Elijah

An old trapper and hunter enters Peter's life.

 Elijah

 

            Poker in hand, Peter jabbed at the fire in the small pot-bellied stove.  The growing yellow

 

flames had not yet thawed the cold that still gripped the office.

               

                “Give it a few more minutes” said George.  The doctor rubbed his hands and placed a bottle of

 

frozen ink on the stove. He pulled off his coat and scarf.

 

                “A cold November promises a long winter” he said opening the daily casebook

                Lighting the doctor’s stove was one of several chores that Peter had to perform for the office.  Sweeping and chopping wood, running errands, fetching the paper from the Royal Arms and announcing visitors were others.  This still left him for time to read and to study slides under the microscope. George had told him that what he had to remember about the routine in a doctor’s office, was that there was no routine.  Days of quiet inactivity could go by to be followed by a spasm of work, or at any moment the doctor could be called away.  There was no knowing what could happen from one day to the next.   This Peter found to be unsettling.  He wondered what Herr Radek would have thought of such an unpredictable state of affairs.   Well, different worlds meant different rules.   

                Last night as he had lain in his bed he had thought of Herr Radek and of Katrina.  One evening in London Katrina had told him about how when told by Frederick to appoint a doctor for Jablunka, Radek had agreed.  Knowing that Frederick would never travel there he had pocketed the supposed physician’s salary.  No doctor ever went to Jablunka. So Maminka, Janos and Holena had died with only Josef to care for them. As he listened to the floor boards creaking in the cold air Peter admitted that Josef should not be blamed for the death of  his family.. For that he could be forgiven.  For other things, for being filthy, stupid and ignorant, and  for what he did to survive, he would not be forgiven.

                  As he waited for a patient Peter decided that Medicine was a good life if one did not have too many people pestering him.  He could read, study slides through the microscope and not worry about being taunted as he sat at the small desk in the waiting room.   But people would insist upon disturbing him.  The abscess on Mrs. McCreedy’s right big toe did help to pay the doctor’s bills. Maminka had told him more than once you could not get milk from a cow without getting some s**t on your shoes.

            “You the Doctor now?”

                Peter looked up from Robinson Crusoe saving the life of Friday to see the tallest man that he had ever seen.  White shoulder length hair tumbled out from underneath a red toque.  A long white beard reached to his chin, the only beard that he had ever seen in Kilmarnock..  He wore a heavy woollen coat decorated with horizontal green yellow black and red stripes.  Years later Peter would recognize it as being a Hudson Bay Company blanket coat.  The man pulled off thick deerskin gloves.  He took off his toque and removed from it a short-stemmed clay pipe, which he began to fill with tobacco from a brown leather pouch.

                As Elijah Grimsby eyed the boy he considered what he knew of him.  McDermott’s fox.  He had heard other names; tramp, thief. Another name had appeared in the last month.  Young MacTavish.  Alex had named the boy his son.  Well Alex had never been one for letting facts get in the way of a good story.  Still, the McKays had said the same and they were known to be truthful.  The boy did not look like much, a typical pasty-faced town boy but if what the McKays said about him holding off  Mrs. McKay’s attacker was true then there must be something to him.  He did not seem to be very friendly but then few townspeople ever did these days.  He wished that he had not had to come to Kilmarnock.

                Fifty years before, a fifteen year old Elijah had left a cabin that had once been his home on the Black River in northern New York State. He had stolen a canoe and paddled across the Saint Lawrence.  He had then wandered north into the hills along the Rideau.  Ever since, he had been wandering, hunting and trapping, the last of his kind along the river. The others, both Anishnabe and white, had been crowded out by the spreading settlements. Elijah still wandered, trusting on his rifle and wits to keep him fed. Two things he took pride in, he had never paid a penny in taxation and had never asked anyone for help.  In his years he had fathered twenty children by different women, some white, some Algonquin.  Some of his offspring, following their father’s habits had wandered off north of the French River seeking new trapping grounds. Others had settled onto farms.  These he would occasionally visit before wandering off again.

As he had watched the line of settlement move deeper into the hills Elijah could have either moved further north as had so many of his kind, or stayed and changed his wandering ways.  Elijah chose to do neither.   He liked where he was.  There was always enough game and fish to support himself.  He could camp on an island or in a secluded valley in the summer and build himself a cabin for the winter.  So the years had gone by.  He traded extra meat and fish with the settlers for flour, tobacco, powder and shot. In his youth he had wandered as far north as the French River and from the shores of Lake Huron to the Ottawa.  Now he was content to confine himself to the hills north of Kilmarnock.

                Peter wondered if the man was making a joke at his expense but he looked too serious. “You wish to see Doctor McKay?”

                Elijah frowned.  “You a foreigner?”

                Peter braced himself for another round of “Dutchie.” “Yes.”

                Elijah nodded.  “Well most folks around here are.  You tell the doctor Elijah Grimsby would like to have a word with him.”

                George looked up from his paper as Peter entered.  The boy told him that he had a visitor. 

                “Elijah Grimsby you say?”

                “Yes sir.  Who is he?”

                George shrugged. “Trapper.  Hunter.  He’s been wandering this valley since the time of Moses.  What wind blew him here I wonder?”

                “Shall I ask him to come in?”

                “No.  I’ll see him out there.”

                Elijah still stood where he had rooted himself. When George appeared he acknowledged him with a curt nod. “Doctor.; he got down to business. “My son Donald’s youngest, Bet, seems to have some terrible stomach cramps.  He told me to fetch you.”

                “Their place is down by Murphy’s Rapids, isn’t it?”

                Elijah nodded.

                “You must been travelling since before dawn,” said George.

                Elijah nodded.  “Just about.”

                George nodded. “Kilmarnock Hill’s on the way.  We’ll pick up a few things and let Mrs. McKay know what’s happening.”

                On the way up the hill George decided upon another point.  Peter would come with them.  It would be good, thought George for Peter to get away from Kilmarnock for a day or two.  Peter did not share George’s opinion.  The doctor had asked him if he wanted to come, a question he hated.  He always felt as if he had to say yes even when he wanted to say no. 

                “Why?”

                “Well, you’ll meet new people.  You’ll see a different part of the country. ”

                The doctor’s logic made little impression on Peter.  Why meet new people when he had enough trouble with the people he already knew? As for seeing another part of the country he suspected that Murphy’s Rapids would not look very different from Kilmarnock. 

                “What is it like?  Murphy’s Rapids.”

                “Small.  A lockmaster’s house, a store, a few houses, some farms nearby.  Donald Grimsby has one of them.”  George hesitated.  He could sense the boy stiffening. “Something wrong?”

                Peter, a cold chill settling over him murmured;  He knew locks. “No.” Never ask. Never reveal anything.

                George nodded. “We’ll take the road along the Rideau.” 

                The road George referred to skirted the south eastern edge of Lake Lomond. It then followed the northern bank of the Rideau.  It was not the shortest route but given the weather would be the safest.

                What had puzzled Peter was why Doctor McKay would want his company.  Now he understood.  A lockmaster.  They would lock him away somewhere. This Murphy’s Rapids would be his prison where they would keep him safely away from Kilmarnock.  He remembered the Ferguson boys, their boots striking him and the taunting voices.  Being sent away for a while might not be such a bad idea.

                In the wagon, on the way back to Kilmarnock Hill, George leaned towards Peter.

                “You’ll keep Elijah company in the kitchen while I get ready.”

                “Me?”

                “Why not?  He was a good friend of your father.”

                “Alex?”

                “Yes. He was there when Alex first came to the valley. He knows the  early days.”

                At Kilmarnock Hill Elijah waited in the kitchen for the doctor.  In all his years of travelling through Kilmarnock he had never enjoyed being inside Kilmarnock Hill.  Elijah just never felt at ease surrounded by four walls in a space cluttered by furniture.  A cabin or farmhouse he could bear but the fripperies of Kilmarnock Hill were too much for him. Under Mary Davis’s disapproving eyes Elijah had taken the cup of tea offered to him. He had poured the tea into a tin mug that he always carried. And  had returned the cup and saucer to Mary with a muttered “obliged.”

                 Mary sniffed and returned to peeling potatoes. Nothing worse she thought than a white man turned savage.  Sooner he was out of her kitchen, the better.       

                As he sipped the tea and devoured great slabs of buttered bread and cheese, Elijah thought about the dark grey clouds outside and the mounting wind. They should be getting on their way soon.  Over the years Elijah had divided winter storms into two kinds, cats and bears.  Cats crept up, silent and unexpected.  Bears were loud and could be seen coming long before they struck.  Could be a bear coming.   He glanced at the boy sitting across from him.  McDermott’s fox.  There was something of a fox in his look; furtive, quick to scent if something was wrong. “Doctor says your name is Peter?”

                “Yes.”  That one word had made up Peter’s entire conversation for the past half hour. The doctor had asked him to give the man company.  According to his dictionary to keep company meant to stay close to someone,.  Peter had done that.  The man had asked a question.  He had answered it.   Peter wondered if this Mister Grimsby was a lockmaster but decided not to ask.  Asking too many questions  led to trouble.

                Peter concluded that Elijah was not to be trusted.  A vagabond and a thief Mary had called him.  Peter saw little reason to disagree with her. From what little he knew of the man he assumed that Elijah was similar to the peddlers that had travelled through Jablunka, men who both traded and stole.

                As with most people in the township Elijah had heard of MacTavish adopting a son.  He had thought Alex t be too old for such nonsense.  Now having met the boy he felt that politeness demanded some acknowledgement of the old man.  .

                “Many’s the time Doctor MacTavish and I shared this table.”

                Alex’s name caused Peter’s hostility to falter. “You knew Al …. Doctor MacTavish?”

                “Since the time he first come to this country.”

                “You were friends?”

                “You could say that.”  Elijah paused in his chewing.  “I helped him settle here, him and his brother. I can tell you about it, if you want?”  The stories might thaw the boy’s feelings towards him. Besides, not many people ever asked about the early days.

                Peter hesitated. Why would the man want to do that?   What did he want? Peter looked down at the table and debated how to reply.  He wished that he could just run upstairs to his room and close the door.

                Noting the boy’s hesitation Elijah added, “Whenever you have the time.”

                Peter remembered what the doctor had said about Murphy.  A lock keeper.  How much time did the man think they would have? He withdrew his eyes and looked back down at the brown surface of the table.  He knew why he was being sent away.  He had failed the McKays as he had everyone else. He had failed Alex.  He had failed Maggie.  He had failed Father Byrne.  Now he would be sent away so that he would not fail anyone anymore.  Well, he had never liked Kilmarnock anyway. There were some things that he would miss; Alex’s books, the church, the heavy sweet scent of frankincense, his sitting alone in the quiet of empty pews.  He treasured the moments usually in late afternoon when he could slip into the empty church.

                That thought however led to another thought, of his failure as an altar boy, and then to Father Byrne’s scolding him about his letter to Maggie.  Once more his mind thumbed through the growing litany of failures that made up his life.  What surprised him was not that the McKays were sending him away but that they had not done it sooner.

                Elijah lit his pipe with an ember from the fire.  The only sound in the kitchen was the scraping of a pot by Mary.  Across from him sat young MacTavish, silent as a statue.  He sensed that the boy did not intend to be unfriendly.  He was simply not there. For a moment when he had mentioned Alex the boy had shown some interest in his company.  That moment had faded. Again Elijah wondered about whether the doctor’s insistence upon bringing the boy along would be wise.  He supposed that he and the boy could sleep over at Murphys.  With six children and the doctor sleeping space at Donald’s would be hard to find. He would have to mention it to the doctor.   He thought of beginning a story about Alex but doubted if he would have time to finish.    Even so, it might interest the boy and help time move along.

                “Thirty-two years ago I first met Alex and his brother James and James’s.  I came down from the Mississippi River must have been in May 1818.”

                Peter interrupted.  “That is in the United States, the Mississippi River.”

                “Not the one I’m talking about.  It’s north of here. Mississippi is Anishnabe.  Means the Great Water. Anyway …”

                Peter winced.  Another stupid mistake.  No wonder people wanted to be rid of him  Nic. Nothing  It did not matter.  Long ago he had learned to look attentive while allowing his mind to wander elsewhere. He had often spent such time playing a game, dividing people that he had met by their occupations and calculating how well they could be trusted based upon that occupation. He had known three priests.  One had been bad. Two had been good.  Therefore the better chance of safety lay in trusting them.  The same with doctors. Trappers he had never met before.  Better not to trust them.  Maureen did not seem to like the man.  She had been right in not trusting Josef.  She was probably right when it came to Elijah Grimsby.  The man was nothing.

                “I come down by canoe.  Ever been in a canoe lad?”

                “Nic.”

                “What?”

                Peter realizing that the Man had heard him started.  “No.  I haven’t.”

                “You should. It’s different seeing the country that way.  The way the animals see it, the Anishnabe,

                “Excuse me. I thought the Indians here are Algonquin.”

                “That’s the European name for them.  They have a knack for calling people by the wrong names.”

                Peter could not resist a half-smile.  “Yes I know.”

                “Anyway, I couldn’t come by horse you see.  Mosquitoes and black flies would have eaten it alive. By canoe is the way I saw the country before we ruined it.”

                Maureen had known of Elijah since she had been a little girl.  She knew that she should dislike him yet one of her earliest memories had been her sitting on her Uncle Alex’s lap as he had sat on the porch talking with Elijah.  The big man had sat on a porch step whittling a whistle for her.   She had liked him then.  Now … Well, Elijah was a man who had outlived his time, at least here in Kilmarnock.   He had littered the county with various offspring.  Indifferent to any religious or social principles, he remained content in old age to be a wanderer as he had been in his youth.

                “The man is a ruffian,” said Maureen wrapping a scarf around George’s neck. “I don’t like your travelling with him.”

                “His manners are a bit rough at times,” George conceded.  “But no one knows the land better than he.  We’ll be safe enough.”

                Maureen’s anxiety stemmed more from the memory of George having once gone out with Paisley rather than from Elijah’s disreputable reputation.  Something else also worried her. Peter.  He seemed to have fallen into another of his silent sulks.

                “How long will you be gone?” she asked George.

                “Overnight at least. I don’t really know until I see Bet.  It could be anything from a bad case of indigestion to appendicitis. Apart from Bet there may be other cases that I come across. ”

                Not for the last time she wished that George could keep regular office hours. For that to happen, the township would have to secure another doctor.  The monthly trips to Kingston were now a thing of the past. 

                She placed a clean shirt in George’s bag. “You didn’t say anything to upset the boy.”

                “Me? I just mentioned that we were going to Murphy’s Rapids.  I thought the trip might do him some good.”

                “He seems upset about something.”

                George nodded. “I’m not surprised.  He’s still brooding on that beating from the Ferguson boys.   He’ll be alright in a day or two. The trip will give him a chance to think about other things for awhile.”

                Elijah stretched his legs under the table. “Anyway, the late summer of ’17, I came down the lake by canoe with Joe Moonias   We saw a tent pitched by the shore.  Near it was Alex standing by the lake fishing. I didn’t know who he was of course but he introduced himself.  Asked us to join him for teas. His brother James was off somewhere chopping wood. We could see the beginnings of a cabin being set up. Joe and I paddled up to him. He said good morning.  I did the same.  He asked us if we’d care for a cup of tea.”

                “The three of us squatted in front of a tent.  I introduced myself and Joe.  Joes never was much of one for talking least of all to white men.  Alex told us who he was and who his brother was, that they were staking out a claim to the land. ”

                “Alex cleaned the three pickerel that he had caught.  He rubbed them in flour and placed them in an skillet on a trivet over an open fire. We sipped tea and waited for the fish to fry.

                 Introductions having been made no one saw any reason to say anything more.  James came striding down from out of the trees axe on his shoulder.  Seeing the strangers next to the fire he hesitated.  Alex waved to him.  He came over the tent.  Alex offered him a mug of tea and introduced him to us

                From then on James seemed to assume command of the scene, Alex sinking into the back. James was the talker of the two, Alex the listener.  While James went on about what he planned to do with his land Alex would sit back or busy himself with something or other.  James offered us a job to help with raising his shanty and to clear some of his land. Didn’t need the money really but we offered to give him a hand with the cabin just to be neighbourly in return for supper and a mug of whiskey. We worked with him all that day showing him how to notch the logs and raised a good part of the walls.  Alex gave us a hand with raising the logs but he weren’t much good with the axe which James was quick to point out to us.   Most of the time he’d just stay out of the way which suited James fine.”

                George, bundled up, entered the kitchen. 

                “I trust Peter has been good company?” he asked Elijah.

                Elijah nodded.  “Always enjoy a man what don’t talk your ear off. We’ll finish the story later.”

                Peter frowned but said nothing.

                Elijah made ready.  As he placed a buffalo robe in the front seat, Maureen handed Peter a brown paper parcel of roasted pork sandwiches. She had noticed the boy’s sinking into a morose silence. She wondered if she had offended him in someway.   Even Max’s excited bounding could not draw his attention.

                “You should be back tomorrow, Peter.”

                Peter took the parcel without comment.  He permitted her to kiss him on his forehead and then, without a word, climbed into the sleigh.

                 Soon after an unanswered wave at Maureen, Elijah shook the reins.  The three of them sped off over the snow, Peter sitting by George, Elijah in the front.  Maureen stood on the porch watching them until they had disappeared amidst the trees.

                Murphy’s Rapids lay thirty miles east of Kilmarnock on the north shore of the Rideau.  If the weather held they might reach it in three hours.   It would be dark by then thought Elijah. He tried not to think of what could happen if the weather did not hold, of what could happen to them and to his granddaughter.  

                The snow-capped conifers flying past reminded Peter of his native Moravian hills. He thought about the past few days.  He could understand now the mistakes that he had made, mistakes he had been making since first waking in Kilmarnock.  All those nights he had spent locked in that little room in New York pouring over the English dictionary and notebook. He had never stopped to think what the language had been about.  Neither had he, for all his thoughts about finding a new life, considered what a new life truly meant.  Not just new words or places.   It brought a new way of thinking. 

              Herr Radek had always called himself a realist. Perhaps, by the light of his world he had been, but here?  Perhaps Herr Radek’s realism could not extend beyond the world that he could see.  Certainly Alex and the McKays did not share that world  In seeking to escape from it, Josef had been guilty of a great sin.  He had brought that world here.  As he remembered the Ferguson boys taunting voices and the books striking him he reflected that they were only aspects of a just punishment.  Being imprisoned at Murphy’s Rapids would also be part of that punishment.  Since he could not think like these people or act like them he could not be part of their world.  Better to stay away.

***

                Ten millennia before, the glaciers had scraped away most of the soil of the northern half of what would become Kilmarnock Township, but here and there amidst the bare rock it had left small pockets of heavy clay soil.  Elijah In his wanderings had noted these.  On one of these pockets close to the hamlet of Murphy’s Rapids, his second eldest son, Donald, had established a farm.   His other sons had followed Elijah’s way of living, roaming the vast lands north of the French River, and one, his eldest, Jacob, travelling as far as the Rocky Mountains.  Donald however, preferring a more settled life with his wife, Susan, had taken up a hundred acres on the Farmersville road.   When asked why he had not followed the life of his brothers and father, Donald would reply with one word; “Sue.”  When asked what he thought about Donald giving up the wandering and becoming a farmer Elijah had puffed at his pipe for a moment.  “I was a farmer once. “ Then he added.  “Means there’ll be Grimsbys here after I’m gone.”

                Two hours out of Kilmarnock the storm Elijah had feared, struck, a swirling fist of white. It caught them in the worse possible place, in a tiny hollow where the road was little more than just a slash of frozen ground running between tall spruce. The road acted to funnel the full force of the wind.  Elijah, his head bowed before the slashing snow, knew that the turnoff to Donald’s farm lay only a couple of miles ahead but if they should miss it they could be lost for hours.

                Able only to see more  a few feet ahead, he slowed the sleigh.  Peter had shrunk from the cold, by burying himself under the robe. He had drifted into a half-sleep stirring only when he felt the sleigh’s stopping. He looked out into the cold.  Through half-open eyes he saw Elijah, caked in snow looming over him.

                “Can’t see further then I can spit;” said Elijah to George. “I’ll go ahead on foot and lead the team.  You take the reins doctor. Don’t want to miss the turnoff.”  Leaning forward in his saddle, he looked at Peter.  “You look tired, lad.”

                “I’m not tired.”  Peter had always disliked people feeling sorry for him. He shrank back under his blanket.

                “How much further do you think?” asked George.

                Elijah shrugged.  “One or two hours, maybe.  Depends on if we see the turnoff or not.”  

                Lowering his head Elijah ploughed through the snow to the front of the team.  Taking old of the bridle he turned towards the road guiding the sleigh behind him.  George turned to Peter.  “Why don’t you help him?”

                “Me?”

                “I don’t see anyone else unless you want to take the reins?”

                Peter stepped down and trudged through the snow.  When he reached Elijah, he told him, “The doctor said that I should help you.”

                “Did he?” Elijah’s eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. 

                “What are we looking for?” Peter asked.

                “The turn off to Murphy’s Rapids.  It’s around here somewhere.”

                Leaning forward Peter could make out through the swirling gusts a faint yellow gleam.  Letting loose of the bridle he stepped towards the light.  Through the snow he could make out a lantern tied to a tree.  Stencilled on the conical cap of the lantern were two letters, D G.

                Elijah slapped his hands together.  “Donald always was a smart lad.”  He untied the lantern and placed it beside him on the sleigh.               

                “Won’t someone else need it?” asked Peter.

                Elijah laughed.  “Who else would be fool enough to be on this road in this storm?”

                Peter trudged back to the sleigh.  He did not know why Elijah thought their situation was funny.

                A mile past the turning they emerged out of the trees.  The road now dipped down towards the river.  The wind sent a wall of snow hurtling off the river. As they sped along the flat white strip of frozen river George leaned towards Peter.  “Won’t be much longer.”

                Peter said nothing.  He supposed that he should say something but his thoughts could not focus on what the doctor was saying.  Long before coming to Kilmarnock he knew that he would have to be punished for the things that he had done, for all the failures of his life. He did not feel any resentment towards the doctor for sending him away.  McKay was doing what any sensible man would do.

                The sleigh swept onto a narrow wooden bridge.

                “Over there’s the lock” said George pointing at a snow-covered ridge dividing the river.

                Peter looked through the gusting snow. Beyond the ridge rose a small clapboard farmhouse.  That must be the lock he thought an assumption confirmed when George admitted that it was the lockkeeper’s house.  Peter said nothing.              

                Murphy’s Rapids lay on a small hollow squeezed between the hills and the river. An hour later the sleigh slid to a halt in front of a small clapboard farmhouse.  The hamlet of Murphy’s River had been named after the first farmer in the area. James Joseph Murphy had received his land from the government after twenty years in the Irish Fusiliers.  He had the great good fortune to have it located adjacent to a narrow river crossing.   During the building of the canal the decision had been made to place a lock at the crossing.  Ex-Sergeant Murphy applied for and received the position of lockkeeper.  A shrewd businessman, Murphy had invested much of his earnings in buying up land for his four sons.  The rest of his salary he kept safe in a hole underneath his bedroom floor.   When asked once if he might not be better to put it into a bank, he asked why he should give to others what belonged to him.

                With his children gone James Murphy possessed a rare luxury in his home, space, something that his neighbour, Donald Grimsby with six children, sorely lacked.  Murphy was therefore willing to take in the doctor and young MacTavish. 

                George turned to Peter. “Murphy’s the lockkeeper. We’ll stay at Murphy’s for the night.  Donald’s is just too crowded.  Just for one night.  You don’t mind, do you?”

                The swinging open of the front door of the front door gave Peter an excuse not to answer.  A tall, dark haired, clean-shaven man holding a lantern in his tight hand stepped out into the rain.  Peter, watching the man approach, wondered what to do.

                “Better get down and get warm,” said George.

                Although tempted to stay in the sleigh despite the cold Peter knew that he had little choice. He pushed the robe aside, rose and followed the doctor into the house.

                            Seasons  Amazon Press