Passup Point

By Coralie Hughes Jensen

Jonah Devlin arrives at an isolated fishing village in Labrador to serve as pastor of a community church the Anglicans had abandoned years earlier. Gabrielle Pye, one of his congregation, is a young waitress struggling to raise her two brothers in the depressed economy of maritime Canada. When the Trans Labrador Highway opens the tiny town to the outside world, Gabrielle’s crime of forgery, committed when she was just thirteen, makes her a target of the Canadian police and inevitable imprisonment.

Just as Devlin attempts to help her, reports of his troubled past reach Passup. At a former parish, Devlin had been accused of unspeakable acts against his parishioners. Will the quirky citizens of Passup and surrounding villages fire him too, or will they reveal their own convictions anchored in love and community?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coralie Hughes Jensen
• Release date: May 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476219134

Coralie Hughes Jensen

Mystery/historical writer Coralie Hughes Jensen loves to travel. In 2005, Coralie traveled to New Zealand, very interested in how two very different cultured lived together. While living in Europe, she was able to visit and make friends in northern Italy. She visits every country and studies the culture before she locates her novels there.

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Passup Point

By

Coralie Hughes Jensen

Copyright 2012 Coralie Hughes Jensen

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my family

Bruce, Megan and Michael

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to my editor, The Reverend Alexander Daley, who encouraged my husband and me to take supplies to the Eastern Diocese of Newfoundland, and the priests in Western Newfoundland and Labrador, who sat down to show me what the parishes were doing.

Thank you to my editors: Bruce, my husband and Alison Gaede, a teacher in Fresno, California. To my late parents, John and Marybelle Hughes, who gave me the bug to travel, to read and who encouraged me to write poems and essays about our annual trips.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Abandoned

Chapter 2: Arrival

Chapter 3: New in the Neighborhood

Chapter 4: Place of Worship

Chapter 5: Progress

Chapter 6: The Visitor

Chapter 7: Warm Front from Alberta

Chapter 8: Passup Point Bar and Grille

Chapter 9: The Introduction

Chapter 10: Fair Game

Chapter 11: The Clumper

Chapter 12: Rebirth

Chapter 13: Whale of a Problem

Chapter 14: News Out of Rome

Chapter 15: The Basilica

Chapter 16: The Glass Slipper

Chapter 17: Unholy Vows

Chapter 18: Catching Up

Chapter 19: Calling in the Loans

Chapter 20: The Locked Door

Chapter 21: Turning the Tables

Chapter 22: Do You Want to Dance?

Chapter 23: Goin’ Fishin’

Chapter 24: Coming to Terms

Chapter 25: Open Hearts

Chapter 26: Community

Author bio

Excerpt: Lety’s Gift

Coralie Hughes Jensen Books

Chapter 1   Abandoned

A girl led two younger boys from the rocky beach up the gravel road. Her long dark auburn hair flew in the breeze. She turned around to watch the smooth water glisten in the sunshine and brushed a strand away from her eyes. This was a fine day. There was little in her life other than a day like this. Life was hard for her, and on most days, so was the weather. Through the glare, she gazed at two boats dotting the horizon. They did not move. The late summer afternoon sun made everyone lazy. She would not be on time to serve the dinner crowd at the coffee shop but probably would not be the only one late.

Keep up, Kyle. Why are you dawdling?

He’s fiddling with his starfish, again, Jason told her. He thinks it’s dead.

Wait up, Gabby, the younger boy whined. If I walk too fast, the water in my bucket will spill.

Gabrielle turned to face the old Anglican church that looked so lonely on the rocky banks of Passup Point. It had been empty for nearly five years now. When was the bishop going to send a new priest? They could all use one. Their mother’s funeral, nearly five years ago, had been the last service at which Father Benjamin officiated. Then he disappeared, leaving a note on the locked door. Someone at the coffee shop had heard that he was ill, something was wrong with his liver. He was old, and he did not want to die here where the winter snows would wash over his cross and bury him even deeper. She shivered at the idea.  Lonely souls from a lonelier place . . .

Macy told her that at fifty Father Benjamin was still young, just three years older than Macy herself. But the waitress was old too. The priest would have retired soon, and the bishop would have to find a replacement anyway. Adam, a clerk at the fish plant, said the bishop did not want the building any more. That would solve the problem. There would be no Anglican church in Passup. Like other abandoned structures in the area, the Anglicans would let it disintegrate in the sandy winds that whipped up from the Atlantic and in the damp that seeped up from the mounds of snow under the wood clapboard siding, freezing again at sundown. 

Father Benjamin used to make the rounds. He had six churches in all. Most were not as pretty as the one in Passup Point. It would sometimes take him three weeks to return, but that was before the coastal Trans Labrador Highway went in. Before that, he would have been at the mercy of the ferry. Some of them had Saturday evening services while the others, like Passup, had Sunday morning services. He had appointed someone in each village to be ready to read the Burial Office. But Father Benjamin handled most of the other sacraments himself. Everything else could wait to be handled when he turned up a few weeks later

George, Gabrielle’s boss and owner of the Passup Coffee Shop across from the pier, usually handled the funeral services when the priest was away. But he had lost interest and probably faith when Father Benjamin departed without telling anyone. There had not been a service since Father Benjamin left.

Frances Pye, Gabrielle’s mother, was lucky to get a service. There would be an open casket at the wake in the church. Gabrielle had carefully applied makeup to her mother’s sunken cheeks and pale lips. Phoebe had supplied a beautiful dress, like the ones Mama used to have in her closet at the big house. But when the service actually began, the casket was closed, something Gabrielle was not prepared for. The children had never expected their mother to die. Though others knew she was ill months earlier, she never complained to her daughter and sons that she could not handle running the house.

Lost souls from a lonely place . . .

Maybe, if the weather held, Gabrielle could take the boys to the cemetery farther up the road near the new highway and show them Mama’s grave. They could pick the daisies and lupine that lined the edges of the path, and she could bring an old jar to put them in.

The church building did not look that old. The white paint gleamed in the sunshine. The salt air pounded it all year long, and the people of Passup had to repaint the building almost every warm season.

Jason stopped to look at it with her. He eyed the boards the two boys had replaced in the siding just days earlier. They’re not that bad, eh? he said.

They look awful, Gabrielle mumbled.

Jason turned to stare at the water. In the distance, a boat slid over the smooth surface. Hey, isn’t that a government boat?

Gabrielle suddenly turned and shaded her eyes. Is it trying to dock at the pier?

No, I think it’s going farther north. He looked at her. Don’t be jumpy. Kyle and I are watching for ‘em. We know what to do. Anyway the crooked clapboards are Kyle’s fault. The boards he brought me were bent.

After taking a deep breath, Gabrielle turn back to face the church. That’s because they’re from the hulls of shipwrecks. You’re lucky they weren’t too old, she said, continuing to stare at it.

It’s not my fault, Kyle said. I tried to steal some boards from old Corey Dingle’s pile aback of his shed, but he came round and was watching. He continued to stare into his bucket. It looks okay to me, ‘cept for the whitewash. You did a lousy job with the paint, Jason.

"That’s not as bad as the front step you replaced. The bow in that is going to trip old Aunt Dory."

But that’s only going to happen if the bishop finds a replacement, Gabby said, glancing over her shoulder at the sparkling sea once again.

Do you think Kelly and Adam are going to go all the way to Peacock Bay for a wedding like she says they are? Jason asked.

"Probably not. They’ve waited four years. Why change anything now? In their eyes they’re already married." Gabrielle did not mention that they would only tie the knot if there were a baby on the way. While a wedding was often the result of an unexpected pregnancy, no one talked about it. Jason would find out that soon enough.

That’s a sin, said Kyle.

How would you know? Jason asked, playfully slapping his little brother on the side of the head. You were too young to learn the ten commandments before the church closed.

My teacher told me it was a sin. Sex is a sin, too. Unless you’re married.

And you listened to her? Jason asked. "What does she know? There’s no church in Orcas either. Father Benjamin left them high and dry too."

I wish the doors weren’t locked, Gabrielle said. I’m sure the inside needs work as well. What if a priest comes and finds the interior all messed up? She bit her lip. Do you remember being baptized in the font next to the altar, Jason?

Of course not, and neither does Kyle. We were both too young.

I do too remember. Father Benjamin nearly drowned me. Gabby said he dropped me in. I remember wanting to jump out and run all the way home.

"Omeloor, you were too young to run. You didn’t even know what running was when mama took you to be baptized, Jason said. Gabby was just teasing you. I was there. I was six. I remember that he didn’t drop you in."

I’m not stupid, Jas, Kyle said. Do you remember Papa?

Yes. He died before you were born.

Can we see his grave at the cemetery too, Gabby?

You’re an idiot, Jason said. He’s not really there. They put his body overboard out near the Banks. There was an accident during a storm, remember? He impaled himself on a cod hook, right in the groin. They couldn’t stop the bleeding, and he died. When they got back, they told Mama. She yelled at Mr. Van Cleve because he didn’t put the body in the ice with the fish and bring it back. Don’t you remember?

I wasn’t born yet.

Oh yeah. Mama was fat with you when they told her. They were worried she’d bust a gut. That’d be funny. You’d come poppin’ out of her belly.

Jason, Gabrielle said, her brows knitted.

But you didn’t. Mama lasted another few years before she got sick.

Tell me again, Sis, why Edward Pye isn’t your father too, Kyle asked.

My father was a trapper, she began, sitting beside her brother on the sandy ledge overlooking the church. Tiny flowers poked up through the dry heath that glazed the grains of sand, and she picked one and pressed it to her nose. That’s because he lived inland. He was half French and half Innu.

And that’s why you don’t look like us?

Yes. I don’t have your dark blond hair and blues eyes, she said, stretching her long tawny legs over the embankment. He met Mama in Labrador City. Her father ran the iron mines there. She lived in a big house among the tall trees. She went to live with her new husband in a camp down north where they traded the furs they collected.

How did they get the furs?

They killed little animals, Jason said. They trapped them in a cage and let them stay in the cage till they ate their feet off and bled to death.

That’s not true, Gabrielle said, smiling. They were big animals. I should take you out and leave you there to see if you can survive without killing something.

Do you remember being there, Gabby? Kyle asked.

No. Mama met Edward, and they brought me here when I was about two.

She left your father? Why?

No, no. She didn’t leave Papa. Papa left her. He was a free spirit and wanted to travel down north to hunt. Mama thought he left with an Innu girl outside the camp, but I think he was just a free spirit. His name was Alphonse Mornay. Isn’t that a dreamy name?

So why did you take the name Pye?

Because I don’t really remember my father. It was pretty mean, leaving Mama like that, but she never said a word, never complained. I wish I were like her.

Kyle put his dirty arm over her shoulder. You are, he said. When did you say we were going to have lunch?

Squinting at the pier, Gabrielle checked for new arrivals. Perhaps Jason was right. The boat did not intend to stop in Passup. Then she gazed over at the barn behind the church. She tilted her head slightly. The whole structure seemed to lean, but the stairs leading up to the apartment over the large doors looked brand new. She shaded her eyes. Some of the roof had been re-shingled too. Signs of pending occupancy? She hoped so.

Gabrielle jumped up and brushed the sand from her thin cotton dress. It was not often she could wear it. The boys wore shorts, and their white legs were still encrusted with sand.

 Don’t leave your bucket here, Kyle, she said. Do you still see the boat, Jason?

No, it’s out of sight now, said Jason. What’s in your bucket is lunch for Tripod, Kyle.

 You better not give it to the dogs, Kyle said.

But Tripod won’t be able to grow another leg unless he eats the starfish. See that short leg on him? he asked, pointing at the creature in the bucket. That’s a leg growing back because it got bit off. And Bootie will growl and growl until he gets some of it too.

Nuh-uh, said Kyle.

Old toothless Bootie will need Tripod to chew it up for him, though.

Gabrielle smiled. Jason was going to be a writer. He could make up stories about anything. At least she hoped he would. She would have to keep him away from the boats, though.

That would be difficult. At fifteen, he was already visiting Jake, a fishing boat captain, and helping him with his catch. It was only matter of time before Jake would ask him to go out full time. Probably next summer when Jason would be old enough to leave school.

The three sauntered up the rutted gravel road that led beyond the last houses facing the sea and through the impenetrable tuckamore, stunted trees and thick brush stooping to the strong winds. They could hear the barks as they hobbled up the rocks toward the tiny cabin. Jason ran ahead and opened the doors. Tripod and Bootie came bounding down the front steps. Bootie ran faster than Tripod, of course, but Tripod had a pretty efficient way of getting down the short flight. Kyle brought up the rear, waiting for his sister to urge the dogs back inside. He would leave his bucket out behind the woodpile. The dogs would not go near it there.

The cabin was tiny. A counter separated the narrow kitchen from the living space where the boys either slept on the floor or on a couch. A small bedroom and a bathroom were the only rooms off the living area. The toilet did not flush yet; it was a chemical one. But at least it was inside; making it out back was impractical during the winter.

Gabrielle stood in front of the stove, lifting the heavy lid and filling the hole with paper and stripped tree branches. Then she lit it. The stove burned coal when Mrs. Slade bought it fifteen years earlier. She gave it to Frances Pye when Mr. Slade brought home a new electric one from St. John’s. But Frances had no coal to burn so she fixed it. Now it burned garbage and wood. Of course, there was not much wood around either, just scrub and a few trees reaching a couple of meters high near the house. The icy soil would not encourage full growth, and whenever a plant found a perfect crack in the rocks to grow, the strong winds would break the branches before it grew too tall.

What are you fixing? Kyle asked, already pulling himself up onto a tall stool at the counter.

Fish stew, said Gabrielle.

Kyle wrinkled his nose.

That’s all we have, she said. But I get paid tomorrow. George will release our tips. I promise we can go to the store for ice cream.

And fries with cheese.

Yes. Maybe some fries.

She emptied a can of vegetables into the pot.

Do you think the bishop will send us a priest? he asked.

I don’t think that’s the plan, Kyle, at least for the Anglican Church. Phoebe says the town is thinking of hiring a minister, though. She says they’ve collected enough money to pay him something, although it isn’t much.

And I can go to Sunday school?

Is that what you want?

And learn some new Bible stories?

Maybe, she said, crossing her arms on the counter. When Phoebe collected things for the rectory in June, she loved the afghan Mama knitted. She said she put it in the apartment he would live in. That means they must be trying to find someone now.

Gabrielle thought about the rooms on top of the barn behind the church. She had never been up there and wondered what they looked like. She imagined a warm fire in the stove and a large Bible on the shelf. There would probably be a single cross on the wall. And Mama’s afghan would be neatly folded over the back of the priest’s easy chair.

Gabrielle pulled a hunk of bread from the loaf and buttered it for Kyle. She looked at her watch. It was time to get to work. The boats would probably be coming in, and the Bar and Grille would be busy. Several summers earlier, the men stayed out fishing until nearly ten, the sun hanging high in the sky until late. That was just before the so-called moratorium. Now the fishermen filled the bar by five or six.

With the shortage of fish, the government handed out fewer licenses. The cod fisherman now usually met their quotas by early summer or had not been able to catch much at all. Luckily, crabs were different. They used to be bigger, but as the larger ones disappeared, the laws were relaxed. The loads remained the same, but each crab was smaller. That did not mean they could keep the plant open all the time, but it was better than quotas that closed the plant too early in the summer. The fishermen would come in early either way, and if they did not stop at the coffee shop for a hearty meal would wait around until the Bar and Grille opened. And Gabrielle would be there, serving up chow and drinks, hoping to get lucky and serve someone who could afford to tip.

She gazed through the front window, almost expecting to see a couple of men in suits, navigating the front steps of their tiny house. But why would they come by boat? It did not make sense.

Do you think he’ll be mad about the patch job we did on the side of the church?

"Who are you talking about, Kyle?’

The new minister.

Oh no. I think he’ll love it. I believe that patch job was wonderful and loving. I think he’ll be really impressed with such a beautiful church.

If the inside is all rotten, I can help him with that too. I’ll make sure I get over there and help him out. He’ll never need to order lumber ‘cause I’ll find all the boards that have washed up on the beach, Kyle said, his eyes glazed. And if one bows, he and I can sit on the ends to straighten it out.

You do that, Kyle. I’ve gotta get ready for work. Don’t forget to clean up here and get Jason to feed the dogs.

"Yes, go to work. My stomach is growling for French fries and cheese.

Chapter 2    Arrival

Jason sat on the pier, tying and untying an overhand knot automatically, like flipping a coin. He looked out over the calm water, squinting his eyes to see the approaching launch. The sparkle off the undulating bay blinded him. The dazzling sun exposed stars that had reflected off the vast surface the night before, leaving a permanent print on the bright blue sea. Rising from the seething water, vapors warped the boat and the specters that inhabited it. Noisy gulls circled overhead, checking out the pier for scraps from the daily catch. And the sun silently pulsed, extending its rays to the ever-cold wavelets but never appreciably succeeding in warming them.

The boy inhaled the salty air, always tinged with the pungent odor of fish. Jason loved that scent—that of centuries of sustenance. The threat of its extinction was forever present. Jason had never known it any other way, but the peril lingered under the surface—a time bomb, erasing the species along with a beloved livelihood.

Jason, gimme me an ‘and ‘ere, said the fisherman on the pier. Dis net’s all tangled. Gimme an ‘and luh on dat corner dere.

Jason walked over and grabbed it but turned again to look out over the water. The phantasm loomed, the vision of an old whaleboat, rising out of its watery grave, or a battleship bent on assailing their small seaside community.

Jason, bring it over ‘ere! came the voice, summoning him from his reverie. Not dat way, omalloor. Stay where you’re at and I’ll come where you’re to.

The boy ignored the reference to his dexterity and listened to the hum as he pulled the net tight on the other side.

What be wid you, Jas? the frustrated fisherman asked. He followed the boy’s eyes, looking out over the water. Dat’s just Cain, you know, ferryin’ someone ‘cross from Newfoundland. Aye, Cain!" he yelled, waving.

The ferryman revved his engine in reply.

Who’s that with him? Jason asked.

Who knows? Give us a bitta dat, luh, he said, holding out his hand for Jason’s corner. Picked an ‘eck of a day for a visit, eh? Aye, Cain, watch out! Dere’s a sinker over ‘ere bye!

The captain deftly maneuvered his coaster, turning sharply starboard, letting his stern slide up to the side of the pier and tossing his rope to Jason. Grabbing the other end,