47 Sorrows. Janet Kellough
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of course, we can’t do, since their shipping costs are so much lower.”
Luke had only the vaguest notion where the Baltic nations were, but gathered from what his father said that they were much closer to Britain than Canada was.
“So this gentleman in Kingston has come amiss because of developments in Britain?”
“Yes. The smart ones got out last year. But the demand has been so great that everyone else has been in the backwoods all winter cutting for all they’re worth; but now that they’ve floated the timber down to the front, there’s nowhere they can sell it.”
This was disturbing news. Canada’s most lucrative exports had always been timber and wheat, and now it appeared that neither could find a market. “I hadn’t heard about the timber. The talk in Huron was all about wheat. I know a lot of the mills built along the border are going to be in trouble. The Americans can ship directly now, so why should they bother bringing it here first?” Luke shook his head. “Did our government even point out to Britain what their free trade policies would do to us?”
“Of course not,” Thaddeus said. “It wouldn’t do any good. When has Britain ever given a second thought to our interests? Sometimes I think we should have supported Mackenzie and his rebellion after all.”
This was a surprising statement to Luke’s ears. His father had never seemed interested in politics, other than those involving the Church. Now he was talking of free trade and tariffs and markets with an authority that spoke of working knowledge. It must be Mr. McFaul’s influence, this interest in the complicated business of business.
And Luke figured that if anyone had been smart, and now stood to gain from others’ miscalculations, it was probably Archibald McFaul.
It was a tearful goodbye. The entire family, as well as a number of the hotel guests, gathered on the front porch as Luke and his father prepared to depart for the wharf, where they would board the packet steamer that offered regular service to Kingston.
Thaddeus stood aside as Betsy fussed over Luke, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket and smoothing his hair — any excuse to touch him, it seemed. Everyone shook Luke’s hand and wished him well, but just before he was able to disengage from the hugs and the handshakes and set off down the village’s main street, Francis stepped forward with a wooden box.
“This is from all of us,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll find a use for it in your studies, but perhaps you might spare a page now and then for a letter, just to let us know how you’re getting on.”
Speechless, Luke opened the box to find a steel pen, a bottle of ink, and a supply of good-quality writing paper. Stammering a thank-you, he stuffed it into his pack and promised to write.
They only just made it to the wharf in time for their departure. The whistle was blowing as they boarded, and they had barely time to settle in the passenger cabin before lines were cast off and the vessel pulled away from the dock.
“I stood in the bow the whole way from Toronto,” Luke remarked. “It seems odd to be on a ship and sitting down.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” Thaddeus asked.
“I saw one of the steamers when it came into port. It was overloaded with emigrants and a lot of them were feverish-looking. I’m not sure how malignant fever spreads, but if it comes through the air, it would make sense to stand where the wind can blow the contagion away.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Thaddeus said. “I don’t think my knee can take standing all the way to Kingston.”
Luke shrugged, but, as if to illustrate his point, a steamer heading west passed them as they pulled out into Lake Ontario. That it carried far too many passengers was evident from the way the vessel sat low in the water, and there seemed to be people festooned over every available surface. It was customary for the passengers of passing ships to wave at each other on the way by, but no hand was raised by anyone on the deck of the other boat. The passengers merely stared sullenly at the water.
“I see what you mean,” Thaddeus said. “So the question is whether it’s more dangerous to sit in the cabin where there might be a lingering contagion, or stand outside and let the wind blow it to you from any passing ship.”
“Oh,” said Luke. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Given that the two outcomes are equally likely, I’d rather be infected in comfort.”
This question settled between them, they lapsed into a companionable silence as the steamboat chugged down the lake.
It seemed odd to Luke to be travelling with his father beside him. They had spent so little time together when he was growing up. Thaddeus would often be gone for weeks at a time, on the miles of road he was expected to travel as a minister for the Methodist Church. It had always seemed to Luke that the entire household would be disrupted whenever his father did come home for a few days, or a few hours, or simply long enough to get a dry pair of socks. He would shout orders at them, take them to task for something that hadn’t been done to his satisfaction, and then ride away again. It would take a day or two for them all to settle again into the routine that his mother had established. Then later, when his mother had been so ill, after Luke’s sister Sarah had died, there had been no routine at all, only Thaddeus, trying to keep the household together even when he wasn’t there to make it happen.
The old man had softened later, after Sarah’s murderer had finally been caught. Something had changed in him, and although Luke had been thrilled to ride off west with his brother, there had been a part of him that had wanted to stay, to find out who this father of his was exactly. He hadn’t had the chance. And now he found that this man sitting beside him was a stranger.
Luke hoped he’d have a chance someday to change that.
Chapter 7
The lake began to spill into the St. Lawrence River as they passed Amherst Island, and before long they could see the buildings of Kingston in the distance. As they drew closer to the shore in preparation for docking at the commercial wharves that were clustered along the city’s harbour, they passed a smaller set of docks that had been built to accommodate the brewery on the western outskirts of the town’s limits. The docks were stacked with cordwood, as had been the case at Port Darlington, but lolling on top of these piles of wood was a ragged mass of humanity. Here and there children clambered over the logs; the rest of the people merely perched or, in some cases, were stretched out full-length in what seemed to be abject misery.
“Emigrant sheds,” Luke said, and pointed them out to his father. “There were sheds like that in every port along the lake.”
“Oh my,” Thaddeus said, “I’d have to be in a bad way to find shelter there.”
“I think they are in a bad way,” Luke said. “Besides, what choice do they have?”
Kingston’s public wharves were lined up along one side of the harbour, at the mouth of the Cataraqui River. Across the stretch of water were the shipyards that formed an essential part of the city’s commerce. Beyond that was Fort Henry, overlooking the bay that was used by the navy.
As they disembarked, Thaddeus drew Luke’s attention to Wolfe Island, which lay across the river from the city. “That’s where I went through the ice that time, when I was chasing Francis.”
“Yes, I know,” Luke said. “You’ve told the story a dozen times, you know.”
“Well, I learned a very important lesson that day.”
“What was that?”
Luke expected to hear an impromptu sermonette on the evils of hasty judgment or the importance of trusting in God, but his father’s response surprised him. “Always wear a scarf in the wintertime. It was Francis’s scarf that saved me really.”
Luke laughed. “Have you told him that?”
“Of course not. He’s grown too used