Read Online Beginning Again by Mary Beacock Fryer - Free Book Online

So, that was why Jesse promised to eat his hat!
    We tethered the horse to some fencing, and marched up to him wondering how to break the ice. His mouth was set in a pout. Daintily he flicked some dust from his sleeve, pursing his lips when he noticed that the ruffle poking from it was less than snowy white. Above all, he looked very out of sorts, and I sensed a storm brewing.
    â€œMr. William Jackson?” I queried, bracing myself.
    â€œI am he,” came the chilly reply.
    â€œUncle William?” Elizabeth showed more presence of mind.
    Now he stared harder than ever, and I faltered, very conscious of how scrubby we looked. Clearly here was a state of affairs that called for Papa. Even when shabby he had an air about him that could overawe. Fortunately Elizabeth was on her toes.
    â€œI'm Elizabeth Seaman, and this is my brother Nehemiah. We've come to meet you. Our father has some work that is urgent or he would be here himself.”
    Uncle paid scant attention. As soon as my sister paused, the dam burst. What a dreadful journey! What frightful blockheads he had met along the way! Were there no civilized folk west of Montreal? How could anyone bear to exist in such a howling wilderness? It was inhabited by wild beasts and uncouth scalawags! We stood dumbfounded, wishing he would lower his voice. A small crowd had been attracted by the spectacle he was making of himself—and us.
    â€œAre these yours, sir?” I asked, pointing to two large portmanteaus and a leather hatbox. The sooner we left the better. Some rough bumpkin might decide to cool our elegant kinsman by dunking him in the river.
    â€œYes,” he replied. “Have you a carriage waiting?”
    Merciful heavens, a carriage! Hadn't Mama told him anything about life here? A snicker behind me showed that the mood of our audience had changed for the better.
    â€œNo, sir,” Elizabeth said apologetically. “Because we don't have any decent roads. We've brought our cart, though, and you may ride in it, along with your bags.
    Each of us picked up a portmanteau, leaving the hatbox for him, and started towards the stallion and cart. Again Uncle was not pleased.
    â€œRide in that?” he exclaimed. “I'd rather walk. But first I must have some refreshment. Is there a tavern anywhere near?”
    â€œNo, sir,” said I. “But you can get rum or hard cider at Buell's store. We're to stop there for some things Mama wants.”
    For the first time he looked at us with a hint of approval in his gaze. “At least you don't call your parents Pa and Ma. It's so vulgar.”
    â€œThey don't like it either,” Elizabeth explained. “Let's leave the bags in the cart. Buell's store is this way.”
    He shrugged and allowed himself to be led there. Hard cider improved his disposition somewhat. Elizabeth bought a loaf of sugar, two pounds of tea, a gallon of rum, and some sweetmeats. We would be living better than usual in Uncle's honour. Everything went on our bill, which Papa settled in services to Mr. Buell if he was short of cash.
    â€œHow far must we walk?” Uncle asked peevishly while I was leading the stallion.
    â€œJust three miles,” Elizabeth said brightly.
    He fixed his mouth in a thin taut line. His highly polished boots, we soon discovered, were no match for our moccasins. After the first mile he decided the cart did not look so uncomfortable after all. We had to boost him aboard, for in those tight trousers he could not spring up on his own.
    We finished the walk to Coleman's Corners in dreary silence. Was this visiting uncle going to look down his snooty nose at everything he saw in our settlement? At least he would be impressed by our house, with its new wing.
    â€œHere we are,” Elizabeth said when we were within sight of our place.
    â€œWhere?” Uncle cried, looking in every direction but the right one.
    â€œRight there,” she repeated, pointing.
    Uncle William clutched his