The Innocent - Lynne Golding Beneath The Alders

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and pleasure. She was determined to gain the necessary contrition in their new homeland, chiefly through personal toil and sacrifice. She resolved that they should grow their own vegetables, cook their own meals, bake their own bread, and launder their own linens. She would attend to all of these matters without the assistance of Jas, who thought the good Lord would supply them with the desired family without such sacrifices. She would have, though, the help of her maid.

      Whereas Jesse Brady easily fell into his profession as a carpenter in Brampton, Jas fared not so well in the pursuit of his. Happily adopting the profession of a gentleman farmer (the first profession of his life), it soon became clear that he had too few of the qualities necessary to be a successful farmer and that farm life offered him too few of the opportunities necessary to enjoy the life of a gentleman. Within five years of being on the farm, with three children safely born and a fourth on the way, Selina Stephens, by then an able cook, baker, and laundress, agreed they could leave the farm and take up an easier life in the village of Brampton.

      The circumstances that led to her capitulation on this point derived from the one thing that Jesse Brady and Jas and Selina Stephens had in common: their love of music. For a short time, all three sang in the choir of the Wesleyan Methodist Church. The Sunday services and Thursday evening rehearsals were effortlessly arrived at by Jesse Brady, who lived less than a five-minute walk from the church. The same could not be said for the Stephenses, whose ability to traverse the ten-mile journey from their farm to the village depended considerably on the weather, generally, and the state of the roads, in particular. While Jas and Selina were prompt and regular attenders of the church when the weather was extremely cold (and the roads ice or snow-packed) and when the weather was extremely hot (and the roads dried hard), their attendance was less reliable at other times.

      Nonetheless, Selina cherished the Wesleyan Methodist Church and looked forward to every occasion on which she could worship within it. She esteemed the pastor as a fine and insightful orator; she admired the building in which they congregated; she cherished the many good and loyal congregants who had befriended her and Jas. It was only the chance to give it all up: to join the Primitive Methodist Church, a church that worshipped in a dark building above a butchery; whose adherents sat in square, hard-backed pews; that was led by an odious pastor with an irritating voice; that was populated by congregants who interjected shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Amen” into prayers and sermons; that allowed Selina to agree to their relocation.

      The opportunity was brought to Jas and Selina in the form of a typhus outbreak that claimed the lives of a local couple. The earthly departure of the man and wife was quite personal to Mr. Lawson, the odious pastor of the Primitive Methodist Church, since the deceased were not only members of his flock but leaders within it. She played the piano and he led the choir. Rather than dwell on the loss, which he was certain was in keeping with the Lord’s divine intentions, Mr. Lawson took it as a means to save a soul—in this case that of Jas Stephens. For years Mr. Lawson had heard two things about Selina Stephens that interested him, namely, her great devotion and her strong musical abilities. His interest in Jas Stephens ran along similar but not identical lines, namely, his idleness (and hence insufficient devotion) and his deep baritone, which the pastor had come to appreciate in monthly Masonic lodge meetings.

      The day after Mr. Lawson received the sad news regarding his parishioners, he drove to the Stephenses’ farm, and after a short amount of idle banter (the most that Mr. Lawson could possibly summon), he offered Selina the position of organist and Jas the position of choir leader within the Primitive Methodist Church. As Selina began to refuse the offer, Mr. Lawson interrupted. There was one detail he had neglected to mention. The offer was conditional on one thing: to accept it, the Stephenses would have to move into the village. His congregation could not be at the mercy of the ten-mile dirt road connecting the farm and the Queen Street Church. Noting the smile on her husband’s face, Selina readily accepted the joint offer. In short, she exchanged her sacrificial life of toil on the farm for a bigger sacrificial life in the village. Jas, whose face always bore a smile, was content with the arrangement as well.

      At that time, three branches of Methodism worshipped in Brampton: Wesleyan Methodists, Primitive Methodists, and Episcopal Methodists. What they all had in common was their belief that life’s truths were all to be found within the bible, that all humans were born of sin, and that salvation could only come from faith. Primitive Methodists were considered the most fervent of the three branches, promoting the participation of trained laymen and decision-making by the adherents, evangelism, and a strict lifestyle.

      Their image was typified by one of their earliest local leaders, William Lawson, who in the early 1820s, when he was not evangelizing in the streets of Toronto, could be found preaching in the undeveloped areas outside of it. It was while he was preaching “in the bush”—as Brampton and the area around it were then called—that he came upon his old friend from Cumberland, England, and fellow Primitive Methodist, John Elliott. Lawson saw so much potential in the area and its people that he sold his business in Toronto and moved near Elliott. In no time, Lawson and Elliott had many adherents to their bible-based view of the world. They shut down the taverns and distillery, changed the name of the area from Buffy’s Corners to Brampton, and set about making the area a more pious place. By the time Jesse Perry and Jas and Selina Stephens settled in Brampton, it had long been the heart of Primitive Methodism in what was to become Canada.

      Sitting in front of the organ of the Primitive Methodists, Selina Stephens cringed every time she heard the irritating voice of her odious new pastor, the nephew of William Lawson. In addition to preaching loudly, Pastor Lawson sang loudly. Selina flinched every time someone in the congregation extemporaneously shouted “Amen” or “Hallelujah.” She became awash in grief each time she looked at the crude second-storey room above the Queen Street butcher shops in which the Primitive Methodists congregated. With each cringe, flinch, and suppressed sob, she smiled feeling the full measure of her sacrifice.

      From a building Jas purchased in the four corners area, the Stephenses realized an income that supported Jas and his many gentlemanly pursuits. From their stately home on Union Street they raised their growing family, soon comprised of four children.

      * * *

      Ina, Aunt Lil, and I received two telegrams over the days that followed, both informing us that Mother was on the mend. Six days after our arrival, we were summoned to return to Brampton. As I sat on the train listening to the iron wheels transport us along the now well-worn tracks, I thought of all that I had learned over the past week. I didn’t know anything more about Grandpa Brady (who would always be just plain Grandpa to me) or how he became self-made or others-destroyed. I knew the identities of the four children of Jas and Selina Stephens. My father was the boy—the first-born. Aunt Lil was the second-born. My Aunt Charlotte was the third-born and Aunt Rose the fourth. I comprehended how each of our Brampton families fit together; how all of my cousins shared the same grandparents. I was completely unaware that the family whose connections I now so well understood was about to be put asunder.

      The Turners Leave

      As a child, I never heard my mother cry; I only heard her play her music more mournfully. I never heard my mother’s voice raised in anger; I only heard her bang the piano keys with more fervour. When she was sad, she played cheerless pieces, as if in a trance, never stopping to gather new sheet music or to turn a page of notes. Agony articulated itself through her fingers on the ivory; through her feet on the brass. Her eyes closed, her chest, neck, and head heaved as she reached for distant keys. Her fingertips wrung out notes as her fine hands made their way to and from each other. I knew better than to interrupt Mother as she expressed herself in this way. Eventually, she would play herself out. At a certain point, she would stop, look at her hands, then stand and carry on with the routine tasks of her life, the matter that gave rise to the outburst either expelled or stifled until it could be dealt with later.

      Mother’s delight at seeing Ina and me on our return from Aunt Lil’s house was heartfelt but short-lived. We had barely exchanged greetings and unpacked our valises before we heard her at the melodic keys. At first I did not recognize the exercise for what it was. A day did not pass during which Mother did not play the instrument—a stolen fifteen minutes here or possibly a half hour there—whenever

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