or smell the ocean or taste the salt cod and fresh potatoes with drawn butter or eat beet salads and pickled beets, or suck on Purity biscuits or peppermint knobs.
Her little Albertan would eat beef, lots of it, probably, and be raised amongst strangers in a strange new land, filled with local customs that Angela would be oblivious to, and would most likely embarrass herself and her children as she tried to adapt to them. She knew, of course, what the women would be like. She’d been to town dozens of times, noticed the women in the fancy stores on Water Street and at the Avalon Mall, who spoke a little quicker, flourished about a little more dramatically. She knew she stood out as someone from “out-around-the-bay,” and she knew they’d stand out even more around Western strangers.
A few hours later Cape Breton Island came into view, flatter than Newfoundland, humble, obedient, and peaceful, its dales shallow and round as a ripe belly. Impish and mysterious, Cape Breton Island looked warm and inviting with soft, rolling hills and gentle shores.
One of the ferry workers, an old man with a Stephenville accent, walked slowly onto the upper deck and swept debris into the dustbin, all kinds of soiled napkins, clear plastic sandwich wrap, and discarded Styrofoam cups with used tea bags inside that huddled like a dead animal behind a clump of wet leaves.
He was short and skinny, clean-shaven with a slack mouth, the corner of which was reserved permanently for the simple pleasure of a dangling cigarette. His lips were twisted, the lips of an old-timer who can smoke and talk at the same time, muscle habits honed from years of salted conversations with sailors and deck-men.
He tapped Angela’s foot lightly with his broom. She opened her eyes and lifted her head heavily from Jack’s slumped, protective chest. They had fallen asleep, Jack propped up against one of the ship’s railing posts, the girls still leaning over the edge of the boat, staring curiously at Cape Breton Island.
“Missus, are you done with your lunch? I’ve got to clear up, so if you’d move them legs a little, my love.”
Angela moved her leg away from his prodding broom.
“Where you goin?” he asked and his blue eyes twinkled.
“Alberta.”
“Miners?”
Angela nodded.
“I’ve seen a lot go up there over the last little while, and I’ve seen just as many come back,” he said and chuckled softly. “I daresay I wouldn’t be able to make it up there on my own, but if I had a pretty wife like you by my side, well then I just might be able to.”
Angela smiled and laughed She looked expectantly towards the shoreline and avoided Jack’s flat face, full of defeat and fear.
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