Minor Corruption

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“So you’re finally gonna let me have a peek at thelegendary Uncle Seamus?” Beth said to Marc as the brand-newbrougham veered off Brock Street north onto the bush-path thatmeandered its way up to Spadina House.

Marc gave eighteen-month-old Maggie an extradandle on his right knee and responded to his wife’s remark in asimilar bantering tone: “It’s not as if we’ve been hiding him undera bushel, and the dear fellow can’t help it if his antics have madehim notorious in the stuffy drawing-rooms of Tory Toronto, now canhe?”

“Would anyone be paying attention at all ifthe man wasn’t a Baldwin?” Brodie Langford called back from hisperch on the driver’s bench. He was able to turn only partwayaround, not because he felt obliged to keep an eye on the pair ofspirited horses in front of him but because he did not wish toremove his arm from the willing shoulder of his fiancée seatedbeside him.

“Possibly not,” Marc laughed as he heldMaggie up so she could see the forest flowing past them and marvelat the goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace that bloomed flamboyantlyalong the edge of the path and in the beaver meadows here and therealong their route. It was Maggie’s first trip out of town, and shewas wide-eyed with wonder.

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