Chapter Five

    By the time Paul and his pastor were finished breakfast, Adam Blakeley had gone to work, and the girls were not yet up. Sadie had not slept at all well. She was, after all, a sensitive and caring woman, with no interest at all in having the Virgin Mary, the mother of mothers, give her a rousing smack on the head at judgement day because she had failed to understand a soul in pain. And she knew that Iris McCallum would be in pain. She had never been the sort of mother to shush her children when it was the stupidest thing in the world to do, because it was out of that ridiculous vice known as human respect, and there was no way she could stop Deirdre and Maggie from spreading the news about their new teacher. The girls, once they had gone to Deirdre’s room, had been on the phone, and the girls they would call, some of them, were music students, not just of Iris McCallum’s, and they had mothers who, for better or worse, could not keep their mouths shut. Well, the women must talk. Paul was not only a whirlwind of talent and intelligence, he was also a good looking young man, not especially tall, but certainly dark and handsome. And more interesting that along with the handsome, which eventually was only as useful as far as it could actually rub a pair of brain cells together, he had a most engaging energy. She could hardly wait, she thought, for Sunday mass, to see his impact on the congregation. He was not some hired entertainer, and the Blakeleys had not actually heard him sing yet, but she had a feeling that the voice that would cut loose in the praise of God on Sunday morning would, by reputation, be heard not only in the church but from one end of the other in Blackfish Bay. And wouldn’t there be a lot of chatter because he would be living under her roof?

    Thank God for Adam. She had been saying this since the day she met him, more or less, when she was teaching in Thunder Bay and he had come home for Christmas from some woods company he was working for in the vast reaches of the Shield. They had met just after she came back from Halifax and he had returned to the north, but they had met significantly, and when he started writing to her she had confirmation of the rightness of her first sighting of the man.
  
     But thank God for him this morning, because he knew what she was going through and she knew that if it all became too much for her he would take it on. The last thing anyone in the town wanted, including Iris McCallum, was for Adam Blakeley to feel required to raise his voice.
  
     Still, when the phone rang, her heart sank, and her only consolation was a memory of a retreat at her college, at Antigonish, that reminded her that the battle between feelings and spirits knew no gender lines. She had forgotten the name of the priest, but what he had said had helped her to understand herself. She was not just an emotional woman, she was just one more member of the race caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.
   
    “Good morning.”
   
    “Sadie?”
  
     “Yes, Iris.” She despised the caste system, having almost as much Irish in her as her husband, and as a teacher fond of history she had come to realize that Churchill, in spite of all his other virtues, had simply made a racially prejudiced ass of himself over India, although perhaps in its own odd way that had been a suitable punishment for the follies of the Indian caste system. Thus, at the first attempt of the shop steward’s wife to label her as ‘Mrs. Blakeley’, - how many years ago now? - she had insisted on her first name, and the diminutive at that. Women had far too much in common as women to be bothered with artificial structures. Epaulettes were for men, who had never had the trouble of giving birth, and rarely had occasion to wipe away a child’s tears.
   
    Nor had Iris’ night passed like a dream. “Sadie, I’m crushed. I’m trying to remember the last time I was so unhappy, so disturbed. And why didn’t you give me any warning? I heard it from one of my student’s mothers twenty minutes ago. I could tell she was thinking of pulling her Jenny. I could only say I’d yet to meet your Mr. Cameron and I had no idea what he knew that I didn’t know.”
  
     “Well, she won’t be taking out her Jenny. That would be Grace Williams. Adam and I had a full night with Paul. For one thing, what he really is, is a painter, and I suspect, by the fire that seems to run through his bones about anything that he knows about, that he is, or is going to be, a very good painter. I’m not even sure why he decided to spend some time in the classroom, but I suppose it has something to do with the fact that the Faith is also a fire in his bones. I really haven’t said this to anyone around town this summer, because everything with the school is so political, but he comes from a most extraordinary family. The music thing is actually from his grandfather, who is more of a writer than a musician, but researched the keyboard once his oldest daughter, Paul’s mother, was clearly serious about making it her profession. I’m rambling, but you would too if you’d been here last night. He won’t be taking Jenny, or anyone else on a private basis . . . .” she paused, remembering the exchange with Adam about Iris’ young Ian, “….simply because he won’t have time. But I do expect that the children will share what they know, so Jenny might soak up his methods that way. But if I know Grace Williams, she wants the conservatory approach for her daughter.” Sadie, finally, to her relief found herself laughing. “I think I can guarantee that she wouldn’t be happy with Paul at all.”
  
     “His grandfather is a writer? What about?" Iris always had a historical romance on the go.
  
     “The spiritual life. He’s a mystic . . . .”
   
    “Oh, in the name of Christ that’s the last thing we need in our parish! Some idiot staring off into space and doing nothing useful.”
  
     "You don’t have to worry. Paul insists he’s not a mystic himself. Says he’s far too full of ordinary energy. Perhaps that’s why he’s decided to teach, so he can work it off. He says he’s not quite good enough to be a professional tennis player, as much as loves the court. He also loves his grandfather, obviously, and the reason he agreed to move in with us, aside from the financial benefit for the parish, is that he feels he can prove out his grandfather’s system more efficiently if Deirdre has a little coaching every day. And Maggie too, as they will not be separated, and indeed, discovered him together. Deirdre is as bold as they come, but even she might have been afraid to beard the new teacher on his own. Especially as, in her opinion, he played such incredible piano. You are, by the way, at the keys for the ten on Sunday?”
  
     “Yes. I assume he’ll be coming to church with your family, and the ten is usually your time. Grace said that Jenny heard that he was also a very good singer, and I suppose I shall have to hear him. Did he sing at the house?”
  
     “No, not at all. We talked, at some length. The girls brought him up for dinner after their little session in the school. And they only heard Paul sing because he was showing them numbers on the piano. He hadn’t gone into the school to entertain.”
   
    “I’d like to talk to him, if I may.”
   
    “He’s not here. Adam drove him back to the rectory last night. He’s been staying with Father McKeon. They seem to get along very well already. Paul worked on the tugs when he was a student. He could have gone back out this summer, too, as they wanted him to – I guess he cooks as well – but he thought he should paint and work on music with the children in mind. He was living at home, so his mother was always handy for advice.”
  
     “Did you try to talk Deirdre out of her sudden change of heart? It all seems to have happened very quickly. She’s a very good student, one of my best, and I’m terribly sorry to lose her, abut she’s also very impetuous and only thirteen.”
  
     “Of course. But I’ve been her mother for those thirteen years and a mother in general for another decade beyond that. I know when she’s doing something out of duty and I know when she’s genuinely excited. So no, I didn’t try to talk her out of it, even though I had a lot of reservations when she first brought it up. We had a good chance to talk, because she and Maggie were helping me in the kitchen while Paul was in the living room with Adam. Fortunately, he’d come home early because he was out at first light this morning, looking at the driest part of one of the cut blocks. I’m sure Tom has told you the loggers are thinking of the early morning shift. My concern was that the girls were simply moved to their admiration because he was a man, not a nun, not Sister Barbara. He was a young man and they are highly impressionable adolescents. And we were busy in the kitchen and I’d had no warning that he was coming so, please believe me, Iris, I had a lot to think about and I wasn’t really sure until we were well into supper. And then I could see just how organized in himself that Paul is, and so whatever he had told them he could do, he could do. And it was also very plain that he knows they’re still children and while he’s very friendly and open with them, just like an older brother, he has no intention of being anything but a teacher who automatically inspires respect as well as affection. It was all very lovely to watch unfold. Then after dinner Maggie and Deirdre went off the piano in the living room so we could talk and they could start practising what Paul had already showed them. And that was lovely too. They were singing numbers, making harmony, utterly sweet and utterly confident in themselves….”
  
     “But I’ve had them singing duets! They took an award in the music festival last year for their duet.”
  
     “ I know that. I remember. They were lovely, your getting them up for it was wonderful. But I’m not talking about something from a page of sheet music. This was something they cooked up on their own. They weren’t singing words . . . .”
  
     “Then they must have been singing solfa. I taught them solfa. And so did Sister Barbara. She was quite good at it, actually.”
   
    “No, it wasn’t solfa, fixed or otherwise. What he had taught them, once you see, well, hear it in operation, is so obvious it makes you laugh at never having tried it before. But I never had, and I carried on with the conservatory into grade eight, as you well know, before I gave up on all the work I hated scales and all that memorization seemed so laborious. No more interesting as literature and history, although I’d once really loved piano lessons. . . .”
  
     “You didn’t want to make the sacrifices, and now Deirdre is doing the same thing. The apple never falls very far from the tree. Well, I’m not surprised. She’s a headstrong child, and I suppose she can do what she likes. But it’s a shame she’s taking Maggie with her. Deirdre already has everything. She’s a Blakeley. Maggie needs the music.”
  
     “Iris. This is nonsense. You are not listening to me! In Paul Cameron Maggie has the music, and Deirdre is carrying on with music. That’s some of what I’m trying to tell you. Deirdre has been muttering all summer about quitting. Now that she’s heard and seen what Paul does with studies she’s more than muttering about playing the piano all bloody day long! It was simply hearing what he did at the school that drew them in to find him. Deirdre said she had to find out what he was doing, once she realized he wasn’t playing a tune. The kids were playing basketball, did Grace Williams tell you that? Outside on the court right beside the grade eight classroom. Paul had gone in to practice and the kids heard him. Deirdre insisted on going in and Maggie, bless her, gave her the moral support. Once they crossed the Rubicon it was easy. Paul was perfectly friendly, and as they were curious and obviously musicians, he did what any decent musician would do if he knew how, he showed them his secrets.”
  
     “What secrets?”
  
     “Why should I tell you? You’re not going to believe me anyway. I think I should stop talking and let you find out the hard way. You have to believe me, Iris. Adam and I have been very grateful for what you’ve done for Deirdre. I told Paul, once I heard the girls, that as far as we were concerned you’re the best teacher north of Victoria, and I was not going to find it easy to tell you that we were letting the girls switch horses.”
  
     “So how much teaching as he done? I think I’ve heard that he’s very young, just out of university. I should tell you that too is an issue with some of the parents of Deirdre and Maggie’s classmates. He must be totally inexperienced, and that bothers some, and he’s not a nun and that bothers others.”
  
     “I should be honest and say that it probably bothered me too, from time to time over the summer. But his older sister belongs to the Nazarenes and she recommended him. I haven’t seen Sister Teresa yet, nor has Paul met her, but I’m sure she’s going to be more than happy with him.
For one thing, he can’t help but lift some of the discipline problems off her shoulders.”
   
    “What do you mean?”
   
    “Well, the last thing Deirdre intimated to me last night was her not being able to wait until Andy Johnson and his cronies tested Paul. Boys will be boys, especially Andy. I know his type. He’s so much like my brother Ben, and he tends to think out loud. As soon as Adam drove Paul back to the rectory I went up to the girls to see how they were settling in, and honestly, being sure you would call, to make one last check on their intentions. I mean, for all I know they might have decided that as Paul would be living here, they could carry on with you and just get regular pointers from him. It’s not as if they don’t like you. How could they? But I’m rambling. Back to discipline. The girls were howling with laughter at the prospect of the boys trying to get around Paul. Really laughing. In laughter, as in wine, there is truth.”
  
     But Iris wasn’t listening to the return to Paul’s discipline. She remained involved in her own. “I don’t like other teachers interfering with my students.”
  
     Sadie had run out of olive branches. “Well, there you have it, then. I don’t know where we can go from here. All I can say is that I think you’re making the mistake of judging a situation you haven’t yet been able to observe. But you’re going to have ample chance, if things work out the way Paul says they could. His class may very well be on television.”

    “Piffle. I suppose you’re going to tell me he brought a camera with him.”

    “He doesn’t need to. He’s got friends in the business. CBC Vancouver. Have you ever heard of a producer named Michael Thurman? You should have. I know you’re not too fond of Bach, but Thurman filmed Glenn Gould the last time he was in Vancouver.”
   
    There was, finally, quiet at the other end. Sadie heaved, inaudibly, a sigh of relief. Sometimes it helped to have friends in high places, or to be able to drop a name with either familiarity or the sense of having a reason to.
   
    “I actually did watch some of that show,” Iris finally said. “I was waiting for an evening student. She’d phoned and said she’d be a little late. No, I’ve never been fond of Bach. But Gould is Gould, and there was something very interesting about the look of the programme. It was very good filming. I remember thinking that. Now, Sadie, don’t wheedle me. This young man of yours actually knows the man who made that show? I don’t remember the name from the film.”
  
     “Yes, he does. He knows him very well. Michael is an old friend of Paul’s family. He became a friend of the oldest boy when they were in high school. Jacob, I think his name is. And Jacob’s mother, and Jacob as well, of course, gave Michael a tremendous musical education, which the mother’s father had designed. So Michael told Paul that if he could get his class into good singing shape using the grandfather’s methods, he’d make a film for CBC Vancouver and perhaps beyond.”
   
    “So you’re going along with this because you want Deirdre to be a film star. Well, I have to admit she looks good enough, so I don’t blame you.” And I’m a little lost. Glenn Gould wasn’t singing . . . well, yes he was in a funny sort of way . . .” She actually started to laugh. “. . . he was only playing the piano.”
   
    “Paul’s mother also teaches singing. I imagine you’ll get to hear some of the results on Sunday morning.”
   
    There was, finally, a pause. Quite a long pause. The edge of Iris’ attack began to soften. “Just a minute let’s ignore the young man, and the television producer. There’s a little bell ringing in my head. Paul is from Vancouver, you said?”
  
     “Yes.”
  
     “And his mother teaches singing?”
   
    “Yes.”
   
    “By any chance does she have a parish choir?”
   
    “Yes. Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow on Tenth Avenue. Almost at the top of the hill taking you
toward the university.”
   
    “How long has she been there? Did she just come?
  
     “Heavens, no. The family has lived in the parish since not long after the war. Paul’s father teaches English at the university.”
  
     “Oh, my God.” Iris’ voice dropped an octave, all the fight went out of her, and Sadie wondered if she were going to cry.
  
    “You already know something about her?”
 
     “I think I’ve heard her work. I know I’ve heard her work. But that was some years ago, too many for Paul to be part of, if he’s just out of school. I was in Vancouver for Christmas. We’d come over to stay with my mother for a couple of days. That’s her parish so naturally we were in the church for midnight mass.”
  
     “I remember. There was a certain amount of muttering because you weren’t here for our midnight mass.”

    “Oh, Sadie . . . .” Now she was starting to cry. “Oh, Sadie, it was so beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like it, not at least in a Catholic church in this part of the world. I spent the entire mass feeling as if I were in one of the great cathedrals in Europe. She had these young men in the choir, and singing solos here and there and they were incredible. You should have heard the resonance. It was flawless. I know what I’m talking about. Professor Ludwig was always talking to me about great singing, even though we were only doing piano, because he insisted that an accompanist should know something about singing. When mass was over, and we were leaving, I had this really strong desire to talk to her. I actually asked a parishioner about the choir leader and organist. You couldn’t see anything, of course, because they were up in the choir loft in that church. But as they came down the stairs the chap pointed her out to me. I wanted to talk to her so much – she played incredible organ, by the way – so much variety and always right on with the voices – but I had no idea what to say, and of course she was in the middle of her crew, all shaking hands and hugging each other – this little woman and her rather large choir, although there seemed to be three young men – early twenties I’d say who came down in a clutch behind her as if they were a team of their own – I was pretty sure it was their voices that I heard doing the great work – and then they started to mingle and talk with the priests and so forth, and I knew she probably had to go home and feed her family and so did I and that was that But you know what? I can never think of myself as a terribly spiritual person, yet at that moment, after hearing that music, I was certain there was a Heaven, and that in Heaven I would be able to have all the time I wanted to tell her how much the music meant to me. That was my consolation, that was my peace of mind. So I’m suspecting, from what I understand, that this Michael was one of those young men. Is he a really tall fellow?”
  
     Sadie paused for a while, while Iris finished her snuffling. “I think so, from some anecdote Paul was telling. Well, now you can tell her son. I’m going down to the rectory pretty soon to pick up Paul and his stuff. Why don’t we do lunch, as they say in the film business? At my house? Paul will be here, and I know the girls would like nothing better than to feel you approved of their decision. Bring Ian, if you like. Adam’s already mentioned him to Paul, and if they like the look of each other you might have found yourself a guitar teacher who actually knows more than three chords. I can’t promise that Paul will take him on, but it’s worth a try. And the kids all get along anyway.”