-Chapter 2-
Tuesday
Rinsed, dry, dressed and on their bicycle before dawn, Julia and William pushed east to get to the Welland Canal lock southeast of St. Catherine's, hoping to beat the day's promise of another scorcher by riding up some of the steeper portions of the escarpment towards Thorold in relative ease on one of the boats making transit. This had been another compromise between them in planning their trip: from Toronto to just outside Hamilton by train, then bicycle along Lake Ontario to St. Catherine's, continue south roughly parallel to the Welland Canal to Port Colborne, east again along Lake Erie to Fort Erie, finally north along the Niagara River to Niagara-on-the-Lake. They would end up taking a steamer back across Lake Ontario to Toronto, completing the circuit. It was a chance to spend time together on an out-of-doors adventure doing something they both enjoyed, while field-testing William's new bicycle with tires James Pendrick invented for cycling on varied terrain. William jumped at the chance to be the first one to try them out, and concocted this scheme for a real-world test.
When Julia found out William and Pendrick's plan, of course she wanted to get in on it as well, having been enthralled and not a little jealous after hearing Miss Annie Cohen Kopchovsky, (otherwise known as Annie Londonderry) give an exciting lecture about her trip around the world on a bicycle. And Julia had been persuasive, pointing out women were purchasing a good percentage of bicycles these days with the money they were making as independent wage earners. That caught Mr. Pendrick's attention. Having Julia for an uninterrupted period of time, much like their honeymoon, appealed strongly to William, so he tinkered with his wheel creating a tandem ride for them with a light trailer.
This task was not as easy as it sounded, certainly not as simple as he explained it to Julia. After the cast came off his broken hand, it was theoretically healed, but it remained stubbornly stiff and swollen in comparison with his other one. Large and small movements proved to be painful and William was acutely frustrated that he was not as dexterous as he used to be, it taking weeks of patience and more pain to restore an almost full range of motion. Writing was still painful (and in his estimation produced poor results) he often thought disgustedly, having been at one point overly proud of his penmanship. He reckoned it was a good thing he learned to type-write since he had to rely on a machine to render his reports now. He was very glad Julia did not witness the clumsiness and frequency with which he dropped a tool or bent something he should not have, during his initial attempts to piece together their tandem. Accomplishing the task, though, went a long way towards helping him feel whole again, proving to be a sort of therapy for his wrecked hand, and, he admitted only to himself, pride.
So far, the modified bicycle had worked splendidly, especially since a tandem set-up was more energy-efficient. Straining legs up a stiff incline, they had barely made it to the proper lock at the base of the escarpment and find the captain with whom their arrangement had been made. Hungry and thirsty, the couple accepted a very late breakfast from the boat's crew to eat on deck. Here they were only Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch, eccentric travelers, a source of interest primarily due to Julia's cycling outfit, but otherwise incognito. The transit would take a large chunk of the day up a portion of the flight of 26 stone locks, each one 270 feet long and 45 feet wide carrying freight the 326 foot differential between Lakes Erie and Ontario, allowing them to relax and converse in peace.
What the arrangement lacked in privacy it made up for with mechanical distractions for William to marvel at. Julia, for her part, was fascinated by watching the people living or working on boats or ship, and those inhabiting the canal side. She planned on enjoying the boat ride up the canal, allowing William the time to catch up on neglected journal reading, or so he said. It was not lost on Julia that her husband actually wanted to see how the locks worked and needed only the tiniest excuse to indulge his curiosity.
Today, like most days, the lock was jammed with crafts of all sizes, forming a floating puzzle of interlocking shapes, each captain and the lock crew working to move freight as fast as the laws of physics would allow. As the locks stepped up, an unobstructed view of Lake Ontario arose, looking more like a vast ocean by its size, flat and sky-glazed today, affording only a smudgy suggestion of far shore as the height increased. Toronto was at last revealed, defined by her industrial exhaust. Ships and boats rested at anchor waiting for a turn to enter the lock or to make way for Quebec: sea-going vessels, ships with sails mingled with ships under steam, lake freighters, trawlers, canal boats, even the occasional pleasure craft. By the third lock, William had retreated to happily discuss steam vs oil engines with the crew, leaving Julia alone on deck to happily drowse despite the noise and ordered chaos of the canal, floating up, up, up to Thorold.
# # #
William gently brushed Julia's hair out of her face, amazed she was still asleep amidst the rocking cacophony. He smiled recalling last night's assignation after which the two of them raced without clothing into the water to cool off and get clean; fortunately none of their nocturnal activities had resulted in being interrupted. Or arrested for that matter. A chuckle escaped his throat. Only Julia! He was sure that the smoke lowered his inhibitions, but he still could not bring himself to be actually ashamed: that would somehow diminish his wife, something he would not allow. Perhaps it was not the effects of the cannabis but of Julia on my psyche, he guessed.
For a whole day he had managed to forget he was Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary and just be William Murdoch, free to investigate what interested him. As much as he admired modern efficiencies and conveniences such as the telephone and telegraph, wireless telegraph no less, he thought how uniquely refreshing it was to be untethered. No one knew where they were and he told no one their exact plans, despite attempts by Inspector Brackenreid to secure an itinerary. Being decidedly unavailable for anything even remotely to do with work was merely a bonus for them both. He sighed contentedly, feeling himself at rest with his surroundings. I cannot imagine how tiresome for someone to have to know where we are at all times or for us to have to broadcast our location – we are not that important or interesting!
Gazing at his beautiful wife he knew one interest that never flagged: he belonged to her, the center of his world, no matter what captured his attention for the moment. "Julia…. Julia we are here," he breathed into her ear. Her blue eyes opened and focused, then she smiled up at him causing his heart to skip pleasantly. Without speaking, he helped her rise to gather their belongings and disembark into the town, expecting Thorold would provide a meal and additional supplies, with their intention to rest in Port Colborne by Lake Erie before nightfall.
# # #
Julia was absorbed by amused thought as she ate her fruit on a street-side bench. She and William were denied entrance to any of the cafes along the main thoroughfare because of her supposedly scandalous and un-ladylike bicycle attire, which naturally set her husband to calmly insisting the proprietors were being variously foolish, insulting or blind, while increasing his assertiveness in the matter exponentially; all to no avail. Julia eventually persuaded William to let it go and just find a green-grocer instead, producing a fine repast and more than required for the rest of the day: plenty of water, fruit, bread, hard cheese and a kind of cured sausage, all at an excellent price. She teased, "Well, at least I was not arrested for wearing men's clothing! Did you know that Dr. Mary Walker, a pioneer female physician across the lake in Syracuse, once told the arresting officers that indeed she was not wearing any man's suit, which I believe was the set of trousers, mourning coat and top hat she had on, but that it was her very own?" Julia saw that William smiled. Probably thinking about getting arrested, she guessed, finally overcoming his grumbles about the restaurants. "So they had to let her go!"
He looked at her from under the brim of his hat while washing down last bite with a cool swig of water, recalling: Julia wearing men's clothing was an interesting vision, if memory served, although one time was titillating and the other tragic. Before leaving Toronto, she had needled his sense of convention by suggesting she would wear either men's trousers for the trip or polo jodhpurs, since the bicycle he built for the them carried an uncovered chain that would catch in her skirts—something he had forgotten to account for. By then it was too late for alteration. He surprised her by suggesting she consider a Rational Dress bicycling costume as appropriate, and possibly fetching as well. He told her: And unlike some well-publicized cases, I have no thought of divorcing you over it, nor be embarrassed to be seen with you.
Indeed, he thought as he appreciated her outfit, with her in it… She looks delightful. He altered his expression and gave her an appraising, serious look. "I have no intention of either of us to be in any kind of jail, ever again, unless we are there in an official, Constabulary capacity." Last night notwithstanding, he smiled to himself. He finished securing their packages to the bicycle trailer, and took the lead position on the wheel. "Shall we?"
Julia brought herself up behind him and off they went, meandering south along the canal. She found she was drawn to admiring his legs and backside, especially when he stood in the pedals for more leverage, knowing full well he felt the same way about her anatomy. The fact that his posterior at a crime scene was literally her first impression of him was not something she chose to factor in—Or ever tell him, she had vowed. William once tried to explain to her it was simply because she had her back to him so often at the morgue, at the wash bowl, at the work bench or bending over a corpse that he could recognize her from behind anywhere…
That was the lamest thing I'd heard in a long time. My "back to him", My Ass! she thought…after which she burst into a small laugh at her choice of expletive. He did blush so attractively when he said it, she remembered, thinking it was a telltale sign of his embarrassment at being caught out staring at her derrière. Possibly, unconsciously leading him to suggest her cycling outfit in the first place, something he would never admit to! she reasoned. Or it is truly possible he is not aware of his own ulterior motives. It was one of the things she so loved about him. It was not that he had no depth—Goodness no! But for him to be aware of objectifying her and then admit to such a thing, she believed, would be deeply troubling to his sense of decency. That she was taking a mildly prurient interest in his haunches at the moment was, of course, not the point.
Once out of the congested commercial area it was easier to hear each other and converse. She could feel the tension melt off her shoulders as they went along, it was so liberating to glide into the countryside away from any pressing matters. Soon there was almost no traffic of any kind that joined their route save for the occasional horse and rider or wagon, while Julia imagined what living out here would be like, with neighbors miles apart. Quiet, for certain, she speculated, considering their lives back in Toronto for the briefest moment. Even after designing their home, it took her and William a long time to decide exactly where to live, with a lengthy back and forth about how they would pay for it. He was initially irritated, wounded pride she suspected, when she rebuffed his intention to take on the mortgage, until she explained that with some readings of the law it could mean the home was not equally hers. Under the Married Women's Property Act, her resources and her income no longer automatically belonged to him upon their marriage, but women were, in practical terms, still economically disadvantaged no matter their station in life. By purchasing the home together, it assured her that she would be an equal partner, rather than have only what the law dictated: a one third interest or "widow's dower" in case something happened to him, or to have to understand that the home was going to be credited as a "gift" from him. It took much patient searching and education to get a banker to draw up the required paperwork with them both equally owning the property and being equally obligated for the debt.
As for their new neighborhood, in the end each thought the location was a good compromise: close enough for a bicycle ride or walk to the Station House for him, and a carriage or street car ride for Julia. However, the whole point of a house was to have a child to raise within it: ergo the knot of the problem.
After some diligent research, (and a lot of markings on the reverse of his office chalkboard), William and Julia made a short list of potential adoption avenues and decided to use this trip to sort them out and settle on the one that was right for them. William picked up on his most recent logical argument as they rode along. "I don't know, Julia. A private adoption has its plusses and minuses. It usually involves infants and is often between family members or even friends. Unless you already know someone, how does one arrange such a thing? I cannot imagine advertising in the paper: that seems outrageous to me, as if offspring are a commodity to be bought or sold." He found this to be particularly troubling: part of William's research had been to make inquiries into the legal minutiae of adoption; whilst doing so he'd been appalled at what he discovered about abuse and corruption, including prostitution, pornography, blackmail or exploitation. Appalled but not surprised, he thought. It was why a private adoption from people he did not know was less desirable and more fraught with risk. Risk I am determined to protect Julia from, if at all possible.
"I had the opportunity to talk with George, as you asked. He was very… forthcoming." He said this, thankful Julia could not see him roll his eyes from her seat behind him. George had bent his ear rather enthusiastically on the subject, once he got going. "George said his experience as a foster child was very positive, despite his, er… exceptional circumstances with his aunts. The reverend and his wife never pretended he was their natural son, even though he had been an infant when George came to them. He did not know why he was never adopted; I suspect perhaps because as a foundling the biological parents could not be identified for an official adoption, and the reverend valued honesty, therefore he shared the facts with George. George did not remember exactly how old he was when he was first explicitly informed, yet he never recalls feeling upset or disappointed about that aspect of his life until much later. His relationship with his foster parents was warm and secure."
Julia added: "I suppose it was only natural George would ultimately wonder where he came from, who his people, were. Of course he inquired into that after the reverend and his wife had passed." Her thoughts went again to Roland, with a slight twinge near her heart. She paused to readjust her hat as a gust picked up, threatening to make the brim set sail.
William reminded her: "We will not be fostering in any case. However, I do believe George was exceptionally fortunate; I hope we can do as well for our child." He adjusted the gears for another hill, standing to pedal harder.
"I am not sure which idea is better: for the child to know or not know as they are growing up." Julia said, as much to herself as to William, in between puffs of breath as she worked her legs up the slope. "I think it depends on the individual's psychological makeup. I have already considered when or how we will tell our child…seems we will have to answer that dilemma no matter what. To that end, won't a private adoption mean we have more complete answers when the time comes?"
At the crest of the hill a beautiful vista presented itself, with squares and rectangles of plowed and planted land spread out before them like a verdant quilt. William took in the view and gestured to Julia to share it with him, while pausing to catch their breath. William admired the geometry and flow of the fences and crops, pointing out to her how the furrows trace the contours of the land. He placed his hand along the curve of her waist and drew her closer, offering her a delicious sweet kiss, which she accepted and returned. William also wanted let her know her know he closely considered her point of view in the matter of adoption. "I am not saying I am dead set against it, Julia, just that the benefits of going through one of the orphanages or foundling homes seems to outweigh the disadvantages." He held the bicycle until Julia remounted before pushing off and heading down the lane. "Besides, what are the odds another child will come our way by happenstance?" He looked back at her over his shoulder. Giving Roland back had nearly unbalanced Julia for a minute, and he did not think either of them could stand to go through that again.
"Would we turn it down if it did?" she asked. A cooling breeze picked up as their speed increased, descending the other side of the rise.
"That leaves a lot to chance does it not?" He glanced back again with a sly grin. "Or do you think your sister, Ruby, is going to show up pregnant on our door step and ask us to raise her baby?" He teased her mildly, but after he said it, got an uncomfortable feeling he was tempting fate.
Ruby is capable of just about anything, Julia thought with an exasperated grunt. Out of loyalty to her sister she only muttered her opinion, hoping to ignore William's provocation. Instead she thought her rebuttal was well-planned and persuasive. "Yes, I understand the risks William, but a private adoption would be just between us and the parent or parents—no agency passing judgement on us. We could have much more important information that way about the health and background of the child and family. Our problem is going to be finding an agency that will allow us adopt, or at least a reputable one. We both realize getting Roland was… almost too easy."
Buried deep in her heart, Julia feared that her reputation, such as it was, could prove to be a barrier to adoption. The idea that, once again, she would be the cause of pain or loss for William, particularly in any way that might prevent him from enjoying fatherhood, was unbearable. In her own honest evaluation, the list of her public transgressions was long, and on paper could be construed as covering enough questionable moral lapses to sabotage an agency adoption. When she had previously broached that to William he heard her out but dismissed the possibility as unnecessarily pessimistic. Julia was not so sure…
William was quiet for a while, focusing on the road while gathering his thoughts. "Perhaps the children we encounter through our occupations are not meant for us." His recall flashed through the dozens of children he dealt with over his career with the Constabulary: some had been charming, some damaged, many desperate. He switched into a more pedantic tone. "We need to go about this properly, Julia." He laid out his reasoning. "We were married in church, are well-educated, physically healthy, stable in the community, and have good incomes. Father Clements promises us an excellent reference. For that matter I imagine we will be able to obtain references from any number of individuals who are aware of our characters and fitness to be parents. Think of the children languishing without family, unclaimed, who need a good home. One that we can provide."
Julia sighed. He bypassed the other unspoken problem: what if the birth parent or another relative wanted the child back? Her concerns continued to plague her. I recognized my fears might be irrational but so is William's stubborn optimism. She decided he was likely to be right, however, about going through a more formal process next time and having someone else research the child's circumstances before the adoption… before they fall in love with another child… Setting her anxiety firmly aside, she said, "So, if that is the plan what is the first thing we should do?"
William recognized he'd won this argument for now. "Thank you Julia, for understanding." He had this part mapped out already: "We put in applications, as soon as we get back to Toronto. We can start with one of the Home Children placements, and after that the Diocesan and Anglican orphanages. We have the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Ketchum and Mrs. Morgan from St. Paul's, and hopefully that plus Father Clements' endorsement will open up the necessary doors for us."
Discussion on the details threaded back and forth between them as the miles unwound. To test Pendrick's tires on uneven country lanes and foot trails, their route used side roads and old mule and horse tow-paths along older versions of the canal, splashing through small creeks, with the new large-treaded tires absorbing some of the shock and gripping the ground well. They had had to stop occasionally to adjust things on the tandem and it was taking more time than expected, but Allenburg and Port Robinson sped by, with Welland to the west (where the more modern canal connected with the previous one and headed straight south to Lake Erie), when the subtle wobble building in the bicycle became alarming.
William braked the wheel and waited until Julia dismounted, before examining his modification of an Iver Johnson truss frame he used to create the unique tandem bicycle for them to share on this trip. He'd spent weeks sketching, researching and acquiring components, eventually deciding on bamboo instead of steel for the trailer and second seat, since it has greater tensile strength and was lighter. William pushed his goggles out of the way and eventually spotted the trouble, which seemed to be a serious bend in a (very expensive) aluminum wheel. "Julia, I think I can fix this, but it may take a while. At least it is not a wooden rim." He looked around the countryside. "Do you by any chance know where we are?" William had delegated navigator duty to Julia.
"No. Not exactly." Julia took her own eye protection off; because it has been so dry the ground threw up a lot of dust and she could not see the map with goggles on. Make that maps, plural. She had one topographical, one geological, one with each of the three canal systems superimposed over the landscape, and one with a latitude and longitude grid overlaid on roadways. That was the one she was actually using to choose their route. When William originally showed them to her he was excitedly going on about all the information contained in them and hoped the various facts to would enhance their journey; in Julia's view they made navigation harder. She recalled voicing her opinion: How can we actually get lost? North is Lake Ontario, south is Lake Erie and east is the Niagara River. If we stay east of the canal that will make it a western boundary. When she saw his face fall at her lack of enthusiasm, she immediately relented and indeed the maps added another layer of interest to their ride.
"I just thought as long as we go south we are on the right path. Perhaps Cooks Mills?" She looked around, the sun having swung nearly due west towards where the canal lay. That would be close to 43.3 latitude and -79.4 longitude. There was not a building in view, mostly open fields and wooded lots which obscured sight lines. Neither had witnessed much farming activity on their route since the crops were planted and it was not time for harvest; the area appeared quite deserted. They pushed the rig over to some shade by a stand of trees and Julia detached the trailer as William found his tools to started work on the rim. When it became clear her husband was lost to figuring out a solution to their vehicular dilemma, Julia found the edition of Principia Ethica by G. E. Moore that she and William had been taking turns reading, and settled in, feeling pleased she got to the book first this time.
More than an hour has passed before Julia looked up from her book, to see William hunting around again for another elusive tool. He was not cussing or throwing anything (as far as she knew, he never did), but his body language clearly showed frustration. The bicycle was, if possible, in more pieces as the sun was getting lower. "William, are you sure you do not need my help?" She dropped her book and came over. Julia knew her way around a simple fix on a wheel but what her husband was working on seemed out of her area; however rather than progress he seemed the be devolving the contraption instead. She was looking forward to a nice meal at a lovely Inn (with attached bath) they booked for the night in Port Colborne, therefore she was getting worried considering the state of their vehicle, especially when the last dinner seating would be at 8:00 pm.
William sighed. "I am having trouble aligning the wheel properly. Aluminum is light and strong, but I am afraid to put too much torque on it. Here, can you hold this?" After another forty-five minutes of tinkering, he surrendered; while he had not succeeded in breaking the wheel he also had not straightened it. "Julia, that's it. We will need to find a blacksmith, or even a good workshop with a vice clamp. Perhaps we could take the wheel towards the canal and a ship's engineer or crew could help? There is a slight crack that might need welding which is why this has been harder than it needs to be…" His only consolation was that it was not his frame or James Pendrick's tires that failed, but they were stuck regardless of the cause. His mind was already drifting to imagine exactly what equipment it would take to effect repairs…
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