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the shop owner. He charged at them with the hot iron still firmly in his hand. The boys fled. Ralph hoped that the shop owner would let up, but he did not. As they ran, they glanced back to see him pass the threshold of his shop and run down the wooden platform and across the dirt road. He was yelling at them in Mandarin something terrible.
    Ralph grabbed Ford’s hand as they dashed past six more storefronts, making their way to a park, where they hoped they could lose their pursuer in the trees. But as they got to the park’s open space, the man gained on them with his longer legs. Ralph was hurrying Ford along when the launderer swung the hot iron, just missing his left temple. It could have been a fatal blow. Ralph had taken two more steps when his brother’s hand broke away and a kick to his rear sent Ford three feet in the air. He landed on the grass and slid on his side for a few more feet. Ralph stopped running. He was the older brother. He couldn’t leave Ford, however scared he was. Ford lay on his side, weeping. The launderer stood on guard, breathing heavily. Ralph made sure to stand between the two of them. He looked into the launderer’s eyes, saying nothing. Then the man turned and left.
    Ralph made sure the man had moved on before turning his attention back to Ford. He knew a beating isn’t over until it’s over. When he was sure the man wasn’t coming back, Ralph kneeled and put his hand on Ford’s shoulder.
    “You’ll be fine, Ford, he just clipped your seat. Cm’on—get up.”
    Ford did, and they stood staring at each other. Their minds raced. They’d spent the past four minutes being the aggressors, the victims, the bullies, and the vanquished. They both had adrenaline coursing through their veins. Ralph’s knees were still shaking. He suggested they head back to Ada’s. Ford suggested they head back to the beach, and flashed Ralph the same devilish smile that he would come to rely on for the rest of his days. Ford had already moved on from the experience. But Ralph had not. He felt bad about the way they had treated the man. They had insulted him, insulted his wife. At seven, he knew right and wrong. They’d done wrong that afternoon.
    The only other thing Ralph remembered about that trip to Charlottetown so many years ago was the last supper that sister Ada made especially for them, a feast of mackerel and cheese. Mackerel was Ralph’s favourite fish. It would be their last dinner with her for some time. The boys were leaving for home. The nine-hour ferry ride from the rich red beaches of Souris, Prince Edward Island, would take them through the Gulf of St. Lawrence, past Entry Island, to the Magdalen Islands.
    A few months after their trip to Prince Edward Island, Ford came down with scarlet fever. Dr. Solomon, the island’s English-speaking doctor, had to paint the dreaded red quarantine emblem on the MacLean’s front door. Stanley MacLean kept walking when he was done work. To go in the house would court financial ruin for the family. Their mother was left alone to tend to Ford day and night. After three weeks, Ralph came down with it too. Their mother did not sleep for more than a few fleeting moments during the three months her two boys burned with fever. She put them on a gruel diet to keep their temperature down. Ralph emerged unscathed, but Ford’s heart tissue was irreparably damaged.
    The MacLeans lived in a two-storey, four-bedroom country house that Stanley had built with his own two hands. It was paintedwhite, but the salt, the wind, the rain, and the fog had all conspired to leave it in a state of constant disrepair. Since all the houses on the island were the same, the family never felt bad about it.
    Ford (
left
) and Ralph MacLean outside the family home in the Magdalen Islands
    They had a large garden in the back where they would grow carrots, beets, tomatoes, squash, onions, and parsnips. Behind the garden lay a small barn for the family horse, Old Jack. One day Old