Finding John Rae Page 17

  I didn’t know why, but I experienced the wishful and ridiculous sensation that she was intentionally revealing half of herself to me. Of course, this was not the case, because she had not yet — and perhaps never would — notice me. She turned and raised her face to sing, and in that moment, my heart missed a beat. Her green eyes caught me quite off guard; I think I jumped slightly when I saw them. I was relieved to see that she did not notice me looking at her, because I sensed that I momentarily lost control of the neutral expression on my own face, such was my feeling of surprise at seeing such an extraordinary young woman.

  There could be no doubt that she was considerably younger than my forty-five years. I knew that my reaction to seeing her was inappropriate at best, yet despite her youth I found it nearly impossible to turn my eyes away from her and face the front of the cathedral once the procession had moved past our rows of pews.

  It did not escape my notice that she was flanked by a straight-backed, red-haired father figure and a dark-haired, diminutive mother. I failed miserably in a promise to myself that I would not attempt to look at her again. At first, she didn’t notice me casting furtive glances in her direction, but she must have been intuitive, because before long she seemed to sense, well, something. I could tell by the sudden squaring of her shoulders, a subtle turn of the cheek. To my chagrin, her glowering father seemed to catch on as well, from his position beside her on the aisle. He attempted to block her from view, which annoyed me greatly.

  After the service, many members of the congregation gathered in the church hall to drink tea and socialize after the service. Although I knew no one, I joined the group, hoping to meet the beguiling young lady who had caught my fancy. I looked about for her in vain, declined the proffered tea, and slipped out the side entrance. I strode around to the front of the church where carriages were lining up to collect parishioners and take them home. Suddenly, I spotted her from behind, waiting for a carriage with her parents, two other young ladies and an adolescent boy. I approached the family group from the side, appearing to search for my own carriage, which did not exist.

  They all turned as one and looked at me, expressionless. I pretended not to notice them and then, apparently absentmindedly, tipped my hat and said, “Good morning! Excellent service, what a fine day it is!” — all a bit too cheerfully, I realized afterwards. The young woman blinked in the bright sunlight, and my heart took several turns to the point where I thought she would be able to hear it thumping in my chest. I took half a step back. My face felt hot. It was not in my character to be quite so forward with strangers. I drew a deep breath and took the plunge.

  “Please excuse me,” I said to the father and mother, as if I had taken no notice of the children. “I thought I spotted my carriage.”

  The father was burly, his demeanour formal; his expression was anything but friendly. He nodded and looked away. I felt an utter fool standing there, hoping to strike up some kind of conversation. At that point, anything at all would have sufficed.

  “I wonder if we have met previously, Sir.” I lowered my hat to chest level, in a gesture of deference. “May I introduce myself?” I did not dare wait for an answer, because the chances were quite high that none would be forthcoming.

  “I am Dr. John Rae of Hamilton. Did you attend my lecture at the university here in Toronto on Friday evening? There was a gentleman who — ”

  “No, I did not. You have mistaken me for someone else.” The father of the young lady did not identify himself as he turned away.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon.” I pushed on, hoping that introducing myself as a lecturer at the university would warm him up a little. “You bear a strong resemblance to a member of the audience.” I glanced over at the young woman, because now she was looking at me. Her eyes were exquisite, the colour of green sea glass. She did not look away; to my surprise and delight, she appeared to be suppressing a smile. If that awkward exchange was amusing her, there was hope for me.

  “Good day to you.” I replaced my hat, bowed and moved away, pretending to look elsewhere for my carriage. I took my time turning around again to look for her; when I finally did, the family was gone. I returned to the church hall, introduced myself to the minister and initiated a friendly chat, again using the ploy that I was quite convinced I had seen the man with the red hair at my Friday lecture, but did not catch his name… that he had attended today’s service with his wife, three daughters, and son.

  “Oh, you must be speaking of Major Thompson, Doctor.”

  The minister, a most congenial gentleman, revealed through casual conversation all I needed to know, and much more. Catherine “Kate” Thompson — only nineteen years of age! — was the youngest daughter of Major George Ash Thompson and his wife, Emma. The family had recently emigrated to Canada West from County Londonderry, Ireland. The major was now retired and the family had settled in Hamilton. I was ecstatic to learn that Kate Thompson, the lovely young woman with the unforgettable eyes was, in fact, my neighbour.

  I was so elated that I picked up my bag and walked all the way home to Hamilton along the shores of Lake Ontario, a journey of more than six hours, with my feet barely touching the ground.

  Hamilton

  [OCTOBER 1858]

  By good fortune and feigned coincidence, I bumped into Kate Thompson a week later at Sunday services in Hamilton. Although I greeted her as if we had just met again by chance, she had been squarely in my sights since worshippers began arriving at Christ’s Church Cathedral thirty minutes earlier. Her parents were standing on the other side of the vestibule, chatting with parishioners. Kate was nearer to the entrance with her sisters; my heart skipped a beat when her green eyes glanced in my direction. I tipped my hat and bowed. “Good day.”

  The charming corners of her mouth turned upwards ever so subtly when she saw me. I nodded at the other two young women, hoping I did not appear too awkward. I felt like a silly schoolboy in her presence.

  She held out her hand in greeting. Her grasp was pleasantly firm. “Good day to you, Sir.” This was the first time I had heard her voice, although I had been trying to imagine the sound of it for a week. It was strong and clear, with a lovely Irish lilt.

  I took an awkward step towards initiating a conversation between us, aware that she could turn her back on me at any moment. “What a coincidence!” I said, too enthusiastically. “John Rae,” I introduced myself. “I believe I spoke with your father outside of St. James Cathedral in Toronto last Sunday.”

  “Yes, indeed,” she replied. “Doctor Rae, is it?”

  “Yes, Miss…”

  “I am Kate Thompson,” she offered without a trace of shyness. “And these are my sisters, Emily and Sarah. My brother William is over there.”

  “I am honoured to meet you.” I tipped my hat again in their direction, but my eyes seemed to be irretrievably locked onto Kate’s. One of the girls placed a gloved hand to her mouth, and suppressed a giggle.

  “My family lives here in Hamilton,” she said.

  “Aye, as do mine. Do you attend services here every week?”

  “Usually,” she replied. “We were visiting with our cousins in Toronto when you spoke to my father on Sunday.” She blinked, just as she did in Toronto, and my heart took yet another turn. How could such an ordinary act as the blink of an eyelid elicit such a strong reaction in a man’s heart? Time seemed to move more slowly for me when I watched her eyes.

  Our light conversation was barely underway when Kate’s father interrupted. He was clearly not amused by his daughter speaking to this older man. The major took Kate firmly by the arm; I thought I saw her flinch slightly at his grip. Wordless and staring straight ahead, Major Thompson led his family into the church. I dared not sit anywhere within sight of them and annoy him further. I took a seat at the rear and exited just before the service had ended, wondering if Kate would look for me a few minutes later as the family proceeded along the aisle. I did not stay for the post-service gathering nor did I linger outside, because I did
not want to jeopardize my chances of meeting her again by making myself too visible to her father.

  My thoughts remained scattered because the image of Kate was repeatedly surfacing in my mind. Later that day, I attempted to focus on Tom’s words as we sat in front of the fire in my home at Bay Street, discussing Rae Brothers & Company business. Tom had good reason to be worried about the stability of the company because more money was flowing out of the venture than into it. I had invested a modest sum from my reward purse after I arrived from London, but I experienced a further loss of money with the drowning of the Iceberg. I was reluctant to invest more in Rae Brothers because I was not convinced of the viability of a sizeable shipbuilding enterprise on the Great Lakes.

  Tom held his hand to his forehead. “The numbers do not look promising, Johnny. You knew it three years ago, didn’t you? I can’t believe I was naïve enough to think we could keep all seven of them moving most of the time around the Great Lakes, up the St. Lawrence River, across the Atlantic and back.” Tom rubbed his forehead hard, as if he could banish thoughts of potential bankruptcy.

  “How many vessels do you have on the market right now?”

  “Four, including the John Rae. This is a terrible time to be selling ships. Winter will soon be upon us, and the market is already saturated with vessels for sale. The bank is sending letters…”

  “Let’s ask Dick to join us today,” I offered. “We three can surely put our heads together and figure out some way of lightening the load at the shipyard. Maybe we can look into selling ships in other markets — the United States and even further south to the Caribbean, perhaps — ”

  Without warning, my personal thoughts intruded again, and I couldn’t hold back. Impulsively, I interrupted myself.

  “Tom. How do you know when you are really in love?”

  “What?” Tom moved his hand away from his forehead and shook his head.

  “I am quite serious. Well, I think I might be. I don’t know really. You see, I think I’m in love, but I hardly know the girl. I just can’t get her out of my mind.” I took a sip of tea and looked out the window, embarrassed by my eagerness.

  Tom reached out and clapped me on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned, brother! It’s about bloody time! You’ve been in love with yourself for too long! Maybe now you’ll stop spending so much time in front of the mirror,” he teased.

  “Well, I — ”

  “Ah! Don’t bother. Tell me about her. I need to hear some good news today.”

  I told Tom of the moment when I first laid eyes on Kate’s profile in church, how exquisite her face had looked from the side, her nose straight and pert, how the corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly as if it were just on the verge of breaking into a smile, how everything about her seemed to be so small and beautiful, except for a generous bosom —

  “Johnny, you fell in love with what? Come on, don’t be ridiculous! You can lust after lovely breasts, but you can’t fall in love with them. You have to look at the whole person, and — ”

  “Stop it!” I shouted, laughing. “I met her, Tom! I spoke to her! I met her officer father. An unpleasant-looking Irishman, at that…”

  “All right. All right. Calm down, now. Where does she live?”

  “Here in Hamilton.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Catherine — Kate — Thompson. Her father is Major George Ash Thompson, originally from County Londonderry in Ireland. He was a career military man with the British army.”

  “Aye. I know of him. Red hair? Rather stiff? A dour sort of fellow?”

  “Must be him. I tried to strike up a conversation, but he wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “I heard he is unwell, ruined by the drink. A veteran of too many British wars. Unfortunate.” He brightened. “And what about Kate? How many times have you seen her?”

  “Twice. Once at church services in Toronto and again this morning, here at Christ’s Church Cathedral.”

  “Well, it’s quite simple then, isn’t it? Continue going to Sunday services, and you’ll know soon enough if you’re in love. Perhaps you’ll eventually learn if she fancies you.”

  “She strikes me as someone who is confident about herself, not afraid to speak her mind. And she’s friendly. At least, I don’t think she hates me. Not yet, anyway.” I couldn’t hide my stupid smile, so I looked out the window again.

  “Tom, will you, Helen and the children accompany me to services next Sunday? I’ll ask Marion if she’ll bring her family as well.”

  “So you want the lot of us to be your personal entourage?” he laughed. “D’you think we’d give you an air of respectability in Major Thompson’s eyes? We’ll see. I can’t promise you that we’d all be on our best behaviour, though. There are quite a few of us, you know — and don’t forget, we’re Orcadians — a bit of a wild bunch, sometimes!”

  I cleared my throat. “The situation might be sensitive for another reason, Tom. There is a wee problem you should be aware of. It’s about Kate. Well, it’s not a problem with her, but there’s one significant difference between us.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think she is quite a bit younger than I.”

  “How young?”

  “Perhaps half my age.”

  Tom raised his eyebrows and shook his head again. “Aye, my foolish older brother, I agree with you. You may well have a problem, especially with her father. You never were one to keep things simple, were you?”

  Our brother Dick joined us soon after. We three spent the rest of the day discussing the excess number of their ships in port, and how to prevent Rae Brothers & Company from slipping into receivership. Every so often, Tom would catch my eye and wink at me, a small enough act, but one which I found exceedingly annoying.

  Hamilton

  [1858–1859]

  Under the dark cloud of her ailing and disapproving father, I gingerly began to strike up a friendship with Kate. There I was, well into middle age, thinking of little else than attending Sunday services at Christ’s Church Cathedral, with the hope of seeing that lovely young woman who made me feel weak in the knees. As a spiritual man, I had always enjoyed the ritual of engaging in communal worship. As a besotted man, I felt light-headed just knowing that Kate was in the same building. I trimmed my beard and moustaches to a more fashionable length, hoping to make myself appear more youthful. Various members of my family were present on most Sundays. I was glad for their company, and it was reassuring to think that Kate and her parents might at least see that I was not an uncivilized man.

  To my chagrin, Kate’s stern and worried father continued to herd his wife and children away from me, but his efforts were destined to backfire. Kate began to take regular notice of me, and Major Thompson’s actions only served to add fuel to our mutual attraction. We became quite adept at communicating through glances, winks, the subtle lifting of eyebrows, half smiles and gestures, to a point where we developed our own secret but rather efficient language.

  In December, I arranged with a nephew for the first of a series of letters to be secretly delivered to Kate after Sunday services, to which she promptly responded with lengthy replies. I devoured every letter she wrote to me; her words became increasingly friendly and engaging as we came to know each other through that age-old method of communication. At the end of January we made arrangements for a secret assignation, away from the church and her father’s prying eyes.

  When we first met alone in a snow-covered gazebo at the Royal Botanical Gardens, my hand was trembling when Kate reached out to grasp it in greeting. Embarrassed, I loosened my grip and her gloved fingers slipped away.

  “If I am to be honest about it, I’m a bit nervous, Miss Thompson,” I sputtered. “Well, quite nervous, actually.” I had never been very articulate when conversing with pretty ladies, but this was downright humiliating.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised that you are uncomfortable, Dr. Rae,” she replied. “My father has gone out of his way to cause you great d
iscomfort, which is an embarrassment for me as well. Despite his unpleasant behaviour, though, I see no reason why you and I cannot be friends.”

  Her clear voice had that beguiling Irish lilt. Its musicality both thrilled me and soothed my nerves at the same time.

  “Well then,” I replied, “if we are indeed to be friends, please call me John.”

  Her face lit up, her green eyes dancing. “Good. John it is. And you, John, may call me Kate.”

  Our secret meetings — along with daily letter-writing — took on their own rhythm as the seasons changed. By the time of spring’s early arrival in 1859, hiding our growing love for one another had become too challenging for us. Something had to change, so I decided that it was my obligation, as Kate’s suitor, to initiate face-to-face contact with Major George Ash Thompson and declare my love for his daughter.

  “Kate, my dear, we can’t go on like this. We are both adults, yet we are pretending we hardly know each other. I want to meet your father soon.”

  She pulled away from me, aghast. “Oh John, my father is the most rigid man I have ever known! As much as I am growing to know and care for you, he apparently considers you to be uncivilized, unsuitable and far, far too old for me.” She blushed. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. He has read about you in the newspapers.”