Don Gutteridge - Governing Passion

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Dunham said. Marcnodded.

“How are they proceeding, Earl?” Campionasked.

“Not as fast as they might, sir,” Dunhamsaid, glancing over sharply at two of the workmen near one of thewindows.

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s mostly the Frenchies, sir. They keeppretendin’ they don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, but theyunderstand every word. And I certainly don’t plan on speakin’ thatgarble they call French.”

“You’ve got French workers here from Quebec?”Marc said, surprised.

Campion sighed. “It was the Governor’s idea,”he explained. “All the workmen are from Lower Canada — I stillcan’t say Canada East — so Lord Sydenham thought that in theinterests of demonstrating unity, we should have a certain quota ofFrench-speaking men. The only proviso was that they speak someEnglish.”

“Which ain’t been met in the case of Jardinand LeMieux,” Denham said. “And I had to fire Jardin’s brotheryesterday for talkin’ back to me — in English and French!“

“Well, just do your best,” Campion said. “Youdid a great job on the other chamber.”

“I’m also havin’ trouble with Manson,” Dunhamsaid.

“But he’s not French — ”

“No, sir. But he’s never gotten over me bein’made foreman instead of him.”

Campion turned to Marc. “You see what I haveto put up with?” he said. He turned back to Dunham. “We can’tafford any more delays. The election starts in a few weeks and thisplace has to be ready by late April. So, please sort out yourworkmen, whatever it takes. And try not to fire any more. There areno replacements.”

“Yes, sir. And there is one more thing.”

“And what is that?”

“We had a bundle of lath stolen again lastnight. We could be short if this keeps up.”

“This has been going on for three nights,”Campion said to Marc. “The thief doesn’t take much, just enough forkindling for a day, I figure.”

“Sounds like it might be youngsters,” Marcsaid.

“That’s what I think.”

“How do they get in?”

“The front doors aren’t finished, and thereis no lock on the chamber door.”

“”I was thinkin’, sir,” Dunham said, cap inhand, “that I could come up here tonight and keep a watch. At leastfor the early part of the evenin’ when the thievin’ is mostlikely.”

“It’s awfully cold out here,” Campion said,“but I think it’s a good idea.”

“I’ll do it, then, sir. Now I must get backto work.”

“There seems to be trouble in the workplace,”Marc observed as they headed for the door.

“Dunham’s a first-rate lath man, but I’m notsure I should have made him foreman. He turned out to bepassionately anti-French.”

“Was he by any chance affected by therebellion?”

“Not really. He himself was in the militia.But that’s no doubt where he picked up his hatred of the French. Itwas contagious there.”

“It’s contagious in a lot of places,” Marcsaid. “But perhaps when this legislature gets up and running, wecan begin to do something about it.”

“Let’s hope so.”

***

Christopher Pettigrew came to Marc’s room at seveno’clock that evening, having gotten Marc’s message. He was a tall,slim young man in his mid-twenties with a shock of blond hair andpiercing blue eyes.

“Come on in,” Marc said. “We talked brieflyyesterday.”

“I remember. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did. It’s about politics, in which, Iunderstand, you are not uninterested.”

“You are correct. And I do know that you area close friend of Robert Baldwin and Francis Hincks.”

“And you are a supporter of the Reformparty?”

“Very much so.”

Marc ushered Pettigrew over to an easy chair,and sat down opposite him. “I suppose you’ve heard the rumoursabout the alliance between the Reformers and the rouge ?’’

“Hasn’t everyone? I’ve seen Louis LaFontainewalking in the street.”

“The secret is certainly out, but ouropponents do not really believe we can pull it off — French andEnglish in one united front. Especially only four years after abloody rebellion.”

“I’d like to help in any way I could.”

Marc leaned forward. “You are known to be afriend of Henri Thériault.”

Pettigrew was taken aback. “How did you knowthat?”

“Gilles Gagnon, LaFontaine’s associate,interviewed him a few days ago in Chateauguay at his family’s farm.He heard the story of your rescuing Thériault from the manhimself.”

“Is Henri part of your alliance?”

Marc smiled. “That is what we hope toachieve. And we do need your help in that regard.”

Marc proceeded to tell Pettigrew aboutThériault’s initial reluctance to join the alliance and hisdetermination to come to a decision soon. What was needed wassomeone Thériault trusted amongst the English to reiterate thegoals of the alliance and the details of their platform to the manin such a way as to render it credible and persuasive. Anyadditional personal pleas could be appended.

“You want me to sit down and write Henri aletter?” Pettigrew said when Marc had finished.

“That’s right. And attend a strategy meetingtomorrow morning. I’ve sketched out the material we want you tostress, and I’ll sit beside you and help out in any way I can. Butthe words must be yours and in your handwriting. Will you doit?”

“I’m not a great letter writer, but I’lltry.”

“Good man.”

***

For the next hour Marc sat beside ChristopherPettigrew at the desk in his room and supervised the penning of aletter whose persuasiveness might determine the success or failureof the entire alliance movement. Pettigrew was diligent, as hesaid, but no letter writer. Marc was called upon to give advice atevery point. But slowly the details came together, and Marc wasable at last to suggest that he step aside and let Pettigrew writea personal note to his friend Henri.

Pettigrew went at this aggressively, butabout halfway through he paused and began nibbling at his pen.

“What is it? Are you stuck?” Marc said fromthe other side of the room.

“Oh, no, it’s going well, I think. It’s justthat in writing this personal stuff to Henri, I was reminded of mysister, Christine.”

“In what way?”

“Well, you see, I’ve been writing her everytwo or three days since I got here two weeks ago, and tonight was atime for me to write her again.”

“Your sister’s in Toronto?”

“Yes. And she’s my twin sister. We livetogether in a house in the north-east section of the city. We’velived on the estate all our lives. Both our parents are dead, soChristine and I have only each other. As twins we’ve always beenclose, and we’re even closer through necessity. We’ve never beenapart — not in twenty-five years — except for the time four yearsago when I was articling in Montreal.”

“And your sister is missing you?”

“Very much. She’ll be devastated if shedoesn’t get a letter. So I’ll just finish this one up and then goback to my room and write one to her.”

“Will you live in Toronto with your newbride?”

“Oh, yes. I couldn’t leave Christine alone — ever.”

“Has your sister met your fiancée?”

“No, she hasn’t. And she has not taken to thewedding idea too well. I worry constantly about her. I may have toreturn to Toronto for a while, even though I’m committed to stayinghere until the wedding in April. I have business interests aswell.”

“Well, Christopher, we would very much likeyou to remain here in Kingston if you possibly can.”

“Do you need more letters?”

“That is a distant possibility. Your firstplea may not be enough. But it may bring him closer to our side.Further pleas may help materially, especially if Thériault repliesto the first one.”