The Survivor by Paul Almond Page B

spent ten days at the mill, carrying out boards, rolling logs into place, fastening them for the saw. But once Hall had seen how smart he was, he’d put James in charge of the saw itself whenever he became occupied with customers. This time, James had been hearing a slight difference in the sound of the throb of the cogs and pulleys and, handing over to ’Ti-Pete, he had run below, calling out to Hall.
    It wasn’t long before they both found it. The main belt had developed a tear that flapped as it careened around the pulleys.
    “And wouldn’t I be clean out of glue!” Hall sat back disconsolately on the wheelbarrow which Ben had drawn up.
    “Well sir, I’d be glad to take a run down to New Carlisle. They must have lots there.”
    “You’re dreaming, laddie. They only make glue in autumn when they butcher the animals. Mostly used up by now.” The old man took off his floppy black hat and mopped his forehead. “I knew I should’a been more careful, but already I had four breaks this year.” He shook his head sadly. “We’re terble behind.”
    “I can do my best,” James said, turning to go. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”
    “You’re off now, laddie? Better eat something first.”
    “No sir, if it’s as bad as you say, I’d better be off. We can’t shut the mill down for long, or I expect I’ll be out of work with the rest of them.” He winked at the old fellow, who was now taking considerable cheer at his apprentice’s initiative.
    ***
    And so, sooner than expected, James found himself on the trail back to New Carlisle. It was a fine morning and he had time to think as he trotted Indian-style down the wooded trail at a pace learned during his contact with the Micmac. Or at least, dwell on his nightmare: the loss of Catherine. Thoughts of her were better left behind but, like an irritating sore, they kept tormenting him.
    Now why is the soul of a man so contrary? he wondered. Why on earth had he set his cap at Catherine, after she’d been taken? But how much that vision of her by the open fire two years before had grown, when down she had come, to waken him with a warning that her brothers were up to no good. That kiss they shared then still haunted him. Now, on the rough track, he longed for those lips again.
    Go on, torture yourself, he exclaimed. She’ll never be yours. You had your chance and you missed it. Content yourself with the one great love, Magwés, who will never return. Pay Magwés the compliment of being the one and only love of your life. But what about your son, John, back the Port Daniel river with the tribe? Does he not need a surrogate mother? And in his heart of hearts, James knew absolutely that Magwés would want him to have a full life, with a wife and family in which to rear John safely.
    So he must learn this new trade at the mill, save his money, and perhaps even bring his mother over. That might be a good way to manage having his son with him: she could look after him of course. But would trading the comparative luxury of Raby Castle for this harsh wilderness life be in her best interest? Well, just leave that choice to her. At any rate, he must get on and write a proper letter, and get it off on the next schooner.
    Then how should he deal with losing Catherine? Might he find some way to repair the damage? Might she talk the whole thing over? Not much hope there, alas. Stymied again.

Chapter Eight
    “So what on earth are you doing?” Catherine asked. Bent over and carrying a boulder, she seemed shocked to see James in her field.
    James stood tongue-tied. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Catherine. I came to find William.”
    Catherine dropped her stone on the growing rock pile at one side of the field. “My father has gone to Bonaventure. The boys are in the back field, picking stones there, too.” She turned back to the field for more rocks. “Did you not get the job at the mill?”
    James had to grin. “He’s keeping me, heaven knows why.”
    “I had