Olivia's Mine Page 2

  William had instantly fallen in love with Grace and would have married her whether she was rich or poor. But as it happened her family was quite well off and rich didn’t hurt as his banker father had pointed out.

  William and Grace’s children had led very comfortable lives. There was always plenty of food and no such thing as hand-me downs. William, being the youngest in his own family, had enough of those in his life because Michael Sr. said he was “rich, not stupid” and refused to throw anything out. Of William’s girls, Anne, the first-born, became a nun. She had been born with a quieter disposition and was always a bit of a loner. Olivia, the middle daughter and Emily the youngest, were both quite boisterous, and had insisted upon the requisite coming-out parties into Seattle society. What parties they had been! There had been dancing until dawn. Hundreds of guests from up and down the Pacific coast had come to wish them well. Of the boys, Jason, the oldest, was still trying to find himself, and Bill, who was definitely a Billy and would never be a William, was studying to get his carpenter’s ticket. The generations of Bower bankers were not continuing down this particular branch of the family tree, William noted, with some sadness, but not surprise.

  Olivia had never been to Canada before. She had met several wealthy Canadians at parties that her parents hosted every now and then at their home, so she knew they were not very different from Americans. Not like the Oriental workers that her father had hired to work on the railway lines stretching down the Pacific coast. They had brought with them completely different customs and beliefs and a language barrier Olivia had found daunting.

  But she was leaving everything thing she knew behind her, and beginning a journey of her own.

  A low whistle from Captain Cates brought Olivia out of her daydream.

  “Yer gonna strain ye neck if ye keep gawkin’ at dat pile a’ rock, misses.”

  “The mountains on the horizon, do they go all the way to Canada, Captain?”

  “Aye, up de coast as far as I’ve ever bin. Course, I’ve been doin’ dis stretch of the Pacific Nor’ West for thirty odd years now. It’s been the liven’ fer me, so I dunt see no sense in goin’ any ferder. Gets too cold. Dat’s Mount Baker to de est. Part of de Cascade Range. I tink e’s one of those volcanoes, but it be sleeping.”

  He winked at her.

  “Pretty soon,” he continued, “we’ll be inta de Coastal Mountains. I suppose you’ll be gawkin’ at dem too. Dat’s okay. Visiters always do. Sorry ‘bout yellin’ at ye earlier. I was tinkin’ I was waitin’ for a man. Dat’s what dey told me, eh. Told me to pick up a Mister O. Fitzpatrick. Ye can see how I was confused. Why don’t ye come inside lady, it’s gettin’ a little cool out. Ye can meet de odder misses we picked up, and her kiddies.”

  Olivia studied the Captain. He must be in his early sixties, she thought. His grey beard covered the weather worn skin on his lower face. His eyes were the colour of the sea, a stormy grey-blue that she envisioned had seen many hardships over the years. His teeth betrayed the years of chewing tobacco he had enjoyed. He did not wear a traditional nautical captain’s cap that her father’s friends with sailboats had worn. He favoured a red wool toque.

  “It is a little cool,” Olivia agreed. She had bundled up in a new blue wool pea coat for the journey, but the wind was picking up. They started to make their way into the cabin. “You know Captain Cates, if I were an artist and someone asked me to paint the image of a mariner, I think I’d paint him just like you. You are just like I would have imagined. I get a sense you’ve been very happy at sea over the years.”

  “I’ll take dat like a compliment Madame, merci.”

  Olivia noticed him stretch and flex his hand. He had arthritis like her mother did. He wouldn’t be sailing the seas much longer.

  “Please do,” she said. “Captain, I’m a little confused about your accent. It’s not like any Canadian accent I’ve ever heard before.”

  “Ach, yeh. It’s a little bit of dis n’ a little bit of dat, eh misses? Me fadder, ‘e was a Scotsman. Nae just south of Edinburra ‘e was. Came over ‘ere on one of the Royal ships as a stowaway. Dey shudda tossed ‘im o’er, but ‘e could cook up a storm. Dey kept ‘im when the first cook died a’ scurvy. I ‘eard a tale dat it wasn’t really scurvy, dat me fadder just says dat cuz ‘e poisoned ‘im on purpose, so ‘e could stay like, but I dunna. “E met me mum somewhere down de St. Lawrence. ‘Dat’s a big river. She was a French-Canadian Indian. ‘Er mum was an Iroquois, and rumour has it ‘er dad was a Jesuit priest.” The Captain put his finger aside his nose. “On the Q.T. like. So, I reckon I’m like a bottle of good Scotch whiskey…well blended. I grew up in Sept-Iles, dat’s in Quebec, speakin’ French and what me dad called an abuse of de English language. But I speak French real good. Comprenez-vous? Course I dunt get much use fer it out ‘ere.”

  “You said there was another woman on board?”

  “Aye, ‘er name is Lucy Bentall. Bin down to Olympia to see ‘er kin. Show off da kiddies. Lives at de Beach too, she does. I know ‘er husband Marty. Good man. Some sort of mineralogist or sometin’. Knows ‘is rocks. Spends most of ‘is time in the caves, ‘e does. Been to university and all dat. I tink ‘e was even a professor once, but now ‘e spends ‘is days in de dark. Makes ya kinda wunder, eh misses? What’s yer fella do up der?”

  “I suspect he works in the tunnels too, although I don’t know exactly what it is he does. He’s a miner.”

  “Me big foot’s been goin’ in me bigger gob a lot today, eh misses? Ach ye well, it ain’t de sea, mining, but it’s an ‘onest livin’, I’ll give yer dat.”

  He opened the door to let Olivia inside the main cabin. He was shocked by what he saw, a young sandy haired boy, barely more than a toddler, steering the ship.

  “Ach matey,” he yelled to the strapping middle-aged man on beside the boy. Whadda ye doin’ lettin’ de laddie at de wheel? We’re gonna wind up in the Japans if ye keep doin’ dat.”

  “Sorry sir,” the first mate replied. “I was only trying to keep the lad amused for a moment. I wanted to keep his mind off things as he was telling me he was a little tummy sick.”

  “Come on now wee Robbie, down you get.” The Captain good-naturedly took the boy by the hand. “Mon Dieu, it’s ‘ard to get good ‘elp dees days, ye know misses?” said the Captain, shaking his head. “Ach well, no ‘arm dun, as de say matey. Da waters are pretty still today, the laddie shouldn’t get sickly. Misses Fitzpatrick, why dun ye take the lad to ‘is mum. I tink she’s in me private cabin just o’er dere,” he motioned with his head. “Just go past de galley. Wait, where’s me manners? I canna let ye go up der until yer properly introduced.”

  The Captain took his sextant and tapped on the wall.

  “Hey, Lucy!” he yelled. “Get yerself round ‘ere. I’ve got someone fer ye to meet.”

  The other passenger came out from the private quarters.

  Lucy Bentall was perhaps one of the most strikingly handsome women that Olivia had ever met. Her red, flowing, curly hair betrayed her Irish descent, yet the freckles that she had, fell only upon her prominent cheekbones, not all over her body like most of the red heads Olivia had encountered in her life. It was as if they had been hand painted on a porcelain doll.

  She appeared to be in her mid-twenties. She was tall compared to Olivia. She may have been five-ten, with a svelte frame that carried her well. She showed no outward signs of having borne either Robbie, or the tiny baby girl in her arms. She had the most piercing green eyes Olivia had ever seen. Olivia had never met many women with green eyes, and certainly not with that beautiful strawberry hair. She was dressed in a bright red Stewart tartan skirt, a heavy red Aryan cable sweater with a matching tartan coat. Her outfit stood out in bright contrast to the weathered backdrop of the interior of the old boat.

  “Lucy Bentall,” the Captain started, “dis ‘ere is Misses Fitzpatrick. I dunna know ‘er given name yet, but when ye find out ye can tell me and den if it’s okay, I’ll call ‘er dat because she doesn’t ans
wer very well to Fitzpatrick.”

  He noticed Olivia’s pained expression.

  “Ach, I’m just ‘aving fun whit ye, misses.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Lucy said, extending her hand. “I’m Lucy Bentall.”

  Olivia shook her hand.

  “Her name is Olivia, Captain.”

  Olivia looked at her, surprised she knew her name.

  “She’s Frankie’s wife.”

  “Ah,” the Captain said, making the connection.

  “It’s a very small town, Olivia. I already know a lot about you. Here…” Lucy said, offering Olivia a blanket, “…put this over your shoulders, and let’s get outside, I need a breath of air.”

  “But I keep telling ye, it’s na a bad sea ladies,” the Captain said.

  “Frenchie, that cast iron stomach of yours would stay still during a hurricane. We ladies have a more delicate constitution. Besides, I’m thinking about having a little nip of ‘the tonic’ and if I show you where I’m hiding my flask of whiskey, you’d be all over me and up on charges too vile to mention.”

  Lucy pulled Olivia along by the hand.

  “Come along Livvy, let’s get outside. Frenchie, be a darling and watch Robbie and Melissa while we get acquainted.”

  She handed him the infant.

  “Lucy,” he pleaded, “dis is no place for de baby.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do with her Frenchie? Take her outside so she’ll catch her death a cold, or be swept overboard by a crashing wave? I hardly think so.”

  Frenchie looked at Olivia and rolled his eyes.

  “She’s a good one for the stories, she is,” he said.

  Lucy pouted teasingly at the Captain.

  “Oh Frenchie, be an angel and hold her for fifteen minutes. That’s all I ask.”

  “Ach, okay, but if de baby, being a wee girlie, has a “delicate constitution” like de two of you and gets sick all o’er me, der’s gonna be trouble.”

  “She’ll be fine. Come on Liv.”

  Olivia had no choice but to follow Lucy back on deck.

  “How do you understand him?” Olivia asked once they were out of earshot. “It’s hard for me to tell what he’s saying.”

  “Who, Frenchie? You’ll get used to him. He’s a loveable old salt. Robbie adores him. Frenchie’s like a big playmate for him. It’s all a big adventure for Robbie. We’ve been onboard quite a few times over the past few years, but this is the first trip for the baby, so the Captain is a bit nervous with her. I need to get out of town when the weather is good. You’ll see. I suspect you’ll be accompanying me on a few of these trips.”

  Lucy leaned closer towards Olivia, and whispered. “I listen to every third word he says, that’s the secret. It seems to work.”

  Lucy let out a laugh that filled the air.

  “You don’t seem too anxious to get back,” Olivia commented.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Back to what? Back to countless hours of trying to get the mine out of Marty’s clothes when they’re permanently stained with rust? Back to worrying about whether the men are going to come out of the mine alive each day? No thanks. Honey, if I were you I’d turn around at Vancouver and go back home. You don’t need Britannia Beach.”

  “You’re going back,” Olivia pointed out.

  “Liv, I’m an idiot, plain and simple. More beauty than brains they say…” She let out her contagious laugh once more,“…but I love my husband Marty, and Marty loves the mine. He’s a mineralogist, Frenchie probably already told you. Doesn’t know the meaning of discreet, Frenchie doesn’t. Marty, he tests the quality of the copper ore they bring out before they take it to market. He keeps tabs for his head office in the States. He doesn’t actually work for the mine. He’s on contract from the United Pittsburgh Smelters. They purchase enough of the ore each year to have someone up at Britannia year round, permanently protecting their interests. The mine used to be owned by the Americans, but a few years back a group of investors purchased it and reformed it under the laws of the Province of British Columbia. So now it’s basically Canadian owned and operated. Nothing really changed much with the purchase, other than the names of the owners.

  “My husband is the only one who calls me Liv,” Olivia stated.

  “Well, he’s the one who’s been talking about you, and that’s what he’s been calling you, so that’s what I assumed you liked. You’d better get used to it, that’s what everyone is calling you in that stuffy old town. You’re not going to change their ways now. Anyway, we’re talking about me. I’ll ask about you in a minute. United Pittsburgh offered Marty a job at the head office, but I didn’t want him to take it because it was too far from my family in Olympia. I get quite homesick, as you’ve probably gathered. I’m having second thoughts now, but he’s under contract at the Beach for another two years. I’m hoping they offer him a transfer then. We’ll be able to move just before the children have to go to school.”

  “How old are they?” Olivia asked.

  “Robbie just turned four last month, and Melissa is almost six-months. They keep me busy, God bless them, otherwise I’d go quite crazy. Sometimes I don’t think I was cut out for this motherhood thing. Marty and I met back when he was a student at the university. I had finished school and wasn’t doing much of anything. My brother was studying there so sometimes I would go to the library with him. A lot of the photography students were always wanting to take my picture so I think I could have maybe been a model. But Marty and I fell in love and voila, as Frenchie would say, I now live in a town of a few hundred people with not a fashion show in sight. How about you?”

  “Well,” Olivia started, “nothing quite so glamorous. Frank and I grew up together, he’s twenty-two, two years older than I am, and we were high school sweethearts.”

  “High school sweethearts,” Lucy taunted, “my, my…”

  “We are talking about me. You had your turn.”

  Lucy laughed at her new found friend’s confidence.

  “Frank’s brother got a job at the mine, so he got one for Frank. Only his brother quit and Frank’s still there. End of story.”

  “You’re right. That’s not very glamorous. And your family, they don’t mind you going to another country?”

  “My father has travelled around quite a lot. He thinks I’ll be safe enough. Besides, Frank’s not going to let anything bad happen to me. He loves me too much.”

  “How long have you been married?” Lucy asked.

  “Only just…” Olivia replied.

  “Ah, the sound of young love. I’m starting to like you. You’re full of hope. Well, full of something, anyway. You might do all right at the Beach after all. God knows I’ll be better off with you there.”

  “Is it really that bad?” Olivia asked.

  “Oh goodness no. I’m probably being a little harsh…just a little mind you. The folks there are just so set in their ways. I suppose it’s like that in any small community, really. The first thing they’ll ask you is what church you belong to, and if you don’t, well, heaven help you. Not that there’s really a right answer. All the religious services are held together at the school anyway, just at different times on Sunday. It just gives them something to argue about. The ladies have tea Saturday afternoons, and there’s an every other Wednesday night euchre game...but wait, if you’re really, really popular, you might get a chance to join the quilting club.” She sighed. “It gets a little boring.”

  “If you’re bored with the town, why don’t you get a part-time job? I hear more and more women are doing that these days. Surely you could get someone to watch the children for a few hours. Won’t your husband let you work?” Olivia asked, innocently enough.

  “Lordy girl,” Lucy laughed, “my husband has nothing to do with it. The jobs they have there are for the men. It’s one of J.W. McMichael’s golden rules, and Liv, there are plenty of them, all beginning with the word “don’t”. “Don’t let your women out alone after six o’clock. Don’t gamble. Don’
t let a drop of liquor pass your lips past midnight the night before you have to work. And don’t ever, ever, think of giving a woman a job that a man has a birthright to hold. I think he even made up some superstition about women working in the mines being the curse of all time. Strange isn’t it? In coal mines around the world they’re using women and children as cheap labour, but here, in the ore mine, it’s forbidden. Unless of course you’re a Jap or Chink woman, then it’s okay to ask for work. They get the dirty jobs.”

  “Are there a lot of Oriental women there?” Olivia asked. Olivia had learned through her father that the slang ethnic terms were common in more than one sense of the word.

  “Your ancestors may have been on the Mayflower,” William had admitted, “but they were in the cargo hold with a lot of the criminals. We’ve come a long way since then, because our talents were recognized. Never ignore talent, it can make you wealthy a lot quicker than a cutting remark.”

  They were strong words of advice that Olivia knew to be true.

  “Oriental? Well, I suppose they are Oriental. Honey, we’re not so conscious about such things at Britannia Beach. They’re the Japs. They have their own section of town, Japtown, and they do not associate with us white folk much. Nor with the Chinese either. They keep pretty much to themselves. I’m not saying that’s right, but in "McMichaelville", that’s the way things are.”

  “Surely it can’t be that bad. You’re making it sound like some old western town in a novel where the Sheriff is related to everyone, including the mayor.”

  Frenchie Cates voice came booming into the night. “Ladies yer fifteen minutes is up. I’m not a babysitter.”

  “Frenchie,” Lucy yelled back. “I was just telling her about J.W. McMichael. Friend of yours?”