Novel traces aftermath of last woman hanged in N.L.
“The first Christmas after John Snow disappeared, months before Catherine, his wife, was hanged, Bridget, seventeen, their eldest daughter, opened the door to a lone mummer’s rap.”
The story of Catherine Mandeville Snow, the last woman executed in Newfoundland, on July 21, 1834, has long beguiled.
The historical case raises issues of legal process, evidence, and decision – and as for exploring classism or sexism, you can fill your boots. Catherine was charged and convicted with the murder of her husband, John Snow, although his body was never found; her alleged accomplices Tobias Mandeville and Arthur Spring were also hung. When Catherine was found to be pregnant the sentence was delayed until after the birth of her eighth child, and she died pleading her innocence.
Her fate has inspired plays and novels, indeed Strowbridge has previously published “Catherine Snow” which covered those events. Here she turns her author’s eye towards those left behind. Again she has researched customs and cuisine, environment and dialect.
The narrative begins by toggling back and forth around those pivotal happenings. On one side, the children are scattered and struggling to emerge from a dreadful shadow, on the other the family is still together, cohesive even under the tension between Catherine and John.
They sparred over nearly everything — those mummers, for instance: “Mummers had attempted to get into the Snow house in the early days when the family had lived in Bareneed and again after John had moved the family to Salmon Cove, a lonely outreach of land across the sea from the Bareneed fishing village. Whenever they tried to talk their way in, he’d threaten, ‘Be off with you or I’ll turn your faces inside out.’
“Catherine had always lifted an eye and given him an indulgent smile. ‘A harmless bit of fun, Jack. Sure, the hobby horse, with its chattering teeth, and the pantomiming of King George and the Dragon, all come from Black Protestants such as yourself.’”
This dynamic — his strictures, her defiance — is foundational to their relationship. It is a troubled and conflicted one. But the Snow household is not entirely a bereft, desolate place. John is what is known as a good provider, and Catherine an attentive mother. After she is gone her voice still resonates in Bridget’s head: “The most precious person in your life is you. Running away won’t heal your torn heart!”
Without this tragedy, Bridget would likely have had an ordinary, if hard-working life, perhaps one shared with Neddie, who has caught her eye. But that door is closed. So she flees, to live in a new place, taking a new name.
Young women appearing out of nowhere trailing a mysterious past are of course natural fodder for gossip. “Nosy bodies were everywhere. Even when the conveyers didn’t speak, their looks followed Bridget. She imagined the gossip as she walked up the hill and across the bridge over Swift Brook for her first visit to Abe Finlay’s shop. ‘Maybe she killed someone — abandoned a husband and a baby — escaped a convict ship leaving the island. There’ll be trouble with the law for harbouring her.’”
But Bridget is determined to forge a new path, and she does find shelter. A woman named Bess takes her in, and treats her with sympathy: “’You can tell us about your trouble.’ ‘When I get more distance from it,’ she promised.” Moreover, Bess’s grandson, Terrence, is much taken with her.
There are obstacles. No future will be unearned. But Bridget has a special problem in the secrets she carries, which slip out at inopportune moments.
“‘I know my letters and numbers,’ Bridget told Terrence one afternoon when he came into the house. ‘I can teach you.’
“Terrence blew damp hair off his forehead beaded in sweat and dropped wood into a box by the hearth. He straightened up and was about to answer when Bess put down her darning and asked, ‘What would a poor fisherman be doin’ with book learnin’?’
“Terrence’s eyes narrowed against sunlight streaming through the window. ‘To better meself, sure, and have a better accountin’ of me fish.’
“‘It might save your life,’ Bridget said.
“‘Don’t be drastic,’ Bess’s tone was scornful. ‘I can’t see how learning letters and numbers can save anyone’s life.’ She bit off her yarn and knotted it.
“Quick to defend her offer, Bridget answered, ‘It might have saved my mama’s life.’ She stopped, realizing she had opened the book on her past, a glimpse beyond the fly-leaf …”