Off in the distance, Ronnie could see a stretch of the St. Lawrence River and a smudge of smoke from a river boat, now already out of sight.
“A man from the Seaway’s at the house talking with Dad and Grandfather,” he said suddenly.
“The Seaway’s dickering with my pa, too,” Bill said. “Pa says it’s the best thing that ever came to him. They’re going to pay him five hundred dollars an acre, and most of it’s no-good swamp land. ’Course, it’s different with you, Ronnie. I know it’s the village that’s going.”
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“Pa says there’s not a chance.”
“I know. Grandfather won’t say it, but he knows he’s licked.”
“Sure is a shame, because they don’t really need that part where the village is. Not for the main steamship lanes, anyway. But just because it’s bottom land and will flood up, it’s got to go.”
“Goose Brook will be swallowed up, too.”
“Too bad your great-great-grandfather didn’t build the village on high ground. But then, I guess they used the stream for power to turn the wheels for the gristmill.”
Ronnie nodded. “I sure as shooting wish I could just pile up a heap of ground along the river to keep the water out. Then they wouldn’t want the village land.”