“No no no no no!” John Travers, rather distinguished with a beard and prosperous bearing, slapped the table. The Traverses were leading figures in the community, having settled up by a road back to the Second, known as Travers Lane.
“Could you make that a bit clearer?” asked James, and they all laughed. This snowy midwinter evening, the prospective school trustees had not been able to agree on anything, in spite of James doing his best. Even the school idea itself was still far from being approved. James had picked January for this meeting because summers the settlers worked from dawn to dusk, no energy left for anything but pure survival on this harsh but fruitful coast of the Gaspé. Although Jim had been working hard to support his father among the community since coming home last spring, only the older members of the community spoke at such gatherings, and Jim had to sit, inwardly seething but silent.
“Well gentlemen, next item: how much shall we charge each student?” asked James. “Always supposing we do decide to build. I gather from Mr. Travers’s reaction that we don’t favour mandatory allotments of men and materials.” He glanced around. “Perhaps that’s only right, we should let everyone give whatever they feel like. But fees for students, well, we will have to charge.”
They looked at one another. “How much do they charge up in Paspébiac?” asked John Travers.
“I heard it was a shilling.” Andrew Young, related to the Alfords through his brother William’s wife Ann, Jim’s sister, had become a fence sitter about the school. In contrast Thomas Byers, sitting next to him, was known to be in favour. “A shilling a month?”
“Nearer two shillings, I heard.” Somewhat prim but well organized, Edward Legallais had been asked to be secretary treasurer, if the school motion passed. “Seems we’d better wait a bit.”
“Wait a bit?” broke in Andrew. “You know how fellas is. If we tell everyone we’re not gonna charge, and after, we ask for fees, it’ll be too late. Tell ’em right away. I can order the stovepipes you need, but my suppliers won’t wait too long to be paid.” Andrew was thinking about setting up a store. So far, if you wanted molasses, or salt, farmers here had to take a sleigh across the Nouvelle River up to Hope or down to Port Daniel.
“Well,” said Thomas, “why don’t you give stovepipes instead of fees? You’ll have three children coming.”
“I already offered yez pencils and paper, and maybe a few books. That’s about as far as I’m willing to go till I know what is happening. We won’t be having this school anyway, I’m damned sure.”
“How can we set a fee?” asked Edward. “Or even think of building, until we know if we’re getting that fifty pounds from the superintendent of education?”
James grinned: perfect time to produce the letter. “Gentlemen, I’ve already written, and the superintendent says we’ll get the same grant as others in Hopetown, or down in Port Daniel.” He held it out.
That did set a silence about the table, while Thomas Byers thumped it happily and downed his piggin of beer. “Best news yet!”
“Hold on now,” Mr. Travers broke in, “will us trustees have to give more, even though we don’t have no children at the school?”
“Fair enough question.” James could see a real argument coming up. Donations had been discussed, and so far, he presumed that families would end up giving their time, and perhaps modest donations of wood, shingles, nails, pegs, even barking as insulation. So he headed this one off. “Why don’t we stick to the question of fees?” The others nodded.
“We can always come down in fees,” Andrew proposed, “but sure is hard to get them back up after. This first year, I say we pass a resolution now setting it at two shillings.”
“I second that,” said Edward.
“All in favour?” James asked.
They all nodded. “So ordered.” James motioned to the secretary, Edward, who made a note. Well, that was one agreement. Perhaps now he should try and bring up that burning question, the one key to it all: “So are we far enough ahead now that we can get a resolution voted to say go ahead with this here school?”
“Far enough?” John Travers let out a snort. “We just got a start on saying it’s not gonna work, that’s as far as we got! No further.”
“I second that,” said Edward. “I agreed to join this here discussion committee, and before I knew it, I was a trustee, and then secretary! I don’t know how you work, James, but yer as cute as a fox, and from my point of view —”
“Oh he’s cute all right,” Andrew agreed, which they knew meant clever, “but there was nothing wrong in us discussing it, for sure. If we end up with no school, everyone will see we did our best, we went over everything, that’s what’s important.”
“No sir,” James burst out, “what is important is a firm decision —” he stopped as he heard a sleigh draw up outside. He shook his head: more trouble arriving.
Just then Catherine and Hannah came in from the back kitchen with plates of cakes, cookies, scones, and pies. “Not as much here as for your last meeting, I’m afraid,” Catherine said, in response to the happy reaction, “but we’ve done our best.” Janey Byers came behind with a large pot of tea and mugs.
“Yes, by jeez,” Jim said, “be a lot more if you all agreed with Poppa!”
They laughed and muttered assorted exclamations of delight. “Be the holy gee whiz, Mrs. Alford, what have you been up to?”
Someone banged on the door.
James went into the back kitchen and opened the door. There stood Big Bill Sullivan, a barrel-chested man with the strength of a giant, even more imposing in his heavy winter garments, dusted with snow. Beside him, Alexander Mann, bearded, also snow-covered, looked equally threatening. He was smaller, dark, never a sunny individual. James remembered when his father, Isaac Mann, had arrived soon after he and Catherine had begun on their house — not much grace there either. But later, most of the Manns went back to Mann’s Landing at Restigouche where they had substantial holdings.
“Come in, come in, gentleman.” James motioned and they shed hats and outer garments, stamping their feet before entering the main room. “We’re in the middle of a meeting, but if you’ve got any —”
“It’s the meeting we come about!” Bill looked grim.
Edward Legallais took off his spectacles and rose in alarm. John Travers stood up like the patrician he was; Thomas Byers brought down their last chair from upstairs. “Just what we need, new ideas, might wake us all up.”
Alexander gave his hat and mitts to Catherine to put by the fire. “You fellas is Protestant, and us is Catholic.” The two of them stood in their heavy jackets. “Two separate systems. But we came to tell yez, we got no money to build one fer ourselves.” He looked at the nominal trustees. “So is you fellas thinkin’ about including us?”
“Yep, you plan on letting us Catholics in?” Big Bill looked dour. “Lot of us around, like the Vautiers, and...” He was about to go on, but everyone knew who the Catholics were.
“Well now, you’re welcome to have a cup of tea,” James said genially, though he felt anything but. “Catherine, pour these fine fellas a tea, and gentlemen, take your fill of cakes — don’t be shy.”
“Right at this moment,” Mr. Travers broke in, “you fellas got nothin’ to worry about. There’s not going to be any school.”
James looked up, flushed and frustrated — not the time to betray that view.
Andrew Young, gregarious, tall and full of good cheer: he could melt a snowball on bay ice, got up from his seat. “Ye know, we were just discussing the question of Catholics and Protestants. We all reckon that this here school, if it gets built, she’ll never work if we exclude half the country.” He smiled appealingly. “Maybe up the bay, they divide us — them priests don’t want us Protestants teaching their pure little darlings the Devil’s works!” He gave off a laugh, and the others joined in. James watched the visitors: would they take offence?
Shoulders unwound and they grinned, too. “So you think it’s gonna be for all of us here? Thank you, ma’am.” Bill took his tea and helped himself to the largest piece of cake on the plate.
“Right now,” John Travers went on, “this here meetin’s to decide if we’re going to have a school at all. James here, voted in as chairman, hasn’t called the vote, but I reckon it’s going to be a pretty firm no.”
Again James felt his stomach churn. All this effort going down the drain, and likely for the last time. He glanced at his son Jim, watching with a frown. Catherine pretended to occupy herself with pouring tea, making sure everyone was happy.
“Well, first of all,” said Bill Sullivan, “what are you fellas thinkin’ about fees? Us fellas with the half our land not cleared are working terble hard just to keep going. Last winter was real bad — Ned’s father, old Will Hayes, had to kill their last chickens to keep his mother alive, and they all nearly starved to death. Well, there’s no money around, you fellas all know that. So how d’you think we’ll pay for other’s children?”
James did not like his manner one bit. He was about to hammer out a retort when Andrew stepped into the breach again. “Well,” he said, “we’ve been thinking about that very thing. Give us your ideas, so that we can all talk a bit, and you fellas can go away satisfied. We won’t do anything the majority don’t agree with.”
“No sir, and for a start,” Thomas Byers broke in, “that superintendent of education promised us good money from Quebec City.”
Big Bill straightened. “That solves one problem, right there.” He turned to Alexander Mann as Catherine was handing him his tea. The Manns were known to be troublemakers. James saw Alexander eyeing them cautiously.
Andrew went on, “We’ll have to charge students, because those educated fellas teachin’ has gotta be paid. But this meeting is not going to impose burdens on our community. We’re all hard-working, you said it, with only small farms, too. Right here, we’re just trying to do our best by everyone.” He smiled. “And it’s a thankless task, let me tell you.”
Alexander nodded. “Yes sir, I agree, a thankless task.”
Was he mollified? James wondered. So he voiced the challenge. “Specially as it looks like we aren’t going to have any damned school anyways.”
“Won’t have a school?” Bill raised his eyebrows. “Then what the hell’re ya meetin fer?”
“Well,” James went on stoutly, “I called this to see if maybe, once we got some plans agreed, there might be more of a willingness. But it’s plain,” he went on with undisguised sarcasm, “we seem to want Shegouac children to forget about the outside world, forget about reading their own parents’ wills, get them read by them shysters in New Carlisle, and why ever would we want the schooling so’s we could check them bills up in French Paspébiac —”
“Hol’ on a minute!” Bill turned to Alexander. “We never came here to stop a school, did we?”
His friend shook his head. “No sir. We just wanted to make sure our kids would be educated along with your’n. That’s why we came.”
“So you fellas,” James put out innocently, “you Catholics, you’re all for a school? I mean, if the costs are fair and worked out fine?”
The two nodded. “Damn right! We had a meetin’ last night, and all of us agreed. Us, we speak for the rest.”
James turned to the other trustees, noticing a sparkle of glee in Tom Byers’ eyes. “So what do we think, now? If the Catholics are solidly with us?”
John Travers led off: “If they’re so keen, why not have them build themselves a Catholic school, and our children can go there?”
Edward Legallais nodded. “Good idea. Our kids won’t mind.”
Bill looked taken aback.
But old James leapt to his feet. “Just look at us! No finer men exist anywhere — and what do we do together? Nothing. Take that bridge in the Hollow. It joins the whole coast together, and what did we do? Talked it over — and over, to get a good big one built, and nothing ever happened. Same thing as now!” He felt his voice rising. “Last spring, you all know what happened. When it went out, my son Jim here nearly drowned saving them Skene kids.” Overtaken by emotion, James waved his arms. “And all because we couldn’t damn well work together to build one bloody bridge.”
He was panting, and he saw out of his eye that Catherine seemed concerned. Was he going to be taken with a bad heart? The other men were looking down at their feet. “So no — doing nothing won’t work for me, I tell ya.”
With that, James sat down, and was silent.
No one spoke.
“Now gentlemen, I made all these cakes,” Catherine volunteered brightly, “and I hope you’ll make the most of them!”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Bill. Taking another large piece, he turned. “I reckon James is right. Let’s get together, let’s build us a school, Protestants, Catholics, let’s just all get together this once, get our kids educated, give ’em a fair chance at life.”
Surprisingly, James heard them begin to agree. But he was beyond caring. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. He’d done all he could.
“Thank you, Mrs. Alford.” The treasurer took another piece of cake. “I vote we start by assessing everyone.” He got up and started to put on his coat.
Alexander slurped the last of his tea and wiped his mouth with his hand. “Mighty nice of you, Mrs. Alford, I sure didn’t expect such a fine piece of cake. But yes, and the sooner the better, I say.”
“Now Bill, you know you’re always welcome at our house,” Catherine said, watching James.
At the door, the visitors turned. “Well, looks like we’re on the right track,” Alexander said. “I want to thank you, James, and your missus.”
“Me too,” said Bill. He glanced around. “But I’ll sure be anxious to see what you fellas will cook up in the end.” With that, he put on his hat and followed Alexander out the door.
“So now, James,” John Travers put on his coat, “how do ya think we’ll find a good teacher?”
“Send a dollar up to that there paper in Montreal, what’s it called?” Edward Legallais asked.
“The Gazette?” Jim threw in.
“Post notices around the Coast too,” Andrew said, dressing up like the rest, a decision made, at least in his mind. “None of us gets that paper down here. We got to be sure everyone gets a chance.”
Thomas Byers clapped James on the shoulder, as he prepared to leave. “No fox like an old fox,” he mumbled as he went out the door. So far so good, James thought. And now, amazingly, his school might get built, yes, and maybe they would all co-operate. And maybe they wouldn’t...
Before long, he intended to hand it all over to John Travers and Ed Legallais; he was too old for these arguments. More especially, he wanted to avoid placing more responsibility on Catherine. He had told her not to prepare anything for tonight, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Then he began to grin. And he saw his son smiling, too. Catherine herself sat, and slowly broke off a piece of her own cake. She seemed very pleased.