“Joinin’ up with Canada in ’49 was amixed blessing. Everything was changin’, and changin’ very fast. It was hard to keep up sometimes with all the changes. There was talk about movin’ people off the islands. Services like schools and health care to all those isolated spots was costin’ the government too much money. They couldn’t pay for it no more, so we were told. The plan was to move us to what they called ‘growth centres,’ where there were jobs for all and a decent livin’ to be made. We could ‘burn our boats,’ so they said. Imagine! Well the rackets! Some couldn’t wait to be gone. Others, well, there was no way they were being told what to do. Families that had been there for generations weren’t about to tear up their homes and gardens, and families, all they ever knew.
“In the late ’50s it all came to a head for us on Berry Island. There was an allowance to be had from government to help with the move: $300 to $600 depending on the number of children in the family. The catch was that all hands had to leave. Anyone stayed behind, then the deal was off. They were on their own. Well, my dear, up she went!”
Peg rose to fill the kettle again. “I remember one night there was a meeting called to the school. I went to that meeting. I’d been to many over the years but this was to be the final one. I had my mind made up. I was gettin’ on and I could see a time comin’ when I’d need a few services handy to me and besides, there was nothin’ much on the island for the youngsters nomore. Things were closin’ down all over the place. The priest was gone, the school had only a few youngsters and the store was shapin’ up the same way.” She laid a plate with thick slices of homemade bread on the table, with a dish of margarine and a pot of dark red berry jam. The pot of tea arrived and Peg poured, the hot steam rising over the table. It smelled good.
“As I saw things then, it seemed like every day brought something new. We were part of a big country now and we had best get aboard or be left behind.” She began to spread margarine on the bread and pile jam on top.
Nora followed her lead. “And Matt?”
Peg swallowed a piece of bread and jam and licked the tips of her fingers. “Matt,” she said hesitantly, “he was a bit tormented over the whole idea of movin’ but I thought he’d come around. Tell truth, I was kind of surprised he was of that mind, havin’ moved about so much in his life. I wouldn’t have thought it would bother him too much. But when I come to think on it afterwards I suppose it was understandable for him to be concerned. He was content where he was to, best he’d ever been. By then he’d been livin’ on the island on and off for a good many years, and here by all accounts he was to be forced to pull up and leave. ‘There’s nothin’ decided yet,’ I told him, ‘but if you want to be a part of what’s goin’ on you’d best come and hear what others have to say.’ So the night of the vote I persuaded him to come down to the school.”
There was standing room only in the schoolhouse that night. The women had come early and sat in rows, jammed into the wooden desks, their heads swivelling back and forth, watchful and expectant. The men stood shoulders to the walls, unshaven, the look of a long hard day set in their faces. A few young people hung about by the doorway in a loose group, detached, awaiting a decision. Matt Molloy sat on the wood box, partly concealed by the belly of the stove. He had not been in this room since the day he’d had the confrontation with Gerry Quinlan twenty or more years before.
Now the tide had turned. Gerry was back for tonight’s vote. He stood up front behind the teacher’s desk, suitably attired in a dark suit, shirt and tie, a lawyer representing the Government, adviser and confidant of the merchant who now stood alongside of him as Justice of the Peace on the island. He stood out in the crowded room, confident, quick, vocal and hard driving, clearly in control. He was now the big shot from St. John’s, loved by some, despised by others. “Joey’s Boy,” was how some referred to him, those who had no time for Joey Smallwood, the upstart premier of the province. Joey, “the little fella from Gambo,” who had wooed the people into giving away their country just a few years before and now he was after them again, this time, to give up their homes.
His old teacher looked across the room and took in the measure of Gerry Quinlan, noting the feeling of urgent impatience that surrounded the man. He had a job to do tonight, and a boat to catch tomorrow. Gerry knew the game, knew what he wanted.
“Now, is there anyone else would like to speak to this motion before we cast our vote?” It was an officious sounding call from the justice. There was a swell of voices in the crowd, which faded to a murmur, sporadic coughing, bodies shifted. It was time.
Matt Molloy’s mind was on that night years ago and his bitter confrontation with Gerry Quinlan. The very notion that he could go off to New York and become an actor was ridiculous. How could he know about the loneliness and rigours of a big city like New York? Matt Molloy knew in his heart that he had been too harsh with his young student that night, and deep down he regretted it but he had never found the courage to admit it. He wondered now as he watched if, in fact, he had done him a service that day: if his advice, though harsh, had been sound. His eye caught the faded bronze knot of hair on the top of Peg’s head across the room. It shone like a beacon amongst the patches of grey.
“Mr. Molloy, maybe you have something to add. Being an outsider an’ all, you’ve been abroad and seen the world and at the same time know what we’re about here. What do you think? Should we shut her down or what?”
He heard the word “outsider” and knew before he stood up that his opinion would count for nothing. He was just a decoy. He knew he shouldn’t take the bait but he wasn’t about to back away, not in front of Gerry Quinlan. He stood up reluctantly, aware of the deep silence in the room as he collected his thoughts. He was searching for truth.
“This island is a barren, isolated place,” he began, “make no mistake about that.” His tone was quiet and deferential, his eyes averted, not wanting to make contact with anyone in particular. “Even at the best of times life here is a challenge and you respond to that challenge by working hard.” He shifted his feet, glad of the warmth coming from the belly of the woodstove. “Your life here has a strange, unrelenting rhythm. You know it, live with it and survive doing what you know best. In the new growth centres across the bay or in the city of St. John’s that rhythm may not be too different from what you know, but make no mistake, it will be different. If you choose to leave, you have to understand that wherever you go, you simply may not fit in with the new order. That is all I have to say.”
He sat down, glad of the partial concealment provided by the stove. He could hear some clapping but he had no way of telling if it was widespread. He wished he could leave now, quietly.
“Well, now, that’s all very impressive.” Like many of the island men, the speaker was short and powerfully built. He had a voice to match his bulk and a presence that demanded attention. Matt Molloy recognized him right away. Leo Power, another old student, bright enough, owner of the largest fishing boat in these parts. “Them’s grand words from Mr. Molloy, yes, won’erful grand words.” For a moment he stared at his boots and then turned a crafty eye on the crowd, taking time to eyeball certain people, making sure he had their attention. Then he straightened his back and pointed to where Matt Molloy sat by the stove. “But, tell me now, tell me this, what do he know about the likes of us? What do he know about makin’ fish or bein’ up to yer arse in debt before you ever gets to put yer boat in the water in the spring of the year and still in debt in the fall of the year no matter how good the catch. Now, I can take a swing at life, good as any man, and I’ll tell ye this.” He pointed his finger straight into the heart of the crowd. “If I has to jack up my house, put her aboard a raft and haul her across the bay, I’ll do it, and I’ll tell ye this much, I’ll not be beatin’ me brains out worryin’ about whether I fits in with the crowd over there or not.”
Wild cheers, shouting and arguing followed. That was the final word from the floor. A show of hands and it was over.
Peg looked about for Matt, thinking they could walk home together, but he had gone, so she made out across the path, happy for the first time about the whole situation. She knew now, for sure, what was best. They’d stay on, on the island, no matter what. The Byrnes too had made up their minds to stay and Pius Walsh. “He wasn’t goin’ nowhere,” so he said. He had no need of a school or church, and the O’Briens down to the Gut, they were staying and there were a fewmore besides. She would make a nice cup of tea when she got in, stoke up the fire and tell Matt what she’d decided. Peg was delighted now that she knew what was best for them both. They’d manage, the two of them, like they’d always done.
There was no light on in the house when she came around the bend in the path. When she came through the door, he was at the kitchen table, sitting in the pitch dark, his head in his hands and not a stir out of him. Peg went straight for the lamp and lit it, paying no attention to him. Then she threw a few sticks in the stove and put on the kettle.
“Matt,” she said, “I’ve made up my mind. I want to stay here on the island with you. This is where we belong.”
“No, Peg,” he said. “The reality is that you belong here. I don’t. I realize that now. I suppose I always knew but didn’t want to think about it.” He continued, “You’ve been good to me, Peg, and I’ve been happy here. For that, I will be eternally grateful. I wanted to tell you that before I leave, but it’s time I was off.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. She was willing to change her whole plans so they could spend their old age in peace and quiet in the place they both loved and all he could say was, “Thanks, I’ve been happy, but goodbye.”
Peg turned on him then. “You don’t care about me, Matt Molloy. You don’t care about me or yourself or anybody else in the whole world. You’d be quite happy now after all these years to walk out that door and just leave me to find my own way. Well, you’d best go on then. Yes, go on out of it. My father told me years ago this would happen, told me to my face: ‘He’ll leave you on your own, Peg, out on the bawn.’Them’s his very words. And you know somethin’? He was right. I should have listened to him.”
Matt spun round in his chair, mad as a hornet, and shouted at her, “I do care for you, Peg.”
She was shocked and so was he. She didn’t think that was what he had in mind to say, but there it was: popped, like a cork from a bottle.
“There was an awkward minute between us then. He had never before raised his voice to me, but saying he ‘cared for me’ made me, well …”
Her lower lip began to tremble but she covered it quickly, pausing before continuing. “But I knew what he said was true. I knew in my gut but hearing him say so was, well, it was what I needed to hear. When we finally got over the shock, he spoke first. ‘It’s not what I want to do or even what I’d like to do, but rather what I think is best for you. You want to go, I know that, and I’m in your way. I’m driving a wedge between you and the people around you and I don’t want to do that. That’s what I really believe but I never seem to be able to do or say the right thing.’ I wanted to wrap him in my arms then, to hold him close to me ’til he understood how much I wanted to be with him always but … he was sitting down and …”
She started to giggle like a girl. “Anyway, I didn’t. I just cupped his cheek in my hand and looked him straight in the eyes and said, ‘I’m happy to hear you say that, Matt. That’s all I need to hear. We must do what is best for us now. We’ll stay, you and me together, and care for each other.’ From then on, that was how it was between us. It’s just how it was.”