Kit's Law

A Novel

Donna Morrissey

• Publisher: Mariner Books
• Year: 2001
• Print ISBN: 9780618109272
• eBook ISBN: 9780547630557
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

Morrissey's acclaimed, bestselling debut. "A Dickensian brawl of a novel . . . never a dull moment! The reader is willingly swept along in the tide." — St. Louis Post-Dispatch
In this powerful novel from one of the most gifted storytellers to emerge from Canada since Carol Shields, we find "all the old-fashioned virtues: a vivid sense of place, an intricate and suspenseful plot, and a feisty heroine whom we can't help rooting for on every page" (Margot Livesey).
Kit Pitman is fourteen and lives in a ramshackle cottage on the outer banks of Newfoundland, where isolation is all she knows. The only visitors are fogbound fishermen and an occasional young man brought ashore to keep the bloodlines clean. But Kit's isolation is compounded by the mystery that surrounds her family and her illegitimate birth. Her mother, Josie, is mentally disabled and often runs wild among the clapboard houses that dot the shore. Meanwhile, her grandmother Lizzie staunchly guards them both from the disapproving glances pious townsfolk cast their way. But when Lizzie dies suddenly, Kit and her childlike mother are left vulnerable to life's harsh realities and to unexpected dangers that repeatedly threaten to break them apart. A wrenching story ensues, as Morrissey depicts with exceptional grace the way the lines between mother and daughter in this unlikely relationship, although blurred, are deeply felt. Kit's Law is a novel of extraordinary, almost mythical power and marks the debut of an enormous new talent.
"An extraordinary trinity of women." —Thomas Keneally, #1 bestselling author of Schindler's List
"A stunning debut." — The Telegraph
"Impossible to put down." — The Sunday Business Post
"Speaks directly to the heart." — The Globe and Mail

29.

Old Joe’s Wish

IT WAS A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER THAT another cheque came from Sid. It was stamped St. John’s. It was near on a year now that he was in the one fixed place. I expected it was because that’s where he met his girl. Loret paused in her powdering Kitty’s bare bottom, noting me examining the stamp mark. Putting the envelope in my apron pocket, I went out to hoe the potato garden.

It was early May and the pale yellow sun was slow in readying the ground for planting. Forking over the potato beds, I bawled out to Josie as I caught sight of her swinging on the wellhouse door. Fonse had just fixed it last week, and already he had sounded her out for such a thing. Sticking out her tongue at me, she went running off to where Jimmy was scrabbling over the fence with Emmy in hot pursuit. Throwing down the hoe, I went over and twisted the toggle to bar the door, brushing my knee against a stinging nettle as I went.

I swore beneath my breath and, scratching my knee, went back to the hoeing. It felt like the mindless breeze that had been carrying me along ever since Sid took off into that rain-blasted night had stopped the second I heard about his girl, leaving me to take note of where I was placing my foot, and where I should be placing it next, and what I was to wear on this day, or tomorrow, and what I was doing, saying or thinking, until I’d become jumpier than a cornered frog, leaping at the slightest sound, and snapping back at the youngsters as if I was one myself.

The days wore long, and at night I lay awake as if it were the summer’s sun shining through my window, and not the inky light of the moon. It was during one of these long evenings that a telegram come from Doctor Hodgins. A stiff gale had blown up from the east, bringing with it a freak snowfall and whirling it into a blinding whiteness. I had gone to bed early with the rest of the household, listening to the wind rattling the snow off the window and trying to shut out Josie’s snoring as she slept the sleep of the dead in her bunk next to mine. I sat up when I heard the muffled pounding on the door, thinking for a second that it was Mrs. Ropson come back. Bruddy’s footsteps sounded across the kitchen floor, and pulling on a pair of socks and a housecoat, I knelt down by the attic door and listened.

“Fonse!” Bruddy called up over the stairs in an urgent whisper. “Fonse!”

I lit down over the ladder the same instant as Fonse come out of his room, buckling up his belt, with Loret behind him.

Bruddy was talking low to a young man who stood solemnly by the door, bundled inside a winter’s coat, its fur-lined hood caked with melting snow.

“Charlie just brung a message from Doctor Hodgins,” Bruddy said, passing a folded piece of paper to Fonse as we crowded into the kitchen. “It’s Old Joe. He never come back from fishin’ down in Chouse Brook this evenin’. The weather’s too bad for them from Haire’s Hollow to go lookin’, but Doctor Hodgins figured me and you might try it—if the sea’s a bit calmer our way.”

“Blessed Lord,” said Mudder, coming into the kitchen, wrapping her nightgown around herself.

“Perhaps he camped over when the wind come on,” said Loret, peering over Fonse’s shoulder as he leaned nearer the lamp, scrutinizing the message.

“He never took no gear,” said Fonse, passing the message to Loret. “What’s the cloud like?” he asked Charlie, crossing to the window and cupping his hands to see out through.

“Startin’ to blow off,” said Charlie. “Might be lighter on the water the once, if the moon shines through.”

“Go,” Fonse said, beckoning the young fellow to the door. “Send back a telegram that me and Bruddy’s on our way to Chouse.”

“Think we should wait for light?” asked Bruddy as Fonse leaned out the door behind Charlie, squinting up through the gusting snow at the cloud covering.

“We’ll be fine,” said Fonse, closing the door and striding to the row of coats and oilskins lining the wall by the back of the stove. “Mudder, make up a Thermos.”

“We don’t want all hands washin’ upon shore by mornin’,” said Mudder worriedly.

“We’ll see what’s it like outside the cove,” said Bruddy, pulling on a sweater. “If it’s not clear, we’ll be back.”

“Then crawl in bed with the baby, Kit,” said Loret, marching over by Fonse and hauling an oilskin coat off the hook. “’Cuz I’m goin’ too.”

“You’re not goin’ out in this!” said Fonse.

“It’s Old Joe you needs to be worryin’ about, not me,” she replied, dragging a pair of rubber boots out from the pile in the corner.

“You knows you’re not goin’ out in this,” said Mudder.

“Yes I am, Mudder, and don’t try to stop me.”

“Loret, for gawd’s sake . . .” began Bruddy.

“Shut up, Bruddy.” Loret dropped the boots and, nudging Mudder to one side, faced Fonse. “You got plans on not comin’ back?”

“Noo!”

“Then I’d rather the fright of sittin’ alongside of you in the boat than sittin’ here without you. Now hold on, I goes and gets dressed.”

So saying, she swept down the hall and up over the stairs.

“Fonse, you’re not goin’ to let her go?” Bruddy cried out.

“Damn hell’s tarnation, the woman’s got a mind like a bull!” Fonse said angrily, hauling a pair of oilskins up over his pants and jamming his feet into a pair of rubber boots. Bruddy turned to Mudder, pleadingly.

“She’ll pay no more heed to me than she does Fonse,” said Mudder, searching through the cupboards for the Thermos. “Kit, pass me the teapot.”

At the mention of my name, Fonse and Bruddy looked my way with something akin to surprise.

“Good Lord, Kit,” said Fonse, lowering the sweater he was about to pull over his head. “We’re forgettin’ Old Joe’s your friend.”

“He’s afraid of drownin’,” I burst out, then bit down hard on my lip.

“Hey, now,” said Bruddy. Coming up behind me, he laid his hands on my shoulders and gave me a gentle shake. “Old Joe’s not drowned. We’ll find him.”

“Course we will,” said Mudder. “He’s a man of the sea. Most likely, he’s holed up in Chouse Brook.”

“He’ll be all right, Kit,” said Loret, sweeping back into the kitchen. “We’ll find him, won’t we, Fonse?”

“Yes, and that we will,” said Fonse. “Loret, is that the baby?”

“Oh, I thought she’d gone back to sleep,” said Loret, hurriedly pulling on a pair of boots. “Will you lie with her, Kit, so’s she don’t wake up Fudder? Landsakes, he might be half-deaf but he’s not dead, and the last thing we needs is him comin’ along.”

My eyes lingered around the kitchen at them all pulling on sweaters and caps and mitts, and Mudder, halfways through packing the Thermos into a lunch sack, handed it to me with a knowing nod.

“I’ll go lie with Kitty,” she said. “You keep the fire goin’.”

I accepted the Thermos gratefully and packed it inside the lunch sack, along with a flask of brandy she had waiting on the bin. Finally, they were all bundled.

“Let’s go then,” said Bruddy, tightening his sou’wester and opening the door. A gust of wind-driven snow blasted across the kitchen, and I grabbed hold of Loret’s arm in sudden fear.

“Please don’t go,” I cried.

“Now, now, Kit, don’t you start,” said Loret, hauling Fudder’s wool cap down over her head. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged tightly. “Won’t be so bad on the water, there’ll be no driftin’ snow. Keep the fire goin’, and don’t fret too much.”

Then Fonse was shooing her outside, giving me a sympathetic look before shutting the door behind them. I ran to the window and watched as they hurried down over the back steps, black hulks struggling against the blacker night. The wind parted the snowclouds every scattered second, allowing pale, moon-lit glimpses as they vanished into the snow-whipped haze. Old Joe was out there, somewhere. Alone. And cold. And no doubt Doctor Hodgins was sitting alone right now, watching his waves pitching up over the blackened shoreline, thinking, praying, that Old Joe’s wouldn’t be a face to come rolling upon his shores by morning. Mercy on this night, I prayed. Mercy on this night.

I dragged the rocker over to the window and sat down. Josie got up and emptied her chamber pot into the slop pail at the end of the hall. I thought to call out, to tell her of what was going on, but I felt stronger reaching out to Old Joe with my thoughts, sitting alone in the half-light of the lamp. And for sure if I prayed hard enough, and all those others missing him as well, Old Joe would feel us helping him through this night.

The wind drifted the clouds further and further apart, allowing more light. Once, in between the gusts of wind, the drifting snow settled long enough for me to glimpse something dark moving up over the yard. I kept watching, then I saw it again, a dark shape crawling clumsily towards me. I rose from the rocker and pressed my face against the window, my hand covering my beating heart. The snow lifted again, and all was wiped out. I pressed harder, my hands cupped to block the reflection of the lamp. Then I saw them—Loret, Fonse and Bruddy—all holding onto each other, and all walking and stumbling and falling as if they were one. I rose from the rocker and stood with my back to the heat of the stove. They were a fright to look at as they stumbled through the door, their sou’westers dripping water and snow, their faces fixed in shocked horror. Loret cried out as she seen me, and Fonse tightened the arm he held around her shoulders to steady her. His other hand, he held onto the door jamb to steady himself. No one moved for the moment, as if we were turned to stone. Then Mudder come running down over the stairs, her hands held out in prayer as she come into the kitchen.

“What’s happened?” she cried out, then reached out as Loret fell towards her.

“Kit! Oh, gawd, it’s bad,” said Fonse, staggering towards me and laying a cold, wet hand onto my arm.

“He got his boat caught in the nets,” said Bruddy, wild-eyed with fright. “He was swamped. He—he’s dead.” His words ended in a choked whisper.

“He know’d about the nets,” said Fonse. “But one of ’em had floated farther out, what with the wind. He never cut his engine in time.”

“Praise be the Lord,” moaned Mudder.

“I guess he must’ve figured on comin’ here for the night,” whispered Bruddy. “Too far to go home in this wind, and no gear to hold over in Chouse Brook for the night. He could’ve done it, too . . .”

Some of Loret’s cries and Mudder’s prayers sounded through the dim noise that was rising in my ears.

“Did you find him?” I cried out.

“We found him,” said Fonse, drawing me closer. “He—he didn’t drown. He was—he was . . .” Another silence fell in the room, then Loret turned to me with an anguished cry.

“He had himself tied to the bow of his boat. Why’d he do that?”

I closed my eyes and allowed Fonse to rock me, his hands ice cold through the cotton of my nightdress, his rubber coat wet against my cheek.

“Why?” Loret cried out again, then broke down sobbing. “I’ll never forget it, seein’ him tied to his bow like that, his head just floatin’ above the water, all chilled with ice.”

“Stop it, Loret,” Bruddy moaned.

“No, don’t hold it back, my child, cry it out,” soothed Mudder. “You, too, Bruddy. ’Tis a hard thing to see a body dead, but it’s only a body, emptied now, its soul in heaven no doubt, ’cuz he was a good man, else he wouldn’t have helped Kit and her poor mother the way he did.”

“We would’ve missed him,” whispered Fonse. “Thought it was a piece of driftwood, till Bruddy’s torch caught hold of something orange. It was a starfish. Nailed to his bow.”

A shivering sob swept through me. A starfish. Old Joe’s starfish. Was he praying hard, I silently anguished, and Fonse held me tighter as I broke down sobbing harder than Loret, thinking on Old Joe strapping himself to the bow of his boat, praying Starfish, Star bright, Starfish, Star bright . . .

After I had spent my tears and was gulping back shivering sobs, Fonse held me away, looking gently into my face.

“Here now, I’ve made you all wet. Loret, help her get dry. Bruddy and me’ll go wire a message to Haire’s Hollow. I expect his family’s all sittin’ up, waitin’ for word. We got him fixed away in our boat. Perhaps, if they don’t mind the wait, we’ll take him home ourselves, in the mornin’, soon as the wind dies down.”

Old Joe’s brother and one of his brothers-in-law was down before sunrise. I hid in my room, not wanting to see Old Joe anywhere but squatting on the wharf, calling out my name, and grinning his gummy grin as I hurried by on my way to school.

They stopped, just long enough to hear what Fonse had to say about the drowning, and finding Old Joe. Then they put him in their boat and took him home. Fonse and Bruddy slipped a tow rope around the bow of Old Joe’s boat, which was still floating above the water, and towed it to shore. We waited a couple of days, then, leaving the youngsters and Josie with Mudder and Fudder, Fonse, Loret, Bruddy and I climbed into Fonse’s boat and headed up the bay to Old Joe’s funeral.

The wind had died itself out finally, but the swells rolled us around frighteningly so, grey and bloated beneath the sunless sky. I fought from becoming seasick, and judging from the...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Contents
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Acknowlegments
• Photo
• Introduction
• Through the Coloured Glass
• Guttin’ Fish
• Lizzy’s Prophecy
• Partridgeberry Patch
• Josie’s Bath
• Mrs. Ropson’s Duty
• Grieving Nan
• Gully Tramp’s Girl
• The Reverend’s Pledge
• Planting Seeds
• A Light of Wood
• May Eveleigh’s Threat
• The Graduation dance
• Kit’s Mark
• Broken Birds
• The Killing
• God’s Law
• Tide Against the Wind
• Sid’s Stand
• Doctor Hodgins’s Waves
• Wishing upon a Starfish
• The Letter
• Godfather’s Cove
• Lizzy’s Blessing
• Fall from Grace
• Loret’s Bargain
• Doctor Hodgins’s Promise
• Mrs. Ropson’s Plea
• Old Joe’s Wish
• Kit’s Law
• Redemption
• Back Matter
• About the Author