The Badger Riot (14 page)

At the station her father went inside to buy her ticket, leaving Jennie and Ralph on the platform. Her sisters milled about excitedly. No one in their family had ever gone on a train trip before and they weren't missing a moment of it.

Ralph cleared his throat. “Be careful in the big city, Jennie. 'Tis not much like Badger, you know.”

Jennie nodded. “I dare say you're right, b'y. But Mam's relatives
have prospered in there. They've all found work and adjusted themselves, so I suppose I will too.”

Pap came back with the ticket. Because St. John's was an overnight trip, he'd scraped together seventeen dollars to buy Jennie a sleeper on the train. To have a sleeper was a luxury. Mam had asked him to do it because she was worried that the long trip would be too much for Jennie, who was still recovering from her illness. Most people travelled sitting up in the coaches, but it was a long, tiring ride.

It was a very new experience for a young woman who had never been any farther east than Grand Falls. If her heart hadn't been so sore and aching for Tom, Jennie knew she would've enjoyed it. The sleepers were like compartments. When night came, the conductor turned the seats, then hauled another one down and they became upper and lower bunks. You got into your bunk, pulled the curtains, and it became your own little world. Jennie was a bit nervous. She didn't know what to do about undressing. Suppose the conductor saw her in her nightie? But she didn't want to arrive in St. John's in a wrinkly dress. It was new, from Eaton's catalogue, mint-green with white polka dots, empire waistline and straight skirt. With her white shoes and purse, Jennie felt she was making the right fashion statement for the big city.

Finally she decided to take off the dress and shoes and sleep in her full slip. She intended to leave on her nylon stockings but the garters were cutting into her thighs. So off they came, and she poked them out into the toes of her shoes, which she kept beside her on the bunk. As she tried to drift off to the rhythm of the swaying cars, Jennie wished Tom were here to share the bunk with her, but it was no good thinking about that.

St. John's was big, dirty, sooty and noisy with people rush, rush, rushing here and there. Margaret met her at the train and they got the bus up to a big house on Kings Bridge Road, where she worked as an upstairs maid. It was a gorgeous place, set in among big trees, like a park. Jennie was awestruck.
The rich sure know how to live,
she thought.

“Now, my dear,” Margaret said as they unpacked Jennie's clothes, “I've got you a job as kitchen girl. You have to wash all the dishes and the pots, bring in the scuttle full of coal, feed the fire in the big stove and peel vegetables.”

Jennie pulled the uniform dress on over her head and tied the apron strings. “I dare say I can manage that, once I get the hang of it. Thanks Margaret, my dear, for getting me this place here with you.”

Jennie was amazed how the rich people ate roasts of beef with blood still in them, surrounded by puffy little puddings. “Yorkshire puddings,” cook said. Everything went on the platter: the beef, the Yorkshire pudding, the vegetables, the potatoes. It looked nice, but the meat was too rare for the Newfoundland servants to appreciate. The master and his lady always had dessert: sweet puddings with sauce and trifles with custard. Cook said they were English people and they ate in the English way.

“Sure, my dear, I s'pose they don't know what salt meat and pease pudding is all about,” Margaret told Jennie.

“Well, for sure they never ever had a roast of moose or a piece of bear meat,” Jennie added.

“I was thinking about going down to the waterfront and getting them some seal flippers,” joked the cook, and they all had a grand laugh.

The mistress of the house was kind to them all. Jennie thought that she dressed some grand. Margaret showed Jennie the lady's closets, full of stylish dresses and hats. She had many fur coats, and a mink stole – more expensive than Suze's fox, but still as ugly. One of the lady's coats, a nice light brown wool, fawn-coloured, caught Jennie's eye because it was so soft and smooth. Margaret said the wool was cashmere that came from some kind of goat in foreign countries. Jennie never forgot the feel of it. To her it was better than mink and fox. Maybe because the goat didn't have to die as the fox did.

Jennie worked all spring and summer and it was as if Tom, her own husband, never existed. Mam never mentioned him in her letters and Jennie was too proud to ask. She made a few friends and
went out to a couple of dances. A couple of fellows asked her to step outside with them, but her heart was with Tom and she couldn't begin to think of going out with other men.

The Eastern Bible College in Ontario was an imposing place. Damian Genge from St. John's had been there for a year studying to become a preacher, a job for which he felt God had called him. On the last day each inductee was given an envelope with his assigned posting.

Damian was proud of himself. He figured that with his good looks, his eloquence, his ability to whip up religious enthusiasm in the congregation, and his impeccable knowledge of the Scriptures, he would surely get a posting in Grand Falls, or Corner Brook, or even in St. John's. Being from St. John's, he felt he was a cosmopolitan kind of guy with lots to offer the richer high-toned churches. So, when he opened his envelope and read
BADGER
, it was a shock. He had to get a Newfoundland road map to discover where it was located. A long look told him it was buried so deep in the interior that only a place like Buchans could be more remote.

As it turned out, it wasn't too bad at all. The church was a fair size, the parsonage was in good shape, many people came to the prayer meetings, and Grand Falls was only eighteen miles away. Still, he had a nagging feeling that someone somewhere didn't like him enough to give him a St. John's church. He was pretty sure that his friendship with Jonathan Frost, another student at the college, was viewed as just a close friendship and nothing more, but you never knew. There were eyes everywhere. Whatever it was, he was an ordained pastor and he was here in Badger to do his best.

It had been tough going at first and sometimes still was. His monthly letter from Jonathan was the only bright spot in his life. Jonathan was posted in Hearst, in Northern Ontario. It was a bigger town than Badger, but had a similar industry – forestry. It would likely be many years before they would meet again, if ever, but
Damian was determined not to dwell on sad things. Maybe God really did have a plan for him. However, no matter how many hours he spent on his knees praying, so far God had not seen fit to show him.

March 5, 1952

My Dear Jonathan:

Your letter was like a balm to my heart and soul. It took a month to reach me and I read and reread it eagerly.

Your town seems to be somewhat bigger than Badger. You say there are about five thousand people there and about one-fifth of them are your flock. Well, the whole town of Badger has only one thousand souls and about two hundred of them are mine – God's and mine.

I looked up Hearst in the atlas. It is about as far north as you can go in Ontario. You must miss the warmer climate of your native British Columbia.

As for me, even though Badger is inland and is not even remotely like St. John's, at least it is Newfoundland and we Newfoundlanders have a common bond that runs through us.

One thing that our postings have alike is the forest industry. You say you have a pulp mill there. There's one here too; not in Badger, but Grand Falls, eighteen miles away. The logs are cut here and sent to the mill via the Exploits River, which cuts its way through the landscape like a mighty scar.

It makes me wonder: did someone plan this for you and me? And I don't mean Divine Intervention.

I am doing fine, physically, as I hope you are too. However, I am very lonely. I have to say that I miss you more than I ever believed possible. When I think of the hours we spent together at the school, talking, arguing
religious philosophy, laughing at each other, my heart aches. I will probably never see you again, but you will always be a part of my soul.

I promise, no matter what, to keep up our correspondence. May God be with you in all that you do.

Until next time, pray for me as I will for you

Your friend forever,
Damian

Badger matured young Damian Genge. Church stewards wanted a pastor who understood about the hole in the church roof and how to get it fixed and how church funds should be spent wisely. Damian had to learn fast. And he did. His hair, his handsome face, his expensive suit were still his personal priorities, but not as much as they'd been in the beginning. Sometimes he even forgot to file his nails or shave his armpits. Slowly his life took on other priorities.

May 5, 1952

Greetings Damian:

Yes, indeed, it takes a month for a letter to go between us. I was overjoyed to hear from you. Since we parted last June, I have felt an incompleteness that I never knew was there, that I never even knew existed before you came into my life.

We are deep into the winter here. Some days it barely gets light at all. You're right, the intense cold does penetrate my thin west-coast blood and I am sure I'll never be warm again.

You'll laugh when I tell you how the ladies here are trying to matchmake. They are certain that I need a wife. I bet you are going through the same thing.

What will happen to us, my friend? Will we eventually
be forced to take wives onto ourselves? Do we have any choice but to fit into this society?

I spend many hours on my knees praying to Jesus about this. I read the Bible over and over. We were taught that His Word is Law.

Yes, we will always keep in touch, my friend. We cannot allow life to rip us asunder.

Yours, under God's protection,
Jonathan

Away in St. John's, on her own, Jennie didn't know if she was Catholic or Pentecostal, so she took turns going to each church. The Catholic churches were so big that no one noticed her, but the Pentecostals welcomed her and the pastor shook her hand.

“Are you new in town, my dear?” he asked.

“Yes Pastor, thank you for asking,” Jennie replied. “I'm in from Badger.”

He looked at her blankly for a moment.

“It's out by Grand Falls, you know,” Jennie said. “Perhaps you know Pastor Genge. Pastor Damian Genge.”

Something flared in the man's eyes, then was quickly quenched, but Jennie saw it. “Oh, indeed. Indeed. We were in Bible College together,” he said and turned his attention to another of his congregation.

Something going on there, Jennie thought. I always wondered how a handsome fella like Damian Genge, with his gifts as an orator and evangelist, ended up in little Badger. This pastor isn't nearly as good a preacher and for sure not as good-looking, but he has a plummy St. John's church

Another time, still torn over the lie she had told about having a baby just to get married to Tom, Jennie went to confession. She thought,
Big city church, no one will know me. Not like home, where the priest knows my voice. For sure I'll get absolution here.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” she said demurely. “Father, I burned my mother-in-law's fox-fur stole,” Jennie blurted out, shocking even herself. She had planned to talk about the pregnancy lie.

“Is this a sin of coveting the stole, my child? Is that why you burned it?”

“No, Father. It is a sin of hatred. I hate her. She told lies and broke up my marriage.”

“A wife's duty is to cleave onto her husband. You must go back and make peace with him and his good mother.”

“Cleave?” Jennie was raging. “The only cleaving that is going to be done is by me, cleaving Suze's head open . . . or Tom's head, if he don't soon come to his senses. I'll give you cleave, Father!”