Free That Forgetful Shore by Trudy Morgan-Cole Page A

St. John’s for teacher-training. But she wouldn’t stay after school – just couldn’t be bothered to put in the extra time or the extra work.”
    â€œFunny how it’s always girls he keeps back for extra work, isn’t it? You and me, Millicent, Effie….”
    â€œWell, ’tis good of him to see the potential in young girls, when so many folks don’t,” Triffie says.
    Kit gives up. There is no way she can phrase even the most delicate question, no way she can ask, “Did he ever …?” Trif’s admiration for Dear Pedagogue is a wall that cannot be breached, and whether it’s built of genuine ignorance or an inability to speak the ugly truth aloud, Kit cannot tell.
    She cannot tell Triffie. Kit imagines a dozen conversations, but every one would mean explaining why she had never told before, years ago. How could you tell someone a thing you didn’t even tell yourself? Things that didn’t make sense didn’t happen. She would grow up, and Joe Bishop would come courting. Everything would make sense then.
    Now everything makes a different kind of sense. She finds it hard to look at him day after day in the classroom. He says nothing – what can he say? – but the atmosphere between them has changed, the comradely chatter of colleagues at day’s end is gone now.
    One night Jacob John Russell makes bold to call at Kit’s house, a thing he has been threatening to do for weeks, though she has always discouraged him. The night is clear, without either fog or snow, the stars shining brilliant in a cold black sky. Kit allows Jacob John to squirm awkwardly in the parlour for half an hour while she finishes marking homework, then, with her father’s permission, she puts on her gaiters and bundles up in her coat, hat and mitts to join Jacob John for a walk across the Long Beach.
    She feels the young man’s relief as soon as they’re outside, away from the stuffy propriety of her mother’s parlour. They walk down the road, empty of travellers this cold night, listening to the rush and hiss of the waves on the rocks. A light burns in Abel Morgan’s storeroom where men are mending nets and telling stories. As Jacob John leads her onto the beach, Kit slips a hand into the crook of his arm, for warmth and for protection against the icy rocks. Jacob John Russell smiles, like he cannot believe his sudden good fortune.

Triffie
    KIT, IN HER new suit and hat, already looks like she belongs in St. John’s instead of on the Point. Standing next to her on the train platform, Trif feels dowdy, dressed in a hand-me-down of Aunt Rachel’s that she has altered to fit. The dress and her boots are not the only things Trif has that are hand-me-downs; before he went down on the Labrador Jacob John Russell, who had abruptly lost all interest in courting Kit, started offering his unwanted attentions to Triffie.
    Kit’s father embraces his daughter; her mother dabs away tears. Mrs. Saunders can accept Kit going to St. John’s to take summer classes. What she cannot accept is that Kit would throw away the advantage of living at home and teaching in the Missing Point school, for a one-room school in Trinity Bay. Kit grimaces as she meets Trif’s eyes over her mother’s head. She hates emotional scenes like this, farewells and tears. She and Trif have said their private goodbyes, and Triffie will not weep or beg her to stay.
    To Triffie, Kit has said only that she never intended to live out all her life in Missing Point, that she wants to be mistress of her own classroom, live away from home, see the world.
    â€œThe world, starting in Elliston?” Triffie probed gently.
    â€œThe world has to start somewhere,” Kit declared. She was lighthearted after the decision was made, and Triffie suspected there was more to it than just Kit’s desire to strike out on her own. Sometime during the winter, the pleasure of being home