The Widow's Demise (7 page)

“At least they can’t take the farm.”

“But they can take my cattle and
equipment.”

“Perhaps if we could give them a little
money.”

“And where would we get it? I’ve got barely
enough crop for next year’s seed. Even five or six dollars would
likely satisfy the bank, but I’d have to sell a cow, and then how
would we replace it?”

“I’ve got some sewing to take to the market
on Saturday. It’ll fetch a couple of dollars.”

“Every bit will help. In the meantime we’ve
got to pin our hopes on Robert Baldwin.”

“And he wants you to vote for that
Frenchman.”

“I don’t care if he’s a Dutchman. If Baldwin
says he’s all right, I’m willin’ to go along with him.”

“Well, then, finish your tea. I’ve packed you
a lunch. It’s fifteen miles to Danby’s Crossing.”

Snow finished his tea and went outside to
hitch up the horse to the single-seater buggy. His route was south
to an east-west sideroad that would take him to Yonge Street just
north of Danby’s Crossing. The sideroad was barely a bush-path
hacked out of the forest, but it hadn’t rained for two weeks and
the way was passable, if not comfortable. He flicked the reins over
the horses’ ears, and horse and buggy eased out through the farm’s
gate. The sun was shining and the weather warm, a fine
Indian-summer day. There was a tinge of yellow on the maples that
inched inward on either side of the road. Several different kinds
of birds sang heartily. John Snow began to whistle.

Just before he reached Yonge Street, he saw a
group of men standing in a clump of trees by the side of the road..
Could this be one of the Tory goon squads? He slowed his pace. He
felt all eyes upon him and his progress. He was twenty yards away
when he recognized one of the men as his near neighbour.

“Hello, John,” the fellow said, hailing
him.

“Am I glad to see you,” Snow said. “I thought
for a moment I was heading into trouble. What are you fellas doin’
out here?”

The other faces were now familiar, though he
couldn’t put a name to any of them.

“We’ve just come from the poll,” his
neighbour said. “We figured there was safety in numbers.”

“You must’ve started at the crack of
dawn.”

“That we did.”

“Did you meet any goons on the way?”

“We did see one bunch of ‘em, but we
outnumbered them and they let us pass.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Just at the corner of Yonge and the Danby
crossroad.”

“I’d better step carefully then.”

“You can always tell them you’re goin’ into
the harness-maker’s or the general store.”

“I’ll try to avoid them if I can.”

“Well, then, good luck.”

The other men repeated the wish, and John
Snow moved on, apprehensive. In a few minutes he came within sight
of Murphy’s Tavern at the intersection with Yonge Street. He
decided it would be politic to stop there for a drink and a rest
before going on to Danby’s and the poll. Perhaps by then the goons
would have dispersed. He stepped into the taproom.

It was a dark, smoky, low-ceilinged room with
a rough bar at one end and several tables and stools scattered
about. Snow was surprised to see close to a dozen men inside, three
at the bar and the rest seated. They gave him but a desultory
glance as he walked over to the bar.

“I’ll have a flagon of ale,” he said to the
barkeeper, a florid, fleshy man with mean eyes and a superficial
smile. “Right you are. In from the farm, then, are you?”

“On my way to the store in Danby’s
Crossing.”

“It could be crowded up there,” the
barkeeper, who was Murphy himself, said.

“Oh, how’s that?” Snow did his best to sound
nonchalant.

“The poll’s at Danby’s, didn’t you know?”

“Politics don’t interest me much.”

Murphy smiled. “You’re a rare bird in these
parts, then.”

Snow took a great swig of ale, enough to
quench his thirst, and Murphy moved away to serve another customer.
Snow was just draining his flagon when he felt someone come up and
sit beside him.

“On your way to the poll?” the fellow
said.

Snow turned to look at the interloper. “Not
really. I’m headin’ fer the store at Danby’s Crossing.”

The fellow was short and wiry, with sharply
chiselled features and beady, brown eyes. When he smiled he flashed
a set of brilliant white teeth. He was well dressed, certainly not
a farmer.

“I can smell a voter a mile away. No need to
fret, though, I’m not workin’ for either of the parties. Just an
interested citizen.”

“I see, but you’re mistaken about me, I’m
afraid.”

“Then I do apologize. My name’s Rutherford,
D’Arcy Rutherford.”

Snow automatically put out his hand. “John
Snow,” he said.

“I’m a salesman, not a pedlar, mind you, but
a bona fide salesman. I peddle cigars and good wine to the taverns
in this part of the province.”

“A worthy occupation, I’m sure,” Snow said to
be friendly.

“I notice your cup is empty, sir. May I have
the privilege of buying you another?”

“Why, that’s kind of you. I’m in the mood fer
another.”

“A flagon of ale, barkeep, for my new friend
here.”

As the two men drank their ale, Rutherford
regaled Snow with stories from his travels. Snow turned out to be a
good listener. Another ale was ordered. Snow tried to pay for it,
but Rutherford wouldn’t hear of it.

“You’d be surprised at the kind of dives I
find myself in from time to time, John. Why, I remember one not too
far up Yonge Street that had one window with no glass and a hole in
the roof for the smoke to make its way into the fresh air. There
certainly was none of that in the interior. You can imagine my
surprise when the proprietor orders a case of French wine and ten
boxes of Cuban cigars. Like I always say, you can’t tell a dive by
its door.”

Snow nodded his agreement. He was beginning
to feel decidedly mellow, but the poll would be open all day. He
was in no hurry. And another ale had appeared suddenly before
him.

“I say a pox on both parties,” Rutherford was
saying now. Snow couldn’t remember when or how the subject had
turned to politics. “What have the Tories ever done for us, eh?
Except to lead us straight to revolution and economic stagnation.
Then along come the Reformers, preaching a new gospel. But what
good did they do, the first time they were in power? They gave us
fire-breathing radicals like Willie Mackenzie. And what are they up
to in the new Parliament? Makin’ pacts with the Devil, that’s what.
Gettin’ in bed with French rebels who should be in jail not the
Legislature. And what is the final result? The greatest rebel of
them all, Louis LaFontaine, is put up as our candidate by none
other than Robert Baldwin himself. Who can you trust, eh? No-one.
And I’m sure glad you’re not going to Danby’s to vote. You’ve made
the right decision.”

“But – but I thought I’d vote sometime,” Snow
managed to say in a slurred fashion.

“What’s the point? Any right-thinking citizen
would protest by not casting his vote. I took you for a perceptive
man. Another ale?”

Another ale appeared, as if in a haze. Snow’s
head felt too heavy for his body. He wanted to lay it on the bar.
And sleep . . .

It was sometime later when he woke up. The
barkeeper’s face swam before him.

“I think you’ve had one too many, young
man.”

Snow looked around. The bar was empty except
for one person seated alone at a table.

“Oh, you’re awake, are you?” Rutherford said,
without getting up from the table. “Come on over here, John. I’ve
got something important to say to you.”

Snow got up slowly and staggered over to
Rutherford. “I don’t feel so good,” he said, sitting down
clumsily.

“How are you fixed for money?” he said.

Snow grimaced. He wasn’t sure how he had
become involved with this importunate fellow and couldn’t remember
how much of his personal life he had confessed to.

“I’m doin’ all right.”

“That’s not what you said earlier, my
friend.”

“Well, to tell the truth, I am a bit strapped
fer cash.”

“How would you like to earn five
dollars?”

Snow’s eyes widened and made his head hurt.
“How would I do that?”

“Quite simple. Just turn around and drive
home to your good wife.”

Snow thought he had misheard.

“Why would anyone give me five dollars fer
doin’ that?” He thought that Rutherford must be pulling his leg.
But the notion of five dollars was tantalizing. He could picture a
fresh banknote.

“I’ve got it right here,” Rutherford said,
flashing the money. “And I believe so strongly that farmers
shouldn’t vote that I’m willing, on behalf of an unnamed
benefactor, to give you this cash for staying away from the
poll.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am. So what do you say?”

Snow hesitated. He desperately needed cash –
as most farmers did – and could visualize handing the note to his
banker and buying time on his mortgage. On the other hand, he was a
lifelong supporter of the Reform party, and felt deeply the
obligation to vote. But LaFontaine would win by a landslide,
wouldn’t he? Baldwin had won the riding by several hundred votes.
What use was his lonely vote?

“I’ll take the cash,” Snow said.

“Good man,” Rutherford said, grinning from
ear to ear. “You won’t regret it.”

Snow took the money.

“Here,” Rutherford said, “ have a cigar.”

***

This time the meeting was held in the Hinck’s
library. Present were Hincks, Baldwin, LaFontaine, Gagnon and Marc.
The first item of business was the discussion of a speech that
Louis had given out in York County. All agreed that it had been a
powerful and successful address, focussing on the achievements of
the coalition in the opening session of the new Parliament. In
forceful English Louis had detailed the legislation: the
establishment of extensive public works, a reduction in the rate of
postage and a speeding up of mail delivery, bills to improve the
navigation between Lake Huron and Lake Erie to the ocean, the
development of a legal framework for municipal self-government, and
promise of a law setting up a system of common schools. In
addition, the Imperial Parliament had agreed to guarantee a loan of
one and a half million pounds sterling. On a lesser scale, Louis
had adumbrated, were laws to reduce the severity of capital
punishment and revision of the provincial tariff, and a commission
to study the abolition of seigneurial tenure in Quebec. All this
was achieved because the Governor and his Executive had tailored
their legislative program to suit the wishes of the majority group
in the Legislative Assembly, that is the
rouge
-Reform
alliance of Louis LaFontaine and Robert Baldwin. All of this had
been done without the presence of the leader of the French half of
the alliance. Just think of the accomplishments achievable when
both men were in Parliament. And, as if that were not enough, the
Governor had introduced a motion that in practice guaranteed he
would not act without the advice and consent of the Assembly. In
effect, he had accepted the basic principle of responsible
government.

Louis had been cheered by the majority of the
farmers in attendance, and indeed he had persuaded many to cast
their vote for him. There had been a few discordant jeers, soon
drowned out, and one or two brief scuffles. But all in all the
meeting had been peaceful.

“That was a masterful speech,” Hincks
began.

“I don’t see any need to alter it,” Robert
said. “Just give it a few more times in the locations we’ve
designated, and the election is ours.”

“Your presence was a great help,” Louis said.
“You’re sure you don’t wish to speak as well?”

“I would only dull the sheen of your splendid
oration,” Robert said.

“May I raise another point?” Gilles Gagnon
said in English.

“Please, do,” Robert said.

“I’ve got word that the Tories are up to
their old tricks.”

“I’ve heard the stories as well,” Marc
said.

“What’s been going on?” Hincks asked.

“Well,” Gagnon said, switching to French,
“Mr. D’Arcy Rutherford has been up to no good. He and others have
been going about waylaying Reform voters, getting them drunk and
persuading them not to vote. They’re even handing out five dollars
per man as inducement. And there are reports of goon squads on
Yonge Street to discourage timid voters, but so far there’s been no
actual violence.”

“This is very disturbing,” Louis said. “It
sounds like Terrebonne.”

“I don’t think it will tip the balance,”
Robert said. “After three days, we’re ahead by fifteen votes.”

“Still,” Gagnon said, obviously put out,
“Humphrey Cardiff promised he would keep Rutherford in check, and
he has already broken his word. That money is not coming out of
Rutherford’s pocket, you can be sure of that.”

“The wealthy members of the Family Compact
more likely,” Hincks said.

“I think I should go and speak to Cardiff,”
Gagnon said. “We don’t want another Terrebonne on our hands.”

“I doubt if it will do any good,” Marc
said.

“But I’ve got to try,” Gagnon said.

“As you wish, then,” Louis said.

***

Gilles Gagnon made his way along Front Street
towards Rosewood, Humphrey Cardiff’s mansion. The sun had almost
gone down, leaving the street in a hazy glow. Ahead he could make
out the fence that ran across the front of the house, its white
spikes just visible in the dusky light. He heard the front door
open, and saw a woman step out onto the walk. At almost the same
moment, a dark, male figure emerged from the shadows at the corner
of the building and accosted the woman. She seemed to recognize
him, for she said something to him and turned to face him. Just
then an arm was raised suddenly, the hand at the end of it
clutching something small and glittering. The woman jerked back as
it struck, and threw both her hands to her face. A half-second
later, she uttered a sharp cry and began to stagger backwards. She
righted herself momentarily, and then fell forward onto the spiked
fence.