Goat on a Rope The year was 1942, winter and bitter cold. So cold that the harbour and the stretch of water between St. Philips and Bell Island was frozen solid, or was it ice that came down from Greenland and packed together? Grandmother Tilly was one smart lady in spite of the fact that she was illiterate. In those days, tall, stately women were called handsome, and that she was. Her light brown hair was way past shoulder-length, almost waist-length, and she braided it in the morning by combing, then painstakingly, slowly braiding into two long plaits, which she would cross over each other and up around the sides to meet at the top and secure with hair pins. She never wore makeup. Her skin was smooth and soft and pink. She wore hats whenever she went anywhere. In the parlour off the spacious living room-kitchen was a large bookcase-like dresser against one wall, on which were hats. Felt hats, straw hats, of every conceivable colour, some with feathers, some with no feathers. She would let me try them on in front of the framed, full-length mirror that was next to the bookcase. There was a beautiful carved and cushioned Louis XIV sofa and a matching chair. I was too young then to ask where she got them. I was six. We lived about three miles away in the Cove. Almost nobody had a car, so we would get Fred Churchill from Protestant Town to drive us up to my grandparents' house. They were my mother's parents. Dad's people lived a long way away. Grandpa called me "Mussel Pond" because that was where my dad was from. I was the oldest. Clara was four, and blond, blue-eyed. Mary was just one. Dad never went with us on our visits. He admired Grandpa, but didn't cotton to Grandma. I wasn't keen on her either, but the things she collected and owned were magic to me. "Let me see Aunt Ethel's doll, could I?" I would ask her. We'd go into Ethel's bedroom and she would open the treasure chest trunk, pick up the dolly and let me hold it. It had a porcelain face and rubber body with a long white lacy dress, white slacks and little patent leather shoes. "Grandma. I asked Santa for a doll last year but he didn't bring me one." "What did your mother say?" "She says we live so far north that Santa runs out of dolls before he gets to us." Grandma smiled. She had a nice smile. We stayed at her house overnight. Aunt Ethel and Aunt Mary were home, but went out with their friends in the evening, while we stay-at-homers sat around the bright, aromatic fire in the wood stove till bedtime. When we all had been put to bed, Grandma, my mom, and I knelt in front of a kitchen chair and say the "Our Father" prayer. I learned how to pray from Grandma Tilly, I'll give her that. She sets the clock for seven. It won't even be daylight when she arises. Neither rain nor hail nor dark of night can stay her from her appointed rounds. I hear her moving around, rattling the damper, putting in the fire. I dress and tippy toe into the kitchen. "Good morning, Annie." She smiles at me. "Are you going somewhere, Grandma?" I ask. "It's a surprise, Annie. Do you like surprises?" I answer yes. She dresses in a warm brown coat with fox fur around the neck, a red and white woolen scarf and a pair of boots up to her knees. I watch, snub nose against the window, until she is out of sight on the sea of ice. The day seems endless, waiting for her to return and her surprise. The room soon fills up, with Aunt Mary making tea for Grandpa, who likes his favourite china cup, from which he pours tea into the saucer and holds the saucer up to his mouth. Then, when lunchtime comes around, she warms up potatoes in an iron pot, and it is fit for a king. It seems as if we are always sitting at the table and eating. Even the children drink tea, but we look like rosy-cheeked cherubs just the same. I know, because there is a painting of cherubs on the wall over the kitchen table. "Does anyone know where Mud went?" I hear Mom ask. No one seems to know. I pipe up, wanting to be helpful. "She went out there on that white ice," I say proudly. But I feel fidgety wondering when she'll be back. I go and look out the window every few minutes, till at last and finally she appears, like a black dot way out on the ice, and gets bigger and bigger as she nears the shore. She is towing something on a rope. "Mom, come here. What's that Grandma had on the rope?" I jump up and down with glee. "I don't believe my eyes!" Mom says, "It's a goat!" Grandpa puts on his coat and pepper-salt cap and goes to meet her. They walk up the road together and put the goat in the barn, where it is warm among the hay and the horse and chickens. As they warm up near the stove, Aunt Mary makes them a cup of hot tea; which seemed, then and now, to be the cure for everything.   Submitted By: NULL