“Did that really happen or was it a dream?” Tom asked as they turned homeward. “I’m not sure he’s of sound mind.”
“Sound enough to do what was right,” Spring Thaw replied.
“Who cares? We won!” Iain yelled, throwing his cap high in the air. It blew off the back of the buggy, but Silent Owl somersaulted off the back and caught it. Iain whipped up Maple so that she cantered too fast for him to climb aboard again.
“Come on boys, behave yourselves.” Tom tried to sound stern, but a smile was in his voice. Spring Thaw caught his eye and sighed.
“You want back on, do you?” Iain pulled on the reins to stop the horse.
Once they were home the doubts began to circle again, pointed fins around an open boat. The business of getting the legal papers drawn up would bring unwelcome attention. So Tom approached a lawyer in Halifax to arrange the sale rather than a local man from Sydney.
He made the appointment by letter. Mr. MacGregor’s face was a study when they all sauntered into his office. His jaw hung open like an unlatched gate and his eyes almost burst out of his head as Spring Thaw and her brother appeared in full native dress. Disbelief, apprehension, and disdain scudded like wind-driven clouds across his face. Then the lawyer steadied his features back into professional composure. He drew up the papers, still looking stunned and had them delivered to Mr. Buchanan. After an anxious delay MacGregor sent a letter to Tom. It explained in stiff legal prose that the terms had been read aloud to Mr. Buchanan who signed them with a cross.
“I would like to have been there when they fought their way to his cabin and braved that dog,” Tom said. “No wonder Mr. MacGregor’s fees are so steep.”
It had been agreed that Mr. Buchanan would continue to live in his home. So nothing had visibly changed. Tom began to trust his weight to their good fortune until the afternoon when Iain came hurtling in from a trip into town, pulling in cold air behind him.
“Look at this in The Chronicle.”
Virgin forest sold to Indians
Tom ran his eye down the report:
The land near Bras d’Or lake was sold to Mi’kmaq natives by Mr. Malcolm Buchanan who acquired it after leaving the service of the Hudson’s Bay Society. The sale was expedited by Mr. John Robinson on behalf of his daughter-in-law’s native relatives. Mr. Robinson used to rent premises in Sydney for use as a photographic studio and was well-known for the unusual displays of native photographs that adorned his windows. Mr. Stephen Miller and his business partners had been planning to buy the forest themselves to turn it into farmland.
There is a desperate need for new farms and we are disappointed that this land is going to remain unproductive. It’s well-known that Mr. Buchanan is an elderly and somewhat reclusive gentleman. We can only assume that he was willing to sell his land to the natives and was not misled in any way.
Tom thrust the paper away. “They’re suggesting that Mr. Buchanan was tricked out of his land but just skirting clear of libel. It’s a pity that Stephen Miller’s involved. I don’t want to upset that family even more.”
“They can’t harm us. We can always set Silent Owl and the others on them. I’d like to see tubby wee Fraser running away with his backside full of arrows.”
Tom smiled but the old jumping at shadows was back again. Skittish as a jack rabbit, ears swiveling and eyes straining he dreaded the swoop and snatch of teeth from behind or claws from above. He tried to shrug off his fears by thinking about the summer expedition. He had wondered about traveling to New Brunswick this summer to see the famed tidal surge in Fundy Bay, but he longed to go even further west, to the plains that were being opened up. He wanted to capture the tribes there before their way of life was too tainted by contact with settlers.
He decided to go into Sydney to buy supplies for the journey. A watery sun had broken through the gun-metal sky. As he hitched up Maple to the buggy he saw Spring Thaw taking a rare rest from her work, leaning against the cabin door with her eyes closed. She looked weary and on an impulse Tom invited her to accompany him. Her eyes widened in surprise before she smiled and agreed.
“It would be good for the baby, too. He’s in pain with his new teeth. The ride will soothe him.”
They were all cheered by the journey. After stowing the provisions in the buggy, Tom suggested a walk along the shore. He pulled faces to make Owlet laugh. Looking up he saw a family group coming toward them. As they drew closer his heart slumped as he realized it was Mrs. MacKenzie with her daughter Eliza and son-in-law. There was no avoiding them. Tom felt awkward and exposed. He remembered the comment in the newspaper about “unusual displays of native photographs.” Was he ashamed of being seen in public with Spring Thaw? No, not any longer. It was the fear that Mrs. MacKenzie would never forget this latest affront. He straightened his back and forced his mouth into a smile. The matriarch and Peter looked as fleshy and bustling as usual but what had become of Eliza? He could barely recognize her in this hollow-eyed woman with the yellowish complexion.
“How do you do, today?” he asked, doffing his hat.
“Very well, thank you kindly,” was the stilted reply from Mrs. MacKenzie while her companions nodded, their faces tense. Spring Thaw gazed at Eliza.
“You’re not well.”
She touched her arm. Eliza flinched.
“It’s your womb isn’t it? I know some herbs that could help you if…” Her words scattered in empty air as Eliza shrieked, “Let go of me, you savage.”
Her husband rushed forward to push Spring Thaw out of the way at the same time as Tom reached to draw her back. For a moment the two men glowered at each other before Miller scurried away, wafting his hands at the women.
“Disgraceful! Fancy a white man living with savages,” Mrs. MacKenzie shot over her shoulder.
Tom walked away, squeezing his lips together. Had she forgotten how eager she had been to have him as a son-in-law? He shuddered as he thought about the hatred in her eyes. She was dangerous and vengeful. Spring Thaw’s face was unreadable. He squeezed her hand, as much for his comfort as for hers. They drove home in sombre silence and spattering rain. The baby caught their troubled mood, grizzling and wriggling in his mother’s lap.