The water was so cold on her feet, Maggie barely noticed the sun anymore. She lay there in the tall grass by the edge of the canal, and all she saw was the blue sky above, and all she felt were the gentle waves climbing up her legs, near her knees. It was such a simple moment, but such bliss. The bank was soft where her heels had sunk into it, and the grass around her head was full of crickets that went quiet whenever she moved and started up again the moment she didn’t. The air smelled of hot grass and canal mud, and now and then, when the breeze came up from the north, a whiff of pitch off the lock gates down the way.
A boat had been heading north for some time—she’d heard it long before she could even hope to see it—but now that it was upon her, she propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch it pass. No one ever watched the boats pass anymore. It was her special treat, after a day of being pregnant. She’d been sick twice since dawn, and napped once, and spent the whole afternoon with a dull ache low in her back like she’d been hauling water, though she hadn’t hauled a thing. Her ankles had puffed up in the heat. The cold water was the first thing all day her body had thanked her for.
The men aboard seemed uncomfortable with the attention, kept fussing this way and that, like they had things to do, but weren’t quite sure how to do them. They were coming up on the locks—the last locks of the great Rideau Canal, the long staircase of them down to the river—and Maggie had seen enough boats sit at the top of that staircase, waiting their turn, to know they’d be there a good while yet.
Maggie gave them a little wave and a genuine smile, and one of the men waved back, before getting smacked by his comrade, teasing him for engaging the locals.
Bytown was a treacherous place, and full of suffering—Shiners breaking heads in the Lowertown taverns of a Saturday night, and a drowned man fished out of this very canal not three weeks past…but in moments like these, on brilliant summer days, lying in the tall grass by the water’s edge, a little gesture like a wave could make it all seem right. Like maybe it wouldn’t kill her to stay a little longer after all.
“There you are,” said Rían, coming up from Corkstown with a wedge of bread in his hand. “I wondered where you’d gone off to.”
She patted the spot next to her, waiting for him to arrive. “The water’s cold,” she said.
“Aye, the water’s also full of trash,” he said, taking off his shoes and rolling up his trousers. “God only knows the things that’re nipping at your toes right now.”
“Mmm,” she said, lying back again. “As long as they keep me cool, I don’t mind at all.”
He laughed and sat by her side, putting his legs in, too. “Oh!” he cried. “Maggie darlin’, that’s not cold, that’s arctic. I’ll be right cross with you if you catch your death because of this, y’know.”
She took his hand in hers and let out a happy sigh. “I’ll risk it. It’s worth it.”
He smiled at her, and his eyes lingered a little bit more. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand, back and forth, back and forth, as he soaked in the sight of her. She knew he was looking, but she was too focused on the cloudless sky to mind. There were too many kinds of happiness to be had, and she wanted them all.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said, and she shielded her eyes from the sun to sit up and smile at him. The sight of it seemed to dazzle him, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck at being near something so perfect. She was wearing the plainest clothes—light and loose in the summer heat, and a little worn from overuse, too—and her hair was filled with bits of grass from lying about so much. And her skin, sun-speckled and a little rosy, was nothing to admire, either. And yet he did. He very clearly did. And it made her love him even more, seeing it on his face.
He smiled a little wider and said: “Just…distracting, is what you are.”
“Distracting?” she said, and lay back again.
“Every last bit of you,” he said. “From the moment I set eyes upon you, to the moment you said yes, and every moment in between and since…you’re all I can think about, Maggie darlin’. All I ever want to think about.”
She blushed, looked away. “Just wait until I’m big like a balloon,” she said, putting a hand to her belly. There wasn’t anything to her, yet, but it was still early days. Colleen had filled her in on all the stages of a pregnancy—sometimes with dubious facts that seemed engineered to scare—and the one thing she took from it was that it was fine if there were no signs of a baby yet. When that day came, it would come very suddenly, and never stop. “Round old me,” she said. “See if you love me then.”
“Ah, I’ll love you even more,” he said, putting his hand on hers, so gently, so reverently. “And I’ll greet you each day with a kiss, like this…” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, which was all he could reach, since her head was turned.
“Hmm,” she said. “You missed.”
“Here, I’ll try again,” he said, and again, kissed her cheek. “Blast, how’s this so hard? Here, one more try…”
This time, she turned her face to meet him, and their lips met perfectly, and for however long it lasted, Maggie really was having every piece of bliss she could find, all at once.
When they were done, he moved down to her belly—which was only barely starting to show—and kissed the fabric of her dress so tenderly, it sent a shiver right through her.
“Hello, little Francis,” he said, and turned his head to listen for a reply. “Hope you’re enjoying yourself in there.”
“I’ve heard no complaints,” said Maggie.
“I should hope not. But as a warning, lad: by the time you get out, it’ll be colder than the canal out here. So I hope you packed your mitts.”
Maggie laughed. “If he comes out with mitts on, I will be most impressed.”
“Mitts and a toque,” said Rían. “A proper Bytown boy.” He paused, listened a little longer, then said, to Maggie: “Or would you rather a girl?”
She let her hand drift down, her fingers tangling in his hair as he lay there. “I wasn’t sure before,” she said, “but I have this odd feeling it’s not a girl.”
“Is that just so we don’t have to call her Colleen?”
Maggie laughed. “No, it’s a…it’s just a feeling. I can’t explain it, but I think I’m certain it’s a boy.”
“Francis,” Rían said into her belly, with a grin. “You hear that, lad? She’s called it already. Brave woman, your mother.”
He moved back, next to her, staring at the sky alongside her, their hands entangled all over again. “A boy’ll do fine, though,” he said. “I can teach him how to fish when he’s big enough.”
Maggie gave him a bemused smirk. “Fish? In the canal? You really want our son eating something that’s spawned in trash?”
He laughed, kissed her hand. “Not the canal, darlin’. Down on the river.”
“If you think I’m letting you take our son down to the locks to fish near the lumber yards, you’re out of your—”
“No, Maggie, not that river. The Rideau. Down south.”
She frowned. “I don’t…where?”
He propped himself up on one elbow to see her better. He paused for a moment as he composed himself, putting his thoughts in order. The wait was infuriating, but she tolerated it, because he seemed so sincere in his hesitation. He was really truly trying to get this right.
“There’s a little village called Long Island Locks,” he said. “A day’s ride from here, at most. Not much to it, but by all accounts, it’s a beautiful spot, right on the water.”
“A day’s ride, though…” she said. “How would you go and come back without—”
“Well that’s just it,” he said. “We wouldn’t come back.”
“Wait, do you mean—?”
“I’ve been talkin’ to this man on my rounds through the market at night. His brother’s built a house for himself at Long Island Locks, and a few others besides. The land’s all bought up, of course, but he said that to the right family, they might be willing to arrange a payment schedule that’d—”
Maggie’s heart was stuck, frozen at the edge of giddiness. She wanted to believe that he was saying what she thought he was saying, but she just couldn’t get that extra step. Not quite yet. Every good thing she’d ever been offered had come with a catch, and she could feel herself bracing for this one, her fingers gone tight in the grass, her breath held, waiting for him to get to the part where it all fell apart. “But a house isn’t—”
“If we save a little first,” he said carefully, “and we keep our dreams in check, just a little bit…I think we can make it. It’ll take cutting down some trees on the property, but—”
She hugged him so suddenly, he fell right on top of her—and that suited her just fine. She kissed him, deeply, and he kissed her back, laughing into it, his weight warm on top of her and the grass crushed flat beneath them, the sun hot on the backs of her hands where she held his face—until they both realized, to their dismay, that they were still out in the open, in plain sight of anyone strolling past. Maggie finally willed herself to break free, but couldn’t keep her face away from his.
“You really mean it?” she asked. “We can really do this?”
“I really mean it,” he said. “And if you’re willing—”
“I am!” she cried, and kissed him again.
He laughed. “Then yes, we can really do this.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the pregnancy, or the heat of the day, or the coldness of the water, or whatever else was going on in her head, but she felt, for the first time in a very long time, that her life might actually be blessed.
She had never had an easy time of things. Every time she found a happy memory to cherish, something came along and turned it into a nightmare, or worse. She had left her old life behind, yes, but the weight of that life hadn’t left her. She had lost one husband already. She knew exactly how fast a good day could turn. The expectation of disaster had followed her to Bytown, and in a way, she had assumed it would keep following her until the day she died.
But here, somehow, at the edge of the canal in the place she’d almost rejected out of hand…she was finally casting off that dread for good. It wasn’t west, but it was something better: a beautiful spot by the river, where she could live a quiet life, and just…forget.
It felt too perfect.
She lay very still and waited for it, the way she always did: the catch, the cost, the thing he hadn’t told her yet. The crickets went on. Down at the locks, the boat creaked against its moorings. Rían was humming something under his breath, tuneless, drawing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, and still she waited, and still it didn’t come. So she went looking for it herself.
And then she realized why: “Your job,” she said, the spell fraying. “How can you—?”
“I’ll give my notice once the plans are solid,” he said. “The magistrate won’t mind. He’s lost better men over less, believe me.”
“But how will we survive? Where will you work?”
“There’s a mill in the works, down near where we’ll live,” he said. “And until then, word is there’s plenty of things to do, helping to clear land and build houses for other newcomers. And God knows, we’ll be pretty good at building houses by the time we’ve moved in…”
She grinned. “‘We’, hmm? As if carrying your child isn’t work enough? You want me to take up a hammer, too?”
He laughed, kissed her again. “Not you,” he said. “Liam’s coming down with us. Said he’d work for food and lodging, ‘til he can arrange a place of his own.”
Liam…living with them.
“Good idea…” she said, a little distant.
It was a good idea. Liam was family, and a strong back, and he’d never once let either of them down. There was no reason at all for her stomach to tighten the way it did. So she decided it hadn’t.
Rían kissed her again. “He’s been dying to tell you, but I wanted to get things in order first. Liam will head down first, and start clearing the land. Then come autumn, you and I will pack our things and join him. We’ll have to sleep in the open for a few days, maybe weeks, ‘til we can get a house in shape…but then we’ll be home, Maggie. We’ll have the home I promised you. For you and little Francis, and all the children that come after. What do you say?”
She pressed her forehead to his, looking into his eyes with more love than she could possibly express in a thousand years of trying.
“I say I love you,” she whispered. “And I can’t wait to see what comes next.”