spent the afternoons looking at my mother’s things, making myself cups of tea in the fine china cup she had brought with her from the mother country, taking weeds out of her garden. Those days were precious to me, and the older I got, the more time I spent there. Da found me there one afternoon, dressed in my mother’s one fancy dress, reading her favorite book of poetry, just as she had taught me. His shock was soon overcome by the realization that this was where I needed to be. From that day on, he allowed me to stay in the cottage, under the watchful eye of the neighbors, the priest and my Uncle George.
At exactly eight o’clock, Da appeared through the back door from the garden. He carried his wool cap crumpled in this hand. His grey coat was dusty and the pockets were hanging off. His eyes filled with tears at the sight of me. “Now Da, don’t be crying’. I’m alright.” I nudged him gently into a chair and filled a mug with hot tea. “Here, have this. It will perk you up.”
“Don’t mind me foolishness, Cathy” he said, waving a worn, brown hand at me. I quickly sliced him prepared some bread, butter and jam for him. He took a large bite, a sip of tea. and let his head fall back in utter contentment. “Now that makes it all worthwhile.” He turned his head to me where I stood at the stove “Like I said, Cath, don’t mind me. It’s just I miss you so. And her.” He took my face in his hands and examined it in a way that made me feel the was trying to see my mother through my eyes.
I put my hands on his shoulders, and felt the sharp bones through his coat. “Are you getting anything to eat at all? You’re like a corpse.” I sat next to him and looked into his face, knowing he could not lie to my face like he could if my back was turned. He put his head in his hands and I wrapped my arms around him.
“Work is scarce right now. But it will pick up. I’m gettin’ a bit old for the heavy stuff, and there’s lots more youngsters around these days.” He straightened himself up. “How are you gettin’ on, my love? Cornelius keeping a gentleman?”
“Yes, Da, he knows better than to step out of bounds with me.” I put on a ferocious countenance and raised my delicate fists to fight my phantom attacker.
Da laughed and shook his head “No, I dare say none would tussle with such a fierce angel as yourself. Is the work hard on you?”
“No Da, not at all.” I said. Da was upset that I had taken on a job as barmaid at the London Tavern provided by his old friend, Cornelius Quick. He was angry with himself that he could not keep us both going on what he was bringing in. I also knew the day would come when Da would no longer be able to tolerate the labour or the rough living conditions on the island. We would have to find a different arrangement then. But for now, I was determined he would not see any discontent on my part.
At his request, we settled into the little parlour, where I read to him from a book I had purchased just two days before at the local book merchant. I fixed him a lunch of fresh eggs from Mrs. Lacey’s down the lane with slices from the thick slab of bacon and more of my fluffy thick bread. Just before he left, he pulled a tiny bundle of cloth from his pocket and pressed it into my hand.
“This is for you, Cathy. ” I opened the bundle and stared at the silver chain and cross that lay in the folds of grey muslin. I recognized it and tears flowed down my cheeks. My mother had worn this necklace every day and had cherished it because it had been given to her by her grandmother. But I had not seen it since Ma’s death, and I assumed that it had gone to the grave with her.
“I’m so sorry, Cathy love, but it was the only thing of hers that I could take and carry with me. Forgive me for keeping it this long. But it’s time it was yours.” He put it around my neck and fastened the delicate clasp. “Happy birthday, little girl.”
“Oh Da”, I laughed through the tears “I’m sixteen years old now!”
“But you’ll always be my baby, just like your first day on this Earth.” He hugged me tight then slipped out the door. I watched him from the door until he gave a wave and disappeared from my sight. I touched the cool silver and thought of my mother, and wondered, as I always did, if I would see him again. With a sigh, I went inside to get cleaned up to start my shift ea at the London.
I approached the tavern with a light heart. The work was busy, but not as bad as the hard labour I could have endured on the fishing flakes or on the farms. Mr. Quick regarded me highly, and had an appreciation for a serving girl who could put a drunken mason in his place with a smile. He also remarked often that there was many a man who came just to see me. The London sat looking over Water Street like a reigning kin. Along with the fine ale and food, men of all persuasions and points of view came in to sit at its wooden tables and discuss politics, philosophy, law. I loved to move among the patrons, listening to the voices that swelled against the worn walls.
The summer heat had continued into the evening, and little breeze made its way through the small open windows. As usual, the place was full to the brim and everyone wanted service.
I was serving pints of ale and steaming plates of stew to Mr. MacBraire and Mr. Shea who were embroiled in a heated discussion across the table. Mr. Shea stopped when I put the plate in front of him and asked me whether I thought orphans should be educated. I was shocked for a second, but I immediately replied “Yes, orphans should be educated, as should all children. Only when all children are taught to read and write will we see the end of poverty in our society”. The two men looked at me with shocked amazement, whether at my ideas or my passion I am not sure.
The man at then next table had been sitting alone when I came in. He was of average height, and I estimated him to be thirty years or more. His skin was ruddy, that of a man accustomed to spending long hours in the sun, regardless of the season. His large hands were rough and calloused, and his sandy hair was in need of a good trim. But his clothes were of fine quality and not worn or dull from washing. His black leather boots rose to his knees and were obviously well cared for. One foot rested casually on the empty chair opposite him, next to a shining black felt hat. I left the table of MacBraire and Shea, and noticed that his glass was empty. I stopped to refill it. His grey eyes slanted slightly upward, rimmed with luxuriant black lashes and I was held more firmly by them than the hand he had placed on my arm.
“Sorry sir?” I stammered, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of a blush warming my chest and moving up my neck.
“No more ale for me.” he stated in a low, smooth voice. I turned to leave, but his hand did not change position. “So you think all young ones should be schooled, do you?” His lips curled slightly at me. I was not sure if his amusement was benevolent or not.
I straightened, releasing his grip with a slight flick of my arm that was a required skill in the London. “Yes I do, sir. But that’s just my view. Take it or leave it.”
“And what use would an education be, pray tell, if they are working in the fields or on the water?”
My ire flamed like a candle wick under a match. “Maybe, Sir, if they had some learning the would not be relegated to the wharves and the woods, and the merchants would have to find their slaves elsewhere.” I spun as if to leave.
Suddenly I felt him directly behind me, the full length of his body pressing against my own. His strong fingers clasped my shoulders as he whispered in my ear “Such a strong will for one so lovely. And a brain to boot.” He released me so quickly I almost tumbled to the floor. Yet, as began to move toward the bar, I heard him say gently. “ I meant no offense. I merely wished to know.” When I looked back, his countenance has softened. My humiliation subsided, and I said with a grin “Another then?”
“Only if you are the one who brings it.” He looked around and announced to the room “This enchantress shall be the cause of my drunkenness tonight”.
“Join the crew, my lad, join the crew” Mr. Quick snorted as encouraging hoots and hollers arose from the crowd.
John Smith came into the London Tavern from then on every Thursday, regardless of the weather. He ate his lunch and supper at the tavern, rarely speaking to anyone but me and Mr. Quick. He made a point of speaking to me whenever I brought something to his table, but he never engaged me in more than the usual pleasantries, the weather or the price of fish. Mr. Quick made sure I was the one assigned to serve him each week.
I was filling his ale mug one day when Margret, the other serving maid, sidled up next to me. “That one’s strange one, idn’t he.” She said, nodding her head toward the table under the window where he sat eating his fish and brewis.
“He’s nice enough to me” I said, not liking to gossip. I knew how much could be at stake from loose tongues, so I was careful to keep my own still.
“Ooh, he fair gives me the shivers, the way he glares at ya with them eyes.” Margret shuddered.
I picked up my tray and hoisted it above my head. “At least he doesn’t leave my arse black and blue from mauling me.”
“I’d say he’d do worse if he could.” Margret said as I walked away. Her words reminded me of my first encounter with Mr. Smith, but since that day he had shown nothing of a dark side at all. I approached his table and laid the cup of ale on it. He smiled at me and asked how I was today.
“I am quite fine right now, Sir. It is supposed to be busy here later on, so I’ll take the calm for now.” I picked up his plate and fork and balanced them on my tray.
He sipped from his cup and eyed me over its rim. “What is special about this day?”
“The word is that a group of men are meeting here tonight for the first official meeting of a society intended to further the life and interests of the Irish in the colony. I thought I heard them call it the Benevolent Society of the Irish, or something like that.” My voice betrayed my interest.
“And why would that be of concern to a girl such as yourself.”
“Only because I am Irish myself, sir, and I want to see my own people live in improved circumstances.” Lingering, I wiped the table in front of him with my rag.
He looked over at the bar. “Do you think Mr. Quick would mind if you sat with me a moment?”
For the first time, I sensed self-consciousness in him.
“I probably should not....” I hesitated, glancing around the pub at the busy trade. “We are only permitted to take one small rest at for supper, and Mr. Quick is the one who tells us when we can do so.” I stuffed the rag back into my apron. “I am sorry.”
He looked disturbed for a moment, like a thunderstorm threatening to erupt. But then he grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with amusement. “No apology needed. “
I went about my business for a few minutes with the other customers, whose numbers seemed to have increased significantly in the few minutes that I had been engaged with Mr. Snow. Persons I had never seen before had filled the main room of the London body to body, and from the noise coming from the yard, that too was full. And all wanted ale as soon as I could get it to them.
Suddenly, Mr. Quick appeared at my elbow and steered me away from the crush. “I’ve had a request, Catherine.” He said, low to my ear to be heard over the confusion. I looked at him, confused. Had I done something wrong? His tone was so serious I was afraid I was going to be shown the door.
“What...what is it?” I asked.
“Mr. Snow over there. He’d like you to sit with him”. Mr. Quick’s large head nodded, encouraging her agreement.
I glanced over, and saw him watching us with interest. “He asked me to do so, sir, but I told him I was not available. I am far to busy....”
“Take your supper now, Catherine. It’s alright with me.” Mr. Quick was unusually concerned.
“But the crowd, I mean...”
“He was quite insistent” Mr. Quick waved a handful of notes before my face to emphasize his point.
Somehow, John Snow had managed yet again to rouse anger in me. I was not some whore, whose attention could be bought. I glared at Mr. Quick, feeling the predicament that I was now in with respect to my employment and my morals. He had always treated me fairly, and had not bartered my body like the stories I had heard about other establishments. But still, I was not inclined to be swayed or used because a man had money. “Must I?” I asked.
Mr. Quick looked as if he too was discouraged by this turn of events. “He is a good customer, Catherine. But I swore to your Da I would look out to you. If you find it too strange, I will tell him no. I just thought that you often spoke to him when he came in, so you didn’t find him distasteful.” He patted her arm. “I will talk to him...”
“No, no, it’s alright.” I said, passing him my tray and my apron. “I will sit with him. But the least you can do is bring me a big bowl of that lamb stew. And some bread.” I crossed the floor and stood next to the table, where John Snow sat, grinning like a cat that had caught a lively, plump bird. He looked at me expectantly. I put out my hand “Catherine Mandeville, Sir. “ He shook it and beckoned to the other chair. I remained standing.
“Please have a seat, Catherine.” He said, pushing it out with his tow. I continued to stand. Exasperated, he finally said “Are you going to sit with me or not?”
“I will, Sir, when you pull out my chair for me, as you would any lady you are about to dine with.” I remained straight as a poker. I felt his eyes surveying the ivory swell of my breasts, the trim sweep of my waist to the slender legs that were slightly visible under my full skirt, the curls of black hair that were loose from my bonnet, and the aquamarine eyes that rested on a point just above his head.
He pushed back his chair with a screech and moved the other side of the table. With exaggerated gestures, he pulled the chair out and waved his arm over it with a deep bow. “Madame?”
I sat with all the grace I could muster and waited for him to push the chair in. He leaned over me, planting the tiniest of kisses on the bare flesh of my shoulder exposed by my gown. When I started to rise, he pushed the chair in quickly and whispered. “How could I resist something so inviting?”
Sitting across from me, he raised his glass. “To me, the luckiest man in this room or any other such in the town.” He drank deeply and offered the cup to me. I took it, and drained it defiantly. He laughed and raised his arm to call Margret over. “More ale for me, and for my guest.” He commanded her. She turned away with a snort, and I was unsure what had raised her hackles more, his tone or my apparent leisure. She returned with a pitcher, a glass for me and the food I had requested.
“Sir.” she said, laying the pitcher on the table between us. “Your highness” she hissed at me, letting the plate fall in front of me, causing the stew to splatter on my dress. She waited hand loosely extended, for her tip. Mr. Snow ignored her, and blithely handed me his handkerchief. Finally she was called away by a shout from Mr. Quick for more ale to be brought to the patrons in the corner by the fire. I knew from the glare she tossed over her shoulder at me that I would pay for it all later.
“So, Catherine Mandeville. I have your cherished company all for myself. “ he relaxed against his chair, still smiling.
I could not raise my face to meet his gaze. “I want you to know one thing, Sir.”
“What is that, Catherine Mandeville” he said, pronouncing each syllable with mock emphasis.
My eyes caught his, and the mirth drained from his countenance at my expression.”I am not some chattel you have purchased, nor should you think that because you have paid a price you are able to do as you see fit.” I sipped the ale in front of me to ease the dryness that gripped my throat. “I will sit and I will talk with you for a little while. But I am a paid barmaid, not a paid anything else. Is that clear?”
“Very clear. I had assumed no different. And now I want to set my own conditions.” He straightened up in his chair and leaned in so that his face was only a few inches from my own. “You are to call me John. Not ‘Sir’ Understood?”
Relief washed over me. I let a smile creep onto my lips, and I dug my spoon into the stew, suddenly famished.
For the next two hours, we talked about his land and business operations in a place called Port-de-Grave. While I had never been there, I had heard about its prosperity from the patrons of the London, and many of its merchants and planters stopped here when in St. John’s plying their trade. He talked of his first wife, who had died quite young during her pregnancy with their first child. I listened to him express his regrets at never learning to read, write or do his figures, as he had to rely on someone else to do those things in his business operations. I offered to teach him, and his face shone with delight. He asked how I had learned, and I told him that my mother had been of the Irish ruling families, and had been sent to a convent in France for schooling before she married my Da. I told him a little of my father too, without revealing his current status. I barely noticed the meeting that had begun and concluded during the time we started. I did notice, however, when the lamps were being turned on in the tavern against the ink black night outside the windows.
“I really must get back to my work..” I said, standing up from my chair.
He stood too, and took my hand tenderly. “Thank you.” He said quietly. “Might I walk you home after you are finished here?”
I tried to be gently in my reply. “Not yet. I don’t know you well enough yet.”
“Perhaps then I can hope for the privilege in the future?”
My other hand rested on his for a moment. ”Perhaps.”
“Catherine?” He asked as I started away.
“Yes?”
“Are there any others....any suitors?”
I chuckled . I thought of the young fellows in the pub and the neighborhood who had approached me in modest and immodest ways over the years. I pitied them more than anything and sent them on their way to find girls more suited to their circumstances. I liked my cottage and my freedom far too much. “Now where would I have time for such nonsense!”
He was still smiling when he got up to leave an hour later. He tipped his hat to me and bade me good night. I stood in the window, watching him stride down the street, and looking forward already to next week.
CHAPTER THREE
The months passed through the fall, winter, spring and summer, and then again. John and I continued to talk on the nights he came in. During the fishing season, weeks would pass between his visits. He would come in then like a man dying of thirst. I began to hope it was thirst for me, not ale that made him rush through the door and tear off his cost as he sat down. Mr. Quick let me have my supper with John, regardless of how busy it was. Some of the other girls resented this freedom I had, but I suspected that John continued to give Mr. Quick enough to make it worth the trouble.
I looked for him every time the door to the tavern opened, and felt my heart sink when it was someone else. I hoped to see him when I was out in the town, at the market, the grocers’, the butchers’. My dreams were filled with images of him and the sensations that I imagined he would invoke, and I woke from them breathless and trembling. I confessed my impure thoughts at confession each week, but they did not subside. Father Molloy asked me one week why, if the man about whom I was having these thoughts was not attached, I did not just marry him. There was no answer I could give him, for to his knowledge Da had sailed off to Ireland. I said my allotted Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers and continued to be tortured.
The August night was wrapped in velvet heat. I rushed table to table, trying to keep the customers in ale and wine. I had relinquished my bonnet and now my hair hung in soaked strings down my back. The back of my dress stuck to my shoulder blades. I called out to Josephine, the newest serving girl, that I needed to go out to the well for some water. The night sky was filled with thousands of stars. The heat had not lifted from the town for a week, and the temperaments of its residents showed the nights of tossing and turning, seeking relief. The air was thick with the smell of manure and rotting vegetables. I leaned against the well and took a mouthful of the searingly sweet cold water from the metal cup and let it fall against the wooden post with a clang. I dipped my hand into the bucket and trailed my wet fingers against the skin of my neck, my bosom and my shoulders. A moon peeked through the trees like the full face of a child, grinning in delight. I was enjoying the quiet when suddenly I was grabbed from behind. My eyes and mouth were covered from behind and I could not breath. My attacker’s grip was sure and strong. I tried to scream but my cries could not be heard. I was sure my life was going to end here in the yard of the London, all alone. I fought as hard as I could, kicking, punching, twisting to get away.
At first, I thought his voice was coming from the great beyond. I tried to focus, tried to put the panic back. Then I heard it again.
“It’s only me, luv. ” Da said, loosening his hands. “I didn’t want you to give me away.”
“You scared the life out of me.” I hissed. “What are you doing here?”. My heart was pounding and my breath was coming in ragged gasps. I looked around the yard to see if anyone else had seen him. To be sure, I pulled him over to the side of the carriage house where the shadows were deeper.
“I needed to see you, Cathy.” his words trembled as if he were crying, but I could not see his face in the dark.
“What is it? What’s happened, Da?”
He sat on the pile of wood splits and put his head in his hands. “I got no work anymore. I’m too broke up for the hard stuff, and that’s the only work on the island now. I was never built for heavy labour as it was, and me back hurts so much these days I can scarce get out of the bunk in the morning. I can’t make enough mending a fence here and a floorboard there to feed meself. And this is summer. I won’t make it when the winter comes.”
I knelt in front of him and put my arms around his frail shoulders. He began to sob full out, clinging to me with all his remaining strength. “I am so sorry, my little one, I’ve failed you so bad.”
“When was the last time you ate?” I asked him.
“Two, no three days ago. A bit of meat and some turnip. I’ve been boiling up some of the weeds from around my cabin. The taste is retched, but they fill the hole.”
Tears now fell down my cheeks as I thought of his suffering, and all for me. If he had gone back to Ireland, he could have found decent work as a bookkeeper somewhere they didn’t care about his brand.
“Shhh. None of that now. Now it’s my turn to look after you, huh?” Again, I glanced out into the yard. It was late, and people were starting to come out of the door onto the street. I heard my name being called. “You stay right here until I come to get you. I will be finished up work and we can walk home together.” I turned to go back in, picking up my water bucket as I did so.
For the rest of my shift, I was heavy-hearted. I wanted Da to be looked after, and I had already been worrying about how he would fare in the long winter months I did manage to sneak a bowl of fish stew out to him as we were cleaning up. Finally, I was able to leave, and I went to get him in the darkness. He was sound asleep against the side of the shed, the bowl still sitting in his lap and his rucksack under his head. My heart broke for this man who only a few years ago had a beautiful young gentlewoman for his wife, a daughter he cherished, a sweet little home and a job he enjoyed going to. I gently woke him and we strolled through the quiet streets. The route I took home along the quietest streets allowed me to avoid trouble, which common place for young women out alone in the town. It served us well too, tonight. Da and I talked about the people he had become friends with on the Island, and about some of the local characters. He still had a way of telling a story that used to enchant family and friends at our gatherings and holiday dinners. For a few moments, I was able to forget our circumstances and just remember when we could take such walks in leisure. I took his arm and leaned my head on his shoulder.
“Cathy, is there a reason no young man was waiting to accompany you home tonight? His tone was light, but his concern was close to the surface.
I, too, tried to sound cheery in my response. “I don’t want that, Da, so I don’t invite it.”
“Is it that you don’t want it, or that you don’t invite it because of me?” He stopped and peered at my face in the darkness.
“Da, I like my life the way it is. I don’t answer to anyone. I don’t have to pick up after some fellow home from the water, or feed a host of youngsters. I can stay in bed on my day off if I want and read books and eat bread and jam without worrying about someone telling me not to spill crumbs on the sheets. And I can have all the ideas I want without some husband shutting me up because I am too outspoken.” I patted his arm.
“Cathy, your mother and I were very happy together, and I hope she didn’t see me as a burden or an impediment to her having her own thoughts and opinions. Surely there has been one man who would treat you as I did your mother.”
I thought of John, and a warmth spread over me. I was happy for the night that hid my blush so well. “It wouldn’t matter, Da.” I saw the cottage up ahead and picked up my pace slightly. “Ah, the lights of home.” I planted a kiss on his cheek and snuggled closer to him. “You’re the only man I need in my life for now. Let’s get to the house and get you fed proper and cleaned up.”
Da stayed at the cottage, in the room that had previously been his and Ma’s. He was already looking healthier than he had in years. He talked of finding work again, but we both knew that was a dangerous proposition. His criminal conviction had attracted some attention, and people would connect his face and the brand on his hand very quickly.Da would come to the tavern and wait in the shadows for me to finish my shift and we would walk home together. He was careful to make sure that no one would see signs of his presence in the house when I was not there. Life settled into a new, but comfortable routine.
I had not seen John for weeks, since before Da had returned. I was beginning to wonder if he had started to frequent another public house. When he strolled in on a quiet Saturday afternoon, my heart lifted. I immediately proceeded to his table with a glass of ale. He glanced at me and sat down. My smile was not met with one of his own. “John, can I get you anything to eat?”
The coldness of his response made me blink. “Nothing today, miss. I am not stopping long.”
“Are you busy these days? How has the fishing been?” I asked, hoping to bring him around.
The dark eyes that surveyed me were hard and glittered with anger. “I do not wish to be interrupted.” He looked around the room. “I think you have other customers more inclined to your chatter.”
The sting of his words brought tears to my eyes but I was determined he would not see me that way. I swallowed hard and said. “As you wish, Mr. Snow.” For the first time, I felt the pain in my heart that so many of the poet described, yet had never understood. I wrapped myself in resignation and carried on through the evening. I went about my work, conscious of his presence, more so when he beckoned Genevieve to his table each time he required service. I gritted my teeth each time she tossed her blonde tresses and flashed her pretty little white teeth. He was obviously appreciative of her attentions. Again, tears threatened. I told Mr. Quick I needed to step outside for a breath, and escaped into the solitude of the yard. Leaning against the wall, I finally let them wash hot over my cheeks.
Suddenly he was standing before me in the lamplight. His hands rested on his hips, and his mouth, though stern, held the hint of a smirk. I turned away from him, not wanting him to see my tear-bloated face or red nose.
“Why the tears, Catherine? It is because you cannot have your cake and eat it too?”
“What are you talking about?” I sniffed, trying to wipe my face with my handkerchief.
He huffed. “You are quite good at acting the innocent, if I do say. Perhaps there is a troupe of dramatists about seeking a leading lady.”
I wheeled to face him full on. “If you are going to accuse me of being false, John Snow, then you had better explain why in clear language.” My hands now too were on my hips.
“I had thought you bright enough to understand. My apologies.” He placed his hands on the wall behind me, entrapping me with his powerful arms. “You tease me and lead me on, and hold me at arms length.” In a mocking falsetto, he said “ ‘Oh no, John, you cannot walk me home, I do not know you well enough...what, other suitors, who me, of course not.’ So I bide my time and treat you gently, because I believe you are worth my patience and my time.” He leaned in, his breath was hot on my face, and his words shot at me like daggers. “But now I find out another has beaten me to your affections. Without some word from you that I have been a fool, hoping in vain.” He pushed his body against mine, forcing me into the side of the tavern. “Perhaps I should have just taken you the first night. I had purchased you, after all.”
I was sobbing now, from heartache and fear. “I don’t know what you are talking about. There is no one else. I speak the truth, John. No one.”
He stepped away from me, and I felt the sudden void between us.”Then who is the phantom who walks you to your home each night?” He grinned cruelly at my startled expression.”Yes, I have been watching you for weeks. I came by late one night, my business taking longer than I had expected. Hoping to see you. But Quick said you had just left, and on my inquiry he said that you had proceeded down Mullett’s Lane. I rushed off after you, thinking perhaps that you would finally permit me to accompany you. And I did catch up to you. Or at least I saw you up ahead. I knew it was you from your laughter. But I also saw you on the arm of a man. A man that you patted, and cuddled and kissed.” He turned from me, his broad back to me. “You could have told me I had no chance.”
My heart was racing. Did I confess that I was harbouring my fugitive father and risk him turning Da in, or lie and say that I was in a romance with some stranger. Either way I risked losing John’s affections, and my Da could end up exiled, jailed or worse. I bowed my head and collapsed to sit on the dirt of the yard, completely spent. My father had given so much for me. I could not betray him for the trifle of a man’s flattery.
John’s face softened with concern. “I have been too hard.” He took my hand. “If you love another, just say. As long as I still have a chance to win you.”
I shook my head. I could not speak any more. I was weary of the burdens I had borne for so long. I just wanted my peace. Finally I dragged the words up. “John, it is no good. It is not what you think, but I cannot say. There is no one else. There will not be anyone. Not for a long time.”
He looked confused, but I could not relieve him.”Go, find another. I am not able to return your attentions. ” I stood up, and he scrambled up too. As I went into the tavern, I said over my shoulder. “It is not for the lack of wanting that I tell you to go. I have other things I must attend to.”
I saw John no more that night, or in the many nights to come. I chastised myself when my thoughts turned to him. There was no future in it anyway, with Da home and me keeping us both going, much less him away from the eyes of the law. I had to take on more shifts at the London and I started to teach reading to some of the merchant’s children in the mornings. There was no other way to keep Da and I in the cottage, and clothed and fed. I was too weary even to keep up the garden. All I seemed to do was change from the clothes I wore to work into my night gown before collapsing into deep sleep. Eventually the dreams of John decreased in frequency. Da was content in the renewed comfort of his surroundings. Months passed, and then years. The young men who had sought me out gradually settled down, and those who did inquire soon discovered that I was not so inclined. I overheard a planter from Cupids, new to the London, ask after me. The others at his table laughed at his ardent interest.
“Beautiful, yes, and even kind.” Phineus Marshall said as I passed. “You’d have to climb up the ivory tower first.”
“I’ve got an ivory tower for her”, Bert Hickey guffawed, making lewd gestures with his big, fleshy hands. My stomach roiled at the thought of him, and at being discussed so openly.
“I’d say it would freeze off before you got the job done.” said Marshall, and they all joined in the laughter.
My cousins got married, one by one, and their families grew. I was a favourite minder for them, and I took every opportunity I could to be in their company. I could forget for a while that my youth was passing when I was with them. Younger barmaids came, and then left as they too got married or had children, or both. The days stretched into months, and then years. I settled into a kind of contentment born of hard work and keeping our heads above water.
I did hear news of John through the years, from the other planters that came to town from Harbour Grace, Bareneed and Port de Grave. There was talk of a young maid who had moved into his house with him, and stayed for a couple of years. Pretty, they said, but not a very smart thing. She seemed ready to settle down with him and have a family, but the next thing anyone knew she was gone, stolen off into the night with a fisherman from Bristols’ Hope, they said. After that, the stories spoke of the expansion of his business empire, and of the vigour of his insistence that his employees work as hard as he did. I tried not to listen, but my heart wanted so much just to know that he was faring well. Those were the only nights that I dreamt of John anymore, but the dreams were of seeking his elusive form in a thick fog, catching glimpses of his face, and then suddenly having him in front of me, angry and murderous as he had been on that last night. Da heard my cries in the night, I was sure, but he asked nothing of me.
My hands grew more rough with the work at the London and in our little vegetable garden. My ivory skin browned in the sun. I trimmed my once trailing locks to my shoulders, caring little for the conventions of polite society with respect to such things. My life drifted into a pattern I anticipated would continue for the remainder of my days. The loneliness settled over me like a blanket of snow, and I grew accustomed to its chill.
CHAPTER FOUR
My basket was nearly full as I made my way around the market. I had some lovely carrots and a few potatoes for tonight’s supper, but I wanted something special to mark Da’s birthday supper. I thought to make a nice cake for him, so I was engrossed in making sure I had everything I needed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone looking my way. When he stepped out from behind the post, my heart froze. I had not seen John at all since that night. I had tried not to even picture him in my mind. Now he was standing before me. His handsome face made the chasm of loneliness open wide before me. I wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms. I smiled, and waited for his response.
“Catherine Mandeville. One never knows who you will meet, even as the town grows larger.” He said with a forced courtesy. He bowed slightly to her.
“How are you?” I asked, not able to let this moment with him end prematurely.
His clothing was new and of fine quality, as usual. The fishery in that area had prospered, I knew, and the price of salt fish had risen in the foreign markets. “I am well. Some say I work too hard, but what else have I to take my time?” He peered into my face.”And you?”
I wanted to say that I was lonely, that I missed his company. But I could not in such a public place. “I have been teaching.” I said.
He stepped closer to me, and his hand came to rest on my elbow. “Do you have time for a cup of tea? There is a tea room around the corner from here?” I glanced at the clock on the shop wall. “Just a few minutes?”
I concluded my purchases and John took the paper-wrapped packages by the string as we left. We settled onto the brocade chairs of the ‘Blooming Rose’. John ordered a pot of tea and scones for us both. As soon as the waitress left, he leaned over the table and took my hand in his. “Are you okay, Catherine? You look tired. Are you well?”
I mustered a cheerful little grin.”I have been working hard.” I sipped the strong hot tea, trying hard to convince myself that I was sitting with John again. The time that had passed seemed to melt away. He asked about the children I was teaching, and laughed at my parody of Madame Hutchingson, the mother of a group of six children who was more convinced of their brilliance than my experience had borne out. He told me about how he had been able to expand his fish stores, and had also built a brand new house on his land. He was in the process of purchasing new furnishings, which was the purpose of his trip this time. We finished the scones and he wanted to order more.
“Oh, look at the time.” I exclaimed. “I have to get home!” I stood up and picked up my bundles. He stood with me. “May I walk you home? I mean if that is not to bold to ask.”
I gazed into his face, and knew what my answer would be. “Yes.” I said. He took my packages, and offered his arm to me as we walked out into the sunshine together. Our stroll to Tarranhan’s Town was pleasant. The buds were coming out on the trees at the behest of the early spring weather, and the sky was the blue of a Wedgewood plate. Everything that I had thought so impossible now seemed essential.
We stood by the wrought iron gate, not wanting to part company. I needed to explain things to him and trust he would understand. I led him to the garden, and sat next to him on the stone bench under the hedge. As the afternoon waned, I told him about Ma, and Da. I told him about Da’s years as a fugitive, and my need to protect and care for him. I told him about Da coming from the island and how I harboured him in the cottage. All the while, John sat in silence.
“I understand if this changes your feelings about me.” I put my hands in my lap and clasped them to stop their shaking. “But I do ask that you keep my Da’s secret. If you care at all about me.”
He sat completely still, and stared out over the sliver of the harbour visible between the houses. Then he turned back to me and took my hands. “Of course I will keep the secret.” He paused. “I have missed you Catherine.”
“And I’ve missed you.” It felt good, after all this time, so say how I felt. “I have to go in now.” I said, remembering the preparations I still had to complete for Da’s celebration. A thought struck me. “Would you be our guest for dinner tonight? It’s my Da’s birthday, but it’s just the two of us, of course. He would love the company.”
“And you?” John asked.
“I would too.” I headed toward the back door, and beckoned him to follow. “You can peel the potatoes.”
I was right. Da thoroughly enjoyed having another person to talk to, especially another man. Da asked John question after question about politics, the goings on in the fishery, and even the latest games of sport enjoyed by the men in St. John’s. I served them a roast leg of pork, potatoes and carrots dripping with butter, crusty rolls, salt pork and cabbage. The highlight was the cake I had made from blueberries I picked on the hill high above the village of Quidi Vidi, with a sweet rum sauce. I found them both lounging against the back of their chairs, legs out, contented looks on both their faces. A swell of happiness washed over me, and some hope that perhaps our lives could take a turn for the better.
John finished his glass of brandy and made his apologies. “I do have some business to attend to on this trip, as tempting as it is to stay here.” He tipped his hat. “Good night to you sir and Happy Birthday.”
I walked him to the gate. The entire city glowed gold in the fading light of the day. “Catherine, thank you.”
“You are welcome. And I would not object if you wished to walk me home from the London some night. You and Da can talk on the way.” I teased.
His long fingers stroked my upper arm. “Catherine, let me help you both. I have room and means. ”
“Oh, John, that is so tempting. But we’re doing fine. much better than we were this morning, in fact.”
“My offer is always open. Just say the word.” He kissed my hand and bowed deep. “Good night, Catherine Mandeville.”
When I went inside, Da was tidying up the dishes. “Thank you, my luv, for such a lovely party.”
“You’re welcome.” I said, gathering up the plates, cups and spoons.
“So you like this fella, John.”He took the dished from me and carried them to the sink.
“I do, Da.”
“A father wants nothing more than to see his daughter happy.” he said. “I just hope he is good enough for you.”
“You’re talking like I’m some prize, Da.” I sat at the table, and Mittens jumped into my lap. I stroked her long, soft fur.
“Of course you are. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”
“Da, you’re foolish, you know that.”
He squat in front of me and looked into my face. “I know I’m the one who asks you all the time when you are going to settle down, but I want you to be careful.”
I chuckled. “I think I can take care of myself.”
“I just couldn’t bear for something to happen to you.”
“Oh, Da, you worry too much. I will be fine.” I stood up and scooped Mittens into my arms.
“All right, all right. “ He winked at me. “Go on to bed. I’ll straighten away the rest of this.”
I lay in my bed, looking out at the night sky. As I wished on the first star that shone through the darkness, I did not care that it was a childish thing to do.
/lorisavorysblog.blogspot.com/">Day Two NaNoWriMo
posted by Lori | 9:35 AM
|
0 comments
