The Quiet Truth: a haunting domestic drama full of suspense

by Sharon Thompson

  ‘Need a man good with cattle,’ he said in a thick, Kerry accent. ‘I’ve a ranch not far from here and we need a canny cattler.’

  ‘I’m great with cattle,’ I lied. I figured that I knew what to do with them when they were dead and that was a start. It wasn’t the worst lie and I wanted to impress Polly. ‘I’m a butcher by trade,’ I added proudly.

  Tom’s eyes widened. ‘Might use that sometime. Right now I need a cowboy. Are you any good on horseback?’

  ‘I can run fast and I’m good on a bicycle,’ I joked. There was no laughter. ‘I’ll learn fast,’ I said. I hated to mention that my time with mules and horses up to this point was pretty bleak. ‘I shovelled coal on the trains and spent time as a foreman on a homestead in Ottawa.’

  ‘How long were you there?’ Tom asked, rubbing his beard.

  ‘Not long’ – I nodded at the Hollyridges – ‘I had the travelling bug until I reached here. I think that I’m ready to settle down and find me a wife and home.’

  Tom smirked and reminded me of Jock. ‘Family back in Ireland?’ he asked.

  ‘All dead. I’m an orphan and I’m not one of those Barnardo’s boys or nothing. I’m nineteen years old, with a strong thirst for real man’s work.’

  ‘I can see something in you,’ Tom said and thumped my back. ‘How does $500 a year sound? $100 upfront, new shit-kickers and chaps, use of fine horse flesh and good grub?’

  Polly put a hand on my shoulder and said, ‘When does he start, Mr O’Brien?’

  25

  Charlie Quinn

  Tom gave me a shopping list to purchase things under his credit at the local clothes and general store. Polly helped me pick out my new working clothes, boots, leathers and spurs. It was a good feeling to be getting new things all of my own. Hammy was a king for an hour. I also finally got to kiss Polly that day in the store when we were behind some shelves. It was nice enough but nothing like kissing my Ella.

  Before I left Winnipeg I thought I better write to Cedric and Anna. As Cedric worked for one of the biggest newspapers in Northern Ireland, I thought he might be able to enlighten me about how Ella was doing. If tales of Bridget Fahy’s murder had reached home shores he’d be able to tell me about that too.

  I was still stinging from Jock’s mistake at sending me to his cousin’s but I needed to get a letter to my siblings. I wrote to Jock Daly and asked him to pass on other envelopes to Cedric and Anna. I didn’t try to write to Ella. There was no way anyone would get a letter to her, even if I got up the courage to ask them to try to reach her.

  I wanted to be many miles from where the letter was posted in case anyone was inclined to find me. Hammy was cautious to protect his new life.

  I went to the train station and asked my coal-stoker friends for help. I gave them a letter of thanks for the man who’d hired me in Ottawa and asked him to post my other letters home to Tyrone. Inside his envelope was a letter for Jock and inside it were two thin letters to Cedric and Anna. I explained to Jock that I had no return address other than the train station and my job as a stoker in Ottawa.

  The stokers left, promising to bring back any return post that came for me to the train station in Ottawa. They were to leave it at the hotel with Polly. I didn’t tell them I’d already got employment. I wanted to remain aloof. I trusted that they wouldn’t read the letters and would do their best for a fellow stoker.

  My stomach settled for the first time since I left home as I walked away from the station. It was a short-lived calm. That very afternoon, Tom O’Brien rode up to collect me from Polly’s. He had another horse tied to his own.

  ‘All set?’ he asked and pulled the biggest, meanest, blackest horse from behind him. ‘Here’s yours. Let’s get going.’

  Polly stood with her usual expressionless face and watched. I was mortified. I’d seen the men expertly jump up on the finest horses in the past few days and there was no way I’d practised this as diligently as my lies.

  ‘Umm…’

  ‘Polly will give you a leg up,’ Tom scoffed and it took me far too many attempts and embarrassing fails to get the beast to stand still until I got my leg over it. Polly laughed openly and this made me mad. I left without even saying goodbye as the horse took off at a canter and I had no confidence to slow it down.

  My arse hurt by the time we reached the O’Brien ranch. It was seven long hard miles from the outskirts of Winnipeg. Although similar to Daly’s farm it had no locked gate, just a high gatepost spanning the width of the track. On it was a sign: Welcome. Kelly Ranch. It was well-painted and nailed securely on the wooden post. About half a mile down the track from the sign was the homestead itself. It was an impressive, two-storey wooden structure with a long, pretty veranda. Large shutters hung on the tall windows. There was money about the place, I could tell that straight away. The outhouses were a good distance from the main house and the stables and smells even further away still. The largest and tallest daisies I ever saw were clumped and swaying in the breeze all the way around the house.

  ‘Were you ever even on a horse before?’ O’Brien snapped when he took my reins. ‘I’ve never seen a more uncomfortable bollix on the back of any animal.’ He started to laugh too hard at me rubbing my backside. ‘You’ll have a sore hole for a couple of days until you get the hang of it.’

  Tom was always correct.

  The bunkhouse for the ranch-hands was near the stables. It was clean as a whistle. Rows of single beds with blankets and clean sheets that all smelled fresh. There was an odd hammock hanging from the big beams. An order, purpose and pride shone out of the place. Tom liked showing me around and I compared him to Fran and the ranch to Daly’s.

  ‘You have an eye for that Polly?’ Tom asked. ‘She said that you’ll get married once you make enough money. How much is she after?’

  My expression must have been one of total shock, cos that’s what I felt.

  ‘You have bigger notions than Polly then?’ Tom teased. ‘Thank fuck I’ve no daughters to worry about. You’re far too pretty to be a bachelor. I better warn you, too, that the bossman, Gus, will not take kindly to the look of you on a horse. He’s expecting a good pair of hands for this job.’

  Tom was right to warn me of Polly’s intentions and about the attitude of Gus Kelly. For as much as I immediately liked Tom O’Brien, I hated Gus on sight.

  26

  Charlie Quinn

  Gus Kelly doesn’t deserve much of our time, but unfortunately, he is pivotal to the course of my life. Short in stature, with a balding, thirty-year-old head, he didn’t look anything like Tom. In time I learned he was a stepson and that made better sense. The other men loathed Gus Kelly almost as much as I did. Gus paid the bills and our wages and we all bowed and scraped to him.

  He was a bitter bastard, and called himself ‘a real Irish patriot’. I wasn’t sure what that meant and considering he never set foot in Ireland, I thought him the biggest ass going. Somehow, he’d heard that I was northern Protestant and this jarred with his pretend Irish patriotism. He thought that I was a chancer. He could see that I was not a good cow-poker or horse rider – therefore my fate with him was sealed from the get-go.

  ‘Randal Hamilton,’ he spat and got off his horse. ‘I’d batter you, only we need men.’

  I remember he ordered me out into the wilds of the prairie in the dead of my first snow and harsh winter. I was to roam the perimeter fence which was possibly six hundred miles give or take. This became one of my main jobs. At the time, he was sending me to my death. I knew nothing of the wilds of the prairies, in the snow.

  Tom wasn’t keen on the prospect. ‘He’ll die on his first night. Let’s send the Chief with him?’

  Chief was a Cree and I doubt he was called by his right name either. Silent and proud like I wished to be, Chief didn’t complain. His skill for those first days out in the wilds of winter kept us both alive. He showed me everything with no need for much language. I learned quickly – or else I’d have died. I’ll never forgive Gus for
that time. Never!

  The weather got that bad even Chief wouldn’t venture any further. We made our way homewards at the peak of the storms. Thankfully, Gus took Chief’s word that the fence was fine as far as the border to the west and that even he wouldn’t move in the new, deep snowdrifts. I’d seen no fence at all, but I said nothing. This kept Gus happy until the days became more like a Canadian spring.

  During the days with less activity, I used a rope, learned how to ride a bit better and practised rustling. Between that and the survival guide from Chief, I felt more able-bodied. Tom also had me butchering. This brought back old memories and skills, and even Gus couldn’t mock my abilities at that.

  It was when I was allowed into the main house for a Christmas meal, that I saw Gus’s wife, Olga up close. There were very few females and even though she wasn’t as pretty as Polly or as stunning as my Ella, she was shapely, brown-haired, and the men all called her ‘cosy’. They also said that Gus purchased her from nomadic Russian workers. Before I’d been to Daly’s I might not have believed that there was such a lawlessness to life in the wilds. Olga smiled and seemed happy in the big house, and when I caught her eye I knew she was as lonesome as I was.

  I’m not sure how Olga and I came to be in the corridor together. No doubt I made excuses to be alone with her. When I brushed past I touched her sleeve. I expected Olga to shout out when I pulled her closer. She didn’t even whimper. My mouth met hers and she moaned. I was shocked and stumbled us against the wall. I kissed her good and proper until we thought someone was coming.

  I liked it. I kept thinking that I had stolen something from Gus Kelly. It was childish – that’s how I was. When I got back to the dining room, my smirk was hard to quench.

  Everyone still called Tom O’Brien’s wife, Mrs Kelly. She was a grey-haired woman who looked much older than Tom. The Canadian prairie life sucked the youth from some women. Their beauty always fared worse in the prairies.

  Mrs Kelly was intent on watching me. The house was very fine, with proper expensive furnishings and drapes. I wanted similar when I made enough and I started calculating how long it might take me to come by the means to impress people like the Kellys’ wealth did.

  ‘You’re a fine young fellow,’ Mrs Kelly said towards me more than once. She was tipsy and all of the scene enraged Gus. He sat giving me dirty looks and feeling up Olga, his wife. I could only smile and raise my glass at the distinguished, drunk Mrs Kelly. Tom winked, unconcerned about his own honour, which was understandable as his wife was, of course, out of bounds.

  The cold store where we hung the carcases was where I met Olga again. It became our place for elicit rendezvous. It wasn’t lovemaking. It wasn’t anything special. Olga liked to think it was something greater than it was. Every time I got inside her I revelled in it silently for days. Smugly, I stood with folded arms as Gus Kelly ranted and raved about the work he needed done. I think at some point I must have boasted to the others. Possibly after some whisky, or over food in the chuck-shed, or while dreaming in the bunkhouse. We rarely went to town and I never wanted the seedy whores. So, they might have believed me and remembered it for the years to come.

  If I did venture into Winnipeg, I usually went to see Polly. There was little made in the way of promises. Somehow she seemed convinced that we were engaged. This was awkward as I appreciated her finding me the job. I thought she was attractive and she didn’t care that there was little of substance or love between us. She clung to my arm whenever I went to visit and asked about my savings.

  Her father didn’t think much of Hammy. I respected him for that. I agreed with him on most things. I thought he was right to protect Polly and I told him that.

  ‘I’ve not asked Polly to get married and I never will.’

  ‘She’s promised to someone else, you know. If you don’t want her, stop coming back here,’ Mr Hollyridge said. That was the last thing he said. I left a little bit sad and rejected, and of course, I said nothing to Polly. The man was right.

  It was just before my first big trip out to do a round-up, that I was told to come to the big house kitchen. When I opened the outer screen door, there was Polly standing with the other women.

  Olga’s eyes were brimming with tears and Mrs Kelly was angry as her tone was clipped as she said, ‘Her father is dying. She’s looking to speak with you. Says you’re engaged.’

  ‘The hotel?’ I asked. I knew the place was a good earner and although the work was hard it wasn’t cold and damp, or hot and sweaty. ‘What will your father think?’

  ‘She was to agree to marry her father’s choice or she’ll lose the lot.’

  ‘I’ll keep my promise to you,’ Polly said, those dark eyes expectant and full of love.

  I was a bastard as right there in a stranger’s kitchen, I rejected her. ‘There’s no engagement. We’ve made no such promises.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Polly protested and made a fool of herself. ‘I can’t marry that old man. I’ve come to be with you.’

  I didn’t know who the man she was promised to was until I had to go and ask if there was any post for me. He was possibly ten years older than Polly and not exactly elderly or awful-looking. I was surprised when Polly chose to stay in Mrs Kelly’s for she gave up her home and birthright for nothing at all.

  I think Tom’s wife, who I called Old Mrs Kelly, was relieved to have another woman about the place. If she knew about me fucking Olga she possibly thought having Polly there would stop all that. Old Mrs Kelly was generous and gave Polly and I a small, new cabin to the right of the main gate. We were to be a lookout beacon and when I was away on the range, Polly could stay in the big house if she wanted to. We never made vows to each other or were churched in any way. We lived as man and wife when I came back for a few days every few months. Then, I was off again.

  I found life under the stars or under a canvas tent preferable to being controlled by Polly. She liked me to be clean and talkative. These were two things I was becoming less and less interested in being. When home, lying with Polly became boring and Olga took whatever energy I had left.

  Neither of these women were my Ella and I was soon to learn what was happening back in Ireland.

  27

  Charlie Quinn

  Polly took to staying in the cabin even when I was away. I was away for months at a time. I hope now that she had love in my absence. If not, it was years of her life she lived alone.

  I was territorial and proud of my harem of two women. Other men were alone or with whores and I revelled in having two all to myself. And both of them doted on me. I couldn’t brag about this and this bugged the show-off in me.

  Hammy was becoming a wealthy enough cattle-hand and I was starting to think of home more and more. I was delighted when I went into Winnipeg for there were a few letters to me, in what was Polly’s hotel.

  ‘Fine place you have here,’ I said to the man behind the desk. It was the man Polly was to marry who now owned the place and Old Mrs Kelly told me that he was a far-out relation of Polly’s. There was no mention of Polly between him and I. Like I said, he seemed decent enough.

  I took the bundle of envelopes tied in a small string. Cedric and Jock had taken me at my word in the letters and put c/o Randal Hamilton on the front.

  It took me many days to pick up the courage to open the letters. I was lying with my bedroll propped under my head watching the cattle drink from one of the brooks, when I finally ripped the paper open.

  I read Jock’s first and it didn’t say much. He rambled on, telling me that his own wife had passed away shortly after I left. This didn’t bother me none as I never thought much of her. Jock admitted that he was lonely as hell without us both. There was a mention of a few customers and it was very pointed that he didn’t refer to my Ella at all. Jock was about the only person who knew some of our relationship and he failed me with a very short and unhelpful letter.

  Anna’s epistle was a lengthy novel. It read just the way she talked; full of her ho
pes for a good marriage to the new apprentice in Daly’s butchers and of all the stupid books she had read. Anna mentioned looking after Father more, which I skipped over. None of her news interested me in the slightest and she didn’t seem to miss her wayward brother one little bit. I shouldn’t have expected as much. I hadn’t spent a lot of time in her orbit. I was angry, though, and ripped her words up into tiny pieces.

  Cedric’s letters were last. There were two from him. I was thrilled and devoured every word. I wish I still had them. I read them over and over. The words stung and went something like,

  And that Ella O’Brien, she’s been the talk of the country. Taken away for murdering her own babies. Poor Dr O’Brien is beside himself with grief. Losing her and their good name all in one fell swoop. The poor man is distraught and who could blame him? She’s going to be tried soon. Talk is they will be lenient as she’s from such a good home, there’s not much real evidence and this heinous crime is more common than we ever knew.

  His words were painful, as he, of course, had no true love for Ella. He also denied all lustful feelings for her too. I’m sure all men did at that time. Everyone considered her to be a wicked woman. I was disappointed that Cedric didn’t enclose a paper clipping. He did mention:

  I doubt you want all the sordid details. Working in the paper I get to hear all the awful news and I hate taking it home with me. I knew you’d be interested in Ella O’Brien though. You had such a soft spot for her. Aren’t you sorry now you ever laid eyes on her? The whole place is mortified to be associated with her.

  I am tired of all the horrible sins in this world. Someday soon I would love to feature a good news story. Send me nice tales of Canada. I will get a good journalist to do a feature on you when you make your fortune. I only work in the print setting. I was glad to read in your letter that you got work on the railway. What adventures you’ve been having. Write again soon and we can tell Father about how you are making a great life for yourself in a whole new place.