forebears embedded in family bibles going back generations. Dan knew its legacy of Protestant industriousness: the women in long dresses with their hair in tidy buns as they worked in the kitchens, the men in black serge over stiff-collars, diligent clerks and tradesmen and day labourers, and the children, seen but not heard, and unsettled by looks that discouraged frivolity. All living life in a way that precluded any indulgence in pleasure, straining after the little that might be allowed them, and looking for salvation in all that was hard-hearted and plain of manner.
It was this same Presbyterian industriousness that had carved a nation out of wood and stone and given thanks to God, grateful for the newfound flag of freedom as they set up gristmills and established schools and churches across the continent, spreading their long-suffering humanity like the walnuts and oranges left in children’s stockings at Christmastime.
In some of the nearby houses, there would be remnants of that life still: the polished walnut tables and stiff-backed chairs so you wouldn’t forget yourself and get too comfy, portraits of men with dour glances and whiskers down to their chests echoing words voiced in stoic endurance, their wary glances and harsh whispers directed toward anything that constituted strangeness in their worlds. It was not a charmed existence, this life led by the followers of Knox and Calvin, but it had a certain magisterial appeal, the very essence of morality and probity, a life where men raised themselves up by hard work and right-minded adherence to the Word of God. Hallowed be thy name.
No communal joyfulness or fervent lifting of voices of the evangelical Baptists, or the hand-wringing Puritanism of the Seventh Day Adventists with one eye on the Second Coming and the other on the ever-present wrath of God. Not the hand-clapping, tambourine-bashing, candle-burning witchery of the Catholics or the Old World, left-behind-for-the-Messiah-already-came-and-wentness, and the one-day-off-the-weekly-calendar Sabbath of misguided Jewry, but the Real Faith, the One True Faith of the new Promised Land. This was the dour, grey-skied heart of Protestant Reform. Johns Knox and Calvin, lead us forward out of sin.
It was a life where good deeds were done quietly and acknowledged humbly, where praise was rare, and roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were served on the Lord’s Day. Where the axe and plough were put away as vests and topcoats were donned for Sunday dinners with abundant echoes of “We praise thee, O Lord,” followed by a murmured chorus of amens as silverware tinkled and dishes were passed with smiles of appreciation and drink was frowned on till the following evening. All this, followed by a brief respite of merry-making as “God Save the King” was sung in the more prominent homes or banged out on the parlour upright by someone’s elderly aunt, followed by fond memories of — how many decades was it now? So hard to recall! — when it had been “God Save the Queen.” May she forever rest in peace!
Dan knew the breed well. His childhood had been a late-twentieth century blossoming of this Calvinist faith with its hard-hearted virtuousness. As he walked across the grass, the light sent up its final rays, the eaves returning to shadow as the day retreated. The house looked like a castle from some far-off shore, replete with memories of lochs and bairns and foreign sounding words like bonnie and didnae and wee nyaff, while the glittering descendants of those hard-hearted, well-intentioned settlers twirled and gyrated on the lawn.
Now and then someone would stop briefly to listen to the hooting of a ferry making a tenuous link between distant worlds as twilight came on, settling over the Bay of Quinte and fading up on the mountain over a lake whose depths and deepest origins remained an unsolved mystery.
Eleven
Till Death Do Us Part
The kitchen was transformed. The beer bottles had been cleared out and the room stood bathed in a perky yellow light, steeped in the aroma of fresh coffee. Daniella was reading when Dan walked in. She glanced up, perturbation written on her face.
“Good morning,” he said.
She looked out the window as if she hadn’t considered it. “Yes,” she said, after a moment. “It’s a beautiful day.”
“Anyone else around yet?”
“No, it’s just me. Sebastiano and Thom are still in bed. Together.”
Dan wasn’t sure if the last word had been added for emphasis or clarity. He watched her gaze sulkily out the window, her dark eyes fixed on something that might have been over on the far shore or possibly much farther away.
“What’s the order of events this afternoon?” Dan asked.
She turned a gloomy gaze on him. “What does this mean?” she said abruptly.
“The order of events,” Dan repeated. “What’s happening before the wedding?”
“Ah!” She brightened. “We are having brunch at eleven then some of us are going to get ready to go on the boat. Nobody told you?” She looked at him with something like pity.
“No,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”
Dan had just sat down with his coffee when Ted slipped into the room, still wearing his shades, his skin the colour of cold porridge. The giggling Jezebel followed, only slightly subdued from the night before.
“Good morning all!” Ted called out.
There was a bit of silliness at the coffee maker. Jezebel poured herself a cup and Ted attempted to withhold the sugar from her. She grabbed his wrist and wrested it from him, leaving a red mark on his arm. Their laughter sounded competitive. Dan found himself disliking them. If he’d been in public, he would have found another place to sit.
“The happy couple not up yet?” Ted said, squinting at the brightness outside the window.
“Not yet,” Daniella said with a forced smile as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Ted snorted. “I’m not surprised. I think he and Sebastiano had a three-way with the best man last night.” Jezebel nudged him and he turned to look at Dan. “Oh, sorry — is he with you?” He grinned. “I was kidding, of course.”
“You’re quite a kidder,” Dan said, exiting with his cup, their ghostly laughter following him.
It was almost noon when Bill finally showed. Dan had never known him to sleep in. He’d missed brunch but declared in a jaunty voice that all he needed was coffee. Dan looked outside and saw Thom stepping into a car.
“Shouldn’t you be going with Thom?”
Bill shook his head. “Nothing so formal,” he said. “Thom and Sebastiano are driving down together.” They looked out in time to see Sebastiano in tails, his hair neatly coiffed, following Thom. “It’s not like it’s a real wedding, anyway.”
Dan gave him a look.
“You don’t know Thom,” Bill said defensively.
“No, you’re right — I don’t.”
A crowd of well-heeled men and women hovered by the dock, with a few children and at least one Pekinese. A man with a headset was attempting to direct them onto the boat, but no one seemed to be listening. They resisted his directives like teenagers set on being difficult, yet without knowing what they were rebelling against.
Bill introduced Dan to a thin young man with shoulder length hair standing with a grey-haired older man who was his partner. The younger man, a dentist, seemed particularly giddy. He wore
