Читать книгу Mary Janeway - Mary Pettit - Страница 13

Two FIRST IMPRESSIONS

“Some were children barely out of arms and were therefore adopted, but most—more than nine thousand—were past their fifth birthday and in this hard land were expected to earn their keep, tending barns, milking cows, making hay. Often they would rise before anyone in the house, before the first light of day, and they would work until nightfall.” ⁵

June 10, 1892, Friday

MARY WAS awakened suddenly in the early hours of the morning by four pair of eyes staring at her from the doorway of the loft.

“That's her,” whispered the smallest of the boys, pointing a finger in her direction. Mary turned her head away and lay cowering against the wall. She said nothing. When she looked again, they were gone. She got out of bed, dressed quickly and went cautiously down the stairs. She was curious but at the same time fearful of what lay ahead.

Mr. Jacques was at the kitchen sink. He turned and smiled, “Good mornin'.”

Then she heard a voice from the far corner of the room near the stove. It was a woman who looked much younger than Mr. Jacques. Seated in a bulky chair with a large wheel on either side, she was almost totally wrapped in a blanket even though it was a fine June morning.

“I don't know what time you're in the habit of rising, but here, you are to be the first one up, not the last.“ The woman spoke with a crisp tongue. Mary was stunned and speechless. Not only did the sharpness of tone catch her off guard, but she was curious about the unusual chair. Timidity kept her from asking.

“I'm Mrs. Jacques. I'm in charge. You're to call me Ma'am.” Turning slightly in her chair and motioning toward the wood stove, she continued. “In the winter you are to rake off the ashes and start the fire from the coals the minute you rise. Of course, it isn't necessary in the warmer months. Only time you'll need a morning fire then is when we bake bread, every Wednesday.” Within a short period of time, Mary would come to dislike Wednesdays. Baking bread was no job for a young child. “You'll find the woodpile out back.” Mrs. Jacques continued and pointed towards the door. “Make sure the woodbox is always full. There are two pumps outside, one for the cistern and one for the well. Fill the reservoir in the stove with water from the rain barrel and fill the kitchen pail with well water morning and night.”

Without pausing, but looking Mary right in the eye, she went on, “I expect the kitchen floor swept every morning once the fire is lit. There are two brooms in the shed outside the door, a corn broom and a hickory one. I don't care which one you use. The dogs need to be fed every night by five. Set the table for six and a place at the end for you.” Mrs. Jacques pointed to the far end of the pine table. “I laid out one place so as you could see how it's done. I expect it to look like that. Dishes are on the shelf.” Mary's eyes followed the woman's hands as she issued the orders and pointed in various directions.

“Have you ever made oatmeal?” Mrs. Jacques asked.

“No.”

“It's no, Ma'am.”

“No, Ma'am,” Mary replied.

“I'll show you tomorrow. I can't do everything today. Breakfast must be ready by seven. The boys leave for school at seven-thirty. Do you have any questions?”

“Can I go to school too, Ma'am?” she asked in a quiet, apprehensive voice.

“Not much point starting now. There's only a week or so left and I don't imagine much learning is going on. We'll see about it in the fall.” She paused. “And besides, you'll be real busy right here.”

Taken from the census records of 1891, showing the names of the Jacques sons. Courtesy National Archives of Canada, T-6360.

Mary's eyes dropped. Disappointed by this news and overwhelmed by her array of abrupt orders, she had difficulty hiding her dismay.

“Don't be sulking, Girl. Get yourself some oatmeal, sit on that stool by the corner and I'll explain your other chores,” she said with a slight smile. And so the day began.

Mary was walked through a routine that would soon become all too familiar. Her days would seem endless and her whole being consumed by repetitive, tedious tasks. When one chore was complete, another was waiting to be done.

Mary was not formally introduced to the Jacques children until several days after her arrival. It was Sunday morning and the family was getting ready to go to church.

Annie Marie, the eldest and the only girl, was eighteen and a dutiful daughter. She had dark hair like her mother but was taller and smaller boned. Annie had a forceful, abrupt manner which matched her height. Having finished elementary school, Annie was working in James Malcolm's cheese factory nearby, returning home from work each night. It was considered improper for a girl to leave home for any reason other than to get married. By the time a girl was eighteen she was referred to as a spinster, but Annie's mother refused to acknowledge the fact that her only daughter was an “unclaimed treasure.” She'd had two quilting bees for her and the quilts were stored in a cedar chest anticipating the arrival of an acceptable suitor. It was a subject that was not discussed.

THE JACQUES FAMILY TREE ⁶

Annie's one love was to work in the garden, and even though she worked long hours at the cheese factory, she still found time to manage a large vegetable garden of corn, beans, squash and potatoes. She also liked to cook and had been a great help to her mother in the last few years. However, the day-to-day food preparation would now become Mary's responsibility and would leave Annie more time to tend her garden or make the family favourites like johnnycake and apple snow.

Annie's first comment to Mary was, “You're awfully small. I sure hope you're strong or what possible good will you be to my mother?” She turned toward her mother for approval as she spoke.

The three boys, even finer boned than their sister, included sixteen-year-old Thomas who said very little, thirteen-year-old Christopher who was even quieter, and Daniel who had just turned eleven. Daniel, named after his father, was the most outgoing. He was also the animal lover, which explained the two dogs. Tiny was a scrawny hound that Daniel had found last winter in a field, dying of starvation, and Ben, a brown and white spotted beagle, was one of the Skillings pups, given to him on his ninth birthday. Neither animal was allowed in the house, much to Daniel's disappointment. His mother had allergies to animal fur. So the dogs stayed in the barn at night, if in fact they decided to come home at all. By day they wandered at will.

Mary felt perhaps Daniel might become her friend. She was sorry that there were not more girls in the family since a friendship with Annie seemed obviously out of the question.

Very quickly, Mary learned the routines of the Jacques family. On Saturday night, baths were taken by each member of the family. It was believed that bathing too frequently would remove those body oils which helped to prevent people from getting sick. Besides, heating the water required much time and effort. Since there was no bathroom in the house, they took turns taking a bath in the dubious privacy of the kitchen which was the warmest room in the house. A large wooden tub was set in the middle of the kitchen floor, half filled with warm water. Mr. Jacques was first and a little warm water was added for each newcomer, beginning with the oldest child, Annie, then descending in chronological order to the youngest. Mary was always last. On bath evenings, Annie helped her mother with a basin of water in her bedroom.

Monday was “wash day,” but clothes were worn many times before they were considered dirty. The Jacques were cautious not to wash things unnecessarily since they would wear out faster and need to be replaced.

The outhouse, or privy as the Jacques called it, was a little log shanty, “just a piece” removed from the house and used year round. Since outdoor work fell to the men, it was the job of one of the Jacques boys to throw a cupful of Gillett's lye down the hole and see that there was an outdated Eaton's catalogue and a supply of old newspapers there at all times. With the exception of Mrs. Jacques, the entire household used this privy.

Mary witnessed lots of outhouse pranks. Thomas and Chris would lock their younger brother in on a regular basis, but he outsmarted them as he got older. Mary would never forget the time he scaled the walls, got out by scrambling through a hole in the roof and hid in his room until supper. When his brothers went back to unlock the door, much to their amazement, he was not to be seen. They were convinced he had fallen in. Daniel appeared at the dinner table but not until after they had confessed to “losing” him down the hole in the privy. Both boys had to do Daniel's chores for a week.

Gillett's lye was used to keep the privy or outhouse sanitary during the summer months. For over 100 years, their advertising slogan has been : ‘12 ways to “Lye” effectively’ will show you what a big difference a “little white Lye now and again can make in your life.” Courtesy Joseph Aziz, President, Gillett's Cleaning Products Inc.

The boys also loved to tease Annie when she was in there after dark by making weird animal noises in the woods or suddenly banging on the door. Just as suddenly, they would run away and, of course, if suspected, would deny any such suggestion.

During the night, chamber pots, one under each bed, were there for use instead of the outdoor privy. Carefully emptying these pots became one of Mary's many daily responsibilities.

Every Sunday, the family, with the exception of Mrs. Jacques, attended St. Paul's, the Anglican church in Innerkip, weather permitting. Not only was it difficult to lift her into the buggy, but she found the half-hour buggy ride into town and back, very, very tiring. However, her church attendance was better in winter when her husband and sons could lift her into the bob sleigh more easily. Somehow the sleigh ride seemed shorter. Mary was rarely invited to join them for church. It was her job to stay home and prepare the Sunday dinner.

The kitchen was large in comparison to the rest of the house and was where the family spent most of their time. The old pine harvest table was worn, yet had a great deal of character. Distress marks, black water rings and gouges in the wood would indicate to even the most casual observer that many meals had been served here. Six chairs of ash, elm or pine flanked the table. Only two matched; the rest had come from various places. As the Jacques family increased, so had the number of chairs at their table. A stool at one end indicated there was a newcomer.

A rocker, Mrs. Jacques' chair, a washstand for Mrs. Jacques pitcher and bowl and a small table were near the hearth surrounding the wood stove. With the exception of a blue and yellow striped knit shawl on Mrs. Jacques' chair, there was virtually no colour in the room. Mary's place when she was not doing chores, was a small milk stool beside the butter churn, near the end of the stove.

Kitchen utensils, pots and pans, compact barrels of salted meat and a basket of potatoes were stored in the pantry beside the kitchen. Mary had never heard of pickling until she came to live with the Jacques. Under Mrs. Jacques' careful scrutiny she would stand at the table and wash and cut quantities of green beans before storing them in brine-filled wooden barrels. She also learned how to preserve fruit in sugar and make cider. The Jacques enjoyed the homemade sweets, especially conserves, a candied fruit sometimes known as a sweetmeat. Like most of their neighbours, the Jacques had a root cellar for storing vegetables in the side of the hill behind the house. Often Mary would be sent there to fetch something for supper.

She peeled potatoes, prepared vegetables and set the table every night. At supper time, she was allowed to sit with the family and permitted to eat once everyone else had been served. As was the custom, grace was said by Mr. Jacques before every meal. After supper Mary was expected to clear the table, and wash and dry the dishes. She also did the family mending in the evening while the others read or played board games after their barn chores and any homework were finished.

Most of Mary's days were spent in the kitchen. Other than to dust and sweep, she was rarely in the other two rooms on the main floor, the parlour and the parents' bedroom. Originally, the bedroom had been a “borning room” where Mrs. Jacques delivered each of her seven children, and then it had become the family dining room. After she became ill, it had been converted to a bedroom. Mrs. Jacques hated to part with her dining room. It was considered a sign of affluence, but when she could no longer climb stairs, there had been no other choice. Lately, she felt she had little say in a lot of issues because of her health problems. This sense of powerlessness combined with daily pain fuelled her discontentment.

The upstairs was not spacious, just a couple of bedrooms and a small alcove. One room was Annie's, while the boys shared the larger one. The tiny space above the kitchen was where Mary slept.

Downstairs, the parlour was hardly ever used. Occasionally, Mrs. Jacques would do her needlework there, but that made it more difficult for her to scrutinize Mary's work in the kitchen. Special occasions like Christmas, a visit from the Rector or the arrival of unexpected guests might mean tea in the parlour. But because of Mrs. Jacques' condition, company was rarely invited. Both Annie and her mother wished they could afford a piano. The boys, however, were just as happy without it.

The first night Mary was in the kitchen cleaning up the supper dishes and sweeping the floor. It was almost eight o'clock and she was exhausted. Annie appeared and leaned casually in the doorway. She watched Mary for awhile before speaking.

“You must be glad that you finally got a place to live.”

Mary, who was not only uncomfortable being watched but also somewhat guarded when dealing with Annie, said nothing and continued drying the dishes.

Annie moved toward her, grabbing the towel out of her hand. “Did you hear me, Girl?”

“Yes,” Mary replied timidly, carefully setting a large dinner plate on the counter.

“Then answer me,” she said, throwing the towel on the floor.

“Yes, I'm happy.” Mary bent down, picked up the towel and continued drying the dishes.

“So what happened to your ma and pa?”

“Mama died and my papa lives in Scotland,” Mary replied innocently. She was surprised that Annie cared.

“So how come you're not living with your pa?”

“I'm not sure. He just said this was best for me and my brothers and sisters.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“I've got two brothers, Will and John, a big sister Carolyn and a baby sister. Her name is Emma,” Mary replied sadly. That dreadful day at the Montreal dock momentarily flashed through her mind and was gone. She wiped away a tear with the tea towel.

Annie grinned. She liked to witness emotional situations, particularly those she'd created. Personal feelings were rarely discussed in the Jacques household.

“So where are they, these brothers and sisters?” she asked tauntingly. Her imposing height and intimidating presence seemed ominous to the little girl at the sink.

“I don't know,” answered Mary, realizing now that Annie did not believe a word of what she had said. Quietly, she stacked the blue china cups in the cupboard. She noticed that there was only one without a chip.

“I'm sure you don't,” Annie continued cynically. Annie had never felt close to her brothers, and it was difficult for her to comprehend that anyone could feel such closeness to a family. Annie's real reason for coming into the kitchen was to give Mary last minute instructions which her mother had forgotten earlier that day. Mary was to leave warm water in a basin for Mrs. Jacques in her bedroom every night at nine o'clock sharp. And she must have a clean towel right beside the basin.

As Mary began to absorb all these instructions, she wondered why everything had to be so exact, why time was so important and what would happen if she forgot something. Annie interrupted her thoughts.

“Girl, are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” Mary replied.

“It's very important that you remember everything my mother needs.

Ever since she's been in that chair, we've had to look after her.”

“That chair?”

“Yes, that chair, her wheelchair!”

“Wheelchair? You mean she doesn't get out of that chair?” Mary asked innocently.

“She hasn't been out of that chair for over a year except when Pa lifts her into bed at night or if she decides to go to church.”

“She…she can't walk?” replied a stunned Mary.

“Why do you think you're here?” retorted Annie.

Mary was told very little about the Jacques family history and livelihood but over time she learned a great deal. Including an apple orchard, they had a hundred acre farm producing mainly grain and hay for their livestock which included horses, cattle, pigs and sometimes sheep. Each year as soon as the fields were dry enough, usually no later than mid-May, Mr. Jacques and his sons began planting the spring crops. Cultivating the land with horse-drawn implements and sowing the seeds were very time-consuming and demanded a great deal of physical labour. Luckily, Mr. Jacques was blessed with three sons who helped him in the fields. As he could not afford a seed drill, he had to borrow one if possible or rely on broadcasting the seed by hand. It was a tiresome job walking up and down the field, making large sweeping motions with his hand, dispensing the seed grain from the shallow wooden pan he carried with one hand. While it may have looked like a careless, random toss to an observer, in fact this was such a precise job that Mr. Jacques did it himself until he felt his sons were responsible enough to handle it. The seeds had to fall within the prepared soil; the field was then harrowed to ensure that soil would cover them. If poor weather damaged the seed, his crop would be ruined since he would not be able to buy new seed and replant in the same year.

Daniel Jacques was a lean, fine-boned man with an even disposition. He was not at all moody like his wife and, even in the years of crop failure, his personality remained unchanged. Not having attended school, he had never learned how to read. Nevertheless, Daniel believed that the Farmer's Almanac was the law and he relied on someone in his family to read it to him on a regular basis. For all his fifty-six years he had worked hard. Although he was a reasonably friendly man, he never had the luxury of free time for idle chatter. An honest man from working class stock, Daniel had known hard times. In the worst of those lean years he had been grateful to get someone's apple peelings.

He had married a woman twenty years younger than himself and within a time span of nine years was blessed with seven children. Parents welcomed big families since it meant more hands to do the work, especially on a farm. Unfortunately, in many families, a great number of young children succumbed to whooping cough, measles, diphtheria, polio, scarlet fever or rickets and died before their fifth birthday.

Three of the Jacques children never made it past the first year. Sarah and John died of diphtheria, and scarlet fever claimed Jacob's life. Four years after young Daniel's birth, their mother Mary Elizabeth, who went by the name May, fell seriously ill. She was only thirty. The doctors were unable to diagnose her sickness. At first they thought it was ague, a disease with flu-like symptoms as Mrs. Jacques did have a fever and chills, and she coughed relentlessly. She complained of shooting pains in her legs as well. As her condition deteriorated, the doctors knew that it was more serious than ague. It would be some time before Mr. Jacques learned that his wife's illness had many complexities. Not only did she suffer from a malingering affliction that caused her, over time, to become more and more physically debilitated, but she was also prone to sudden seizures and to frequent mild strokes. There was no cure in sight.

The broadcasting of seed as photographed by Reuben Sallows. Courtesy Ontario Ministry of Agriculture and Food 179.69.108.

Mrs. Jacques was thirty-six when Mary came to stay. She had been confined to a wheelchair the previous year when the severity of her ailments caused almost total paralysis of both legs. She had very little mobility. May Jacques was an angry, bitter young woman, at times in a great deal of physical pain. Such continuous discomfort with no hope of relief would begin to explain her attitude in general and particularly her treatment of Mary. Unfortunately, Mary's seven-year-old mind could not have discerned such explanations.

By the last Sunday in June, Mary had been with the Jacques family for three weeks. A particularly nice day had prompted Mrs. Jacques' decision to go to church with the rest of her family. Mary did her chores quickly while they were gone. She did this so she could go for a short walk around the farm and explore her new surroundings.

The house, weathered a sombre shade of grey, was of old clapboard construction, nestled into the side of a small hill, facing south. The original house was quite small. An addition had been built at the back which became the kitchen and behind that, also attached, was the woodshed. The side door into the kitchen was the only entrance used. No-one ever went to the front of the house unless a photograph was being taken. Because of an overgrowth of poplars, chokecherries and golden rod by the side of the road, the house was partially hidden from view. Indeed, the Innerkip area was noted for its pretty, rolling countryside and abundance of trees.

Mary stepped gingerly outside the kitchen door and turned back to check the clock on the kitchen shelf, the only clock in the house. While she was not yet able to tell time, she knew that when it chimed twelve times, they would return. The big hand had to go completely around before that happened.

There was a slight overhang on the roof above the side door which created a small verandah. Mrs. Jacques favourite pastime was to sit here in her wheelchair and watch the road. In the barn were stored several old wicker chairs which the family would be getting out for the days of summer.

A group of elm and maple trees clustered together at the front of the house and, unless they were in full leaf, you could still see the road and anyone who might frequent it. Lilac bushes grew close to the house and gave a soft framing effect to an otherwise stark little grey dwelling.

Mary's curiosity did not lie with what was beyond the front of the house or down the road. Her interest was in the yard and the intrigues of the woods just beyond the barn, all places still a mystery to the young girl.

A photograph of the Jacques home taken in early 1890s. Note the pump outside the entrance to the kitchen and the woodpile in the left background. Posing for the picture are Daniel Jr. with his two dogs, Annie standing just behind her mother May, and Daniel Sr. sitting in a chair by the front door. Courtesy Joseph Jacques.

As she walked around to the back, a scrawny mustard coloured cat of questionable beauty appeared from the barn and went right to Mary. As she knelt to pet it, the cat stretched its lanky body and rubbed its neck against her leg. Although she had little experience with animals, Mary gently picked it up and stroked its unkempt coat. She sensed an immediate friendship.

“Well, aren't you a sight!” Mary said as she stroked its back. The cat relaxed in her arms and began to purr. She continued to stroke gently. “I think you need a friend. Would you like to be my friend?” she asked politely. Without waiting for a response, she spoke again. “Then it's settled. We're friends.” She set it down on the ground and started walking, the cat following along beside her.

By the time she reached the top of the hill, Mary was out of breath. The view was beautiful. The house below looked tiny, the barn and shed even smaller. Mary felt very big standing so high above everything as a slight breeze ruffled her brown pinafore and apron. Brushing a few strands of curly blonde hair out of her eyes, she continued on her little adventure.

To the west there was a dense thicket of trees and heavy ground cover. As she walked in this direction, the dry ground crunched under her thin worn shoes, brown oxford style cast-offs from the orphanage. She had stopped counting the knots in her laces. There were just too many.

Mary sat on an old stump and looked around. It was quiet except for a noisy robin somewhere in the distance. Mary picked up some interesting twigs and leaves and put them in her apron pocket. As her pockets were not very large, soon she had all she could carry.

Beyond the wooded area she caught a glimpse of tall grasses, scrub cedars and small pools of water full of cattails. This must be what the Jacques called the bogs. Mr. Jacques was forever telling the boys to stay away from them. Mary reminded herself of this warning, and of the time.

She turned eastward and began to head for home. Home: what a strange word. Was this really going to be her home? She wondered, would she ever think of this as home?

“Come on, Cat. It's time to go back,” she spoke kindly to her new companion. It obeyed. Mary loved the out-of-doors and decided she would try to spend as much time here as she was allowed.

The sound of the approaching buggy wheels could be heard as she got near the house. The cat darted into the barn and Mary, running breathlessly into the kitchen, sat herself down on her perch by the stove.