Package for Sarah

My cousin Charlie once told me a story about his father, Leo, and his Aunt Sarah. At age nineteen, Leo was doing odd jobs on the road in and around Chapel Arm, which included bringing freight and mail in from the railway station in Long Harbour Crossing. As for fourteen-year-old Sarah, she was quite ill at the time and her family wondered how much time they would have with her.

One day, Sarah saw a doll in the Eaton’s catalogue that she wanted very much. But Christmas was months away and Sarah’s birthday wouldn’t be for another eight months. Her mother ordered the doll anyway and decided to wait until Christmas to give it to her.

On a cold mid-November morning, Leo tacked up the horse for his usual six kilometer trip to Long Harbour Station. Thinking that Sarah would enjoy the ride and benefit from some fresh air, he invited his sister along. Despite the fact that there were a lot of packages at the depot that day, Sarah gravitated to one in particular. Even though she had no idea what was inside, she held on to the mysterious bundle for the entire return trip.

When she got back home, her mother told her that it was just some yarn from Prince Edward Island. With a sigh, she put the parcel down and went to rest on the sofa. Her mother took the package and put it in the attic, waiting for the right time to give it to her. Unfortunately, that occasion had to be accelerated. Over the next few weeks, Leo noticed that his sister was fading fast so he asked their mother to give Sarah the doll early. She agreed, and that evening the precious gift was wrapped up in some beautiful paper and given to the girl. Sarah was overjoyed and her radiant smile warmed the entire house with happiness.

Unfortunately, just as Leo had predicted, she soon took a turn for the worse and passed away peacefully with her little doll clutched close to her side. Package for Sarah was my attempt to visualize this sad but compelling story, relayed to me a very long time ago by my cousin. Since completing the painting I’ve learned that it was actually my dad’s sister, Ida, who passed away in 1920. Shown in the painting is my Uncle Leo, Ida, his son Charlie and a friend. I added the little dog because I always remember one running around in front of Uncle Leo’s house. Sadly, my cousin Charlie also passed away a few years back. Right now, I’d give anything to hear him tell this wonderful story again just one more time.