The Badger Riot (39 page)

The Soviets had put a spacecraft on the moon. Then there was a piece about the IWA in Newfoundland. Diefenbaker had refused to send in more RCMP. Dad said that the riot would certainly be on the news tomorrow, when the country heard about what happened here in Badger.

So here I was, eleven o'clock in the night, making my way up the street to Rod Anderson's house. I was stopped three times by cruising RCMP cars. I identified myself and two patrols let me pass. The third one stopped. The Mountie rolled down his window. “Good night, Father. May I ask where you are going? Even a priest needs to be careful tonight.”

I would not tell lies. “I am on my way to Mr. Anderson's home.
He isn't feeling well.” The Mountie didn't know that Rod wasn't part of my flock and that I normally wouldn't be going to see him, especially late in the night, so it wasn't a lie. To myself, I called that a sin of omission.

“Okay, Father. Keep a sharp lookout. There's a lot going on.” He rolled up his window and continued on down Church Road.

Richard was back at my residence. Jennie was too.

I had left Richard in the sacristy to go back to the front door of the church and lock up, when I spied a woman kneeling in one of the pews. It was Jennie Hillier. Her parents were Catholics. She had been too, until she married the Pentecostal boy, Tom. I found her in terrible anguish and it took me half an hour to calm her and listen to her story. To tell the truth, because Jennie had such a terrible tale to tell, I almost forgot Richard.

“Jennie, God has sent you here this night. I have a task for you. Come with me.”

I led her into the sacristy. The poor woman jumped with fright when she saw a police officer. He jumped with fright when he saw her. And, of course, they knew each other, however slightly. After all, Badger was a small town.

I got the two of them out of the church through the back door and into my residence. Richard wanted to leave and go back to his job, but I was firm. There were enough lawmen out there that night. He was to stay put at my house until I found out about his father-in-law.

“I'll be suspended if I am missing at roll call.”

“What is more important?” I ask. “Your family? Or your job?”

He put his head down in his hands. Poor young man. What a dilemma.

And with that I was out the door, leaving the two of them gawking at me.

The cold night wind whipped around the tail of my soutane as I stood on the veranda of Rod Anderson's house, knocking on the frosted glass panel of his front door. Nothing. I looked out at the street. The people had left the road now; everyone had gone back
to their homes; the strikers were God only knew where. I wondered what dramas were being played out this night in other parts of town.

Perhaps I should go around back, I thought. As I walked around the side of the house, I could see a light in the back window. The back door was not even latched. I pushed it open and called out, “Rod. Rod! It's Father Murphy. Are you here?”

He was sitting at the kitchen table. There was a bottle of Lamb's rum and a glass in front of him. He raised his head and looked at me with bleary eyes.

I had never been in his home before, but I hauled out a chair and sat down without invitation. This was no time to think about manners. I waited for him to speak.

“Sorry, Father Murphy, sir.” His voice was slurred. “This has been a bad night, not only for me but for Badger as well.” He moved a little and winced in pain. “Get yourself a glass in the cupboard. I'm not too good at moving right now.”

I knew all about his shoulder, of course, from Richard's account. “Your shoulder is hurt, Rod.”

“Yes sir. My shoulder, my heart, perhaps my life.” He swallowed a good measure of rum and rambled on. “You know, Father, I loves my two little grandchildren.”

I got the glass and poured some rum. Not much – it was going to be a long night. “Is your shoulder broken, do you think?”

He flexed it a little. “Might not be. Some damn sore, though. 'Tis paining too.”

“Perhaps the doctor needs to look at it.”

“Doctor's gone, sir. He's hightailed it off to Grand Falls with the rest of them.” He focused on me unsteadily. “What are you still doing in Badger? The bishop got everything belonged to you closed up.”

I sighed. “This is the place that I think God wants me to be right now, Rod.”

“How did you know about my shoulder? And what are you doing here in my house so late at night? I'm not even a Catholic.”
Then he added, “Not that you're not welcome. Of course you are.” He tipped his glass up to his lips again. “Yes you are. Yes.”

I had to be careful. In his inebriated state, he might do anything when I told him. “Rod, Richard Fagan is at my residence.”

“Jesus Christ!” Rod exploded. “That goddamned townie corner boy attacked me with his fuckin' stick. I knew I shouldn't have let Audrey marry him! He's a goddamned coward, running to his priest instead of coming to me like a man. I could be dead, sure, and he wouldn't even care.”

“He was so scared, Rod, that he didn't know what else to do.”

“Little townie fucker. All them little townie fuckers. They should never have been out here. And what was his father thinking about, sending Richard out here and not wiring me a telegram to say he was coming? I just can't understand it, sir.”

Suddenly, he lurched out of his chair and toward the door. “Excuse me, sir, I'm gonna be sick. Ow! My God, me shoulder!” He was gone out into the snow.

I followed him and held him as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the snow. He stopped retching after a bit. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat.

“Oh Christ, I'm sorry, sir. I'm so sorry. I never had any supper; nothing to eat since the Jam Jams for my breakfast, and the rum must have hit my stomach like a brick. Ah my Jesus, I got some bad shoulder.”

We went back into the house where I boiled the kettle, found some instant coffee in the cupboard and measured out two heaping teaspoons to make it strong. I cut and buttered some bread. There was a tin of bully beef sitting on the counter, so I made him a sandwich of sorts. If someone had told me twenty-four hours ago that I would be in Rod Anderson's house making him a meal, I would've said they were crazy. But here I was.

Rod sat in a daze all the while. But when I put the food in front of him he had sense enough to eat.

I sat and watched him as he finished the sandwich and drank the strong coffee. Then I asked him, “Do you think that the food helped your stomach, my son?”

“It feels much better, sir. Thank you very much for helping me like this.” And indeed, the vomiting and the food had sobered him somewhat. At least he wasn't cursing anymore.

“How about we go to my place, Rod?” I coaxed gently. “You and I and Richard can talk. I'll help you sort it out. This terrible mistake has to be resolved.”

“I can't, Father. I can't face him, sir. I don't trust myself. I'm likely to kill that townie bastard.”

“Rod, think of the alternative. Richard explained to me about your wife being in St. John's with your daughter, Audrey. They have no idea Richard is out here. He was sent out on a secret mission. His father had no control over it. Just a routine patrol to keep the peace, he was told. Richard hoped to be gone and never see you. This is a cruel twist of fate. We have to work it out. Many lives stand in the balance – your own, Ruth's, your daughter Audrey's, the two little girls and Richard's. And two more – Richard's parents.”

I don't know who got the biggest fright, the young policemen or me. Before we could gather our wits about us, the priest hustled us out through the back door of the church and into his residence. Then he left the two of us there and made off for Rod Anderson's.

As he went out the door, he said to me, “Now Jennie, I am depending on you. Stay with Richard until I get back. Get tea and some food for yourselves. I am hoping to bring Mr. Anderson back, but he might be injured. I'll need you then too. Stand by, both of you.”

I started to get us a cup of tea. It took me a bit of searching to find cups and spoons, a sugar basin and some milk, which turned out to be what we called “fresh” milk and not the tinned Carnation kind that most of us used. The priest's kitchen was spotless. I was half afraid to touch anything. Oh Mam, if you could see me now. Father Murphy had a housekeeper, but she wasn't here. Perhaps she was sent away with the nuns.

Richard was restless. For sure he figured he should be out there with his unit, chasing down loggers. Privately I thought that every cop that the loggers didn't have to worry about, the better. Of course I never said that to Richard, and he never said anything to me about chasing down loggers. We each respected the other.

I actually didn't know what to say to him, and that wasn't like me. I was never stuck for words. We'd only met a couple of times. I always thought him rather nice, but reserved. Tom played ball with him over on the field sometimes. He said Richard was hard to get to
know. He wasn't much like his father, Mr. Abernathy, who talked to everyone, right from the A.N.D. Company manager down to me. Most people in Badger called him by his first name, Levi. Everyone said, “What a nice man; never know he's a police sergeant.”

I got our tea. I found a cake tin with a rich, dark fruitcake in it. Trust the priest's housekeeper to make fruitcake when it wasn't even Christmas. I cut off three or four pieces, put them on a plate – lovely Royal Albert china – and laid the plate in front of Richard.

“How are Audrey and the little ones doing?” I asked. “I heard that Ruth went in to St. John's to be with them for awhile.” That was putting it delicately. Rod had hustled Ruth off because contractors in Badger had been threatened and Rod was afraid for his wife being alone in the house if he was across the River.

“They're all well.” He spooned some more sugar into his tea. I was counting, and that was six teaspoons. I was pretty sure that he didn't even know he was doing it. “None of them has a clue I'm out here, you know.”

Well! What kind of tangle was that? “And where's your father? Is he out here too?” I had this vivid image of Levi Abernathy – Police Sergeant Abernathy – galumphin' through the snow, striking loggers down with his nightstick.

“No, my father's not here. Thank God for that. He loves this town and its people. He'd never go along with what has happened here tonight. He'll never believe it when he hears. I can hardly believe it myself.” He sighed and put his head down in his hands. “And now, this thing with Rod . . . I don't know. I don't know.”

I patted his arm in sympathy. I was always a good arm patter. Mam was too. She always said human contact, an arm pat or a shoulder pat, was important when someone was in trouble. “Tell me about you and Rod while we wait for Father Murphy to come back.”

And he did. Poor Richard. What a miserable stroke of luck, and no fault of his own. If Joey Smallwood or the A.N.D. Company officials were to ever hear the story of how lives were ruined this night,
how many people would never be the same, how children's minds were scarred forever, would they care? I thought not.

Back came Father Murphy, towing a half-drunk Rod who had a sore shoulder and a lot of anger.

I knew it wasn't going to work when they walked in. I could see it in Rod's eyes. The friggin' rum, you know. It makes men say stuff that they later regret.

So Father Murphy tried to patch it up between them. Richard was sorry; scared and sorry. Father encouraged him to say what he was feeling. “I don't know what came over me to hit someone. I never have before, in my whole career. It was as if I was caught up in the violence, in the power that we were exerting by defeating the strikers and breaking them up. I know it was wrong. I can see it now. I'm sorry.”

But Rod didn't want to listen. He lurched out of his chair. “Father, can I use your bathroom? I think I'm going to be sick again. And you, you goddamn townie bastard, get back to St. John's. Send my wife back to me, and tell Audrey what you did to her father. See how she feels about it.” With that he was gone down the hall with the priest, groaning aloud about his shoulder.

Richard looked at me. “I'm leaving.”

“No, Richard. Stay. Please.”

“Sorry, Jennie, there's nothing else I can do. He's only going to get madder.” He was dressing as he spoke, putting on his heavy black greatcoat, fur hat and gloves. His ill-fated nightstick was on the table. He picked it up. “I'm gone now. Thanks for your help. I hope we meet again under happier circumstances.”

“Wait . . . wait . . .” But he was gone out into the cold dark night. I wanted to tell him to watch out for Tom and Ralph and others that he knew. Surely he would. Surely he wouldn't get caught up in the savagery any more. But I worried about it all.