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an impressionable young American girl named Peggy Maxwell, who was there on vacation with her family. She was not attractive, but the Maxwells were very wealthy, and James Cameron was very poor. He swept Peggy Maxwell off her feet, and against the advice of her father, she married him.
‘I’m giving Peggy a dowry of five thousand dollars,’ her father told James. ‘The money will give you a chance to make something of yourself. You can invest it in real estate, and in five years it will double. I’ll help you.’
But James was not interested in waiting five years. Without consulting anyone, he invested the money in a wildcat oil venture with a friend, and sixty days later, he was broke. His father-in-law, furious, refused to help him any further. ‘You’re a fool, James, and I will not throw good money after bad.’
The marriage that was going to be James Cameron’s salvation turned out to be a disaster, for he now had a wife to support, and no job.
It was Sean MacAllister who had come to his rescue. The town banker was a man in his mid fifties, a stumpy, pompous man, a pound short of being obese, given to wearing vests adorned with a heavy gold watch chain. He had come to Glace Bay twenty years earlier, and had immediately seen the possibilities there. Miners and lumbermen were pouring into the town, and were unable to find adequate housing. MacAllister could have financed homes for them, but he had a better plan. He decided it would be cheaper to herd the men together in boarding houses. Within two years, he had built a hotel and five boarding houses, and they were always full.
Finding managers was a difficult task because the work was exhausting. The manager’s job was to keep all the rooms rented, supervise the cooking, handle the meals, and see that the premises were kept reasonably clean. As far as salaries were concerned, Sean MacAllister was not a man to throw away his money.
The manager of one of his boarding houses had just quit, and MacAllister decided that James Cameron was a likely candidate. Cameron had borrowed small amounts of money from the bank from time to time, and payment on a loan was overdue. MacAllister sent for the young man.
‘I have a job for you,’ MacAllister said.
‘You have?’
‘You’re in luck. I have a splendid position that’s just opened up.’
‘Working at the bank, is it?’ James Cameron asked. The idea of working in a bank appealed to him. Where there was a lot of money, there was always a possibility of having some stick to one’s fingers.
‘Not at the bank,’ MacAllister told him. ‘You’re a very personable young man, James, and I think you would be very good at dealing with people. I’d like you to run my boarding house on Cablehead Avenue.’
‘A boarding house, you say?’ There was contempt in the young man’s voice.
‘You need a roof over your head,’ MacAllister pointed out. ‘You and your wife will have free room and board, and a small salary.’
‘How sma’?’
‘I’ll be generous with you. James. Twenty-five dollars a week.’
‘Twenty-fi …?’
‘Take it or leave it. I have others waiting.’
In the end, James Cameron had no choice. ‘I’ll tak’ it.’
‘Good. By the way, every Friday I’ll also expect you to collect the rents from my other boarding houses, and deliver the money to me on Saturday.’
When James Cameron broke the news to Peggy, she was dismayed. ‘We don’t know anything about running a boarding house, James.’
‘We’ll learn. We’ll share the work.’
And she had believed him. ‘All right. We’ll manage,’ she said.
And, in their own fashion, they had managed.
Over the years, several opportunities had come along for James Cameron to get better jobs, employment that would give him dignity and more money, but he was enjoying his failure too much to leave it.
‘Why bother?’ he would grumble. ‘When Fate’s agin you, naething guid can happen.’
And on this September night, he thought to himself, they won’t even let me enjoy my whores in peace. Goddamn my wife.
When he stepped out of Madame Kirstie’s establishment, a chilly September wind was blowing.
I’d best fortify myself for the troubles aheid, James Cameron decided. He stopped in at the Ancient Mariner.
One hour later, he wandered toward the boarding house in New Aberdeen, the poorest section of Glace Bay.
When he finally arrived, half a dozen boarders were anxiously waiting for him.
‘The doctor is in wi’ Peggy,’ one of the men said. ‘You’d better hurry, mon.’
James staggered into the tiny, dreary back bedroom he and his wife shared. From another room, he could hear the whimpering of a newborn baby. Peggy lay on the bed, motionless. Dr Patrick Duncan was leaning over her. He turned as he heard James enter.
‘Wa’s goin’ on here?’ James asked.
The doctor straightened up and looked at James with distaste. ‘You should have had your wife come to see me,’ he said.
‘And throw guid money away? She’s only havin’ a baby. Wa’s the big …?’
‘Peggy’s dead. I did everything I could. She had twins. I couldn’t save the boy.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ James Cameron whimpered. ‘It’s the Fates agin.’
‘What?’
‘The Fates. They’ve always been agin me. Now they’ve taine my bairn frae me. I dinna …’
A nurse walked in, carrying a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. ‘This is your daughter, Mr Cameron.’
‘A daughter? Wha’ the hell will I dae wi’ a daughter?’ His speech was becoming more slurred.
‘You disgust me, mon,’ Dr Duncan said.
The nurse turned to James. ‘I’ll stay until tomorrow, and show you how to take care of her.’
James Cameron looked at the tiny wrinkled bundle in the blanket and thought, hopefully: Maybe she’ll die, too.
For the first three weeks, no one was sure whether the baby would live or not. A wetnurse came in to tend to her. And finally, the day came when the doctor was able to say, ‘Your daughter is going to live.’
And he looked at James Cameron and said under his breath, ‘God have mercy on the poor child.’
The wetnurse said, ‘Mr Cameron, you must give the child a name.’
‘I dinna care wha’ the hell ye call it. Ye gie her a name.’
‘Why don’t we name her Lara? That’s such a pretty …’
‘Suit your bloody self.’
And so she was christened Lara.
There was no one in Lara’s life to care for her or nurture her. The boarding house was filled with men too busy with their own lives to pay attention to the baby. The only woman around was Bertha, the huge Swede who was hired to do the cooking and handle the chores.
James Cameron was determined to have nothing to do with his daughter. The damned Fates had betrayed him once again by letting her live. At night he would sit in the living room with his bottle of whiskey and complain. ‘The bairn murdered my wife and my son.’
‘You shouldn’t say that, James.’
‘Weel, it’s sae. My son would hae grown up to be a big strapping mon. He would hae been smart