Bartlett's Inlet

Peter confronts an his past in the form of Katrina Leuger now Theresa Bartlett.

Bartlett’s Inlet

“That’s the Tacoma?” Peter asked eyeing a rusting one-stacker creeping towards him in the morning mist.
“Yes sir.” said an old stevedore, his face wrinkled by too many Pacific storms..
“That’s the only way to Bartletts Inlet?”
“That’s it, unless you want to swim. There might be a private boat or two but they aren’t no safer. Tacoma’s slow but she’ll get you there.”
Two hours of chugging through a cold drizzle did indeed get him there. As he approached the dock of Bartlett’s Inlet he could not keep from being reminded of the approach to Kilmarnock by the lake. The coastal mountains here were far higher then the rounded hills of Kilmarnock. The trees were grander The buildings though were much the same. There was a fish cannery in front of which many small boots were tied but once away from the dock he could have been on Queen Street in Kilmarnock. The clapboard and brick style of the houses was identical to Kilmarnock.
The name Bartlett in the shop window of a two story brick building served as his goal. He paused in front of the shop. In small letters below the larger was written Tobias Bartlett, Prop. He remembered the name. Katrina had mentioned it in many of his letters Inside the door three men sat around a pot-bellied stove. One, rather fat and red-faced, read from a newspaper about President Roosevelt’s sending of marines to Morocco The two others listened. One of them, a pipe in his mouth had his chair tilted back against the wall. His long white apron told Peter the man must be Tobias. One other fact served as proof. The man was black.
At the sight of the stranger the reader stopped. The three men looked at the stranger standing by the door.
“Can I help you sir?” Tobias asked.
“I am looking for a Mrs. Theresa Bartlett.”
“Kat?”
“Kat?”
“That was Sam’s name for her,” Tobias explained. “What do you want to see her about?”
“I am a friend of hers, from Canada.”
Tobias smiled. “I knew she had friends up there. I used to post her letters. McKay, isn’t it?”
“Doctor Peter MacTavish. I knew her back in the old country.”
“Tobias Bartlett. The literary gent is Captain Nathan Kettle. He owns a fishing boat. Jock Gregory here is foreman at the canning factory.”
“Gentlemen. If you would kind enough to show me where . . .”
“I’ll take you there myself doctor,” said Tobias. “Just let me close up.”
“Thank you sir.”
Tobias paused. To every adult in the community he was Tobias or Toby. Only children called him sir. “We’ll go over to see Frank first.”
“Frank?”
“Frank Bartlett. That’s her eldest. He’s mayor, owns the factory. Pretty much runs things here.”
“She has written of him. Klaus is his Christian name.”
Tobias laughed. “Poor Frank. He hates that name. Kat’s the only one who calls him that. To everyone else he’s Frank.”
“You call her Kat?”
“Theresa to us but Sam he always called her Kat, a pet name I guess. Never told us why.”
“I see,” said Peter.” “You knew Mister Bartlett well?”
“Since we were boys back in Virginia, long before the war. We were brothers.”
“Brothers?”
“Half-brothers. Something Frank doesn't like to talk about too much. We shared the same father. Sam never could quite understand how he could have kin who was a slave. Rest of the family never even thought about it, except Mrs. Bartlett who hated the sight of me. She wanted to sell me south. Mister Bartlett didn’t care for that much but he wouldn’t have stopped it. So Sam and me we run off. He had it all figured. By myself I wouldn’t have a chance but two boys one a white the other his darkie, why nobody would ask questions. Got me into Maryland. Then one night we run for Pennsylvania. Told him I’d go out west. Once I got settled, I’d ask him to join me. Took a few years of working at odd jobs; always drifting west until I wound up in the Oregon. I liked what I saw here. Got hold of some land and wrote to him. Bit surprised when he come with a wife and babe but Theresa and I took to each other.”
“You must have been very fond of Mister Bartlett.”
“I was that. Some brothers are close but Sam and me, we were like the left and right arms. We understood each other. Frank’s a lot like his father.”
“Is he?” Peter fell silent. “You were a slave once, weren’t you?”
“I was.”
“The people who owned you, did you hate them?”
“Once.”
“Not anymore.”
“Well, the way I look at it, you can spend your life hating or you can spend it living. I prefer living.”
Peter nodded but said nothing. Some things could be forgiven he thought, but not everything. Not everything.
Within a few minutes they approached a small settlement perched between trees and the sea.
The two men walked up the street together. At the head of the street high on the hill overlooking the harbour were large brick and clapboard houses. On one of the largest houses was a sign, “Bartlett Enterprises Ltd.”
A young woman in a mutton-sleeves blouse sat at a desk typing. She looked up when the two men entered. At the sight of Tobias she smiled. “Good Morning, Tobias.” Tobias swept off his hat. “Morning, Miss Jenny. This gentleman is Doctor MacTavish. He’s come down from Canada. He’s an old friend of Mister Bartlett’s mother.”
Miss Jenny stood and took the doctor’s hand. Peter bowed.
“He’s not having any visitors right now, doctor. I’ll let him know that you’re here. Please take a seat.”
As he waited Peter reflected upon the fact that Katrina was blind. He should not be surprised. She was not even twenty when he had first met her, although to him at the time she had seemed as ancient as the other adults. She would be in her seventies now. The Arithmetic was undeniable and yet he could see the young woman in the grey dress. Although he knew it to be a cruel thing to think, perhaps he should be grateful she would not be able to see him. She would not then know the hate he still carried towards her.
“Doctor MacTavish?”
He looked up to find himself staring at Karl Radek.
Frank Bartett caught him as the old man slumped towards the floor. “You all right doctor? Tobias, get me a glass of water.”
As Peter sipped the water he studied Frank Bartlett. There was no doubt that he was the son of Karl Radek. The resemblance between the two was undeniable. They shared the same height, the same general build, and the rounded face. Like his father, Sam was somewhat pudgy. Yet as Peter looked at the man he could see that the resemblance was just that, a mere resemblance. When Frank Bartlett smiled he smiled with his eyes. Radek’s eyes had never showed any emotion during all the years that Peter had known him.
Frank Bartlett poured him another glass. “Feeling better?”
“Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”
“Don’t fret yourself doctor. It’s been a long day for you. Come into my office. We’ll have a chat. Wait for him out here, Uncle Tobias. Then you can take him over to see Mrs. Bartlett.”
He showed Peter into his office. Through the large window, Peter could look down at the shipping in the harbour.
“Please have a seat doctor.”
As Peter sat he looked at Bartlett’s desk. It was an ordinary business office desk, papers neatly arranged, a telephone at one side. Bartlett sat behind it in a large leather chair. On the wall behind him was hung a portrait of a man with long sideburns. Peter assumed it to be Sam Bartlett.
Frank watched him for a moment, his hands held together resting on his desk. “So, Doctor. You knew my mother before she came to America?”
“Yes. We came to America on the same boat. We were much like brother and sister.”
“She has told me so little of the time before she met Mister Bartlett. Did you ever meet my natural father?”
“Your natural father?”
“Don’t misunderstand me father. Sam Bartlett was my father, as fine a father any child could have wanted but I’ve been curious about what kind of man my natural father was.”
“What has your mother told you about him?”
“Very little. He was a forester. His name was Klaus. He died aboard the ship bringing them to America. Did you know him?”
“Yes. I met him. But I was very young. I can’t say I actually knew him. Your mother and he took care of me. I had no family of my own. You look a great deal like your father.” What more could he say?
“Yes. My mother has told me the same thing.”
Bartlett could sense that the man was hiding something. “I’m curious, doctor. If you came over together how did you two get separated?”
“I was hired out to another man. It’s a long story. As for your father’s character, you should know your mother well enough to know the type of man she would choose.”
Frank nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”
“He was a simple man,” said Peter quoting from one of Katrina’s letters, “a forester, who dreamed of being free. There’s not much more I can say.”
He was wondering what more to add when the phone on Frank’s desk rang.
“Excuse me,” said Bartlett. He talked on the phone for a few moments. From what little Peter could understand there seemed to be trouble with one of the machines at the canning factory.
As he replaced the receiver, Bartlett turned back to his visitor. “My apologies. Trouble at the plant. I’m afraid I’ll have to see about it. Tobias will take you over to the house. My mother will either be in her room or in her garden. She’s not well.”
Peter thought of Maureen. “Her heart?”
“In a way. My father passed away in January of ought two. A lot of her old strength passed with him.”
`“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to distress her.”
“Perhaps your coming will cheer her up.”
“Perhaps.”
As Tobias drove him north out of the town, Peter looked about at the great trees lining the road. In size they dwarfed those of Kilmarnock.
“You’ve known Mrs. Wagner a long time Tobias?”
The old man nodded. “That I have. She and I, we’re the last two who still remember what it was like back in fifty-one. ”
“What was she was like?”
“I thought you knew her.”
`“I was very young. Children don’t understand adults, the way other adults do.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I remember her coming off the sailing ship, Frank in her arms, Sam in front to help her down. The Inlet was just a couple of houses, a boat shed and a dock. She was looking up at the trees.”
Peter looked up at the great pines. “They are impressive.”
“That they are. She also looked at me. I guess I impressed her too. Der Schwartz, that how you say it?”
“Yes.”
“Of course she had never seen many coloured folk before. Sam hadn’t told her. Know it sounds strange but it hadn’t occurred to him.”
“She didn’t like you?”
“Didn’t like the idea of Sam working for me. Wasn’t me, nor even the colour. As she told me later, it made Sam seem a servant, which made her one as well. She had been one once. She would never been one again. Once she understood that Sam and I were partners, I never had no trouble with her at all. Never treated me as anything except as a friend.”
About a mile north of the town the road dipped down. Below him Peter could see a hollow through which ran a small stream. On three sides hills and the forest bordered the little dell. On its southern end lay the ocean. A wire fence ran around the hollow and in the middle of it rose a two story white frame house, surrounded by fields and an orchard.
“When they first moved onto the island Sam and Theresa had a house next to the docks, but Theresa never cared much for the sea. She wanted to be closer to the trees. Sam never could say no to her.”
The cart turned onto a narrow road. “The weather being fine, she’ll probably be sitting in her garden. She likes being near her roses, so I’ll drop you off there.”
As he watched the valley approach Peter wondered what he would say to her.
***
Katrina listened to her roses. She could fancy the flowers unfolding, stirring as the breeze brushed past them. Every so often she would feel a flower with her hands, stroking the velvet petals. She had gotten her roses, reds violets, white, yellow, as many as she could plant. When the weather was fine her granddaughter, Emily, would help her out to her chair where she sat among her roses.
As she sat she would think about Sam, her five children, her eleven grandchildren, about her friends and the life she had led on the island. God had been good to her. She only wished that he would come for her soon. She was tired of waiting. He would come in his own time, Father Sullivan told her. One had to be patient. Katrina’s thoughts had increasingly turned inward. She again sailed oceans with Sam, watched her children grow and observed the passing of the seasons. She would again sit in front of the hearth with her father and mother. Her life with Radek, her brothers and Marienberg she sealed off as much as she could but every so often Josef would peep through. This morning though all she saw were her roses.
“Morning, Mrs. Theresa.”
She smiled. “Good morning, Tobias. What brings you out of your store?”
“Brought you a visitor.”
“How nice.” Katrina hoped it was not another physician. Frank did insist upon dragging them to see her. He could not understand that she did not see her approaching death as something to be feared.
She was so tiny Peter thought. Part of him still imagined her towering above him, strap in her hands. All he could now see was a withered little woman in a broad brimmed straw hat. He stepped up to her and bowed. “Guten morgen, Fraulein Leuger.”
Katrina rose and stumbled towards the strange man. Only one person would know her by that name. “Josef?”
“Ja.”
She tripped over a stone. As she fell forward Peter caught her by arms. She pressed her hands against his face.
“You are such a man. I keep seeing you as a little boy but you are such a man. I am so foolish.”
“No,” he said. “I have been foolish. I have been too long in coming.”
She shook her head. “You should not have come. What I did to you, you cannot forgive. You should not.”
He touched her right cheek. “You are my sister. You did nothing except protect and teach me. There is nothing to forgive. Nothing. There never was.”
Peter stayed at the Bartletts’ house for the next three weeks.
He was introduced to Ella, Frank’s wife. To their children and friends but most of his time was spent with Karina. They would spend hours sitting in her room listening as each told of their life. Peter spoke of his becoming a doctor of his service in their American army, his travels and his life in Kilmarnock. He spoke of Alex, of Jessup, of Maggie and Rose. Katrina told him about Sam and their children, of their lives on this island. Not once did either refer to the lives they had led before leaving New York.
With every passing day he watched her grew weaker. He knew he would have to return to Canada but each day brought fresh reluctance to do so. Three weeks after he came, Katrina passed away in her sleep. At the funeral service Frank asked him as Katrina’s brother to say a few words. Standing in front of her relatives and friends he spoke. “She gave me love and hope. She gave it to us all.” He could think of nothing else yet he knew more had to be said. That evening long after the last of the guests had left he asked Frank if he could speak to him alone in his study. “I want to tell you about your mother and your father.”
Deep into the night as Frank listened, Peter ceased being Peter. For that one night he became Josef again describing the time from when he first saw Katrina and Herr Radek to his flight from the hotel in Kingston. He told him everything leaving nothing out. He then related what he had learned from Jessup and the McKays concerning Radek’s fate. The clock tolled midnight and still he spoke until he had nothing more to say.
“I’ve told no one else of this. I’ll leave tomorrow. I’m sorry if I’ve distressed you. Thank you for your hospitality and your friendship.”
Frank made no reply. Then just before Peter left the room he found his voice. “Doctor.”
“Yes.”
“You have honoured me with the truth. I don’t know how much it must have cost you but I am honoured. Thank you.”
Peter left the next morning. Frank drove him down to the dock. As they waited for the Tacoma each man remained interred in their own thoughts. It was not until the ship touched the dock that Frank spoke.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was thinking about what you told me. You told me the truth. I don’t deny that. Terrible things happen. Why, we don’t know but they do happen. Mother and you were the survivors and you both carried those memories for decades. I knew for years that something troubled her. Father never knew what it was. She was troubled in her mind during these last few months. Now I know that she couldn’t forgive herself for what she had to do. You allowed her to do that. That was very brave.”
“Brave? When Mrs McKay was dying she asked me if I had ever thought of your mother. I told her I had not thought of her in years. Truth was, there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t thought about her. I couldn’t admit that. That’s not courage.”
“No, but it is being human. That’s all you’ve ever been. That’s not so bad. I hope you make peace with yourself. You did for my mother. For that I’m grateful. Good luck.”
Peter looked into a face that he had hated for years. Radek’s memory still lingered for him in Bartlett’s face but pushing it to the side was the knowledge that this was a man in his own right. Peter shook his hand and said goodbye.
During the days that followed as the steamer and then the trains carried him east, Peter found himself traveling with a stranger. The bearded aging stranger in a bowler hat worried about train schedules and swallowed railway food, and spent hours gazing at plains and mountains. Peter himself thought of his past of all the people he had known. Instead of blocking sections, he examined all of it. As the train traveled through Montana, he saw Katrina, a blind old woman sitting among her roses. He remembered Maureen, Maggie, Alex, Jessup, Janet, George and Ian Campbell. They all came crowding through, all the people he had known in the past and who made up his present.
“I have known so many good people,” he said.
The man next to him, a commercial traveler looked at him for a moment.
Peter smiled and then turned back into his own thoughts. If one adds up all the people in one’s life does not the list the list of good far outnumber the evil. Katrina had never disliked him. So few had. Those who had he could not call good or gentle. If that was so why should he dislike himself? Who should he believe, Radek or Alex? Radek had never had one friend in his life. Alex had so many. A man as friendless as Radek had to be pitied. He would not forgive Radek for what he had done to others. That was not his right. For what Radek had done to him, yes, that he could forgive. It was all so long ago and he had too many other things to do with his life. Radek’s image shimmered outside his coach window. Peter smiled and blew at it. With that one puff of air it vanished, lost amidst the trees.

Peter, Amazon Press