Halifax, Nova Scotia – 24th October 1871
I clench the handles of my worn leather bag as I look about me. John is shaking hands, being swallowed by the crowd, and only Tilly and Thomas are with me while I wait to board the vessel. The quay throngs. A fiddler plays – the mournful tune carried off by the biting autumn wind – while other huddles ring of laughter, children cry or cheers are raised. My whole self tingles.
“Many have desired to see those things which you will see, and will never see them,” Thomas says above the bustle, his eyes wide and bright.
I let go the breath I had been holding and smile. My brother the Reverend. I try to take pride in his words, knowing he would dearly like to be in my position, but I am leaving for a far-off country, and for strange and untried surroundings. At this moment, fear is winning out in the conflict raging inside of me.
Thomas’ face darkens as he leans close to catch my strained reply.
“I confess my heart and flesh feel much like shrinking from what may lie in store for me, Thomas.” I widen my eyes against the sharp breeze then, to dissuade my tears. A shiver runs through me.
He takes me in his arms. “Do not turn away from your fears, Ann.
God is the strength of your heart.”
Perhaps I am weak of heart, too.
He pulls back, and I catch sight of Tilly’s face. My dearest sister. We canna bear to release our eyes from one another. No words are left. I repress the sudden yearning to take her hand and run off to the lake, as we have always done, carefree and without a thought to anything more than us.
John startles me at my shoulder. “Are you ready, Annetta?” His voice is so strong, so sure.
His steady gaze makes me clutch tighter to my bag. “Aye, John.” Then I steel myself and nod once, resolute. I breathe deeply and excitement rushes through me, finally, as I smile at Thomas and Tilly. Thomas raises a hand in farewell, while Tilly smiles through her tears and clings onto Thomas’ arm.
My legs are shaky as we board the ship, but soon enough we are standing on deck looking down at the crowds on the quay. Before the lines are cast off, Reverend Dr Fraser Campbell gives out the hymn “Blest be the tie that binds”. Dr Grant then commends us to God’s loving care with what look to be a few earnest, heartfelt words, though I canna hear them. I have heard it all before, when I was the one on the quay waving off missionaries for a foreign field.
Oh, Ma, where are you? My tears threaten to fall again. In Ma’s shoes, would I be able to stand in the crowds and watch my child be lost from view? I do not want her to struggle through it here. Saying goodbye from home, perhaps she could let herself think I was just popping out for a wee while, about to walk back through the door when the day is done.
“The will of God will never lead you where the grace of God canna keep you … I’m always with you too, dear Annetta.” Her words from our departure come back to me, and I grasp the locket at my throat. She had drawn back from our embrace then and looked at the tears on my cheeks before tucking an errant hair under my bonnet. She bit down on her trembling lip. “Come now! It’s yer calling to go to the South Seas and be a shining light.” She had widened her eyes and smiled as she squeezed my shoulders.
“I should stay, Ma, be here for you now. If I’d been there …”
I searched for her eyes, but she said, “Hush now, ’tis time to be away.”
Pa had appeared as we walked to the gate. He lowered the milk pail and nodded once. “Now, lass, be sure and send a telegram when ye have arrived.”
“Aye, Pa, I will.” I put my arms about him suddenly and squeezed tight.
“Now, now, lass.” His body was rigid. “If the Lord has asked for my daughter, I’ll not keep her from Him.”
I drew back and nodded, then turned to leave.
Thomas patted my leg after he had helped me up into the cart, and Tilly gave me a wry smile. “Well, what did ye expect?”
I had shaken my head and looked out to the fields – dry and ready to plough.
I sigh. It has taken so much to get to this day. Truro, Charlotte Town, St John’s, Halifax – so many valedictory meetings and farewells. Though we were absent for Charlotte Town as a storm arose and the boats could not cross the straits. I remember the service at New Glasgow best; such a fine meeting and well attended. The Reverend Dr Roy, then in poor health, gave us words that have lingered: “You want good constitutions and health to carry on your work, courage, perseverance and, above all, the grace of God in your hearts, young men.” Somehow, I must be included in that too, I had thought. I remind myself that I am a missionary too, in all but name. A missionary’s wife.
Before those farewell meetings, we had our simple wedding. A supper and dance followed the service, as modest as Pa would allow. A fiddler played and I led the march for the first reel, while some drank whiskey, but not us, not missionaries. I put the hair ribbons Tilly made me into my travelling chest as a keepsake. It was a happy day.
But then after being at home for a week of wedding calls, which did not seem to be about congratulating us, rather for people to say their goodbyes as if at a wake, I almost could not bear to discuss it any longer. To answer all the same probing questions, which in truth I could not answer. How would we live? How would we survive amongst the savages? Some spoke heartily of their misgivings and said we would be adjourning for our longest rest before we even arrived. I know Tilly saw through my painted smile.
Our final farewell meeting was held at St Matthew’s Church in Halifax just last night. The Peruvian should have been in already, but because of the fog the ship did not appear until twelve o’clock today.
I have played this moment often through my mind in the last few weeks. It is like a secret snow flurry inside of me each time I think of it being us sailing away. Nothing can have prepared me for it. I watch the farewells taking place about me to try to steady my mind, and I realise that times such as these soften the stern nature of man. They bring out some of our most honest feelings. Some are parting with no certainty of reunion in their mortal lives, but who of us that is, we know not. I clench my jaw, and my feet almost move unbidden back toward the gangway, back to the quay, my family … The thought blooms larger in my mind. Go.
Everything falls silent around me. I look to John at my side. He waves to his family and the church congregation gathered below us. His face is suffused in a wide, proud smile. How assured he looks. The Presbyterian Church of the Lower Provinces of British North America have prepared him well. Why, he has lived, studied and trained for this very moment, I realise. I canna say the same for me. Panic rises and my head feels heavy.
“How do you feel, my dear? Are you ready?”
I look askance at the lady who has startled me by touching my arm. I am unable to will words from my mouth and instead can only focus on the large teeth in her wide grin.
“Going to be helpmeet to your husband in his noble endeavour, why, you must be so proud. I hope ye are up to the task!” she continues.
Blood rushes to my face. “It is my endeavour too!”
The lady raises her eyebrows in surprise. John turns toward me at my side.
“Why, of course!” she replies. She is not grinning now.
“I’m sure Annetta will prove the finest help to me in the islands,” John says in my stead.
I stoop down to retrieve my leather bag, hiding my clenched jaw. This was a mistake. I raise myself up. “I believe a missionary’s wife to be a missionary too, in all but name,” I say to her, resolved to leave now but trying to calm my voice. I grip the rail with my free hand. “I am not just a helper,” I add.
John’s face hardens.
I’ll return when I’m ready, I think. Be a missionary in my own right, just as I wanted. Just as I am sure I am about to go, John clasps his hand down on mine, as if willing his strength into me. It feels to be keeping me solid on my feet, and I find I am grateful for it. I look into his eyes, and he holds my gaze. I let out a breath.
“Nothing so clears the vision and lifts up life as a decision to move forward in what you know to be the will of the Lord,” he says then, his strong voice defying the emotion of the moment. I try to smile, though it trembles at its edges.
But I realise his words are not just for me or the woman who spoke to us. He turns to look at Hugh Fraser, on his other side. John’s lifelong friend and fellow new missionary. Hugh nods and places a firm hand on John’s shoulder. I catch sight of an elegant lady next to Hugh dressed in a loose, double-breasted Rob-Roy jacket and black hat with feathers that dance in the breeze. She looks excited as she smiles and waves to the crowds. She is beautiful, too, I note, and I do not feel up to an introduction yet.
The ship’s horn saves me the bother, and I feel to be in a dream as we silently shake hands with those leaving the deck. Then, as the Peruvian begins to move slowly from her moorings, my decision to be here, to do this, thumps me in my chest, snapping me to the present. Noise reverberates around me, heat courses around my body and my breath catches in my throat once more. I canna run now. I grip the rail hard and search the crowds for Thomas and Tilly. Their faces are fast disappearing from sight.
The final lines of the hymn resound in my ears. “When we asunder part, it gives us inward pain; but we shall still be joined in heart, and hope to meet again …” I am glad then of the tears that blur the sight of the only home I have ever known receding from view. I stand until the grey-blue mountains are far in the distance, feeling the wind on my face and willing myself to remember it all.
