Annie Proulx - Barkskins

Amboise lay on his right side, pierced through the neck by a dry stick-spear one of the children had left in the trees during the days of summer games; the pulsing fountain of blood was already down to a trickle, and she gave a cry that shook the limbs of the forest.

• • •

Jinot became grave and serious after the death of young Amboise. Away with Mr. Bone, he had not found out until late that evening, when their coach returned. By then Minnie and Aaron had fallen into a fatalistic calm. The three-year old twins, Lewie and Lancey, slept, unknowing, uncaring. Jinot went outside and walked the night with spasmodic spells of choking cries, returning to the house a little before dawn.

When he came in, cold and exhausted, Minnie, driven by habit, was making tea. They sat together at the blue-painted kitchen table, their hands locked as though all that could not be said could be understood through gripping fingers. The firelight shone from the grate and colored red the tears on their cheeks. The house was somber for days until Lewie and Lancey began to laugh and run again.

• • •

The loss of Amboise reawakened Jinot’s hunger for relatives and he decided to find Elise and Josime. He began by constructing a careful and painful letter to Francis-Outger, for at least he knew he lived on Penobscot Bay and he was sure the half brother would know where Elise and Dr. Hallagher were. He sent off his letter with trepidation and doubted he would ever receive a reply. It was almost comical how quickly a letter came.

Dear Jinot.

I was inexpressibly delighted to have your missive. How glad I am that mother’s lessons were not forgot. We have long wondered what adventures you have undergone, and your description of the terrible Miramichi fire, your injuries and the loss of our brother Amboise and your little son was painful to read. But it seems you have fallen on good times from your benefactor, Mr. Albert Bone. You have been fortunate too in choosing a wife and in your wealth of children.

I can grant your wish to know the whereabouts of Elise. She and Dr. Hallagher have a domicile in Boston. The address is below. Their youngest son, Humphrey, has an unusual medical condition where the muscles of the body somehow convert to bone. Learned doctors come to the house to examine and prescribe, but nothing really makes the ailment better. The poor child likely has not long to live before he is solid bone. I am sure Elise would skreech with joy if you were to pay a call on her. Boston is not so far distant from you. (Nor is Penobscot, and you are ever welcome here.)

As for Josime, your account of parting with him in Montreal is the most recent news. I have felt rather pained that he has never seen fit to write me as we are full blood brothers. I suffer bouts of pleurisy and debilitating headaches but suppose one must expect such ailments as one ages.

I will close now as I wish to get this off in the next post. I hope we may soon meet again and exchange news, at the very least, that we may continue to correspond.

Your affectionate half brother, Francis-Outger Sel

Penobscot Bay, Maine

Now Elise was on Jinot’s mind constantly. A fortnight later, on a brilliant April day so enriched with untimely summer warmth that the horses took pleasure in being alive, tossed their heads and looked at the azure sky, he took the stage to Boston and began his search on foot. He had not written, thinking a surprise visit would be better, a bit of drama for Elise. He took half a day asking directions before he found the Hallaghers’ plain brick two-story house. There was a clapboard addition on the south side and a sign reading: DR. HALLAGHER, M.D.

Elise herself opened the red front door. She had become a middle-aged woman with a knot of black-grey hair. But she had the same impish sparkle in her eyes, the same curling smile and pointed teeth as all the Sels.

She knew him at once. “Jinot. You are my brother Jinot.” They embraced in a mighty hug and Elise began to cry. “Oh, how long I have waited to hear something of you. Francis-Outger wrote and told me he had a letter from you asking news of us. Come with me, dear brother, come with me for a moment. And then we shall go in.” She drew him to a side yard, removed six fragrant loaves of wheaten bread from an old clay oven, wrapped them in a piece of muslin and carried them to the kitchen.

“Now, Jinot, you must tell me everything.” He followed her down a dim hall, the plaster walls hung with likenesses of stags drinking from mountain pools, into a stuffy parlor, where his own reflection in a tall mottled mirror frightened him. A pale, listless boy of ten or twelve lay dozing on a daybed with a closed book resting on his breastbone.

“This is my boy Humphrey,” said Elise, bending over the child and kissing his hair. The boy opened his eyes and looked at Jinot.

“This is your uncle Jinot,” said Elise.

“Ahhhh,” said the boy and closed his eyes.

“Come into the kitchen, Jinot, I will make us a pot of tea,” said Elise. “Or coffee, if you like. It is almost time for the doctor to come in for his pick-me-up. He will be very pleased to see you.”

But when Dr. Hallagher came in he was less than delighted, gave a brusque handshake then sat at the table blowing on his tea.

“So, you’ve found us out,” he said in the tone of a captured criminal.

“I thought that as so many years have passed, for the sake of our children it would be good to be in touch with each other again.” He told them of the great Miramichi fire, of Amboise’s death in that fire, without mentioning the town jail or drunkenness. He told them of Minnie, of his children, of little Amboise’s accident. It was only when he described the kindness of Mr. Bone and his favors over the years that Dr. Hallagher relaxed. Jinot guessed that he had been expecting to be asked for a loan and that he was relieved to hear Jinot was independent enough to support a wife and four — no, three — children. When he returned to his surgery the visit became jollier with Elise and Jinot trading old stories and “do you remembers,” plans for a family gathering on the Fourth of July, and bits of gossip about distant Mi’kmaw relatives, for there were countless Sels in Nova Scotia, all descended from René Sel, the little-known Frenchman who had started their history. Elise remembered a few of them, but Jinot knew none.

“We even heard something of our grandfather Kuntaw, can you believe that? He went back to the old place, all English settlers now except a part they call Frenchtown, and another part they call the Diggins. That is where the Mi’kmaw people live, the ones that are left. Not many, now, not even a hundred they say. So he married a Mi’kmaw woman and had more children. Yes, that old man, can you believe it!”

They laughed, the talk shifted to their children. Elise’s oldest boy, Skerry (a Hallagher name), was clever, a great reader and had a powerful inquiring mind. “He wants to go to that Dartmouth school,” she said, “as he is, y’know, at least part Mi’kmaw, and they are said to take an interest in Indian scholars, so it could come to pass. I don’t know if it will, but Doctor wants it. Don’t it seem strange, from how we lived at the post when we was — were — little? We’ve had big changes in our lives, Jinot. And maybe Josime? If Amboise had lived…”

Jinot thought that if Amboise had lived he would have been run over by a freight wagon as he lay stuporous in the roadway. But he did not say it.

The brief hours of family affection began to fade and by the time the stage left, the sky had clouded over. The coach traveled through a storm that came in repetitive squalls with a few tremendous claps of thunder, minutes of hard rain followed by a breathless silence until the next wave caught them. The cleansed air chilled and he thought it would clear, but the interludes of rain turned to sleet and then to snow, a strange end to the summery day. And Jinot, recollecting the visit and the wasted boy lying on the daybed, thought of his own little Amboise, who could never be twelve, and the barely healed old wrenching began afresh.