Winter Shadows (30 page)

C
hristmas morning, I awoke weighed down by a gloom that was almost as bad as being engulfed by the shadows. Last night’s momentary pleasure on the ride home was gone. Knowing this gray heaviness was due to my leaving home soon didn’t ease the ache. I tried to imagine Penelope in her settlement home, opening the small portrait I’d painted of her, and Miss Cameron admiring her handkerchief, its border of fine cotton crochet, her initials satin-stitched in silk thread. But thinking of them only made me feel more dismal, for I’d be leaving them too, along with everyone and everything I had known my entire life
.

Even if I stayed, I could never confide in either woman, for I am not really one of them, am I? How will I fit in with Robert’s life in his new parish? Did he choose me because I am of mixed blood? Does he plan to use me as an interpreter or as an example of some kind? Is he unaware that Indians speak many different languages across this land? Can love grow in such arid soil?

I forced myself to get up and act as if nothing were wrong
.
I settled nôhkom by the fire, trying hard to be bright and cheerful, but I was near tears the entire time. I gave each girl, including Dilly, a tiny deerskin bag in which to keep small treasures. Three of them, of course, were hastily prepared during the past few days, Grandmother doing most of the work. My contribution was beading their centers with flowers. In each one, I had put a penny. The girls were excited to receive them
.

They gave Grandmother a bag of mint humbugs, which had been sent to Caitrin, one of the Three Graces, by her parents. Nôhkom was deeply touched and thanked them all equally, before sharing the treat. Flushed with excitement, they gave me a beaded and feather-tagged bookmark, with
Teacher
carefully sewn in red. I thanked them with as much enthusiasm as I could muster
.

Nôhkom opened the parcel I gave her, and she and all the girls exclaimed over the soft blue shawl I had secretly crocheted at school. Then the girls and I left her to stoke the ovens and the Carron stoves in the house. I would heat the stoves all day so the pipes winding throughout each room would keep our guests warm
.

I set Ivy’s and Papa’s gifts beside their breakfast plates – a lace handkerchief for her, with the initials I.A., and a cherry wood pipe for Papa I bought while in Upper Canada. When they came down, Ivy was actually smiling! She handed Papa a thin parcel, and he put a small square box on the table for her. I served them venison sausage and bread
.

“Happy Christmas, dearest girl,” Papa said
.

“Happy Christmas, Beatrice,” Ivy said primly, eyeing her parcels with interest
.

Papa pressed a paper-wrapped present into my hand. “From Ivy and me.”

I took it and walked down the hall to the parlor. The doors between the two rooms were open, the tables set. In the glow of the fire, I saw my reflection in the dark window. A sad countenance stared back at me
.

As I write, I ask myself: Will it be a brighter Christmas next year, when Robert and I celebrate our first Yule together in a faraway place? I try to imagine him preparing his sermon while I cook our breakfast. Of course, as his wife, I will be expected to attend church every Sunday. Why does this make me feel so sick at heart?

Earlier, when I’d sat down by the fire to open my present, I wished with all my heart that Mama was there to share the moment with me. Inside the paper wrapping was a book of sonnets by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Last winter, my aunt had written to us about this book with great excitement. Papa must have ordered it months ago. I opened a page at random and the first words I saw were

I closed the book quickly. Had the poet really felt this way about her husband? Would I ever have feelings like this for Robert Dalhousie? No. This kind of passion would never consume me. But if I didn’t marry Robert, where would I
go? I couldn’t stay here with Ivy. It would destroy any chance of peace or happiness. I heard Duncan Kilgour’s voice say once again:
But there are other ways to freedom than marriage to a dull man – someone you hardly know.

He was right. I didn’t know Robert. How could I live with a man who was a virtual stranger? A humorless, earnest man of God? And one with a sickly sister, whom I was being asked to look after! Is that what Robert really wanted from this marriage – a companion for his beloved sister? What did he really think of me – Beatrice Alexander?

“Oh, Cass,” I cried. “Whoever you are, wherever you are, were you right in telling me not to commit to him? Tell me what to do!”

I looked up and saw a thin silhouette of her by the Yule tree. I was rising to speak to her when a small voice spoke behind me, “Miss?” I jumped. Dilly said, “The outside oven is ready, Miss. For the
niska.”

“What? Yes, of course.”

No time to indulge in upset about another lost moment with my spirit girl. Our guests would be arriving following the afternoon service, and that goose needed to go into the oven. Thank goodness one of the older choir members agreed to lead the music for the later service
.

Dilly, the Three Graces, and I worked for the next few hours, they with much chatting and laughing, I with grim determination. After the trussed goose was settled in the outside oven and the venison larded and tied to a spit, we went to church. Papa was too tired, after last night’s festivities, to go, and Ivy chose to remain at Old Maples with him
.

I was on the dais preparing my music sheets, when Robert arrived. He smiled, and I lifted my hand in greeting. Last night I’d put aside a scarf for him, which I had knit for Papa months ago. I tried to imagine myself giving it to Robert. Would he be pleased? Did he have a gift for me? How little we really knew each other. And, of course, I had no mother to guide me through a courtship, if that indeed was what this was
.

This time, his smile held a flicker of warmth. Could we share a happy life together? Or, at least, a contented one? Is that what I wanted?

Soon I was distracted by the opening and shutting of the church doors and the bright chatter of my choir members
.

Duncan appeared beside me. “I will not be singing in the later service.”

“But why?” I asked. “You are one of our best singers. “

“Am I?”

His teasing made me instantly testy. “Don’t be coy. You know you are!”

He bowed slightly. “I am coming to the house to help you, Beatrice. I can’t leave you with those children to set out that entire dinner. My mother will be no help at all. You’re tired and strained. I see it in your eyes. Your papa will need help dressing. The fires need watching. No, Minty and I will be at your command all afternoon. No arguments!”

As he turned away, I wondered why Duncan was the only one who ever seemed to understand how I was feeling
.
And why he always ruined any good intentions by teasing or ordering me about
.

All went well with the service, and, back at home, the girls ran upstairs to tell nôhkom all about it. I wrestled the heavy venison roast on its spit toward the hearth’s supports. Suddenly, the whole thing tipped upwards and almost knocked me into the fire. Ivy appeared beside me, and together we grappled it into place
.

“Thank you, Ivy.”

She wore a plain gray dress. Around her neck was a pretty necklace that had been my English grandmother’s – given to her on her wedding day and to my mother on hers. The thin chain held a swallow inflight, with tiny gems for eyes, signifying affection from the giver. She pressed one hand against it
.

“This was your papa’s gift to me.” It was said as a challenge
.

“It’s lovely and suits your dress well.”

She looked startled. “Thank you for the lace handkerchief. I liked the way you did my initials.”

I continued to work. “And I thank you for the book of poetry. “

“Yes. Your papa chose it. I will make you some tea. You must be tired. And may I offer a jar of saskatoons for dinner this afternoon? And some pickled relish?”

“They would be most welcome. As would tea.” I piled the plates with cake
.

When I heard Ivy set the teapot down, I covered the cut fruitcake with a damp cloth. She sat at one end of the table, I at the other. We drank our tea in silence
.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “I … I was wrong to accuse you of tricking Reverend Dalhousie into a marriage agreement
,
Beatrice. I was not well that day, and the laudanum I took clouded my mind. I apologize.”

No point in goading her with the fact that I knew why she was doing this. Humbling herself must be hard for her. “I accept your apology,” I said, trying hard to mean it
.

“Your papa loves you so much,” she continued. Her expression was unguarded for the first time. “And … and I know he loved your mother just as much.”

“Yes.”

Looking thoughtful, she caught her top lip between her teeth. Then, to my surprise, she said, “I know he married me for convenience. But I loved him from the moment we met. Yes, you can stare, Beatrice. But it is the truth. I’m glad you are leaving us soon. Also the truth. It’s hard for me to
see
how much your father loves you – for no other reason than you are his child – but it still pains me. I don’t feel that same love when he looks at me. I never will. I only pray that he won’t abandon me.”

“But you have Duncan if, God forbid, anything should happen to Papa.”

She looked to one side. “I don’t imagine Duncan sees it that way. After all, I gave him up, didn’t I? He doesn’t know how it broke my heart to leave him. I had no choice! And suddenly, when I married Mr. Comper, I was told to raise two Indian boys that weren’t mine. To feed and clothe them, all the while knowing I was betraying Duncan. It became too hard to bear. When the oldest one died, I sent Minty to his people in St. Anthony’s. He was better off gone. My husband could be a violent man.” I wondered why she was telling me this
.

She sighed. “I was so happy when Duncan arrived from Scotland. Sadly, we have little to say to each other. He doesn’t know me as I once was. And he will be leaving me soon.”

“He will? When? Where is he going?”

“I don’t know where. He told me yesterday. But when he is gone, if your papa abandons me, I will be utterly alone.”

I was torn by shameful satisfaction and pity, but I said gently, “If you are a loving wife and care for Aggathas, you will gain my father’s respect and affection.”

“But not his love.” She turned her cup around and around. “Never his love. That is why you must leave, don’t you see?”

This was not the nasty, vicious Ivy I had come to know. This was a frightened Ivy. And one that gave me hope. Once I married Robert, I must trust that she and Papa would sort things out
.

It was then that something struck me hard – Duncan was leaving
.

I prayed he would wait until I left first. And when I had gone, would Ivy take care of nôhkom? Would she truly change? When I had gone … when I had gone … the words numbed me. Shadows swarmed inside my head
.

I said firmly, “Ivy, my father chose to marry you. He will give you affection, care, and loyalty. But only if you earn it.”

“How dare you speak to me this way! When I have unburdened myself to you. I knew it would be a mistake. I knew it!”

“Oh, Ivy! Why do you waste time showing how much you hate me? That only heightens Papa’s scorn. Don’t you see?”

Her eyes stared, then she burst into tears, her thin hands covering her face
.

I couldn’t make myself embrace her, so I patted her arm. “I’m sorry, Ivy. Please understand, I am trying to help.”

She pulled herself together. “I am not one who cries. I will stop. You’re right, of course. But I’m always afraid and I don’t know why. “

Like me,
I thought. I wanted to tell her this, but instead I said, “Shall we call a truce? For Papa’s sake?”

“Yes, for Gordon’s sake. And mine. I am fair worn-out with it all.”

“Good. Then let’s prepare for our dinner party!”

As we organized the kitchen in subdued harmony, someone thumped on the back door. Dilly opened it. Duncan and Minty came in, carrying loads of wood. There were a number of brown-paper packages teetering on top of Duncan’s pile. At the same time, the Three Graces walked in from the back rooms
.

“Happy Christmas!” Duncan cried, putting down his burden and removing his hat
.

We all stared like
wâpitiy
facing a raging fire. Duncan’s hair had been cut, and his beard was gone. He looked so different, so young, his face now full of smooth angles
.