Chapter 14
I did not enjoy the month I spent during my second visit to Castille as much as my first visit, although the circumstances were almost the same. Our enjoyment of any scene is generally more connected with ourselves than with our surroundings. I was feeling uneasy, perplexed and impatient at this time. Shortly before leaving Toronto I had received a letter from Graham in which he told me of difficulties having arisen. A prairie fire had swept through the country, destroying hay and grain which had been stacked. He had lost his two stacks, and having to cut and dry more hay for food for his oxen during the winter had hindered his finishing his house. The young colony had erected two small log houses, in which they all intended to take refuge for the winter, but in March, he said, before the breakup of the sleighing, he would be ready for me.
I was greatly disappointed. I had so built upon getting off at once and, moreover, I was in what is known as a tight place; I had no home to go to and both Dr. Adams and my mother had absolutely refused to hear of my going back to the Reid’s. Up to the last I hoped against hope that Graham might find time to finish his house, but the beginning of September another letter reached me which was quite conclusive. If there be one virtue harder to acquire than another it certainly is patience, and my stock was very small. I did not realize that when one prays for a certain moral attribute, if the prayer is to be answered, corresponding trials must be expected. I had prayed much for patience and yet I could not understand why I was tried —it seemed to me daily—in this particular point. Nothing I had planned for or expected ever seemed to come on time.
Even my friends used to laugh and say that I never took the shortest journey without train or boat being delayed.
“Let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire.” So I spent most of my time inwardly fretting and chafing and forgetting the mercy which had never failed to care for me during all my twenty years.
On September 13th —I remember the date for it was Mim’s birthday—she and I returned to Toronto, via Niagara, where we spent the day, Osmond meeting us about 5 p.m. and accompanying us home. We went up to Lady Robinson’s, and I shall never forget how I prayed that evening for some path to open up before me. Dear Mim, can I ever forget how she came and knelt beside me with her arm-around me, for she well knew how I was feeling. So we went to bed and slept the peaceful untroubled sleep of youth.
When I came down to breakfast in the morning, I found a letter on my plate. It was a short note from Mrs. John Darcy Cayley, asking me to come and see her as soon as I could. “I do not know where you are,” she said, “so I am sending this to Lady Robinson’s care, as she probably knows your whereabouts.” I was greatly surprised, as I knew Mrs. J. Darcy Cayley very little. Lady Robinson also said that Mrs. Reid was in town and wished to see me.
Directly after dinner I went over to Mrs. Reid’s. She was staying on Simcoe Street with her brother Judge Hagarty. It was a good residential street in 1879. She was very kind and begged me to come to Bowmanville and pay them a nice visit. “It is the apple picking season,” she said, “and we shall have plenty for you to do.” I was only too pleased to accept her warm invitation, and agreed to return with them in a couple of days. Then I went to Mrs. Cayley’s on John Street. She was in and said she had been wondering whether I could not come and spend the winter with them. Her eldest daughter Mary was at school in England, and as she could not avoid being out nearly every evening, her two younger children Maude and Madeline were left alone with the servants. She said if I could teach the little girls in the morning and play elder sister during the rest of the day she would feel it a great comfort. I was only too glad to accept the proposal, and arranged to be with her the middle of October. I went back to Lady Robinson’s a happy girl, happy in my difficulties being removed, but even more happy in finding that “God is faithful”.
The three weeks at Mrs. Reid’s were delightful. The gardener picked the apples and she and her daughter and I wrapped each one in paper and packed three or four barrels to go to her son Dr. Reid in England. Others packed with less care were sent to friends and relatives in Canada. At other times we sat by a cozy wood fire, she in her straight-backed chair, her little shawl on her shoulders and her white knitting in her hand, while I occupied a footstool at her feet and read aloud to her. How we both enjoyed the reading, and how well able she was to explain any difficulties. Sometimes I could tempt her into telling me long stories of her early home in Ireland and their first experiences in the New Country, which Canada had certainly been forty years before. I did not understand then what a special privilege those hours were; I just accepted and enjoyed them. Annie was a busy housekeeper. She had no love for books, but her house was immaculate and her servants well looked after. Her garden was her chief delight, and at that season was a blaze of color with the autumn flowers. I linger over this visit, as unwilling to leave the memory of it as then I was to leave the reality.
I kept my promise and entered upon my new duties at the appointed time. Before going I had my hair cut short, as it was coming out in handfuls, a result of the fever. Dear Aunt Maddie, as I always called Mrs. J. D. Cayley, used to say I looked four years old. I found a friend at Aunt Maddie’s in her niece Madeline Van Strabenzee, a girl of just my own age. She had been visiting relatives in Malta and was now spending the winter with her aunt in Toronto, partly I think to take music lessons.
St. George’s Rectory was next the church on John Street and not far below the Grange; indeed all John Street had once been a part of the Grange property, in the days when my great uncle Darcy Boulton owned it. It was he, I think, who bestowed the land upon which St. George’s Church and Rectory were built. The Cayley’s house must have been built upon another portion, and the Gamble’s on yet a third. Not far below the Rectory stood the two large houses built by my father, the land on which they stood being a christening present to him from his uncle. When I lived at the Rectory, however, the Grange was inhabited by Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin Smith. Mrs. Smith’s former husband had been Mr. William Boulton, eldest son of Mr. Darcy Boulton and brother of Mrs. Cayley and Mrs. Heath, also of Mr. Darcy Boulton of The Lawn in Coburg and Mr. John Boulton, who lived in Grange Road with his large family. William Boulton had contrived to become penniless, and the Grange had become the property of his wife, the sister of Mr. Homer Dixon, and a wealthy woman. So much for family history.
Our immediate interest lay round the two large houses built by my father, the rent from which had been our support and mainstay all through our childhood. The one in which my mother had lived had just become vacant, and for the first time in all those years a tenant was not forthcoming. As a residential street John Street was losing its name; people were moving to Jarvis Street and Sherbourne Street. Bloor Street too was being built up with handsome residences, replacing the cottages, each in its own garden, which had stood there so long. My mother, having now returned from Brantford, decided that as she could not rent her house, she had better live in it than rent another, so some time in November she and Dora moved in. After this I always slept at home, which was very much nicer, but I went to the Rectory by nine o’clock and remained until my little charges were in bed.
Maude was then eleven years old and a pretty, graceful little girl, but my favorite was Madeline, age six, and we were soon great friends. Mrs. Cayley’s little niece, Mabel Cartwright, ten years old, also came for lessons in the morning and walked with us in the afternoon. She was a bright, clever girl and no trouble to teach. Aunt Maddie vas very fond of music, and the organist at the Church, Mr. Rose, was one of her special favorites. He it was who crave Madeline music lessons, and before long I found myself sharing them. I had asked Aunt Maddie one afternoon if I might practice a little, and she was so pleased with afternoon performance that she said I must also have lessons. Mr. Rose would, I think, have done anything for her and he kindly taught me and would take nothing in return. I think perhaps Madeline and I both enjoyed our lessons better having them together, and it was very nice and a great interest for me.
Before Christmas my dear Sophie returned, much to my joy, but our meeting was also in sorrow, for Arthur was daily fading away before our eyes, and it was a great grief to all who knew him. I saw a good deal of Sophie that winter, but my Sundays were always spent at Cousin Harriet Cartwright’s. They were now living in the house her father had built in the Shrubbery, facing on Darcy Street, and since I taught Mildred, there was a newcomer in the house, a bonny boy called Robert John.
I did not teach in the Sunday school that winter, as I generally had done when in Toronto, but spent long afternoons with Cousin Harriet, in front of the dining room fire, discussing subjects many and various, and helping to mind the bonny boy. Christmas was spent at home, and then a week of my holidays in Bowmanville. Annie Reid and I went together to the all day meeting in Whitby. Mr. Grant was there, and we took up John 1, and his unfolding of it was extremely precious and helpful. The Lowes then lived in Whitby, and Annie Lowe managed all the commissariat for the meeting.
All that winter I was below par and after Christmas rarely without headaches. Dr. Adams strongly recommended my going to the West, and when a letter from Graham came urging me to come in March, it was finally decided that I should go. The next question was as to ways and means. Mr. Darcy Boulton’s son, Major Charles Boulton, intended to go early in the spring and willingly agreed to take me. But when my preparations were nearly all made, he wrote to say that he found he was obliged to go in the freight train along with his cows and horses, and of course that would not do for me. There was a great rush to Manitoba that spring, and a man named Pretty organized parties, going every two weeks, so it was decided that I should go on one of these, starting March 3rd.
Just a month before that date our dear Arthur was taken suddenly Home. He broke a blood vessel and in a few minutes all was over. It was my first acquaintance with death and was a sad and sorrowful time. We knew he was the Lord’s, but his place was very empty in his home. Two days before he was taken I was at the house and on leaving kissed Sophie and her mother. He laughed and said, “Kiss me too”. “Oh no,” I said, “I don’t kiss boys”. It was the last time I saw him and I often wished I had. He was buried in the little graveyard, now a corner in Rosedale, and life went on as before, to all but his mother; I think her heart was broken. But I did not understand that then; I only guessed it and looked on in awe at a sorrow beyond my ken. There are many broken hearts in our midst but outside is a bright and even cheerful exterior, and the world at large does not comprehend.
One month from the day Arthur was taken from us I set out for the Northwest. I was longing to go forth into a world of adventure, and yet my heart failed me at leaving all the dear ones, more especially my mother, but my sister, Sophie, Alice Miller and the Robinsons also. Still I felt my brother needed me and my mother had Dora to care for her. Dora was now fairly well, and she took up my teaching when I left, until the summer holidays.
Everyone was most kind and interested in my journey, and I had many and useful presents. Dr. Adams gave me a nice case of medicines, which was invaluable. My grandmother brought me no end of things, a very quaint and pretty teaset, among other things. She had an old servant, married to a man called Mr. Mullin, who kept a store past the market on King Street, and had a most promiscuous stock. Her great delight was to visit this shop and look over his stock, and constantly she brought me some fresh thing to assist in my future housekeeping.
I had spent a very happy winter in Aunt Maddie’s house. Nothing could exceed her kindness to me and Mr. Cayley was equally kind. I do not think I ever was in a house which was more comfortable and homelike and appeared to run so easily. The meals were always nice and good, without being extravagant. Everything seemed to be in order without any apparent effort.
Mother said she must really teach me to keep house before I left, but when it came to the point, she said, theory was of no use; I would only learn by practice. So she said: “I will give you one rule to follow.” It was short and concise: “Clear as you go”. We had a woman to sew before I left, to make me some clothes, and I think no one could have been provided with a more extraordinary and unsuitable outfit. We were allowed to take 500 lbs., so I had a good deal of packing. The last preparation was a large and wonderful assorted basket of lunch, with a spirit lamp on which to make tea or coffee. I was supplied with condensed coffee, and when I taste that article to this day I seem to feel myself once more in the train rushing on to fresh scenes and a new life.