Unless Dr. Heggie obliged me with the delivery of a younger sibling, I knew I would be its longest occupant of my generation. The chair was conveniently placed, being in the room in which the adults generally congregated but tucked in a corner between a big couch and the small couch perpendicular to it.
Just as the ladies’ view of me from their long couch was obscured, so was mine of them, but as I rocked, I listened to their words. “Oh, Charlotte,” Aunt Rose cried. “How will we bear it? In all these years, we’ve never been apart.”
“I agree, Rose!” Aunt Charlotte replied. “Though somehow I am sure we will manage.”
“It will not be the same,” Mother added. “It will never be the same again.”
“You are right, my dear sister-in–law,” Aunt Charlotte replied. “You are so right.”
The ladies went on, repeating in a variety of ways that Aunt Charlotte would be missed and that she would miss Mother and Aunt Rose.
“Your brother, Charlotte,” Mother added. “You will be heartily missed by him.”
“And I shall miss him in turn, but you know, Mary,” Aunt Charlotte said to Mother, “this move may not be all bad for Jethro. William’s resignation may provide Jethro with the opportunity he has long sought.”
“I know, dear Charlotte. And who is more deserving?” Mother asked with true sincerity. “But at what cost?”
While I tried to discern the opportunities that would be presented to Father, Uncle William reminded his wife of her desire to show the other two ladies the peonies in the back yard. The three ladies rose and left the room.
My attention turned to the men, still standing by the fireplace, which, since it was July, emitted no heat. Their preoccupation was principally the politics of the move. This was an appropriate topic for discussion, for at that time my Uncle William was the mayor of the Town of Brampton. The move to Winnipeg would necessitate his resignation from office five and a half months before his term would otherwise have expired.
“When do you expect to hear from Handle?” Uncle James asked as soon as the ladies left the room.
“Any moment,” Uncle William replied. “He has been consulting with the town fathers all day. I was sorry to ask him to do this on a Sunday—he’s a good church man himself, but he loves backroom politics, and he told me last week that I just had to give him the word and he’d start the process. As soon as I entered our church this morning and saw the peculiar way that Treadgold looked at me, I knew that he knew, and I knew, of course, that it would not be long before the rest of the town fathers knew. That would be a grave outcome for you, Doc,” he said, referring to Father. For over four decades Mr. Treadgold had been the proprietor of the local piano shop. Over those years, when not selling musical instruments, he had been an active member of the local town council.
“I fear your chances will be materially jeopardized if the town fathers are so angry with me that they refuse to consider my brother-in-law as my ideal successor,” Uncle William continued, “so before sitting in our pew, I feigned a headache and left the church. I practically ran up the street to retrieve Handle from your church. Fortunately, he had not yet entered.
“Damn that John Cooney,” Uncle William cursed, his profanity confirming to me that he was unaware of my proximity. Then, turning to my other uncle, he went on. “You were right, James, I should not have spoken to that real estate agent until after the announcement was made. He has likely already lined up a buyer, and while he had no notion of why I was intending to sell, the fact that I had not also asked him to secure a new location for us likely led him to a conclusion that was in fact the truth—that we are leaving town. But I felt I could not wait longer to speak with him. I truly fear we will be driven out. We need to be able to move quickly.”
The men continued their exchange. Uncle William made it clear that he hoped that Father would succeed him as the mayor of the town. Uncle James agreed, suggesting that Father’s experience as chair of the high school board and chair of the water commission would allow Father to continue Uncle William’s reform agenda. “What this town needs, we all know, is industry, and industry will only come if we have the electricity, sewers, and roads to support it and an educated workforce. Some of us, of course,” he said, looking somewhat critically at Uncle William, “are more optimistic about obtaining that industry than others.”
Uncle William confessed to feeling less optimistic about the town’s future. He considered the late 1870s and early 1880s to be Brampton’s heyday.
“Brampton has made great headway over the past ten years,” Uncle James argued. “You saw the Dominion’s report released last month. Not many towns in all of Canada have seen such growth. And yes, it took you quite a bit of effort to convince Whitewear to start their business here, but look at the other industries that have done so. The Williams Shoe Company now employs nearly a hundred. Add the Dale Estate and Copeland Chatterson,” he said, referring to two large local employers, “and you have another three hundred.”
They went on, exchanging figures and company names but with numbers so large and names so complicated and with the constant rocking of my little chair, I began to drift off to sleep.
I was awakened some time later by a voice confirming the state I had just left. “That’s my daughter, Jessie,” Father said. “We hadn’t even noticed her there. But she’s asleep, Handle. No need to worry about her presence.” I continued in my head-drooped pose. I did not know who Handle was, but I knew my father and my two uncles. I found all of them gruff and somewhat terrifying at the best of times. I did not relish the thought of being discovered eavesdropping—something I was most assuredly doing. Daring not to look up, I watched the legs and feet of the men as their discussion ensued.
This was not a conversation to be had sitting down, apparently, as the men did not move significantly from the fireplace, although there were seats in the room for thrice their number. I knew that Uncle William was closest to the fireplace, toward its centre. I could easily identify his pinstriped black pants and expensive-looking polished black shoes. Uncle James stood to his left. He was a bigger man, and his black pants, while obviously well made, displayed a greater amount of fabric. Possibly to support his additional weight, his black shoes were somewhat heavier-looking. Father wore his signature white patent leather shoes below his brown well-worn slim-cut slacks and stood to the right of Uncle William. The new man—Roger Handle was his name—stood in front of Uncle William, his back toward me. His legs were like tree stumps, wide and tall, covered in volumes of grey fabric. I could only imagine his height. Mr. Handle wore big black shoes, only the heels of which I could see. His toes pointed toward Uncle William in front of him, and they did not move once the entire time I watched them.
“What did you find, Roger? Who did you speak to?” Uncle William began.
“Well, it’s not pretty, my good fellows,” Handle answered. “Not a pretty sight. They’re mad. And they’re disappointed. But they’re mostly mad. You made a good decision, Billy-boy, in calling on me to act as your intermediary.”
“Billy-boy.” I wondered whether my young cousin had re-entered the room. Stealing a glance upward, I realized that Mr. Handle must have been referring to my Uncle William by the abbreviated name that the rest of us applied to his son.
“Yes, it is a good thing you called me. Otherwise I’m afraid they’d be just mad. But I worked on the sympathy angle for you, Billy-boy. Said you had bills to pay and big expenses coming your way. Said that you lived beyond your means and that you had to take that fancy job in Winnipeg to get out of your problems. I said, though, that you weren’t going to leave the town high and dry—that your brother-in-law had agreed at your particular request to fill the breach, and given your brother-in-law’s civic commitment and experience, that you actually thought the town was better in his hands than in yours.” An awkward silence filled the air.
“I confess, Roger,” Uncle James replied slowly, “I hadn’t thought of you taking a tack like that.”
“Well, of course you didn’t, Jimmy-boy,” Handle replied. I quickly