Alex : Chapter Twenty – two

          Consequences

The hamlet of Mallorytown Landing was tucked into a bay on the north shore of the Saint Lawrence River. Here where the Saint Lawrence narrowed, smuggling thrived.  Running between small islands, local people made a quick profit slipping Canadian whiskey and American tobacco across the river. On the night of the sixth of August, a small boat smuggled something else across from the American side, three men. The two rowers were large men, their bodies despite the warmth of the night, draped in dark coats. The third, smaller man held the tiller with one hand, a silver-knobbed walking stick with the other. His head, protected by a black silk top hat stared ahead at the darkness of the Canadian side.  At any sign of light he would turn the boat about. He also strained to hear any sound that might suggest trouble. All that he could hear was the soft splashing of the oars and the far off hooting of a loon. The three soon guided the boat to the end of a dock on the Canadian side. 

   Mallorytown was asleep. Only the far away barking of a dog suggested life still stirring in the village. As the Leugers tied the boat, Radek strode the length of the small dock. “Where is he? He should be here.”

“He’ll be along, sir,” said Franz, looking up from helping Ferdie to remove two large bundles from the bottom of the boat.

“Damn.” Although he did not like to admit it, Radek knew that Franz was right.  His own impatience and lack of sleep were causing his irritability. He would be glad to be on his way south. The less time he spent in this godforsaken wilderness, the better. Still, what choice did he have? Whom could he trust to see that things were done properly. He should have strangled that damn pig back in Austria. The worst mistake of his life had been to keep it alive. Ungeziefer. Vermin.  He turned his head at the approaching sound of horses’ hooves.  Radek hoped that it was Boyd. The sooner that he was out of this damn country, the sooner he could sleep.                                

***

On the third of August, Boyd received a letter from Mister Chapman, calling for his immediate return to Kingston. Three days before, anticipating that Radek would soon want him to leave, he had purchased a horse from Morris. Riding out at night, unobserved, would gain him more time than waiting for steamer or coach. During the past few days he had developed an uneasy feeling, largely due to an occasional stare from Campbell that told him that something was not quite right with his position in Kilmarnock. Even discounting that, the continued boredom and forced celibacy would have begun to affect his sanity if it had lasted much longer.  He left just after midnight on the fourth, without notifying Morris of his leaving. By morning light, he was halfway to Kingston.

Boyd checked into the British North American Hotel and spent a pleasant Sunday walking the streets of Kingston, treating himself to a capital dinner and feminine company. Early Monday morning he stopped by Mister Chapman’s office for further instructions. He hoped that Chapman would tell him to leave for New York on the afternoon steamer to Oswego. Instead the lawyer showed him a cable in which Mister Radek instructed him to secure three saddled horses and then continue to a village called Mallorytown. There he was to meet Mister Radek and two of his associates at one o’clock on the morning of the sixth, at the village dock. Radek had authorized one hundred dollars in American banknotes to meet his expenses.  With any luck this would be his last chore for Mister Radek. He could already feel the warmth of Molly’s arms.

Radek scrutinized the shadows moving down towards the dock. “Finally,” he said to himself. He held his walking stick behind his back, his fingers tapping the knob. “Good evening, Mister Boyd. How is Canada?”

Boyd halted the team at the edge of the road.  “I’ll tell you sir. An Englishman once said that the best road in Scotland is the one going south to the border. I’m of much the same opinion about Canada.”

Radek allowed himself a brief smile. “Very clever, Mister Boyd.”

“I’ve brought the horses that you requested, sir.”

Radek nodded. He gave the horses a quick look. “Good. You’ve done well, Mister Boyd.”  From inside his coat he drew out two objects. The first, an envelope, he handed to Mister Boyd. “Another hundred dollars for your expenses.”

Boyd thanked him and tucked it away.  As Boyd dismounted, Radek handed him the second object; a small pistol designed to fit into the palm of the hand, known in the United States as a derringer.  Boyd took it, a questioning look on his face. He disliked weapons. People who used them tended to get hanged an unpleasant end that William Boyd had promised to do his best to avoid.  “Sir?”

“We do not have much time Mister Boyd. In a few minutes I am going to row myself back across the river. These two gentlemen will be going back north with you. According to the maps that I have examined a village called Farmersville lies half way between here and Kilmarnock, a day’s ride from Kilmarnock.  Is that true?”

“Yes sir, but . . . I thought that . . .”

“You don’t have to worry about going into Kilmarnock itself, just as far as the house where MacTavish is staying. I assume that he is still alive?”

“Yes sir.”

“Two days from now, the three of you will ride up from Farmersville. Being a physician, this Doctor McKay is often called away at night to attend to emergencies?”

“Yes sir.”  Boyd’s mind strayed back to his last meeting with MacTavish.  The old man had observed that outsiders being the natural suspect, they would be the first accused if a crime occurred.

“You will tell him that an accident has happened on the road going down to Farmersville, the exact details I will leave to your discretion. When you are far enough away in some isolated spot, you will shoot him.”

The outsider would be himself.  “Sir, I don’t . . .” Boyd began to explain his firm opposition to any action that would threaten to bring him to the gallows.

Radek, enraptured with his plan, ignored him.  “That will leave four people in the house. That is correct?”

Bewildered, Boyd muttered yes.

“Franz and Ferdinand will see to them.”

Boyd glanced at the other two men. They stood as placid as if Radek were explaining how to bake biscuits.

“I wouldn’t expect them to take more than thirty or forty minutes. They will meet you again in Farmersville. You will cross the border the following day, the same way that we did tonight. You should be back in New York within at most a week. When you return, Mister Boyd, you will find five hundred dollars waiting for you and a permanent position with my firm. Any questions?”

Boyd looked on as the Leugers tied their bundles onto their horses, heavy bundles with long angular shapes.

“Mister Boyd?”

“I don’t understand Mister Radek.  Your quarrel with MacTavish is no affair of mine but the man is dying.  He has only a few weeks left at most. Why not just let nature finish the job for you?”

“I wish that I could. That would be the best way, but I have to do this as quickly as possible.”  Radek calculated that Godwin’s man would trace Josef to Kilmarnock within another two weeks. He had given Chapman instructions to stall any inquiries but Godwin’s man might find a way around the attorney. Josef had to be gone from Kilmarnock before the man arrived.

Boyd swept his hat off and ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair.  “There’s no point to this, sir. The man can’t be a threat to you anymore. Just leave him be.”

He had to end this, Radek thought. He had to be back across before light.  “Mister Boyd, do you really think that someone that insignificant could possibly threaten me? I do not give a damn about him. I never have.”

Confused Boyd failed to notice Radek nodding at Ferdie. “You paid me to watch him . . . to send you reports about him.”

“Yes I did, but it wasn’t because of him. It was because of the thing with him.”

“Thing?”  Was MacTavish holding something that Radek wanted? That might make sense but even so.

Another mistake thought Radek. He had assumed that Boyd had possessed some degree of intelligence. He seemed as dense as the Leuger twins, and a good deal more irritating.  “The boy, Mister Boyd.”

Boyd blinked. He recalled MacTavish’s son, Peter, playing chess with the old man.  “The boy?” 

“I hired him to do a simple job for me. He betrayed me. Three times he betrayed  me. First he cut his wrist without asking permission.  Then he blabbed to a priest.  Do you know how much trouble we had getting rid of the old fool?  Then the pig runs off. I went all the way there after him. I offered good money, far more than what the pig is worth.  You know what the doctor did? He turned me away. Me. I never wanted to hurt him but he won’t get out of my way. I’m not being unreasonable, am I?”

“No sir.” He watched Radek pace the dock, the tip of the walking stick bobbing against his back. This man, he told himself, is as crazy as a banshee. 

“I know what you’re going to say. It’s too much of an overreaction. Perhaps I may be a bit heavy-handed at times, but I ask you, in all honesty, what choice do I have?”

“None, sir.” Tempted to ask what job Radek had asked the boy to do, Boyd wondered how to slip away from these lunatics.

“All that I ever wanted to do was to give the man enough money to keep him quiet and finish this.  Simple. He has to go and make everything complicated. Do you know why the old man won’t let go of him?”

“Blackmail, sir?”  He wondered if he could just dive off the dock.

“That’s what I thought at first, but he never asked for money. That leaves only one other conclusion.”

“Sir?”

“You’re a man of the world Mister Boyd. Old men, living alone get twisted tastes sometimes. You ever wondered what the old man and the pig do at night together?  Probably found out what we had trained the pig for.  He doesn’t want to lose his plaything. Disgusting.”

Boyd, nauseated, turned to run. The Leuger twins barred his path.

Radek continued. “Then he has to go and fall ill. So what happens? The fools put him and the pig in the middle of that damn house with themselves. Everything has just gotten out of hand. What else can I do? Kill them.”

 “Sir?”

Radek cursed under his breath. Was there something wrong with the man’s hearing?  “Kill them all.”

“You can’t,” said Boyd.

“Why not?” Radek asked in a puzzled tone. “I have every confidence in your abilities. The three of you should have little difficulty.”

Boyd recoiled. A question of confidence? The man sounded as if he were ordering an extra slice of toast for his breakfast.  “You can’t go and slaughter five people. Every policeman, militiaman and soldier on both sides of the border will be looking for us. You can’t do this, sir.”

“I see.” Radek nodded. 

Ferdie, standing directly behind Boyd, whipped out a silk neckerchief. Holding the ends in each hand, with a well practiced-gesture, he wrapped it around Boyd’s neck. As he kneed him in the back, Ferdie pulled on it.

Radek continued.  “I haven’t had very much sleep Mister Boyd. When I’m tired, I make mistakes. You wouldn’t want to be one of those mistakes, would you Mister Boyd?”

Ferdie had pulled Boyd’s head back forcing his protruding eyes to look directly into Ferdie’s smiling face. The pistol Radek had given him had dropped from his hand. He tried to squeeze his fingers between his throat and the tightening scarf to find his arms held by Franz.

“Pay attention, Mister Boyd,” Radek told him, “and you may live.”

Ferdie tightened the scarf’s grip on Boyd’s throat. Radek stood in front of Boyd and lifted his walking stick. Instead of striking the man he gave the knob a sudden twist and pulled the knob away.  A long thin blade of steel slid out of the ebony stick. He placed the tip of the steel blade on Boyd’s throat.

“You are fond of asking questions. Permit me to ask you one. Do you want to be very rich, or very dead?  Let him answer, Ferdinand.”

Ferdie released the scarf just enough to allow Boyd to squeak out one word.  “Rich.”

“Good. Let him go, Ferdinand.”

Released, Boyd slid down to the ground and vomited.

Radek picked up the pistol that he had dropped and tossed it at him.  “You’ll need that. The ammunition Franz will give you when the time is right. You have two things to consider, Mister Boyd, on your journey back north. The first is a woman named Molly Jensen.” 

Boyd pulled himself up to his knees.

“I’ve been told where she lives and the route that she takes to and from work. Pity, a young, defenseless woman attacked on her way home in the evening, don’t you think so, Mister Boyd?”

“Yes.”

Radek slid the blade back into its hiding place and placed the knob back into position.  “Another thing. You mentioned that the police would be looking for three men. That’s not quite true, Mister Boyd, is it? Or perhaps I should say Mister Paisley? The one that they will be looking for is you. The sooner that you are back across the border, the safer you will be. When you accepted your position Mister Boyd, you should have thought out the consequences. We are all responsible for the consequences of our actions; don’t you think so, Mister Boyd?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am glad that you realize that.  I expect no more difficulty. We will put this misunderstanding behind us.”    Boyd was a disappointment.  Franz and Ferdie would have to see to him before they got back to New York.  He clapped the twins on their shoulders, going over their instructions in German. He warned them to keep an eye on Boyd and to deal with him at a time of their own choosing. Radek finished by wishing them good luck.  His instructions given, he clambered down into the rowboat. As Franz untied the boat, he slipped the oars back into the oarlocks. Franz pushed the boat away from the dock. Radek reminded him to watch Boyd. He began to row himself back across to the American side.

His arms aching after only a few minutes of rowing, Radek stopped and looked back. The dock had disappeared into the darkness. It was in the Leugers hands now. To go any farther with them would be to put him at unnecessary risk. You hire a man, and then let him do his job. He turned his thoughts towards Virginia. It might offer a fair degree of return, far more than that dismal country had ever offered. As he resumed his rowing Radek considered what he would have to do during the coming two months. Damn Frederick. He would have to change everything now.   Godwin would press for the return of Frederick’s money that he had transferred to his company’s accounts. Godwin would also seek an injunction to freeze his assets. All of that was bad but if Godwin should find the pig it would be much worse. If Josef told him what he knew Radek would be facing criminal charges.

Radek had taken some steps to prepare for a hasty retreat. Frederick’s letter had given Radek two months grace. That would be enough. Radek would still have time to secure passage for California. In a few months, with a new identity, he could begin again. Radek had converted much of his investors’ money into bank drafts. When he returned to New York, he would have them placed into his luggage to keep it near while he was traveling. If worse came to worse and he would be unable to return to New York from the south, he could use the money to build a safe haven for himself. He and the Leugers would slip away to California leaving McGuire to face Radek’s investors. By the time that Godwin discovered that he had gone, the Leugers and he would be on their way west. 

It would be a relief to shed himself of his past. He pondered what name would be best if he had to leave New York, something American sounding. Charles Smith. He would think about that.  As he swept the oars back, he studied the dark outline that marked the Canadian side. Boyd had been correct about one thing. This was the best spot from which to view Canada. 

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Kilmarnock

2 – 6 May

The life and adventures of Doctor Peter MacTavish from his life in Moravia, his coming to the new world and settling in the village of Kilmarnock in the Rideau Valley of Canada. The Kilmarnock Trilogy consists of three volumes; Alex, Seasons and Peter, detailing how he came and learned to accept Kilmarnock as his own.

“Alex!”

A gloved fist thumped against his door shaking Alex out of a troubled sleep.

“Wake up, Alex! You’ve a patient.”

Five bony fingers reached out from underneath a dirty patchwork quilt.  They groped their way over the surface of a washstand. The fingers skirted a shrunken brown cake of lye soap, moved past a shaving brush of badger hair and an old bone-handled razor.  The fingers touched the bridge of a pair of wire-framed spectacles and hauled them back underneath the blankets.

The knocking resumed, louder and more determined. “Alex! For God’s sake man, open up.”

Doctor Alexander MacTavish coughed and pushed himself up into a sitting position.  He cursed the caller.  If no one wanted to see him during the daytime, why in God’s name would they choose the middle of the night?

“Alex!”

The voice, although muffled by the door, Alex recognised as belonging to Ian Campbell, blacksmith and constable of Kilmarnock.  Alex stumbled out of the bed.  He poked his feet into the darkness underneath the bedstead until they found his slippers.  Scratching at the stubble lining his throat Alex shuffled toward the door.

“Hurry up, Alex.  It’s pouring out here.”

Alex grunted his lack of sympathy.  He groped for the ring of keys in his vest pocket.  No sooner had he unlocked the door when Ian Campbell shouldered his way into the room.

The Cross

A white T-shirt pulled over her bikini top, Colleen and her father, Paul, sat by the backyard pool sipping long glasses of lemon- flavoured Ice Tea. Watching Dan sitting by the pool with her brother, John; Colleen asked her father; “what do you think of him Dad?”

Paul Hagan, gray-haired, thin narrow face frowned at the thought of his son – law. A veteran of the Royal Canadian Air Force Paul’s father Sam, had opened a small bakery in 1946. Paul had built upon it. He was now President of Hagan Wholesales Bakery, serving the Hamilton and Niagara Districts. He also served as a patron of youth basketball, and as a member of Saint Patrick’s Catholic Church where her wedding would soon be held.  “He’ll never be a businessman.”

“That’s not fair; Dad. He never wanted to be one.”

Paul nodded. “I know dear. I didn’t mean it as a criticism; just as a statement of fact. Personally I like him.”

                                                                                         ***

When he and Julie had seen Colleen at Pearson Airport they had noticed her pulling a wheeled piece of blue hand luggage. She was waving and smiling at them. Trailing behind her, pushing a luggage cart, had been Dan. During the past three days that seemed to be Dan’s customary place, following behind Colleen.

Colleen ran towards them. Paul noticed that around her neck she wore a small golden cross. That pleased him. Drawing closer however he noticed that it was not a Christian cross.   Golden filigree topped a three pointed cross dangling from Colleen’s neck by a gold chain.

Parents and daughter embraced and kissed. Dan, arriving with the luggage was introduced by a beaming Colleen.

On the way to the parking lot Paul asked her about the cross. “Beautiful piece of work. Is that by the missionaries?”

 Colleen looked down at the pendant. “Dan gave it to me last Christmas. I don’t dare wear it in Kano. It’s an Agadez Cross, made by the Tauregs in the desert. Lovely isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I’ll wear it on my wedding.”

Paul nodded, and wondered what Father Ryan would say.  “Could be French Missionary influence.”

“I have no idea Dad. Dan?”

Dan looked up from the baggage cart. “Yeah?”

“The Agadez Cross. Do you know where the design comes from?”

“I’m not sure. I was told it’s very ancient; pre-Islamic, pre-Christian. I read that it might even descend from the Carthaginians.”

“The same people who fought the Romans?” asked Paul.

“Yes sir; Hannibal and the elephants; the same. Apparently fathers hand them down to their sons as symbols of their attainting manhood.”

Colleen beamed. “He’s so smart, Dad.”

***

 Paul leaned forward. “I know that Dan loves you. I know that he will do his best to keep my little girl safe. He’s a little odd at times but that’s okay. We all have our eccentricities. On the whole you did well.” He looked over at Dan. “You know, I met men like him during the war. Quiet, shy, they keep to themselves. Never say much but there’s an inner toughness to them. Men like that, no one notices until we need them.” He turned back to Colleen “A year in Northern Nigeria and you two are going back for more.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. I hope my grandchildren inherit that ability.”

Colleen smiled and kissed his forehead. “Thank you Dad. You’re tough too. You did go through the war.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, I know. So you still have one more year in Nigeria?”

“Yes. In August we’ll spend three weeks in England. Dan has relatives there. We’ll do some sightseeing.  Then back to Kano. We should be back here next July.”

“For good?”

“I think so. I should be expecting by then.”

“Hope so. Your mother and I would like to see children in this house again. You know we  drove up to Thunder Bay and met his parents.”

“I know. You wrote us.”

He nodded. “Nice people. You’ll like them.  You know, I have contacts with the Board of Education. They’re always on the lookout for new talent Maybe you two can leave copies of your resumes with me.  By the way,” He tapped the back of her right hand. “You’re pretty tough too, in your own way.”

Colleen smiled. “I never thought I was terribly tough.”

“You are. You just didn’t know it. Dan helped to bring it out but it was always there. I have to thank him for that.”

***

Saint Patrick’s Church on King Street, East Hamilton a rather shabby working class district, an area Paul had once called home would be the site of Colleen’s wedding. He had been married there.  He still attended mass there. He would have his daughter married there.

Father Ryan would preside over the ceremony. He and Paul had been friends since boyhood. He had baptized Colleen, given her first communion and had confirmed her. Presiding over her marriage seemed both logical and inevitable. When Paul had expressed doubt over her being married by a magistrate in Kano, the old priest had shrugged it off. “She is only respecting local law Paul. No harm in it.  Rest assured; they are legally wed.”

“But in the eyes of God . . . ?”

“They wanted to be married in front of their families. So it takes a few months? The circumstances were unusual. God can wait.”   He slotted the wedding for Saturday, at twelve a.m. 16 July 1983.

***

Paul was rather lax in many things but not in his Catholic faith.  Anywhere else he would not object to her wearing the cross, but in a church service, in a Holy Sacrament? When he saw her fitting it over her wedding dress, he felt that he had to draw a line. Backed by Julie he told her at supper. “You’ll have to leave it at home, Colleen. I’m sorry.

Colleen touched the cross. “Dad . . .”

“We can’t have a pagan object in a Christian church. I’m sorry love.”

Colleen looked at Julie. “Mom . . .”

“Your father’s right, dear. Leave it at home.”

Dan who had remained quiet through dinner, touched his wife’s right arm. He then looked at Paul and Julie.

“No.”

Paul turned to him, “Dan . . .”

“No cross. No wedding. No disrespect intended sir, but we are already wed. We don’t need the second wedding. The cross stays.”

John, while supporting his parents had no wish to antagonize Colleen.  “ Suppose we have Father Ryan decide? He is the expert after all.

***

Father Ryan called from watching a football game listened as Paul explained the problem.”

“It is a pagan object, isn’t it father?” He pointed at the cross.

The priest turned towards Colleen.

“May I borrow your pendant Colleen?” asked Father Ryan. “I don’t think I had a good look at it.”

Colleen placed her right hand over the cross.

“It’s alright lass.” With a smile he added, “I won’t steal it.”

 Colleen looked at Dan who nodded. Reluctantly she handed it over to the priest.

Father Ryan peered at it through his spectacles. “You bought it in Kano, Dan?”

“Yes. The Swiss Gold Shop.  I paid sixty nairas; maybe one hundred and fifty dollars Canadian. I don’t really know. It’s eighteen karat gold.”

The priest continued to examine it; from the filigree work at the top to the tips of its three points. “Nice work. You have a good eye Dan, but why didn’t you just buy engagement rings?”

“There were none. It’s not a habit among the Hausa.”

“So you bought this instead?”

“Yes. We both fell in love with it when we saw it. I guess it’s our engagement ring. The clerk said that the design and tradition was pre-Christian. Honestly we didn’t care one way or the other. We just wanted something to show how we felt towards one another.”

“I see.”  Father Ryan carefully folded the chain around the cross and handed it back to Colleen.  He sat back in his chair. Looking up he glanced at the crucifix on the wall.

“Ever seen the movie Spartacus, Paul?”

“Yeah, great film. I love that scene were all the slaves start shouting. “He deepened his voice. “I’m Spartacus.”

Colleen rolled her eyes and looked away. Dan made a small smile.

Julie nudged Paul.

“Yeah,” he said. “Good movie. Why?”

“At the end of the film Spartacus died crucified on the cross. Not once in the film was it treated as a Christian symbol or his death as a Christian death.  That’s because at that time it wasn’t. In Christ’s time the cross represented everything that was brutal about Roman rule. Not until centuries after Christ’s crucifixion did it become a sacred object. Do you know what made it a sacred object? It was the love that worshippers had for Christ.  Without that it was just two ugly pieces of wood.”

He looked at Dan and Colleen. “We’ll never know all of what you two went through during the past year. I imagine it was difficult, dangerous and different from anything we’ve known here. You survived, but more than that, you triumphed. Your love was that triumph.”

He turned towards Paul and Julie. “That cross may not reflect our beliefs, true, but it does reflect their love. Objects aren’t made sacred by their content. They are made sacred by the love that we give them.” He smiled at Colleen. “Colleen, I would be honoured if you were to wear it in the church.”

Alex : Chapter Twenty – One

                                               

    The Trees    

The July heat had soaked the bedroom.  Outside the open window Maureen could hear the soft chirruping of cicadas and the solemn croaking of frogs.  She curled beside George, their bodies covered only by one thin sheet.   Having made love George had fallen into a deep sleep.   On most nights Maureen would have done the same but not this night.    Too many thoughts crowded her mind.  Unable to sleep she rose, pulled on her robe and lit the bedroom lamp.  She went to her uncle’s bedroom.   As quietly as she could, she opened the door.  Rebecca was asleep in the chair, her right hand resting on Alex’s arm. Peter slept on the folding cot on the other side of Alex’s bed.  Maureen, feeling the stranger in this room, stepped back out into the hall and closed the door.

She descended the stairs and entered the drawing room.  The clock chimed eleven.  Maureen placed the lamp on the small table and looked up at the portraits of her parents.  Whenever she had been troubled she had found strength in them.  She could not find it this night.  As she studied her father she felt herself looking at the face of a stranger.  James had been a man who had believed in certainties but what had those certainties been?  To understand Alex she would have to understand James.  She began with the memories she had of him, her own memories not those planted by someone else.  They were so few.  Not once could she remember sitting on James’ lap or his giving her a goodnight kiss. All fathers she once believed were stern, remote figures.  Yet when she thought of George as a father she knew he would be different from James. There were also the other memories.

On the morning Paisley visited Alex, Maureen had sat with Rebecca on the back porch.  Rebecca, busy peeling carrots, still fumed over Alex’s determination to receive Paisley.  “Foolishness.  He’ll be inviting the entire district next.”

“Rebecca.”

“Yes, ma’am?”  Rebecca looked up from the carrots.

“I would appreciate it if you would call me Maureen, please.”

Rebecca came close to slicing a finger.    “If you like . . . Maureen.”  She smiled.

The smile reminded Maureen of when she had been a little girl.  She had gotten so used to thinking of Rebecca as a servant and rival, not as a possible friend.  “What do you know of my father, Rebecca?”

“James?”

“I want to know what he was like as a man, how Alex and he got along together.”

“Oh? Well, he was a fine handsome man. ”

“I know.  I have the portrait, but what was he like?”

“He was a hardworking man.  No man could work harder than he could in the field, in the office, in the mill. He was a good provider.  He paid a fair wage.”

“Did you like him?”

“Like him?  Of course I.   .  .” Rebecca stopped.  Questions related to James she had always passed off to Alex.  She surmised that Maureen would have asked much sooner if it had not been for all the nonsense Alex had been filling her with over the years.  Putting down her knife she folded her arms.  “Do you want the truth or what you think the truth should be?”

Puzzled Maureen answered. “The truth, Rebecca.”

Rebecca looked into Maureen’s eyes.  “I knew the man for ten years.  I never liked him.”

Maureen bridled at the slighting of her father’s memory but checked herself.  She had asked for the truth.  “Why?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Sometimes people take a like or dislike to others.  Almost from the first I had a feeling about him; just something  . . . People think Alex is a bit of a fool.  Even so, most like him. He makes people feel better about themselves, at least most people.”

“Your children never liked Alex.”

Rebecca nodded.  “That was different. They couldn’t separate Alex from James.  James could be a charmer when he chose.  He had a fine tongue and could be generous with his money, but he always had a reason for it, if you know what I mean.”

“I think so.  Go on.”            

“What I couldn’t forgive James for was that after Padraic’s accident, if it hadn’t been for Alex he would have let us go starve and not thought twice about it.”

“How did Alex persuade him to keep you on?”

“I don’t know.  That was between the two of them.  Something else I didn’t like about James was how he spoke to Alex.  James was the elder.  Alex deferred to him, natural enough being the younger I suppose but still . . . ”

“What?”

“I don’t think James ever understood Alex. I don’t think he even cared enough to try.  To James the land was everything.  Alex didn’t own any, or much of anything else, except for his books. Laziness, James called it.  It wasn’t that at all.  Alex was just different.  James always had two favorite sayings he would trot out every so often when he wanted to make a point. Every man has to carry his own burden in life.  I always thought eighteen thousand acres would have made Padraic’s burden a bit easier to carry.  I wondered how well James would have carried his burden without the land.”

Alex’s land, Maureen wanted to tell her.  Instead she allowed Rebecca to ramble undisturbed through her memories.

“He would also say that to rise in the world Alex should be more aggressive and push himself forward more.  Alex’s problem was that he was born a runt and would always be a runt.”

“He said . . .?”

“Oh aye, and Alex would sit there as if he were listening to the words of Solomon.  I would have punched the man in the nose if I were Alex.  You want to know more about James?”

“Yes.”

“Ask Anna about the doll.”

“The doll?”

“Yes.  I wasn’t there at the time. I can’t really say much about it, but Anna knows.  Do you remember an old rag doll you used to own?  You must have been about five then.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Anna does.  Ask her about it.”

“Rebecca, one last question. Why, when you care for Alex so much, do you call him a fool?”

“Because he is,” said Rebecca.  “The man honestly believes if he tries hard enough, gives enough, and waits long enough, that people will change for the better.  He’s waited forty years.  We’re still the same, stiff-necked quarreling bastards we’ve always been.  He just won’t admit what everyone else knows, that’s its hopeless.”

Maureen thought for a moment.  “If that’s true, Rebecca, what does that make us?”

Rebecca picked up her paring knife and returned to the carrots.  “Even bigger fools.”

***

When Maureen stepped into her shop, a straw basket under her arm, Anna frowned. Something was not right. Maureen seemed almost pleasant.  She remembered what her father had once said.  A bear does not always smile because it feels friendly.  “Good morning, Mrs. McKay.  How is Alex?”

“Resting.  He seems out of pain for the moment.  He’s impatient at having to be in bed.”

“He never was one for taking advice.  He has my prayers,” she added knowing Maureen would look upon Papist prayers with some skepticism.  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Maureen placed the basket on the counter.  “Are you very busy?”

“Not especially. Do you need me at the house again?”

“Not just now . . . thank you.  I’ve come about something else.”

Maureen had come to make peace.  Her offer reminded Anna of another of her father’s stories. A drill sergeant and his company stood to attention in the pouring rain.  The sergeant told them to raise three hearty cheers.   Whether the men felt hearty or not, they had to comply. Unlike those men, Anna had a choice.  She could keep sniping but she lacked the heart for it. If she could do nothing else she could help make Alex’s last days peaceful.  They celebrated their truce over a pot of fresh tea and one of Rebecca’s peach pies.  “We shall be sisters again,” Maureen told her.

  At what price Anna wondered.  What did Maureen want?  Over the second cup of tea she found out. 

“I was talking to your mother this morning about my father. She mentioned something about a rag doll.  I must have been about five.  She said it had something to do with James.”

“Why do you want to know about that,” Anna asked her voice becoming guarded.  “I was only eight.  I hardly remember it myself.”

“But you do remember it?”

“Yes.  Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious.”

“A rag doll?  I gave it away years ago to little Bridget Foley.  Alex buried it with her.”  Anna fell silent.  She remembered the day the soldiers came, her mother screaming at Alex, his walking out the door, the little girl in his arms.  Coward she had screamed at Alex.  Rebecca had slapped her.

“The doll doesn’t matter,” said Maureen.  “What I want to know is what happened between you and James.”

Anna took a deep breath.  “Maureen, we’ve just finished a year of being angry with one another.  I don’t want to begin a lifetime of it.  Leave it in the past where it belongs.”

“It belongs here. I need to know this.  It’s important to me and to Alex.  If James were your father, wouldn’t you want to know more?”

Anna shook her head.  “I wouldn’t want to know that about my father.”

“Know what?”

Anna collected the tea things and thought over how to begin. “Your father spent a great deal of time in Montreal, more with every passing year.  Sometimes he would take your mother. Most times he wouldn’t. They grew apart in those last years.  Mind you, I was very young.  It’s hard to judge those things at that age.”  Anna placed the cups and saucers in the sink and returned to her seat.   “The trips had something to do with timber contracts.  Anyway, once when he returned he brought you a new doll, a china doll.”

“I remember.  It had a blue dress. I kept it until I went to school.” 

What happened to it after that?  Alex, who had kept so many of her things, had not kept that.  Perhaps he had given it away?  Why? Why had she not tried to keep it?  Perhaps she had just lost interest in it.

Anna continued.  “Your mother gave me your rag doll.  I was playing with it in front of the house.  You, your mother and mine were in the kitchen.  James came up the path from the mill returning for his lunch.  He saw me playing with the doll and asked me what I was doing with it.”

“I told him it was mine.  He was furious. He struck me, saying I was a thief.  Then he grabbed the doll.   I did what any eight-year-old would do.  I cried and ran for my mother.  Jean told Rebecca to look after you.   She would have a few words with James.  She told me to come with her.  Jean was tiny compared to James but when she was angry you could hear her voice the full length of the house.  She marched into the dining room where James was having his lunch.  Jean called him selfish and mean. She said she had given me the doll.  He was to return it before he became the laughing stock of the township.  That got to him.  He fetched the doll and admitted he had been wrong.  He gave it to me.  It should have ended there but it didn’t.  He told your mother not to give me anymore of your things.   All Irish are born thieves.  No point encouraging them.” 

“With that Jean’s anger broke through.  Something had been working at your mother for a long time and she could not hold it back any longer.  She called him a bastard. Excuse my language.  He loved only himself and his infected whores.  He told her, with a voice as quiet as a mother soothing her child that she was the only whore he had never loved, and that her daughter was a whore’s daughter.  She slapped him.  He knocked her down and kicked her. As she lay on the floor, he finished eating his lunch.  I remember how proud of himself he looked.”

“When I helped your mother up she looked at James sitting at the table pouring himself a brandy.  I still see her face. Hate. Just pure hate.”                                                                                                                                             Maureen sat back, her face lowered.  Anna reached out and took her hands.  “I’m sorry, Maureen.  I wish it could have been different but I saw what I saw.  I told my mother.  I never told anyone else.  Never.”

“I wish you had, Anna,” whispered Maureen.  “I wish you had.”

“James had land, power, money, everything.  Yet he was furious with a little girl for playing with a doll.  My brothers and I hated him.  Because we hated him, we hated Alex.  Only later was I able to separate the two.”

“Did James ever say anything about the land, about how it came into the family?”

“James never discussed family matters with servants.  Alex told us James bought it with the money he made during the war.  He did know how to make money.  To tell you the truth I never gave it much thought.  Why?”

“Oh . . . just curious.”

As she walked back through the village Maureen thought about the papers she had seen, the portraits of her parents and the scars on Alex’s back.  During the days that followed she learned more about James and Alex.   Jacob told her about the early years when James had worked for long hours beside the men in the fields and bush.  Then, when the money came in he withdrew to live the life of a lord.  Those had been good years, before the cholera. Timber prices had been high.  When the prices plummeted after James’ death, the money from the mill and tenants could not pay off his debts.  Alex closed the mill paying the workers off with land, the only way he could meet his obligations and keep the men in the township.  That was how he had gotten his place said Jacob.

From the Campbells she learned how Alex had granted them their land.  Ian also told her about how Alex and he spent days tramping through the snow in a futile search for Sam Foley. 

She stood upon her toes pressing herself close to her father’s portrait. Taking the frame between her hands she lifted it off the nail that had borne its weight for as many years as she could remember. From the silent pigment she tried to read what only James could tell her. He smiled mocking her for her impudence.

Two hours later Maureen looked up from her writing at Alex’s shrunken, sleeping face.  The letter she was penning would be sent to Judge Strachan.  Once she received her reply she would have the one remaining piece of information she would need before confronting Alex.  “You lied to me again, didn’t you,” she whispered.  “Not anymore, Alex.  Not anymore.”

When Maureen had finished writing, she sanded the ink, folded the letter and placed it in an envelope.  She resumed her reading, a treatise on the treatment of venereal disease.   She had found it buried on a shelf of a bookcase.  Not a proper subject for ladies, she admitted but Maureen was becoming very tired of being a lady.

***

The morning of August fifth brought hot clear weather.  Before going to work George stopped by Alex’s room.  He helped Alex out onto the front porch warning him he was not to venture any further.  On the porch Alex remained until George rode off to Kilmarnock.  Alex then called to Peter.

Peter led the way lugging a large wicker chair.  Alex, sporting a wide-brimmed straw hat, hobbled behind carrying the boy’s book until they reached a spot shaded by the apple trees growing behind Kilmarnock Hill.  A hickory walking stick, a gift whittled for Alex by Ian, helped give the old man support.  It had been a generous act on Ian’s part but Alex hated the gift.  It symbolized his inability to walk by himself.

Peter placed the chair as directed by Alex, under the shade of one of the larger trees.  The boy curled himself up against the trunk of another tree and resumed reading the adventures of Mister Pickwick and Company.

Alex watched Jacob slashing grass.  He reveled in the smell of the fresh grass and ripening fruit.  Closing his eyes he felt the sun bathing him.  A fine day he told himself.  Each day was precious to him.  Tomorrow, George would take them for a sail on the lake.  He had not been out sailing for years.

George had also asked him about when he would tell Peter about his condition.  It would have to be soon, but not today.  Peter was enjoying himself with Mister Pickwick.  Part of that cheerfulness was based upon his belief that Alex was recovering. Let him believe it for one more day.

Alex sat through the morning as Peter read to him.  The old man then chatted with Jacob about the prospects for the coming harvest, and about Enid, Jacob’s wife, about their children and grandchildren.  After Jacob went back to his work, Alex dozed until wakened by Maureen’s calling him in for lunch.

Peter hearing the woman approach wished Alex would tell her to leave.  She was always interfering.  Pulling his knees up in front of his face he stared deeper into his book.

Maureen marched towards them. “Alex?”

Alex kept his eyes closed.  Rebecca had told him Maureen had been asking about James and himself.  He had expected that. Soon she would know.  Now he wished to be left in peace.

“Aren’t you coming in,” she asked.

“Later.”

Maureen looked down at the old man, his thin fingers wrapped around the knobbed head of his walking stick, his rheumy eyes adrift in a past she had never known.  She told herself not to be a nuisance.  Alex seemed content where he was.  If he was willing to risk a scolding from Rebecca so be it.  She looked up at the apple trees. “You always did like this place.”

“Aye.  Did I ever tell you about how your mother planted these trees?”

At least a hundred times, Maureen told herself.  “I’d like to hear about it.”

“Something I found out a long time ago.  Someone who plants trees is a person who believes in the future.  Your mother hated the clearing of the land.  It was necessary.  She knew that.  The trees were the enemy.  We couldn’t plant in a forest.  Yet she always believed we were ruining something that would never be again.   When the pine and birch was gone, with only stumps left to burn and dig out she chose this wee bit of acreage for her apple trees.”

“James and I told her it was a terrible site, too exposed to the wind, the soil too thin.  Didn’t matter. She wanted them near the house so she could watch over them.  They became her children until you came.  She used to lug baskets of soil up from the lakeside, water and manure them.  She built a windscreen.  Slowly they grew, a few inches every year.  She lost many but those that survived dug into the soil breaking through the rock.  Some grew up twisted and stunted, but they are here, the stronger for the pain of growing and they’ll survive for generations.  They’ll be here long after we’re dust.”

Alex would always end there, but not this time.  The memories brought back other memories. “It’s a hard land, Maureen.  God knows we didn’t know how hard when we came.  So much work, pain and death have gone into it.  Sometimes the people become as hard as the land, as rigid, as unforgiving.  It’s the price for surviving here.”

Maureen looked across the fields towards the lake and the town on the other side.  She imagined it as it must have been when James and Alex first came to this valley, marking this land as their own.  She saw James, Alex and Jean working the land, bringing this community to life.  It was an inspiring image but she could not shake off the feeling there was something wrong with it.  “Why did you give the land away, Alex?”

Alex’s eyes flickered back to the present.  “What?”

“So much work went into the land.  Why did you just let it go?”

Alex closed his eyes.  “Are you still harping on about that, lass?  What is done is done.  I can’t change that.”

“I’m not angry with you, Alex.  It was your right to do as you wished with what was yours.  I just want to know why.”

“I gave nothing away, lass.   I sold it for what it was worth.”

“It was worth more than sixpence an acre.”

Alex shrugged. “Not to me. The fact it was worth more to others is their affair, not mine.”

“Still, you could have sold it at a better price.  Even at a shilling an acre you could have been a wealthy man, Alex.”

“Could I?  Wealth is a relative thing, lass.  When I was a prisoner, I would have thought myself wealthy just to walk for an hour at night to look up at the stars.  I am a wealthy man.  I own the only thing I have wanted, myself.”          “You could have rented it for sixpence an acre.  People would have been glad enough for that.”

“People don’t come five thousand miles to rent land.  They want their own.” 

“Alex … I know that the land was yours.  I saw the patent.”

Alex nodded.  She would have known soon enough.  What now?

“Why did the government give you the land? Was it because of what you did in the war?”

Alex sidestepped the question.  “No, Maureen. That was the excuse, not the reason.  In the years just after the war, times were bad.  The government was terrified of revolution.  They were aristocrats who had grown up with stories of the tumbrels and guillotines. They were determined it would never happen again, both at home and in the colonies.  So some bright soul in the colonial office decided the Canadas needed a hereditary aristocracy to keep the colonials in line and to keep the Americans out.  In French Canada they had the seigneurs, but not here, so they created one.  The government gave land grants to former officers of the crown.  They were to be the lairds of Canada, ruling over crofters just like in the old country.  Because they assumed I was a staunch supporter of the king, of the established order, of the principles of aristocratic government, they gave me eighteen thousand acres.”

“You didn’t want it?”

Alex shrugged.  “A man doesn’t say no to eighteen thousand acres.  The point is, Maureen, only one aristocracy means anything, that of the mind and heart. You don’t need land for that.”

“Why did you make everyone think the land was James?”

“Because of what I am.”  He placed his right hand in hers.  “Look at me, lass.”

She looked down to see Alex’s shrunken frame perched on the edge of the chair.  Two reddened eyes blinked behind old spectacles.  The eyes were sunk deep into a head too large for the body supporting it.  

“In all the years you’ve known me, have you ever thought of me as a lord?”

Maureen felt too ashamed to answer.  “Alex . . . ”

He placed her smooth white hands in his.   “For a system to work you have to believe in it.  I never could.”  Dropping his hands away he leaned back.    “James could.  He looked a lord.  He believed he was one so everyone else believed it.  What he couldn’t understand until the day he died was that a way of life dying in the old country could not hope to survive here.”

“To own land is one thing.  To assume it gives you the right to own others, that’s something else.  No lords live here, unless you assume we all are.  The land is too vast and the people are different from those of the old country.  They have taken their lives into their own hands.  They have risked themselves, their children, to come here to be their own masters, not to serve someone else.”

“By the end of his life James was almost out of money.  He wanted to live the life of a laird.  That takes money.  His main sources of revenue were from the rents and the timber.  He could not raise the rents without losing the tenants.  The timber was being cleared out, becoming more expensive to harvest with every year.   If he hadn’t died he would have had to start selling the land.  I just let it go.”

“Some men have a passion for the land.  I’m not one.   The Algonquin who were here before us used to say that no one owns the land.  You just use it as you use the water and the animals.  I think they’re right.  All I know is that I didn’t need the land.  I needed the people.  It has been a fair exchange, the land for the people.”

 “I knew a Frenchman once.  We spent hours talking about the war and the revolution and about what they had all meant.  About most things we disagreed but one thing made sense to us.   All people, equal or not, bad or good, all of them have a right to live as human beings.  It’s a simple idea but when you’ve thought it out, nothing seems the same after that.”

Alex slumped back into his chair.  “When I went back to Glasgow after the war, no one believed it, not the poor, not the rich.  Someone always had to be left out, the blacks, the Jews, the Catholics. Who didn’t matter.  What mattered was that the poorest, the most ragged could point at someone and say, no, not you.  Then I came here. When I looked at these hills, I knew it didn’t have to matter what a person had been or where he was from, just what he wanted to be.  Here I could break that chain of misery stretching back for centuries.  I could break it, not just for a few, but for hundreds, even thousands.  I hoped the people coming here would understand that.”

Maureen remembered what Rebecca had told her about Alex’s waiting.  “They didn’t, did they Alex?”

Alex shrugged.  “I never asked them to believe it.  You can’t call a man free and tell him what to think.  When I saw this land, I saw the men who died like animals in Spain and France.  Instead of the lake I saw the despair and the hunger in the streets of Glasgow.  For all the good I had done there I might have well been emptying the sea with a spoon.”

“So you brought the people here?”

“I brought no one.”

“But you just said . . . ”

“They bring themselves.  My choice was just to let them stay.   That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.  It’s their lives they’re living here, not mine.  They came here because of what the land promised, but they made themselves free.  What the land promises is a chance to be better than what they were.”

The people that walked in darkness

Have seen a great light. They that

Dwell in the shadow of death

Upon them hath the light shined.    

“That promise is what this land is about. That is what it’s always been about. It’s not about us. The ones already here. It’s about them, the ones who dream of coming. That’s what the dying was for, the pain that went into this land, the only thing that made it bearable, at least to me. If we were to tell them they couldn’t come it would all be for nothing.”

Maureen recalled the passage Alex had quoted. From the book of Isaiah it referred to the promise of the Messiah not to any earthly land. Alex had given away his land due to a theological error. She should tell him but did not have the heart for it. Besides she could not change the past. “So anyone who comes . . .. ?”

“If they have the courage to come we should have the courage to let them stay. What do they ask?  Nothing more than what our people wanted, a chance.  In return they give us their lives, dreams, skills and they remind us of what we were once.” 

 “So we just take in anyone? Russians, Chinese?”

“Why not?”

“Even the Sam Foleys?”

Alex nodded. “Even the Sam Foleys. Maybe you can choose lass. I can’t. I did that once. People aren’t eggs you can judge by age, color or size. I just take them all.”  He called to Peter. “Give me your book and take the chair. We’ll head back in now.”

“It’s a wonderful dream Alex” said Maureen, supporting him by his arm. “Some day; Alex.”

“Aye,” Too tired to say anymore, he watched the child walking in front of him carrying the chair.

Free on Kindle

26 – 30 April

Islanders

From Sumeria to the future the struggle for the control of Time goes on.

Chapter One: The Outsiders

   The twenty-four hour diner held two customers. The young Chinese woman sat in a

corner booth sipping a cappuccino. Four tables away sat another young woman nursing a cup of

brown  tea. Although the diner was warm the woman still wore her overcoat and sat with her

shoulders hunched in an attempt to retain heat. A smear of cheap mascara did little to hide the

hunger  lurking in her eyes. Skeletal fingers clutched the handle of the mug.

   Just another junkie thought Mei Ling as she spooned the cream off her cappuccino. What

more had she expected? Yet she could not help feeling a little disappointed. She noticed the

frilled cuffs that concealed the woman’s wrists. A good way to hide scars, at least some scars.

    From a radio in the back of the room a voice screamed above a thumping of electric

guitars. The rumbling of a passing bus drifted into the restaurant. In an hour the street would be

filled with people going to work but not her. She would stagger back to a cheap hotel room to a

needle and welcome oblivion.

   Mei Ling placed a five-dollar note on the table. She then picked up her purse and opened

it. She took out a fifty-dollar note and wadded it between fine tapering fingers. She then rose,

careful to brush out any wrinkles in her two piece black suit. As she passed the woman seated at

the table she dropped the fifty-dollar note next to the cup of tea.“Come with me.”

    The woman looked up. For the first time she saw a shorthaired Chinese woman in an

expensive suit. A lez she thought. “You got another fifty?”

      One more Robert Borden dropped onto the table.

    The woman stubbed out her cigarette and pocketed the money. Whoever the lez was she

had money. With any luck she could rip her off for more. “So where are we going?”

   “My place.”

    “Yeah, where’s that?”

    “Does it matter?”

       “I might have to catch a bus back.”

    “No you won’t.”

    The yellow MG reassured her. There would only be the two of them. No unpleasant surprises. It also meant money Settling  into the bucket seat she fantasized  being at the wheel. If she could rip off the car Lester could keep her supplied with smack for a month. No more asking for money from her stupid brother.

    “Would you like some music,” the woman asked her.

  She shrugged. “Whatever.”

     Mei Ling punched in a cassette. Bach’s Jesu Joy of Man’s Desire filled the car.

     “I’ve always liked that,” said Mei Ling.

  “Yeah?” The woman settled her head against the seat. Mathew liked that, She had a

vague sense of having liked it once before the dope. “We going or not?”

     “Of course.”

    Mei Ling turned the ignition.

Politeness

 Elizabeth, rising at eight, found Colleen brewing tea in the kitchen.

“Where’s Dan?”

Colleen did not look up from pouring hot water into the teapot. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“I woke up half an hour ago. I didn’t see him anywhere. His bag is gone. I assume he left.”

“But . . .  why? Wasn’t he with you last night?”

“No. He slept in his room. Then he left sometime after dawn I guess.”

“What happened last night?”

 Colleen her face down, stared at the counter. “Nothing happened; nothing at all. After you left I sat on the couch waiting for him to join me. He sat in the big chair and read a book. After a while I told him I was going to bed. He just kept reading. I waited up half the night hoping that he would join me. I even heard him outside my door. Then he stepped away back into his room I suppose.  When I woke he was gone.”

Elizabeth sat at the table. She thought for a moment.

The two of them, she and Colleen had met Dan three weeks before. He and Colleen seemed to have taken to one another. The only flaw to their relationship was that Dan had been posted two hyundred kilometers away from Kano. Elizabeth wrote to him inviting him for Saturday dinner. Her plan to bring the two together should have worked. It seemed to be working. They had a pleasant spaghetti dinner,  chatting about life in Kano and in Hadejia.  Colleen and Dan did the dishes while Elizabeth went to change. She had slipped away from the house to visit the Greens allowing them privacy.

Where had it gone wrong? “Didn’t he say anything to you?”

“Nothing. Not a word. He just sat and read that damn book.”

“Did you say anything?”

“No. I just assumed that he understood that he should join me.”

“You didn’t ask him to join you?”

“Why would I have too? It was obvious what I wanted.”

“Then when you were bored with waiting, you stood, told him that you were going to bed and left him.”

“Yes.”

“You left him in a strange house, to go to bed alone.”

“My room is across from his. All he had to do was to open the door.”

“Without knocking?”

“He could have knocked.”

“Maybe he thought you were asleep? He didn’t want to waken you.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not. I’m trying to understand him. Perhaps, if you had done that, he might still be here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Colleen. He was being polite. He was waiting for you to ask him to join you. You never did.”

“He shouldn’t have just left like that.”

“Perhaps not but why should he stay where he felt he did not belong?”

“I would have made him feel that he did. All he had to do was to sit beside me.” She recalled looking at him reading, his eyes lowered to the pages. Occasionally they would flick towards her staring eyes and then quickly return to the safety of the printed words.

“I thought he liked me.”

“He did. Maybe he still does. He just came from a different world. Not the one you grew up in.” 

She touched Colleen’s right shoulder. “Maybe you can write to him. Explain that it was a misunderstanding, that you would like to see him again . . . ”

“Maybe.” Perhaps she could write but there were others living closer, easier to understand; Simon Habib for instance. He had a nice car. Still, she knew what Elizabeth wanted to hear. “I’ll think about it.”

Alex : Chapter Twenty

   

                  Many Meetings

For three days Alex drifted between sleep and delirium. George told Maureen and Rebecca that they should prepare themselves for the worst. He took Peter aside and explained that Alex was gravely ill.  He did not go further hoping that the boy would understand what that might mean. If Peter did he showed no sign of it to the doctor.On the morning of the fourth day, just after nine, in a dry whisper Alex asked Rebecca for a glass of water.

He had hardly finished his first sip before demanding to see three people, Peter, Maureen and Ian Campbell. Rebecca told him to lie still and not be an old fool. What he needed was rest not visitors. Alex replied by cursing and declaring that if she would not bring them he would.  Afraid that upsetting him would do more harm than complying with his wishes she went off to fetch Peter and Maureen. She then sent Jacob into Kilmarnock with a message to Ian to come.

Alex’s bullying did not impress George. He insisted upon examining the old man before consenting to his having visitors. Maureen and Rebecca waited outside Alex’s door.  When George emerged he told them that Alex was strong enough for visitors if the visits were kept short.  “He is not in pain at the moment. The fever is gone. Where he finds his strength is something I can’t explain.  It’s only a reprieve, mind.” George cautioned.  “But while it lasts I can’t see why he shouldn’t have as normal a life as possible.”

As he lay in bed Alex thought about what would come during the next few weeks. He had three, perhaps four weeks of effective consciousness left. After that the pain would reach such intensity that the opium needed to counter it would rob his mind of any clarity of thought. Before that happened his defenses would have to be in place .

He considered calling Peter and Maureen in together. He would demand, as a favor to himself, that each accept the other as members of the same family.  It had been a pleasant image, Alex lying in bed dictating his terms, Maureen and Peter so guilt-stricken that they would comply with whatever he demanded.  It would never have worked though.  He had always found the final scene of reconciliation in Romeo and Juliet a bit far-fetched. He suspected that a Montague would have picked a fight with a Capulet on the way home from the funeral. Peter and Maureen could not be forced to like each other. Besides, how would Peter react once he knew the truth about Alex’s

condition. He would have to be told but how?  It would have to be in a way that would allow him to consider the

 McKays as friends. He could not do that with Maureen standing there pouting and feeling slighted.

When Maureen and Peter arrived Alex asked to speak with Peter first.  Maureen, about to protest that by right of blood she should have precedence, thought better of it. “I’ll wait outside uncle.”

The boy, Alex noticed, had taken on color, probably from being outside. A good sign he thought. He waited until Maureen had closed the door.

“Sit, lad.”

Peter settled himself into the large chair besides Alex’s bed. “You are feeling better now? We can go home now?”

                                “You see the books,” Alex asked him, pointing at the bookshelves lining the walls of his room.  “This is our home now.”

“No.” Peter shook his head. “I don’t like it here. We will go back when you are better, yes?”

Alex patted the back of Peter’s hand. “Lad, I’m not getting any better.”

“That’s not true.” Peter remembered the lies that Doctor McKay had told him. The doctor had told the same lies to Alex.  “You will be better.”

“Old men do not get younger,” said Alex.

“I can work. I can take care of you.”

“Aye. I know you can but I need Doctor McKay’s help as well, as I need Mrs. McKay’s.”

“No. She doesn’t like you.”

“She was angry and she did something that she is sorry for. Haven’t you ever done something like that?”

Peter remembered his shouting at Alex as the man collapsed from pain but that was different. He had not meant it as she had.

“You can’t judge a person by one moment in their life.  It’s not fair. You do as she bids. You are to help her and Rebecca and the doctor in any way that you can. You gave your word to serve me. Remember that.”

“But I didn’t give it to them,” whispered Peter afraid that they might overhear.  “I gave it to you.”

“And I’m holding you to it. You’ll bide here. You’ll mind your manners and you’ll do as you’re bid.  Now you can spend some afternoons and evenings with me but I don’t want any complaints from anyone about your behaviour. Do you understand?”

 “Yes sir.”

“Good. One other thing. I may be asking you to do some odd-sounding things over the next few days. Do I have your word that you will obey me in all things?”

Peter did not know what Alex meant but understanding did not matter. “Yes.”

“Good lad.” Alex smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t be asking you to break the law.”

“When can I see you again?”

“Soon lad. This evening perhaps. You ask Doctor McKay about it. Now go back to your chores.”

After Peter left he considered what he would say to Maureen. He would ask her to give Peter time to settle in and remind her of her promise to do something for the boy. Peter’s attack had done great harm but any feelings of contriteness on her part might offset that. His plan had one flaw. Maureen had her own priorities. 

             She remained beside the room of his door, her face down her hands folded in penitence. “Alex, I am so   . . .”

Alex waved her in. “That’s over now, Maureen. My fault as much as yours.”

“I had no right to hit you.”

“It’s all right lass. Doesn’t matter. Come in.”

Maureen closed the door and sat beside him. Alex was about to begin when from out of the pocket of her dress Maureen pulled out an old black notebook and placed it on Alex’s lap. She opened it to reveal a circlet of tissue-wrapped flowers.  “I think this is yours,” she said.

Alex peered at it through his spectacles. He should have burned those damn envelopes he told himself as he touched the dried petals. He should have burned them all months ago.

“I found the envelopes. Alex. All the things that I gave you, all hidden away.”

He stroked the dried petals as he tried to think of what to say.  Anger shook his voice. “You have no right… no right at all to go through a man’s things.”

“Why did you keep them, Alex?”

Alex’s anger faded. He had to find a way of steering the conversation towards the subject of Peter.

“Maureen . . . I wanted you . . .”

Maureen pressed on. “I was five years old when I made it. Why did you keep it?”

“It was all so long ago.”

Maureen placed her right hand in his. “I know that you love me, Alex. I am sorry for what I did but I did it because I was angry, thinking all those years that you had never wanted me. You always kept my gifts, my letters, everything except me. Why?”

Accepting the possibility that he could be found out Alex had considered various stories to tell. He had three factors in his favor. He was dying and could therefore plead tiredness or pain allowing him to keep the story short and vague. Second, Maureen would want a story that would fit with what she knew of her father. The third was that all women were sentimentalists at heart. Why would an old man keep a gift from a child? She was his niece, as dear to him as life itself. It sounded a bit maudlin but would serve as a beginning. “You’re my niece. Why shouldn’t I keep it?”

“My mother and father didn’t. Why hide it as if you were pretending that you didn’t care?”

The most irritating thing about Maureen thought Alex was that she never knew when to stop. “I didn’t want to come between you and the memory of James. An old man’s foolishness, Maureen. I am sorry for that.”

“You must have loved my father very much?”

“Aye.”

“Alex, all of this . . . ” She was about to say deception but decided that it would be impolite, “Belittling or hiding of your own emotions to protect my feelings for my father, it was all unnecessary. Why couldn’t you . . .” 

“Lass, I’m tired.”

“Just another question, please, uncle.”

Alex let out a low dramatic sigh. “Well?”

“Why didn’t you come to my wedding? I’ve never understood that uncle. Was it the illness?”

 “No, at least not entirely.”

“Then why?”

“Lass, I haven’t been out of Kilmarnock in eight years. I never leave if I can help it.”

“For your own niece’s wedding? You would have been back in two days at most.”

“And if during those two days a child died that I could have saved, what would I tell its mother?” Alex paused to place the notebook and circlet of flowers on the nightstand. “Besides would you have wanted me there?”

Maureen thought of how she had dreaded his appearing in his clumsy shabbiness, shaming her in front of George’s relations. She had also delayed the ceremony for two hours hoping that he would appear. “Yes. I did want you there. If you had explained yourself I could have moved it to Kilmarnock but you never did. You never do.”

Alex slipped a note of tired pleading into his voice. “Maureen, please. There is something else that I would like to discuss with you.”

Maureen reminded herself that she should not overtax his strength. “Of course.”

“I wanted to know, lass, what you think about Peter. You’ve had time to know him a little better now, haven’t you?”

That thing always came first with Alex. “I suppose I have.” She tried to keep her voice free of her dislike for Peter.  What else could she say? Maureen had felt his fists striking her as he had fought against whatever demons lived inside him. She recalled the pain and fear caused by his attack. The child was not in his right mind. She therefore pitied him. She could say two things in his favor. He was a hard worker. Jacob had told her that he seemed a serious-minded lad not like some with whom he had worked. Peter’s devotion to Alex seemed genuine. Still none of that changed her basic conviction. The boy remained too great a danger to keep at Kilmarnock Hill.  “He is willing enough when it comes to his work.”

“Aye, well that’s fine.”  Take whatever comfort you can Alex. “I wanted to appoint you and George as his legal guardians.You have no objection, I hope?”

Maureen did but did not say so. She remembered what George had told her about her driving Alex away when he had asked for a favor. “No. Of course not but you needn’t concern yourself yet uncle. Give yourself a few days to rest before worrying about such things.”

“Aye. I’ll rest now.” Alex closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Maureen pecked him on the forehead and slipped out of the room.  Once she was gone Alex opened his eyes. My God he thought. Once that woman gets started she never stops. He closed his eyes again as he heard Rebecca coming in to sit with him.

***  

Ian scratched his head. Why Alex wished to see him was as much a mystery to Ian as it was to everyone else in Kilmarnock Hill. “It’s not as if I’m family” he told Anna and Rebecca as he sipped a cool glass of lemonade.

“Alex always did have a strange definition of family,” Anna sniffed. She quieted at a look from her mother.

Ian found Peter sitting next to Alex reading to him from Gulliver’s Travels. Alex thanked Ian for coming. He tapped the boy’s right shoulder. “Peter go to the kitchen and see if you can help Rebecca.” 

The two men waited until Peter had finished dragging his feet out of the room.

“Lock the door, Ian.”

Puzzled, Ian did so.  “Alex . . .”

“Hush.”

Only after Peter’s feet ceased sounding on the stairs did Alex begin. He started with a question that Ian considered of questionable taste.

“How many people know that I’m dying?”

Bad luck to talk of such things thought Ian. “Alex you’re not dying. You’ll be as right as . . .”

”Don’t be a bloody fool,” snapped Alex. “How many?”

                “Well there’s talk throughout the district but it’s just a rumor.”

“It’s not a rumor, Ian.  But that’s not why you’re here. I want you to do two things for me.”

“I will if I can.”

Alex lay back. He could feel the pain returning but he did not want the opium yet. “Take a letter to Judge Strachan tomorrow.  I was going to Perth to give it to him but you’ll have to do it for me.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“There’s one other thing. Bring Paisley here.”

“Paisley?” Ian knew the man, a writer fellow who was spending the summer in Kilmarnock, not a bad type from what he had seen of him, a good judge of horseflesh.

“Aye.” Alex debated how much he could tell Ian. He would need help. Ian had to know just enough to want to help. “He works for Radek.” 

Bewildered Ian sat back in his chair and tried to think.  He could not imagine a more dissimilar man to Radek than Paisley.  A friendly sort and a regular churchgoer, Paisley was not above standing a man a drink.

“Every day.” said Alex, “he posts a letter to Kingston on the morning coach. The letters go to an attorney. A Mister George Chapman. Do you remember him, Ian?”

Chapman had been the attorney Ian had written his letter to, the letter that had brought Radek to Kilmarnock. “Aye.”

“Ask Joe Morris about the letters. I’ve also received a letter from Chapman. Paisley’s letters are forwarded to a company in New York City. Guess who the director is.”

“Radek?”

“Paisley is Radek’s spy.”

Ian stood. “I’ll have a word with Mister Paisley. He’ll be on the next steamboat out. I promise you that.”

“Sit. You’ll do no such thing.”

“But Alex . . .”

“The man has broken no law. He has a perfect right to use her majesty’s mail. Besides he may not know

anything about the boy. You’ll leave him alone.”

Ian sat looking very disgruntled. “Then why mention this to me?” he grumbled.

“Two reasons. First, Mister Paisley is our barometer.”

“Our what?”

“Barometer. An instrument, Ian, used to show a rise or fall in air pressure.  Seamen use it for predicting storms. If Paisley is busy writing his letters I know that all is well. If he should suddenly disappear, receive visitors or stop sending letters, then something is in the wind. Don’t molest him. Be friendly but watch him.”

“If you say so. What’s the other reason?”

“If anything should happen to me or to the boy, Paisley is the only one apart from you and possibly Chapman who can testify to the connection between Peter and Radek. We may need him as a material witness so treat him with respect. Now go and tell him that I’ve invited him for a visit. I’ve always wanted to have a chat with a literary man.”

“Are you certain about this, Alex?”

“I’m not certain about anything. Just do it.”

Over Rebecca’s protests Alex insisted upon meeting with Paisley. Rebecca could not understand why a man so ill should insist upon receiving a stranger.

“You don’t even know him.”

“I’ve never had the chance to meet a professional writer before. It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

“You’d think he was Mister Dickens the way you’re carrying on,” she complained as she and Peter helped Alex to put on his coat.

“You’ve always said that I should be more sociable, Rebecca. Well now I am.  Have the tea and cake brought up when he arrives.”

Still grumbling Rebecca left for the kitchen. Doctor McKay might be agreeable to this nonsense. She was not.  A man in Alex’s position should be concerned with more serious matters.

When Paisley was led upstairs by Rebecca he more than half-expected a trap awaiting him in the old man’s room.  MacTavish, having discovered that he was a spy, had decided to inflict some terrible vengeance upon him. He knew the idea to be ridiculous. MacTavish was neither a Fenian nor a miscreant. He was a dying old man who wished to spend a few minutes chatting about literature. MacTavish and his adopted son playing chess was hardly an ominous sight.

The old man seemed skeletal, his flesh so pale as to be almost transparent. Although not as feeble as when Paisley had last seen him, unconscious on the back of McKay’s wagon, it seemed to Paisley that MacTavish would not be in this world much longer. Still the old fellow seemed cheerful enough. He rose to greet his visitor, an attempt so labored that it confirmed Paisley’s belief that he would soon be on his way back to Molly. 

“Pleased that you could come, Mister Paisley. I’ve been looking forward to inviting you for a chat but other things prevented it.”

“Quite understandable sir. I hear that you’ve not been well. Nothing serious I trust?”

Alex shrugged. “The curse of old age. Have a seat, please.” He pointed at an empty chair. “You must try some of Rebecca’s ginger cake. She has always had a deft hand with sweets. Unfortunately I’m not allowed to indulge anymore but please help yourself.”

The two men chatted for a few minutes about events in Kilmarnock, the news in the British Whig, the Baldwin Municipal Act and the possible extension of the American railroad system into Canada. Alex then asked Mister Paisley’s opinion, as a literary man, about some of his favorite writers. Alex wished to know how he would compare the newer writers to those popular in Alex’s youth. Thackeray to Scott for example. Dickens, Alex considered overrated. Thackeray seemed to have a keener perception of the human condition. Had Mister Paisley done much reading of American writers, Hawthorne for instance?

Paisley munched on the cake and replied in vague generalities stating that most people seemed to prefer modern writers because they were new, “don’t you know.”

If this is a literary man, thought Alex, then I am an elephant.  He told Peter to go downstairs and help Rebecca. When Peter had gone he resumed.   “Don’t you find it difficult Mister Paisley being the outsider in Kilmarnock?  I know how closed in and suspicious a small town such as this can be towards an outsider, especially as deep into the bush as we are.”

“Everyone has been very kind sir.”

“Still, it’s not easy. I’ve always been a bit of an outsider myself, more through temperament than anything else. My son, Peter, he’s adopted. He’s a stranger here just as you are.  You might say the three of us are pretty much birds of the same feather.”

“I find it hard to think of you as a stranger here sir. I understand you were a founder of the settlement. Surely if anyone belonged here it would be you.”

“Residing in a place doesn’t always mean that you belong there. The point that I’m trying to make sir is that being an outsider can be very difficult. In the old days back in Scotland or Ireland if an outbreak of disease occurred or if a serious crime happened, the outsider would be the one to be accused. Not very fair don’t you think?”

“People being people you have to expect that. Human nature, ain’t it?”

Alex nodded. “Very much so, and human nature is very slow to change. Most of these people brought the old ways of thinking with them. Scots, Irish, neither have changed much. Now suppose, just for argument’s sake that a serious crime was to be committed in Kilmarnock, a robbery or homicide, at whom would people point?  The outsider, us, Mister Paisley.”

The cake in Mister Paisley’s mouth had lost its flavor Was MacTavish just rambling or did he have a point to make?  Paisley could not help feeling that MacTavish was trying to warn him but about what?  He smiled and wiped the crumbs from his lips. “Well, we’d better hope that nothing like that happens while I’m here.”

“Will you be here much longer, Mister Paisley?”

“Not much longer I should think. A couple of weeks. I haven’t decided.”

Alex smiled. “I’ll look forward to speaking with you again before you leave.”

  Pleading tiredness, which was true, Alex regretted that he could not continue with their little chat. Alex waited until Paisley had gone before sinking back into his chair. His body shook as waves of pain surged through it.

What the hell was that all about Paisley wondered as he rode back.  Had MacTavish been accusing him of something, all that talk about the outsider being the prime suspect. Paisley had been a police officer. He knew that community members and relatives committed most crimes, not outsiders. Anyway who was planning to commit a crime here? No one, as far as he knew. He admitted that there was more to the man than he had first thought but how much more?  That was the problem with this business. It made you suspicious of everyone.

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Kano Days

18 – 22 April

A small group of Canadian teachers arrive in Kno in Northern Nigeria to teach in local schools in 1981

Snub nosed, curly red hair, five feet tall, twenty-six years old, Colleen Hagan exuded intelligence and sexuality that had caught Daniel’s interest when they had first met in September. Daniel McTeer, thirty-one years old, came from a working class family in Thunder Bay.  Colleen came from a wealthy family in Hamilton. They had traveled to Nigeria to work for the Kano Ministry of Education. For a week the Canadians had been housed in a Kano Hotel, the Sardauna Palace.  During that week Daniel had spent many of his evenings sitting next to Colleen, chatting about their lives in Canada and sharing impressions of Kano and Nigeria. Furtive kisses, her ankles pressing against his he found enticing but always he hesitated.  Daniel thought of the person he was, shy, reclusive, preferring books and stamps to sports and bars doubting if she or anyone else would want him. Then the week ended.

Going To Kanada

When Mike told Linda that he was from Kanada she was left mystified. She could not find it on a school atlas until Mike told her that it started with a C and not a K. “But you pronounce it as K?”

“We do.”

“Then why not spell it that way?”

Mike shrugged. “We spell it with C. We always have.”

Linda shook her head. “English is strange.” Then she spotted it in the Atlas, looming above the United States, a huge land. Second biggest country in the world said Mike. It was also, one of the emptiest, with fewer people than her home island of Luzon.

“Where are you from?” she asked Mike.

He pointed at a small peninsula sticking into Lake Ontario. “Prince Edward County. A small town called Picton.”

“Pict . . .?”

“He was a British general who died at Waterloo; a long time ago. Settlers named the town after him. A lot of places in Canada got their names that way.”

“Prince Edward?”

“A son of George III I think.”

“So you are British?”

“Canadian. We became a country in 1867.”

“But you have the British Queen. You told me.”

“Yes. That’s true. When you take your citizenship oath you swear allegiance to the Queen of Canada.” “But she is the queen of Britain.”

“And Canada, Australia, Papua New Guinea and a bunch of other countries; it’s a little confusing until you get used to it.”

Linda frowned. “You are part of Australia?”

“No, no. We are completely different countries.” She thought back to the rare moments when people had referred to Canada. People ate raw fish, wore furs and lived in ice houses. Linda doubted that she would like living in Canada. Twice Linda had said no to Mike’s proposing. Each time the Filipina ladies had asked her in frustrated astonishment; why?

“I do not know him. Maybe he is Australian?” She had heard of a Filipina being murdered by her Australian fiancé. Canada? Australia? What was the difference? Back in the Philippines everyone knew of the U.S., of China, and of Japan. Most people knew of their neighbours, Malaysia, Indonesia and Australia. Many knew of Britain and France but Kanada?

A month later, Mike asked her for the third time. Then he mentioned that he was thinking of going back to Canada when his contract ended. “There’s nothing to keep me here, except for you. Will you marry me?” he said expecting to be rejected again.

Linda thought about what he had said. She imagined Nigeria without Mike. True June was a half year away but it would come. Then what? A lonely bed; Linda the spinster; people laughing at her; she would be alone in Nigeria without Mike. “Yes Mike. I’ll marry you.”

Another month passed. Mike got some books from the Canadian High Comission in Lagos. They included a short history, a map and guidebook. Linda stared at the map. Across most of it, she saw rivers, lakes, and boundaries but no settlements. Where are the people?

“In the south,” said Mike. “Near the border. That’s where we’ll be.” Every night, before going to bed she would read about Canada, Mike answering any questions she had.

“Ten provinces like in the Philippines” she noted. “Two territories. What are they.”

“The Yukon and the Northwest Territories; they are ruled from Ottawa.” “Oh.Why?” “Not very many people.”

“Oh.”

Lying beside her Mike she tried to imagine what life would be like for her baby and she in this strange new land. She remembered the great mountains. Would there be mountains near Picton? She would like to see them. Perhaps they could take an afternoon and drive to the mountains.

She nudged Mike.

“Huh?”

“How far are the mountains from Picton?”

“What mountains?”

“The big ones in the west.”

“The Rockies? Uh, maybe five days travelling.”

Linda sat up. “Five days?”

“Yeah. Maybe more. Two full days across Ontario. We have to stop for gas, meals and washrooms. A day for each of the Prairie provinces. Then there’s the weather. Never quite sure what it’ll do. Five, maybe six days. It’s a big country Linda.”

“Yes.” She sank back down. Five days? Maybe another day to reach the Pacific? Suddenly Linda felt very small. Turning she clung to Mike.

Alex: Chapter Nineteen

Professional Courtesies

The message from Kingston arrived in Radek’s office on the sixth of July. Red Two. Translated it meant that Doctor MacTavish was dying. Red one would have meant death. Radek would wire Chapman in Kingston who would send the message on to Boyd or Paisley as he now called himself. Radek wished that he could act upon the news but another task had priority.

   Radek could never understand how some men could sacrifice their wealth for the sake of satisfying a grudge. Grudges cost money. If MacTavish had the good sense to die Radek saw no reason to interfere. Boyd would send further details concerning the old man’s condition. Radek would wait for his letter before sending the Leugers north. Dying men sometimes recovered. Determine the water’s temperature before diving in. The pig could wait.

  Frederick remained his immediate concern. Radek conceded that he should be grateful to the pig. With Josef gone, Frederick’s decay had accelerated. Once an attractive figurehead, Frederick had lost even that ability. His face had grown puffy, his speech slurred. He scribbled away at his manuscript lost in a daze of

opium and alcohol. He raved about great air armies of the future terrorising nations. He warned against racial contamination, against the mixing of pure Germanic stock with that of lesser breeds, a possible reaction to life in America. From time to time Frederick would take time from his writings to rant about returning to Austria.    Radek had ended that and other things. After Frederick had once again announced his irrevocable decision to take passage to Europe, Radek had bowed and asked to withdraw. He soon returned with the Leuger twins. Without waiting for permission he stepped into Frederick’s study followed by Franz and Ferdie.

                Frederick looked up from his scribbling. “Well?”

                “Franz and Ferdinand have something to show you sir,” said Radek with his usual tone of obsequiousness.

                “I’m busy. Go away.”

                “About America sir.”

                “America?”

    Radek bowed and stepped back out into the hallway closing the door behind him. He waited ten minutes. When he re-entered Franz and Ferdie were standing behind Frederick’s desk. Frederick’s chair had been overturned, its clawed feet reaching up into the air. The twins, perspiring heavily were kicking a curled moaning object on the floor. They stepped aside to allow Radek to savour the cringing, bloodied, mound of bruises.

    “You see, Freddie,” said Radek using his silk handkerchief to wipe the blood off Frederick’s face; “in America you are nothing. Here each man has to prove his usefulness. The time has come for you to prove yours.”

    Frederick’s reply was a pleading whimper not to let them hurt him anymore.

       “No one wants to hurt you,” said Radek “Put him in his chair, gently.”

       Ferdie put the chair upright. Franz hauled the baron from off the floor and pushed him into the chair. A pen and two documents were placed before Frederick’s dazed eyes. One was an authorisation to transfer fifty thousand dollars to the account of Liberty Investments. The other was a deed selling his house in New York to Karl Radek for one dollar.  Radek showed him where to sign. Frederick scribbled out his signature.

   “Now you are learning to be useful Freddie. If you are, no one will hurt you. Since you like it in this room, you may remain here as my guest. You may have your ink, paper, opium and alcohol, as much as you wish. In return you will sign any papers I’ll bring you.  We’ll forget this nonsense about going back to Austria shall we?”

     Frederick murmured yes.

    “Oh, something else. You’ll be glad to know Freddie that we found Josef.”

   Frederick lifted his bloodied face. “Josef?” he whispered.

      “Yes.” Radek placed a one-dollar bill on the desk. “The pig is dead. Ferdie strangled him, Your fault you

know. A filthy habit your fondness for boys. They don’t like that sort of thing in America. Don’t feel too bad. There’s still the opium. That should keep you happy.” He barked at the Leugers. “Clean him up.”

      Radek calculated that Frederick would last a year, more than enough time in which to reclaim the pig. He had not counted on Frederick’s inability to do anything right. On the morning of the twenty-ninth of July Ferdie brought Frederick his breakfast. He found the baron lying dead on the floor of his study. A physician declared the baron a victim of heart failure from overindulgence in alcohol and opium.  Frederick was just twenty-three, the last direct heir to the Von Kraunitz fortune.

     Radek waited for the police to remove the body to the coroner’s office. The overseer stepped back into the study. Scattered on the floor were the last pages of Frederick’s manuscript. On the very last page Frederick

had scrawled one word over and over. Vergaben. Forgive. Radek crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace. As he stuffed Frederick’s manuscript into the fireplace Radek cursed Frederick. He had not wanted this. He had restricted Frederick’s supply of opium to prevent such a possibility. Towards the end, once the transfer of funds had been completed he would have increased it but not until then. The bastard must have kept some hidden. He would have to see to the funeral and consult with Mister Godwin concerning the will. He could give Godwin a share of the money  to ensure his co-operation.

  He thought about the next few years. The Austrian government would seize whatever properties remained in Austria. Let them. Most were bankrupt shells. The American holdings were Radek’s.   MacTavish might have even done  Radek a favour in hanging on to Josef, not that he would benefit by it.  With Josef installed as a new figurehead the transfer of funds would continue. Within a few weeks with MacTavish dead, Radek would fetch Josef He would bring Katrina along. She would enjoy the trip and she had always been able to manage the pig better than her brothers. Within a few years Radek would be so wealthy people would not notice Josef’s sad demise.

One unanswered question nibbled at Radek’s sense of self-satisfaction. During the past year he had the feeling someone had been working against him. He could not shake off the moment when MacTavish had told him the pig could speak English. The man might have been bluffing or exaggerating but if not? If the old man had spoken the truth, Josef’s knowledge of English meant two things. The pig was not as stupid as he thought and someone had betrayed him.

He considered the Leugers. Absurd. Only Katrina had the intelligence and interest to teach the boy but she had nothing to gain.  Besides she could only understand a few words of English. Anyway she was only a woman. Still, he recalled a brief scene that had troubled him. It had occurred during their first visit to the house in Harlem. The estate agent had gone off with Frederick to examine the master bedroom on the second floor. Radek knew one did not judge a house by the master’s bedroom but by the servants’ bedrooms.  If they were in good condition chances were the rest of the house was sound. He poked at the window frame of a servant’s room. The window overlooked the garden. He looked down to see Katrina and the pig staring at a large chestnut tree. The pig looked at Katrina who nodded.  Could Katrina have been plotting with the pig? Not likely. Her brothers would have told him. For all he knew the two might have just been admiring the tree. No. He had a far likelier choice than Katrina.

Frederick. Radek could imagine the pig wheedling the fool until Freddie agreed to teach him. The man had been enough of an idiot to believe Josef’s professions of loyalty. God knows what the pig told him when they were in bed together.  Clever little bastard.  Radek did not mind granting the pig one small grain of respect. It never hurt to show respect to an enemy, professional courtesy from one combatant to another.  Napoleon would have understood. 

                                                                                ***        

Frederick’s funeral was sparsely attended. The Austrian consul, Doctor Schneideman brought a wreath of flowers.  Radek met Mister Godwin there. They agreed to meet the following day for the reading of Frederick’s will. Godwin asked about Josef. Radek told him that Josef was ill. He hurried back to his office to keep an appointment with Mister Richard Prentice. Mister Prentice owned a slave-breeding plantation on the lower James River.  He exported slaves to the cotton producing states of the lower Mississippi.  He had come to New York seeking capital to expand his business.  The brokerage houses had cold-shouldered him until he met Mister Radek.

The simplicity of Prentice’s scheme appealed to Radek. Control the source of production in the east. They could secure contracts with Southern ship owners and railways to move the slaves as far west as Texas.

“Too many slaves dying on the way,” Prentice complained.  “Ones that get there are more dead than alive.  You have to sell at a reduced price or spend time fattening them up. You bring them west by train, say fifty in a cattle car. They arrive fit and ready to work. You get top price. Don’t hardly lose none.”

A top field hand in Mississippi could fetch as much as twelve hundred dollars, a house girl eight hundred, a child four hundred. A regular series of transports bringing thousands of able-bodied slaves to expanding cotton fields, even considering the resulting depreciation in prices could earn millions. The idea was intriguing.

The next morning Radek kept his appointment with Mister Godwin. As Radek settled into a comfortable leather chair Godwin opened his safe and drew out two large manila envelopes. The thinner envelope consisted of Frederick’s will. Godwin slit the envelope open with an ivory letter opener and drew out the papers. He studied them for a moment and asked Radek if he would care for something to drink. Radek shook his head.  Godwin began with the usual declaration made by Frederick that he considered himself to be of sound mind.

Poor Frederick, Radek mused. He had never been right about anything. As he contemplated the silver knob of his cane Radek’s thoughts drifted toward Canada. He would have to get the pig back without hurting it in too obvious a fashion. Josef might be quite willing to return once he knew of his wealth.

Godwin continued reading in a flat monotone. Frederick had divided his supposed property into two parts. The land and monies remaining in Austria would go to the church. In return they would hold high masses in the chapel in Marienberg, one for his parents, one for Father Schiller. The house in New York, the furnishings and just over four million American dollars were to go to Josef Krivanek.

“Said Josef Krivanek  is to be placed under the immediate guardianship of Mister Richard Godwin until he should attain his majority.”

Radek blinked.

Godwin finished. “Dated this day of our lord, the seventh of June, eighteen hundred and fifty.”

Puzzled Radek leaned forward. “Excuse me did you say that you were to become…..Josef’s guardian?”

“No. I did not say it,” smiled Godwin.  “His Excellency said it.”

“But his Excellency told me…”

“Yes?”

“I would be Josef’s guardian. After all, I know him better than anyone. The boy trusts me.”

“I only know what’s written here.” Godwin held the will out to Radek.

Radek read the will and reread it. In his mind he reread the paper he had found in Frederick’s manuscript stating his intention to make Radek Josef’s guardian. He placed the will on the desk. “When I saw you at our last meeting you said as much.”

“No sir. You just assumed that I did. Whatever the baron may or may not have led to you to believe was between you and him. However, he did leave you this.” Godwin picked up the other envelope. “The baron instructed me to hand you this in person.”

Godwin handed him the other envelope. Radek slit it open. He found three sets of documents and a letter written in German.

Herr Radek:

By now Mister Godwin has told you that the terms of my will are not what you expected.  I never quite believed your theory about Josef cutting himself by accident although I tried. Josef also informed me that his family died of typhus. A tiny detail I know, too unimportant for you to be concerned with but I could not understand how an entire family could perish without the doctor I appointed even looking at them. Why was it not mentioned in any correspondence related to Jablunka?

I could not help worrying about Josef when he rose late one night. I pretended to be asleep and watched as he dressed.  He seemed nervous. One hand was closed as if he were hiding something in it. I followed him as he left the house. He led me to your residence. I watched him as he handed you a key which I thought odd as you already controlled every key in Marienberg, but you had to have the one to my manuscript too, didn’t you? I knew then how to play a little trick on you. I would do everything that you wanted to me to do. I would be as stupid as you wished me to be, Just as Josef had pretended with me.

You are not a very clever man Karl. Too many coincidences do not bear up well under scrutiny. Why  would a man as devoted  to the church as Father Schiller commit suicide? He must have gone mad. Strange he should go mad just after demanding your resignation.

You wanted America. You could have America. That would give me the time to understand the best way of stopping you. The only problem was getting you away from New York long enough to contact Mister Godwin. So I brought Josef north to Canada. Eventually he would run. I stayed away from him during the day to make it easier for him. When that did not work I left my key in the door. With him gone all I had to do was to send my loyal Karl after him. With a three hundred-mile start the chance of your finding him was remote. A callous way to treat him? Yes, but he was only a pig keeper’s son. I had the honour of my illustrious family to avenge.

Why did you appoint Suk as coach driver to my mother, Karl? That poor stupid woman. You tried the same trick with me by hiring Josef. You repeat yourself too often Karl. It shows a lack of imagination. You may wonder why knowing all this I did not return to Austria. This was the only way I could bait the trap. Besides fifty more years of being me? No thank you. Remember Dante Karl? The innermost circle of Hell? I will keep a place for you.

Radek looked at the documents. They were almost identical. Also in German they accused him of the deaths of Albrecht and Sopie Von Kraunitz and of Father Joann Schiller. On the back of each was a reminder that English translations were in the hands of Mister Godwin. If anything were found to have happened to Josef, Godwin had permission to release them for publication.                                                            

Radek touched his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. As legal documents the papers were worthless but they would leave his future in New York in ruins. “They’re nothing,” he told Godwin. “Just concerning his estates in Austria.”

Godwin frowned.

Radek slipped the papers into his coat pocket. He tugged at his coat sleeves to keep them from sliding up. The muggy summer air had caused him to perspire. What should he do? First he should not panic. He still held the property in Harlem.  A half-million of Frederick’s money had been transferred. He held twenty thousand in bank drafts and ten thousand in gold coin. He was a wealthy man. Not as wealthy as he had wished but it was enough. So Frederick had fooled him? So what. Frederick was dead. If New York was lost other places waited. He could move out to California. A  new name and a half million he could start over with nothing to hold him to the past. “I

understand that the baron left some other papers with you?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any instructions concerning them?”

“That depends, Mister Radek.”

“Depends?”

 “Yes.” Godwin leaned forward the coldness of his eyes undercutting the friendliness of his voice. “Tell me sir. Where is Josef Krivanek?”

How could Radek hope to bribe a man about to handed four million dollars? He would have to fend him off. “Josef? …. I really don’t know.”

A full minute passed before Godwin spoke again. Each word dripped suspicion. “Why is that, Mister Radek?”

“His Excellency did not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Radek looked quite puzzled. “My apologies. I assumed that he had.” Radek explained how Josef, having robbed the baron of a hundred dollars had fled into the Canadian wilderness somewhere near Niagara Falls.  Radek himself had led the search for the boy. He still had a man looking for him. Perhaps Mister Godwin would be willing to lend some assistance in tracking Josef.

“I think I could arrange something” said Godwin. The whole affair smelled as high as a crate of rotting eggs. Having lied to him at the funeral about Krivanek, Radek was probably lying again.  “You asked about some papers?”

“Yes.”

“If Josef is not found alive within two months of the baron’s death I am to release all of his papers to the press and to the Austrian and American governments.”

“I see.” Radek thought for a moment. “Canada is a very large country.”

“So it is. I would appreciate having the name of your man and where he may be found.”

“Of course.”

Godwin slid a pencil and sheaf of paper across the desk. Radek scribbled out a fictitious name and address

in Niagara Falls New York. Pleading an urgent appointment elsewhere he rose and bowed. The lawyer did not rise.

Having assured Godwin that he would contact his office in the next few days Radek hurried out of the room.

Godwin picked up the paper. As he studied it he considered whom he could send to find the boy.