Village Squire, 1979-12, Page 23"It's been empty since Dad died." said Dougall. "We'd be
wise to put it up for auction in the spring. Its contents, too. Could
you find time to give it the once -over -papers, photographs -that
kind of thing?" Jim had agreed with enthusiasm. The Lowe
homestead had been his, too, from when he was twelve, back in
1936, till he was through college and law school, and
independent. His own father, a lawyer, had died leaving his
mother and him financially comfortable in Toronto. Sometimes
he thought that his mother might have pampered him. He knew
that she had considered him an intellectual genius; she said he
would make the book of records: be Canada's youngest prime
minister, or a supreme court judge. When she died he came, at
the age of eleven, to live with his father's brother on the farm in
southern Ontario. His only cousin, Dougall, was four years his
senior. Dougall treated him very well. Jim didn't realize till years
later what a pest a city -bred boy of his type must have been to his
cousin: always thinking he knew everything about things of
which he knew nothing; always wanting to tag along with
Dougall and his friends.
When he told them, Kate and the children were in ecstacy. A
real wintry holiday on a farm! They could hardly wait to get
started. And now, on Christmas Eve itself, here he was, unable,
to share the exuberance of his family: inexplicably depressed. If
only he could pin -point the cause, he told himself. It wasn't his
family. Kate. his second wife, was a treasure; their three
children were healthy and normal. It wasn't his job; it was
challenging and progressive; his legal training and his expertise
in diplomacy made him invaluable to his company, and he was
sent all over the world to smooth out problems. Now he had a
problem of his own which he could not solve because he did not
know what it was. In angry frustration he brought his foot down
on the brake. The sudden stop delighted the children. They
plunged from the car into the bank of snow made by the plow
which had cleared the lane. Kate laughed delightedly, but Jim
felt the lump of depression thickening in his chest. Out of the
car, he unlocked the back door to the woodshed. The children,
eager to explore, darted ahead of him. The lock to the next room,
the back kitchen, was stuck. He kicked the door and the lock
gave. At the third door Robbie bumped his arm, and the keys
dropped. Jim swore under his breath as the children pushed
past him into the big kitchen where everything seemed to be just
as he remembered it: the wood range, the oilcloth -covered table,
the hanging lamp suspended. above it. Through the half -open
door to the parlour he could see an evergreen tree. This had been
part of the plan; the lane was to be plowed, the furnace lit, and a
tree to be cut and put up in readiness for trimming. But this tree
! He had expected a pine. but this was a white cedar. He felt
his heart go down another notch.
The children thought it wonderful. They danced around it,
then started to investigate the house from attic to cellar. They
were like wound -up toys: out to the car for suitcases, the food
hampers, unopened gifts, decorations for the tree. Tanya
rummaged for a star she had made from silver teafoil, stood on a
stool on top of a chair, and hung it near the top branch. Jim
caught the scent of the crushed cedar and swore. This time, he
noticed, Kate heard him.
"If you can't control those kids," he told her, "I'll send them
all to bed!" There was instant silence. Tanya's silver star fell to
the floor.
Soup and sandwiches and a thermos of hot chocolate helped,
but Jim knew that everything was all wrong, and that it was his
fault, and he couldn't help it. Kate, he could see, was trying to
keep the children out of his way. He said, "I'm going to get at
the sorting of all those letters and pictures in the desk. If you can
keep the kids from tearing down the place, please do so." He
went into the library which was off the kitchen and slammed the
door. He dropped heavily into his uncle's swivel chair and pulled
out the top drawer of the desk; emptied its contents. He glanced
cursorily at each item, then dropped it into a carton. From the
parlour he could hear muted voices and whisperings. Once
Tanya's voice rose shrilly and was quickly hushed. He finished
sorting the contents of the top drawer and pulled out the second.
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December 1979, Village Squire 21