Emma Field Book I - coming of age in the changing times of the mid-19th century

Chapter IV - Quaker

Emma's father was sitting at the table when she returned. He had it set with the two tin plates, two cups, and two spoons. His feet were stretched toward the blazing fire and the side of his head lay heavily on the palm of his right hand.

"Here is the blanketing, Father. Mr. Williams says you can have more if you need it." Emma stomped her feet on the mat, dropped the wool on her settle, hung her shawl on a peg, and lifted the stew pot from the crane in the fireplace.

"Who are the Planks, Father?"

"Immigrants."

"From where?" she asked spooning the dark, meaty stew onto the plates.

"Don't know." He rubbed his eyes, then he rubbed them some more. Emma could tell that the conversation was going no further tonight. Emma and her father bowed their heads. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."

Emma scooped up a chunk of pork. Her father had used the word "immigrants." That meant that the Planks had come from across the ocean, just as he had. In this country you were either an immigrant or a Loyalist. If you were lucky your family had been granted land as United Empire Loyalists. But that was long ago - close to fifty years now. The Loyalists and the United Empire Loyalist families were stable people. They had money and certainty. The homes they were now building were big and solid and made of red brick. It was different with the immigrants. Most of them were hungry, worn out, and scared. Many had just barely survived the second failure of the potato crop in Ireland. They had witnessed the slow and horrifying starvation of people they knew and loved. They were poised for a better life in body, but terrified in spirit that they would die an equally miserable death here, on foreign soil.

Emma couldn't imagine going for an entire winter without potatoes. They had them in the salted pork stews they ate almost every day. But they also had onions, turnips and carrots until the spring. And five squash, which would store until Christmas. And apples, which would last until March. After that, Emma's father would shoot the odd rabbit and they would eat the last of the potatoes until it was time for the fiddleheads, asparagus, and dandelion greens of spring. But in Ireland it was different. They had nothing but potatoes and now they didn't even have those.

Emma wished she could ask her father more about the Planks, but he would probably just tell her it was none of her business or that the girl must have been deserving of whatever treatment she got. Emma and her father mopped their plates clean with Saturday's bread. Jeremiah pushed his dishes to the centre of the table and sat back in his chair. He didn't notice the determined set to Emma's jaw. She swung the kettle of steaming water from the fireplace and poured a few cupfuls into the dishpan.

When the dishes were done, Emma folded the settle into a bed and readied herself for the night. She slipped between the linsey-woolsey sheets and pulled up the woollen blankets.

"Good night, Father."

Her father sat staring at the fire. "Good night, Emma."

He rose and stood for a long time with his hands on his lower back. He stirred the coals and added two logs to the fire, then took his coat from its peg and slipped outside. Emma was breathing deeply the air of sleep by the time he returned from the privy and climbed into the bed in the far corner of the cabin.

•

The following morning Jeremiah Field woke his daughter earlier than usual.

"Wake up, Emma. Emma?" Emma's eyes flashed open, then eased shut again. She nodded her head.

"Emma, will you please take the last of the eggs to the boarding school this morning before school?"

Emma nodded her tousled head without opening her eyes.