Finding the North Star

Chapter 3 TOTA'S FARM

The grey limestone buildings of Kingston rolled by in the morning light and soon they were across the bridge that spanned the Cataraqui River just east of the city. Becky dozed on and off, but woke properly when the cart jostled sideways in a rut. In full daylight now the whole city lay out before her gleaming on the other side of the bay in the morning sun. It was as if all of Kingston's church spires were rising up to greet the sun - or wave goodbye.

Becky could just see the Martello tower sitting round and squat, guarding the entrance to the Rideau Canal. A family lived in it now, and her father had taken her there one Sunday after church. She remembered the kind lady who gave her a glass of milk on that hot day. Becky wondered if they were cooking breakfast at this very moment . . . perhaps with the children off to school very shortly just as she herself was only two days ago.

It had been while seated at her desk that Becky received the message her father had been hurt. Hurt, what a strange thing to say. If he had been hurt he would be lying now in the hospital, bandaged up, with Becky sitting at his bedside. She allowed herself the comfort of these thoughts for a moment before Kip, now awake and hungry came and nuzzled her hand looking for food. Becky found the stone jar where the dried meat was kept and fed him.

Her stomach growled as Kip ate his breakfast. She took an apple from the bag Louise had given her and chewed silently as she watched Kingston grow smaller, to be blotted out completely when they rounded a bend.

"We're going to my Tóta's place," Mary had explained earlier, wedging a small box of her own belongings on to the cart. Becky knew that's what Mary called her grandmother. Mary only occasionally made it out to the farm as it was some miles from the city. "The cart is slow so it'll take the better part of the day to get there. We'll stay until a passage can be booked at the agents in Kingston.

"Might take a few days. No passenger liner comes this far up the St. Lawrence so we will have to take a steamer down to Montreal." She had winked at Becky. "Should be exciting eh?"

Becky couldn't raise much enthusiasm sensing that perhaps Mary's wasn't genuine either, and only managed a half-hearted smile.

After the village of Barriefield, gardens gave way to fields - busy in the late summer with farmers bringing in crops of barley and wheat. The warm, heady scent of harvest mingled with the animal smells of working horses, pigs and cattle. Dogs barked as they passed farmsteads giving Kip cause to utter his own response, usually one quick bark; but mostly he sat on Becky's lap while her hands worked through his rough coat combing out tangles, grit and the other bits of rubbish that always seemed to cling to him. Becky stretched out on her pile of blankets and looked up at the clear blue sky, and for one blissful moment forgot why she was here.

A confusion of giggles and squawks coming from a nearby farm roused her and she sat up to see two children - an older girl and a little boy - chasing some unruly chickens into a pen. Their mother flapped her skirts, and all three seemed to treat the whole thing as a lark. They laughed and waved their arms about as the misbehaving chickens ran helter-skelter.

Becky smiled and waved back when the children saw her. But the smile died just as quickly when she remembered something.

Some time ago, her father had said the main reason for them emigrating was so he could buy land. "A man is not truly free until he holds some of his own soil in his hands," he had told her. "I could never do that in the Old Country."

She remembered this and even sadder things now.

When Becky's mother was expecting yet another child after losing two pregnancies - both of them boys - her father spoke again of his wishes to own a farm. "Your brother will help me till the fields and feed the cows," he had said holding her in his arms, trying in vain to shield her from the moans coming from the bedroom as his wife's premature labour slowly progressed. "You and your mother will milk them."