Family
The wild horse screamed as its feet left the deck of the schooner. Then its body hung, limp and helpless in the sling under its belly, as it was winched ashore.
A crowd had gathered on the wharf to witness the spectacle of wild horses captured on far-off Sable Island, and brought to Nova Scotia to work in the coal mines of Cape Breton.
Among the watchers, a small boy stood with hands clenched into fists, his face twisted with pity. Tears trickled down his pale cheeks. His name was William Maclean but he was known around the coal mining town of Green Bay as "Wee Willie." Sometimes he was called "Wee Willie the Whistler."
Many of the Cape Breton miners had nicknames, like "Danny the Dancer," "Stumpy Sam," and "Freddie the Fiddler." This was because so many of the Scottish families had names exactly the same. There were three William Macleans in Green Bay School, but Wee Willie was the one best known around town. When he wasn't at school he could usually be found hanging around one of the livery stables, wanting to help with the horses.
In those days, back at the beginning of the twentieth century, horses were a part of everyday life. A coal mine could not operate without them. In Willie's town, many different breeds were for hire fast, pretty Morgans for driving or riding horseback, and big, strong Clydesdales for pulling heavy loads. Pairs of matched white horses were hired for weddings, and blacks for funerals.
Wee Willie loved them all. In fact, when he was with horses he forgot about everything else. Too often, he came home for supper too late to help with the chores. On these occasions, his little sisters, Maggie and Sara, had to go to the town well for water. It was much too hard for them. They staggered home with the heavy tin pail between them, sloshing water against their long skirts. His older sister, Nellie, who had all the other house-hold tasks to do, had to feed the hens, bring in the eggs, and carry in scuttles of coal for the kitchen stove.
Tonight, Willie was late again. Not until the last horse struggled to its feet on the slippery wharf did he realize the sun had almost set. He dashed a grubby fist across his eyes and started for home. He knew how angry his father would be. He would give Willie a thrashing and send him to bed without his supper.
Willie didn't mind the thrashing quite as much as he minded going to bed without his supper. The Maclean children, whose mother had died when Willie was six, didn't have as much to eat as some of the other families. His father, Rory Maclean, was a pit miner who worked with Willie's brother John in the Ocean Deeps Mine. He was a proud, stern man. He refused to charge at the Company Store. All the same, the family lived in a Company house, for the sake of cheap rent.
Willie lived on Sunny Row. Not a tree nor a flower grew along the dirt lane. The houses were all the same, shaped like rectangles with slanting roofs and square, small-paned windows. It was called Sunny Row because of a habit the men had of sunning themselves during the long afternoons of the brief, Nova Scotia summers. The miners' wives put wooden washtubs on the steps, and here the colliers sat when they came home from the pit, still black around the eyes with coal dust. They would soak their sore, tired feet in the warm water, and joke back and forth while they watched their children play ball or kick the can along the dusty street.
But now it was October. The days were short and the nights were cold. Willie should have been home from school long since.
He went around to the back of the house. As soon as he stepped into the porch he smelled supper. Ceann groppaig!* His favourite dish! His sister, Nellie, was a good cook. And he would have to go to bed without a single mouthful.
He opened the door a crack and peeked in.
There they were, the whole family, six of them, seated around the table in the warm kitchen. His frowning, dark-mustached father sat at one end. The lamplight shone on the bright red heads of Nellie and his big brother John and made pale ovals of the faces of the dark-eyed little ones, Maggie and Sara. It reflected on the spectacles of his tiny old grandmother in her frilled white cap, as she peered over at him from her rocking chair. In the middle of the table sat the steaming ceann groppaig, a huge codfish head stuffed with a pudding made of rolled oats and flour and mashed cod livers.
All this, Willie saw in the flash of a second and he was puzzled. What had happened? Usually the children ate first, because there weren't enough chairs to go around. When there was a ceilidh,* or when the minister came to call, then Nellie would borrow extra chairs from one of the neighbours. But tonight there was no guest.
He opened the door a crack wider.
His father glared at him from under his bushy, black eyebrows. "Come in," he ordered. "Shut the door. You're letting in a cold draft."
Willie went in, hanging his head, shamefaced, and shut the door
Chapter 1
The roar of the huge aircraft's jet engines filled the air as it began the final approach to the runway. Thirteen-year-old twin brothers Evan and Brynley Selkirk exchanged looks. They were finally arriving in Calgary, Alberta after a long and exhausting flight.
Evan sat next to his mother, Julianne. She reached over and pushed his lanky hair out of his hazelnut brown eyes in a familiar gesture which she'd made since he was a small boy. "We made it." She smiled at her son and patted his hair down.
Evan frowned at his mom for the babyish gesture. His mom, who was a James Bay Cree, had dark brown hair like his, but hers was thick and shiny and looked great, while his just seemed to hang limply straight down, usually into his eyes, which was why his mom was always fussing with it. His skin was dark like hers, but where she was short and fine-boned, he was built more like his dadtall and sturdy.
It was because of his mom that they were moving from their home in the tiny isolated community of Whapmagoostui, Quebec. She was a lawyer and had accepted a new job with a top-notch firm here in
Calgary. Whapmagoostui, on the east coast of Hudson Bay, was a very long way from Calgary.
As the plane broke through the clouds, Evan looked out the window at the tiny houses flashing by below. Calgary, situated where the prairie meets the mountains, was surrounded by a colourful patchwork of flat farm fields to the east and rolling foothills climbing up the shoulders of the Rockies to the west.
Occasional drifts of gleaming snow reminded Evan it was early November and winter, even this far south. The gently rolling prairie stretching off into the distance was quite a change from the endless grey, frigid waters of Hudson Bay. And here, he noticed, there were roads absolutely everywhere.
Back home, they had few roads because there were very few cars to use them. In the summer, people drove quadssmall, four-wheeled, all-terrain vehiclesand in the winter everyone used snowmobiles.
Evan looked past his mother to his brother, Bryn. Blonde with ice-blue eyes and a fine bone structure, Evan's brother looked like a poster boy for Angels Anonymous. He and his brother had never gotten along and seldom saw eye-to-eye on anything. It wasn't Evan's fault; he was the normal one. For instance, Evan lived for hockey, which was completely cool for a thirteen-year-old guy, whereas his wimpy brother Bryn didn't play hockey. In fact, Bryn didn't do any sports; instead, he played the pianoa lot.
Just then, Bryn glanced up from his book and caught Evan looking at him. He gave Evan a dirty look.
Evan ignored his brother, pretending instead to be looking at his dad, Thomas, who was sitting in the next bank of seats. His dad, who was usually neat and precise in his appearance, was now distinctly rumpled after the tiring flight. His shirt was creased and his curly blonde hair looked as if he'd just climbed out of bed. There were dark smudges under his pale blue eyes. He had been the only white elementary school teacher in Whapmagoostui and had been well-liked by his students.
Stuck in the aisle seat, Bryn had to lean forward to peer out the small window for his first glimpse of their new home. "Look at the size of this place!" he exclaimed when he saw the rows upon rows of houses. His eyes were shining. "Calgary's so big, I bet they have their own philharmonic orchestra."
Evan rolled his eyes. He knew his brother loved music. It was probably because for as long as Evan could remember, Bryn had songs playing in his head, like background music in a movie. In Evan's books, this made Bryn a freak because of the way he was always tuned in. His brother said his brain and body seemed to work faster with his private music playing.
Bryn started to bob his head up and down and Evan knew he was listening to his head music. It was probably a boring piano piece. Bryn planned on being a classical pianist when he grew up and would torture Evan by practising for hours.
The two boys gave each other one last glare, then sat back in their seats and waited for the long journey from their old home to end. The plane touched down with a gentle bump.
Their new adventure was about to begin.
***
The weekend was spent moving into their house and arranging for the boys' new school.
Slouching against the doorjamb of his brother's new room, Evan watched Bryn struggle with a large poster. "You're not going to put those stupid things up, are you?" he asked, folding his arms and nodding at the stack of posters waiting on Bryn's bed.
His brother scowled. "I'll put up whatever I like in my room." He nodded toward the pile of posters, which held portraits of such famous composers as Mozart, Pachelbel, and Chopin. "These geniuses have stood the test of time and come out on top." He finished hanging the large poster. "Ludwig van B., here," he jerked his thumb at the picture of Beethoven, "happens to be my hero."
Evan scoffed. "Yeah, right. Only s
