That Forgetful Shore Read Free Page A

suddenly, with the early evening light slanting down off the water behind Kit and Mr. Bishop, that she has always thought of Mr. Bishop as a middle-aged man, as old as Uncle Albert or the other fishermen of that generation. Now, with the suddenly older eyes of a young woman who is no longer a schoolgirl, she sees he is not old at all, perhaps not twenty-five yet. Just a few years ago he was one of those boys finishing Standard Six, with a teacher saying, “You’re a clever boy, Joe, you could go on to school in St. John’s, you could be a teacher.” He is ten or twelve years older than Kit and herself, a young man with no wife or children. He comes from here in Conception Bay, from some place farther up the shore, past Carbonear. He and Kit suddenly look right together, as if they are part of the same world. He lays a hand easily on Kit’s shoulder as they turn to go on together into that world from which Trif is barred.
    Aunt Rachel says nothing, that night or any other, about her conversation with Mr. Bishop, about Triffie’s excellent report marks, about the possibility of St. John’s and teacher-training. A dozen times Trif shapes words, practices what to say, but never speaks the question aloud. She and Kit talk about it, of course, as they talk about almost everything. Kit’s parents have agreed that she will go to college; she is packing her trunk, making her plans.
    One night, walking back from the Salvation Army meeting in Bay Roberts, arms linked and heads close together, Kit and Trif fall behind the other girls. They go to the Church of England on the Point with their parents on Sunday morning, or on Sunday afternoon if that’s when the service is held, the minister dividing his time between two congregations. But on Sunday nights the young people crave a livelier sort of worship than can be found at Evensong, so they traipse off, either to the Methodist Chapel on the south side of the Point or, more often these days, across the causeway to the Salvation Army Citadel in Bay Roberts. There they enjoy loud singing and the clang of tambourines, fervent testimonies and shouts of praise. The air is heightened; it’s as good as a play, or as Trif imagines a play might be. Girls and – more rarely – boys sometimes go up to kneel at the mercy seat, tears streaming down their faces. On the way home on fall and winter nights couples pair off, boys linked with girls they have admired from afar, washed up together on a sudden wave of emotion. But on summer nights the group is made up almost entirely of girls; most of the young men have gone fishing, so the delicious edge of romantic tension is missing from the air.
    â€œI asked Pop to talk to Aunt Rachel for you,” Kit says.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAbout college. About you going with me.”
    â€œShe’ll never let me go,” Trif says.
    â€œYou never even asked her.” It sounds like an accusation.
    â€œI never had to. Mr. Bishop talked to her, and she never said a word to me about it, so I know she said no.” Mr. Bishop gives Trif a sad look every time he sees her in church or on the road. She knows he pities her, the clever girl not allowed to go farther in school. “They don’t have the money to send me to town.”
    â€œI’m sure if they really wanted to they could find a way. Mr. Bishop says there’s scholarships and the like.”
    Trif says nothing, because this is one thing Kit truly doesn’t understand. Kit is the only living child, beloved daughter of her father’s house, the one upon whom all her parents’ hopes and dreams ride. The Saunders family is not poor, and whatever worldly wealth they have will certainly go towards making Kit’s path through life as easy and pleasant as possible. Albert and Rachel manage as well as most fishermen’s families do, but Trif is not their daughter. She is the illegitimate niece, the unpaid help, and they have