Donovan's Station by Robin McGrath Read Free Book Online Page B

would have had me stripped to my skin, so determined was he to keep that salmon. The apron came off, and then the dress, and in a very short time we had our catch slung into the skirts of my homespun shift. By the time we got the fish to the top of the hill over Petty Harbour we were both dropping with fatigue, but fortunately Father had come in search of us and relieved us of our burden. Mother was not pleased to see me arrive home half-naked, nor was she delighted to see my only dress tied around the salmon by my apron strings, but Richards pride and pleasure was such that once she had extracted a promise that we would never do such a thing again, she gave herself up to the excitement of the moment.
    The salmon must have weighed ten pounds at least, and although we normally had our main meal in the middle of the day and made do with a cold lunch in the evening, Mother cooked the tail in a piece of muslin and served it up to us with a creamed mustard sauce and boiled potatoes. Richard didn’t manage to get more than a few mouthfuls down his throat before falling asleep over his plate, but Father ate every mouthful of his own as well as Richard’s leftovers, and before going to sleep that night he salted down the remainder, which we ate on special occasions throughout the winter. Mother made me wash the dress and apron myself, and since it rained the next day I was forced to wear one of her work dresses, which was so worn it had recently been consigned to the matting bag in the rafters. It was, however, a small price to pay for the intense pleasure Richard derived from his first major catch.
    Lizzie used to ask me, when she was small, if I’d had a best friend when I was a girl and would give me her hard, skeptical look when I answered that perhaps my brother was my best friend. Lizzie hardly even looks at her brother, and acts as if time spent with him is a peculiar form of torture. My childhood wasn’t like hers. I hardly ever played structured games, nor did many of the children in the Harbour. I used to watch myown girls play hopscotch and jackstones as if they were savages from across the water in Africa, so foreign were these things to me.
    Lizzie was right, of course—Richard and I weren’t friends, but we were one another’s closest companions, not counting Mother and Father. Perhaps it was because we all worked so hard that there was little time for friendships, or perhaps it was because we were solitary by nature, but neither of us sought out the company of other children, and they rarely sought ours. Mother didn’t encourage visiting, for we often had a difficult enough time feeding and clothing ourselves without having half-starved and ragged children from around the Harbour hanging in the doorway making hungry eyes at our few possessions.
    Since we lived on the Southside but attended school and church on the Northside, we didn’t mix much with the neighbours, except perhaps when there was an illness or death to be dealt with. At such times, Richard might be sent with an armload of wood or I might be told to mind a small child for a few hours, but like everyone we had limited resources and barely enough energy to keep body and soul together given the short season for fishing and gardening. Mother used to say that it was just as well our summers weren’t longer as we would wear our bodies out well before their time. Winter came almost as a relief, for once the snow was down there was little to do but stay warm and seek relief from the boredom of long, dark days by fashioning the few small comforts we could create for ourselves.
    In summer, there were not enough hours in the day to do all that had to be done. Aside from the endless task of making the fish, there was the garden to be seen to. We always struggled to find time for chinching the house, mending the roof and the hundred other chores that could only be done in reasonably good weather. It was my responsibility to