Through the Eyes of a Little Village

By M. Alayne Sullivan

A riptide of circumstances engulfs the maritime Atlantic fishing village of Herring Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada. It’s a time of peace and war, love and loss, life and death, all amidst underlying racial temperatures. Time moves through three generations. Memories of the past submerge the present. And stories are born. After a pilot boat went down in March of 1940, people in the fishing villages remember that fateful night over all of their years, generation after generation. And the fates of others are carried into the war years of WWII as the all-black community of Africville comes to play an important role in all of the times that move along with Herring Cove and its characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685628178

M. Alayne Sullivan

M. Alayne Sullivan was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. She received a Doctorate in English Education from McGill University of Montreal, Canada. In her early and later years, she became fixated by the stories of the fishing village of Herring Cove, Nova Scotia, where many of the men and women in Through the Eyes of a Little Village lived and where the pilot boat disaster depicted in this novel took place. This is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

Herring Cove, Nova Scotia, Spring, 1931

Waves thundered against the coastline in cymbal-clashing sloshes as the village minded its own business. Yes, it was wide open to the scourges and blessings of invading winds visiting from outside places. But the pathways of daily mingling there stayed straight along the ground of their own village course. It was a rock outpost, a square-functioning wash of flapping laundry, one or two interconnected telephone lines, summer gardens, and mothered children.

One small country store served the needs of the little community. A hand painted wooden sign hung up over its doorway: ‘Ray Harrian – Butcher’ it read. Two hard-packed, sixteen-foot-wide dirt tracks met outside the store to make The Crossroads. Folks went to Ray’s for meat, sugar, tea, flour, maybe an engine part, then stayed to comment on the weather, ask about how the kids were doing, how the fishing was going.

Anyone in yet from The City?

No, still only May. They’ll all be in soon enough near end-of-June.

How’s the fishin’? brayed a jovial voice. I hear the boys are draggin’ up the lobster traps and setting out the mackerel nets any day now. Someone else had just walked in.

Hey, Lowell! chimed Ray Harrian and Malcolm Powell at the same time.

That’s what I heard, said Ray. Jameson sent his oldest boy over here yesterday to trade a catch of lobster and some eggs for a few buckets of coal!

It’s still cold this time of year, added Ray.

Yeah, agreed Malcolm, we’re peelin’ ice off the insides of the windows every morning.

And you still a bachelor boy? teased Ray, turning to Malcolm for a bit of fun. Yer goin’ after the summer Catholic girls, now Malcolm. The only way in there, boy, is if yer sure about convertin’, commented Ray with a doubtful shake of his head.

Now that’s serious boy, added Lowell. You better be darn sure of yourself if you go in the door of the Catholic Church my friend – you’ll never get out. You’ll be headin’ to their confession boxes every time ya steal a kiss.

Yeah, yeah, said Malcolm staring down at his feet, writhing with embarrassment.

Malcolm, said Lowell, grinning and winking at Ray, what’s so special about those Catholic girls – I ask you!

Well now, he muttered.

Lowell, said Ray, I think we’d better have a community meeting about this issue.

You know, that’s right, agreed Lowell at once. He pulled at a sheet of brown meat-wrapping paper and swiped the pencil out from behind Ray’s ear.

Let’s get a list! suggested Lowell.

We’ll have Carlson and Jameson as our senior advisors, Lowell quipped.

Yeah, that makes sense, agreed Ray.

Then me of course, added Lowell.

Yeah, Ray said.

No! gasped Malcolm in agonized opposition.

Ray and Lowell disintegrated with laughter, slapping their thighs in delight.

Three young children walked into the store, two of them clutching Carlson Hebridean’s hand. They approached the penny candy counter.

Jesus Christ, whispered Malcolm, scowling acutely, as though stung by a wasp.

Now isn’t that nice language to use in front of the children, admonished Lowell dangling Malcolm yet further over the cauldron of their fun.

I’m headin’ to the Government Wharf, Malcolm mumbled, and went out the door.

The kids went straight to business: I’ll have one peppermint – no, one green leaf and two red cherries, or can I have one wafer cone, and one red cherry and one peppermint for my penny? asked one of the kids.

Yes, you can, Ray affirmed.

There was a whole counter full of transparent-glass compartments gobbed with multi-colored candy. Caramels, gumdrops, licorice, mints, and chocolate chunks. Toffee. Peanut brittle pieces. Jellybeans. Sponge toffee. Paper-wrapped bubble gum. Sugar-sanded wafers. Cinnamon-dusted nuggets. Choosing a penny’s worth was one of the most serious decisions of a child’s life. Ray stood dispensing one piece of candy at a time into teeny brown-paper sacks.

I’m gettin’ a scoop of ice cream instead.

All right, said Ray walking over to the ice cream buckets. A stainless-steel ice cream scoop sat in a pail of water.

Leland Pellen walked into the store as Carlson headed outside saying, I better check on the roof for ya Ray. May heard yer doin’ that this summer.

Hi, Ray. Hi, Lowell. Malcolm looks awful worried about somethin’, said Leland gently, walking up to the counter. What are you two up to with him, now I ask you, murmured Leland with concern. He’s not about to seem that upset all on his own at this time of the morning now, is he?

Oh, he’ll manage, said Lowell. Looks like we’re all back out again at the end of this week, he mentioned to Leland.

What? asked Leland, distracted about Malcolm’s issues.

I say we’re out again at the end of this week, repeated Lowell.

Out again? asked Leland. Who’s out again?

I might be referrin’ to the fact that we’re scheduled back out at the end of this week on the pilot boat. What the hell’s up with you this morning! Ya seem stunned, man! Lowell frowned.

Ray was getting distracted. The scoop had dripped water down his wrist. Lowell had taken his pencil. Malcolm had stormed off to the wharf. Carlson was poking around on the roof, having sent the children off to sit and eat their candy and ice cream.

It’s time you were all out again on the boat, Ray grumbled.

Out again? repeated Leland. Oh, yeah, yeah, he said turning to Lowell, fully oriented now. Yeah, we’re out again. Yes, yes, we’re out again. Oh, ya had my head spinnin’ there for a minute.

Well now, it’s a busy world in here today, reassured Lowell.

But now, what have you done to Malcolm, that’s what I’m wonderin’ about. The two of you are up to somethin’. He’s gone off white in the face about somethin’.

Well, no, not really, Lowell said, thinking it over carefully. Ray, we didn’t really do any harm there now did we? he asked, seeking assurance.

Well, no, I don’t think so, Ray said, pausing to wipe his hands.

No, well, we were just sayin’ that maybe we should all meet and have a discussion about whether Malcolm should be goin’ after the summer Catholic girls and, ah, maybe convertin’ to Catholicism.

Well, you may be right or you may be wrong, responded Leland. But the fact of the matter is that he has had his heart set on one of the Haynes’ girls for as long as we can all remember, now you both surely know that, Leland pointed out.

Who – which Haynes girl? asked Ray. Lowell skittered over with lickety-split attention.

Leland looked at the two of them. He said nothing, worrying now about the way that this news would travel around the Cove by mid-afternoon. Poor Malcolm.

Lowell jerked his thumb at Ray in a Parkinson’s-like motion, speechless with delight, waiting for Ray to get to the bottom of this news flash.

Haynes girl? Ray repeated. Haynes’ girl. You don’t mean to tell us you’re talkin’ about Capt. Tugger Haynes’ girl – the archbishop’s niece. The four Haynes’ brothers – that Catholic dynasty? Those four brothers? You mean to say that our Malcolm thinks he has a chance with the Haynes girl? Ray could not believe it. One of the Haynes brothers owned the city newspaper.

Well now, mumbled Leland.

I’m not sayin’ he thinks he does and I’m not sayin’ that he thinks he doesn’t, asserted Leland. He’d opened a kettleful of worms now.

No! denied Ray in disbelief.

Now, Ray composed himself and stood fully to attention, you are saying that Malcolm Powell is seriously thinking that he might marry Capt. Tugger Haynes’ girl, Carolyn, and convert to Catholicism!

The damage was done.

Well now, you leave this alone, issued Leland. Summer’ll be here – it’s just around the corner. The City people will be comin’ and I guess this’ll all soon enough be clear one way or the other, responded Leland with a dreadful sickness about the rumor he’d spawned.

Now, don’t you worry, assured Ray. We’re not the sort of fellows who’d take advantage of a piece of sensitive news like that. Your secret’s safe with us, isn’t that right, Lowell? Ray spoke with a commander’s sense of surety.

Lowell was gaping at Leland.

Isn’t that right, I said, Lowell? Ray sharpened his tone and volume.

What? retorted Lowell. Oh, never a doubt in the world about it. No problem at all, don’t worry about us tellin’ anything about this – never in a million years, said Lowell.

Now what’s Carlson up to? Ray asked.

I expect he’s up surveying your roof, Leland responded.

Well, let’s have a look at the winter damage, said Ray. He propped a broken wooden picket against the front door of the store. It read, ‘Out Back.’ The three of them headed off.

Where is he? asked Lowell.

Beats me, said Ray, where in hell could he have gone to? There was no sign of Carlson anywhere.

He wouldn’t have left without sayin’ goodbye – that’s not like him, commented Leland.

I thought he was comin’ out here to get up on the roof, said Lowell. But the ladder was tied into place along the back wall of the store.

Well, what a day, said Ray. Another mystery on our hands I guess.

I’m over here! They hear a holler from the bushes several feet away.

Where? responded Lowell.

I’m over here at Penn’s checking on this new phone line! cried out Carlson from a short distance away.

Ya wanna be minding yer own business, Lowell hollered back.

The men crashed their way through barbed wire fence and scraggly bush to arrive in Penn Hebridean’s gloriously shaded yard. They hurtled into the garden and quelled a collective breath, waiting, as though a congregation would turn and stare back at the ruffians who had interrupted a solemn church service.

Each section of the garden lay dormant, waiting for the sun’s full bosom heat of summer, not yet aroused by sensual eruptions of bulb and stem. There, a rickety old bench was planted in the ground, having sat for too many years to be uprooted for the winter storage shed. And there, giant old stumps sat in front of Ollie Hebridean’s now-empty pond.

It brought summer into their eyes. In just weeks, the apple blossoms would float over wildflowers and pond-side pink tulips. The window boxes seemed to glow now with happy-face pansies and buckets of yellow wallflower. They gazed around the property, each man silent and in awe of how the yard bewitched their senses even in its shorn nakedness. Leland found the corner where he’d first kissed Eve: bursting with images of blue and yellow iris tissues. Sand cherry bushes leaned toward them over the vision of pelargonium leaves and dense-blue lunaria flowers. Violets and catnip seemed to sneak over the rocks. Bleeding hearts and pine mathematics would soon sprout near columbine silhouettes. Tickseed celebrations, primrose clusters, and squill pyramids would squeeze up all over the yard and Ollie would tend to them all summer long, carefully trimming their manners.

Carlson appeared from one side of the house and stood there staring at the three of them.

Penn must have had that line installed yesterday. Now Ray, you would have seen the Halifax man here doin’ that from The Telephone Company. Why didn’t you tell us that phone line was up? demanded Carlson.

Jeez boy, Ray defended himself, I haven’t had time to think in that store yesterday or today. Too much goin’ on. I’m headin’ back. I may have customers.

The three of ya are as stunned as a bag of hammers, Carlson exploded. Don’t you realize what this means?

They all stared at him. Carlson sighed loudly.

They’ll be callin’ us from the Halifax Harbor Station on the telephone now!

I don’t want this kind of progress, commented Lowell sadly. We were doin’ just fine without a connection to the City.

Yeah, well you know how things go – always movin’ forward I guess, added Leland.

Yeah, I guess.

Let’s walk along the Village Road, suggested Leland. They headed off in that direction.

Let me see if I can leave the kids at Ray’s for another twenty minutes, said Carlson.

Be another few weeks and the Haynes’ll all be here, said Lowell glancing into the yard where Capt. Tugger Haynes’ brother, Clive and his wife Daisy would be moving soon for the summer months of July and August.

I expect Clive and Daisy’ll be here with little Marilyn soon enough, said Lowell.

Do ya think she’ll be walkin’ yet? asked Leland. That poor child – she’d be now three or four dontcha think? asked Leland.

Yeah, I guess, said Lowell absent-mindedly.

Darn shame that child being born that way, said Leland sadly.

What? asked Lowell.

Yeah, you know about that, said Leland reminding them. She didn’t get enough oxygen at birth, and it left her with a palsy I guess. Child’s not quite right. Daisy tends to her the way that Ollie looks after her garden, added Leland.

They stopped and looked out into toward the wide Atlantic Ocean, spellbound by its epic vastness.

Goes on forever doesn’t it, marveled Leland.

Seems like it. Sure does seem like it, Carlson spoke softly.

The three men were silenced again. They stared out at the sea, its undulating wash coming over the rocks with every breath they took. The only sound in the world was the ocean’s salt rubbing inside their ears. Rush, rush, rush, rushing-splash-crash, then recede. Voluminous collision ’n ebb. The saltwater bubbles drained out of the rock-colander shoreline. Again. Rush, rush, rush, rushing-splash-crash, then recede. Draining waters, then utter silence. Their pulses stayed put for an infinitesimal stillness. Then again, the rush, rush, rush, rushing-splash-crash and recede. Over and over and over again.

You suppose anyone’ll bring some papers in from the City when they come this summer, asked Lowell.

They usually do. Usually do, Lowell concluded.

Catch up on the City news I guess, commented Leland.

Bring’s some more business in for Ray too, added Carlson.

Sure does.

Yeah, well another summer’s comin’.

Always comes ’round again just when ya think that winter will never end, said Lowell.

Any day now, they’ll all be here again, concluded Leland with a smile.

Chapter Two

A few weeks later, and times had come into the full-swing jubilee of summer freedom. Ray bustled with business. The pilot men had been in and out over the past two weeks, guiding ships to port within the rambling depths of Halifax Harbor. City papers had been read many times over and shared among eager hands.

Herring Cove’s wooden homes were melded to the coast like periwinkles, like bundled mussels tongued hard to salt-rock barnacle stone. Fifty-seven, year-round houses were planted there within a hundred feet of the highest Cove tide. The village had grown up on either side of its long, skinny gulch of seawater. The fishing boats came into it over coastal suction depths, and the black mirth of island-shoal riptides.

I think that’s Garth heading in now.

Is it? Not Bob? Ya sure?

Yeah, take a long hard look. Ya can see that square-sheltered enclosure he’s built on the front of it.

Jameson and Carlson Hebridean were perched on the rocks outside Lighthouse Point at the south entry to Herring Cove.

Ah Jeez, maybe you’re right, agreed Carlson. The prow of a serpent-green lobster boat was taking shape for him. He strained his eyes, hoping that this one time, Jameson would be wrong.

It’s god damn, Garth, Carlson muttered, now hearing the motor’s gurgling putter.

I’ll see ya tonight, Garth hollered out.

See you at the Glebe! Jameson shouted back.

What’s going on at the Glebe? asked Carlson, now resentful that Jameson and Garth knew something he didn’t.

They’re havin’ their Summer Church Social tonight, you knew that, Jameson told his brother.

Who’s havin’ a Church Social? Carlson asked.

The only ones that have a Church Social at the beginning of every summer, that’s who, Jameson quipped.

Carlson clambered up over the rocks past feeble spruce trees. They were striving to grow, scrubby branches bristled wide open to the sun like the tail of a scared cat. They’d be stopped short soon enough by September’s curtailing airstreams.

He reached the Village Road, walking faster and faster as Jameson followed behind him. He kept his head down. Maybe they’d get past Clive Haynes’ place without a visit in. But no. They tried but heard a voice calling out to them from the porch of his house as they walked by. Now, hello boys! called out Clive. You’re not going by without a visit in, are you? he