Tom downed his tea, wishing that he had some rum to add to it. Then he banged the cup down and stomped outside. No sign of the young people, thank goodness. He tramped over the fields, the reddish soil shrugging off its snow blanket. He saw that Iain had built a shed and stacked the tools inside. The sugar maple trees had been readied. Iain had bored holes in their trunks, secured the wooden spouts and hung the buckets from them to collect the precious sap. There would soon be so much work to do for the new season, and if he bought a horse they could do so much more, but who was the “we” to be?
His first impulse had been to throw out the lad and his Indian whore. He didn’t believe for a moment Iain’s tale of her defending her honor. The boy was gullible. Tom shook his head to dislodge the black swarming torment in his mind. Why was it that he was so plagued by images of the two of them together? Images that erupted in his mind of the lad’s arched back and taut buttocks as he mounted that little slut. Clenching his eyes shut, Tom held his breath until his heart stopped thudding. He bent down at one of the maples to breathe in the sweet woody smell and remembered the terrified boy who had stowed away in the lifeboat. How many broken children there must be in the world, uprooted and tossed aside? Richard Williams had been one of those children, abandoned by his mother and then ill-treated by the man who took him in. Did he despair and kill himself because he was unloved? Spring Thaw too had suffered. But Tom sensed that she was supple like the birch bark he used to mend his canoe. She could bend without splitting.
By the time he returned to the cabin an hour later, Tom had made up his mind.
He told them to draw up their stools in front of the fire. There was a new one there too he noticed. Iain must have made it during the winter. Tom slid his hand over its planed surface.
“I’ve decided you two will marry.” He held up a silencing hand as Iain opened his mouth. “You’re of an age to marry with my consent. You can cut down more trees and use the wood to build your own cabin. You’ll still be my apprentice in the studio and if you work hard I’ll pay you a man’s wages.”
Spring Thaw’s eyes darted between them. Iain sat with his chin resting on his fist. Then he thrust out his arm. “I’ll shake your hand on that.”
“Good. The first thing we must do is to arrange your wedding. We had best speak to the minister in Sydney and hope he’s not too fierce a Calvinist,” Tom said, with a thin smile. Iain nodded glumly.
“And afterward we’ll go and buy a horse and cart, or buggy, I should say.” Tom laughed as Iain’s face lit up.
“And we’ll need a sleigh for the winter. I could make it.”
Dread hunched down in Tom’s stomach as they neared the manse in Sydney the next day. The last time he had visited a church had been at Richard’s funeral when he had vowed never to enter a place of worship again. He hated the thought of his friend being treated like a leper, banished outside the churchyard wall.
Tom made sure that the young people were scrubbed and neat before they set out. Iain wore a new worsted jacket that strained across his shoulders and the girl was in a serviceable dark green dress although she refused to wear shoes.
“I’ve never seen any of you in my church before,” said the Reverend Fraser as they sat opposite him on hard chairs. The air in his study was as cold as his voice. “Is the Indian with child?”
Tom flashed a warning glance at Iain. “The young woman is not with child and if she were it would surely be to Iain’s credit that he intends to marry her.”
The minister grunted, “It’s all very irregular.”
Iain spoke up, “How is that, sir? I’m young but old enough to know my own mind. I remember an old elder from the church back home. He said, ‘God didn’t give sheep horns so that they could wound the lambs.’”
A red mottling crept up the minister’s neck. After a silence, his lips unsealed themselves enough to squeeze out an agreement to marry the couple. Tom felt proud of Iain’s dignified courage. Heads turned, eyes swiveled and tongues clattered as the three of them walked into the church next Sunday to hear the banns read. Tom nodded to faces he recognized and ushered his charges into a pew near the back. How sturdy and open-faced Iain was. The soft contours of his face had melted away to reveal the prominent cheekbones and strong jaw beneath. The girl was modest and neat in her movements, showing no fear in what must be an ordeal for her.
After a sermon that wallowed slack-sailed with no following wind of inspiration, the minister announced that he had banns to declare. Tom smiled encouragement at Iain, but to his amazement the names announced were those of Stephen Miller and Eliza MacKenzie. The minister’s voice boomed but then slurred when he came to Iain and Spring Thaw’s turn. Tom craned his neck to see Eliza’s fiancé, but too many Sunday hats blocked his view. Tom took no more notice of the words of the service. They were waves slapping and slurping against the hull of a boat. His companions sat rigid. At the end he motioned to them to stay seated while the congregation filed out. They had been gawped at; now it was their turn to gawp. Tom was overjoyed to see that Stephen Miller was short, stout and nearly twenty years older than his intended bride. He had round startled eyes, drooping moustaches, and no visible neck. Mrs. MacKenzie flashed her large yellow teeth and introduced her prospective son-in-law. Tom was politeness itself; only his sparkling eyes betrayed him. As he followed his charges through the churchyard, Tom could hear Mrs. MacKenzie talking loudly to another matron, “What a disgrace! Native or half-breed, would you say?”
Tom kept marching, eyes forward until they reached the buggy. Once they were trotting through the countryside he flung his head back and laughed. “He looked like a sad walrus stuffed into a suit.” They all whooped until their sides ached. Maple, the new dappled pony, caught their mood and broke into a canter.