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