New Girl in Little Cove

by Damhnait Monaghan

  But now here I was in Newfoundland reliving my past. I started the car in an effort to dislodge the memories, and headed home. It was funny, but the physical distance that existed between Mom and me seemed to be bringing us closer. I found myself wondering what our relationship would be like when her sabbatical was over and she came home.

  As I pulled into my driveway, I remembered that Mom was due to call me. I wasn’t in the greatest shape to speak to her. The phone was ringing when I opened the door and I debated not answering it. But in the end I did.

  “Rachel?”

  I sagged down on the loveseat at the sound of his voice.

  “How did you get my number?”

  “Your uncle gave it to me.”

  “What do you want, Jake? I really don’t have anything to say to you. I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Wait!” His voice was pleading. “Hear me out. I deserve that at least.”

  There were two years of photos that to the casual observer would confirm a happy couple: Jake and me at a hockey game, Jake and me skiing, Jake and me at the cottage. We had ticked every item on the list of great Canadian date activities.

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I screwed up, Rachel. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Clearly, you weren’t thinking of me, Jake,” I said, my tone becoming more sarcastic as I warmed up. “Oh, no, wait. That’s not exactly right, is it? You were thinking of me. You were thinking I was too sad all the time, remember?”

  There was silence at the other end.

  “I mean, God forbid that a girl whose father has just died be sad, right, Jake?”

  “I’m sorry, Rach. It was a stupid, crass thing to say. It was my first experience of death. Your father meant a lot to me too.”

  “No!” I stood up abruptly. “You do not get to use my father’s death to justify your insensitive and selfish comments. And you sure as hell don’t get to use it to justify cheating on me.”

  In slow-motion replay, in my mind’s eye, I saw the girl go down the steps and push Sheila into the pool and all the mouths of the guests forming perfectly round Os.

  “It was over before it began.” Jake’s tone was pleading.

  I wanted to tell him how much he’d hurt me, but I was afraid that if I kept talking, I’d end up telling him about the abortion. I hung up, and right away, the phone began ringing again. I pulled the jack out of the wall, sat down in the rocking chair and rocked back and forth, back and forth, long into the night.

  34

  Two days later, I found a sealed envelope in my cubbyhole in the staff room. I opened it to find a typed letter requiring my attendance at a meeting with Patrick after school. My neck prickled. I’d never been summoned this way before.

  Patrick’s face was grave when I knocked on the open door to his office.

  “You wanted to see me?” I said quietly.

  “Shut the door please, Rachel.”

  The window in Patrick’s office overlooked the parking lot. I sat down and waited while he stared out of it. I could see nothing going on out there, but Patrick seemed mesmerized. When I could bear it no longer, I broke the silence.

  “I went to see Cynthia in the hospital.”

  His gaze left the window and settled on me. “It’s Cynthia we needs to talk about. I’m after receiving a formal complaint about you.”

  “From Cynthia?”

  “No.”

  There was another long silence, then he said, “Jaysus, girl, you messed up. I don’t think I can help you with this one.”

  “W-what?” I said. “What is it?”

  “I’m told you counselled Cynthia to have an abortion. Is that true?”

  I began to shake. “I didn’t counsel her to do anything. I mean, I gave her a few options.”

  He cut me off. “Abortion is not an option for Catholics, Rachel, as you well know. The Church views it as a mortal sin. Father Frank is adamant that this has to go before the Board. And I’m inclined to agree with him.”

  “But how did he . . .”

  “How it was found out should be the least of your concerns right now. But Father Frank went to visit Cynthia in the hospital. That poor girl is racked with guilt and I expect she confided in him.”

  “But she didn’t have an abortion, Patrick,” I said, my voice rising. “She lost the baby.”

  “That’s not the point.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “It’s not what she did, it’s what you, a teacher in a Catholic school, apparently said. I expect your employment will be terminated. We’ll speak no more of this for now and you are not to discuss it with anyone. That’s all.” He picked up a folder on his desk and began to carefully examine its contents.

  I walked out numb, then shut the door and leaned against it, eyes smarting, breath jagged. Phonse was mopping the floor a few feet away and looked up. I couldn’t face him, so I ran the other way, outside to the parking lot.

  There was a man, baseball cap pulled low on his face, standing beside my car. When he saw me, he walked quickly away. A parent? I ran to my car and found a note under my windshield wiper. I quickly read it. More of the same.

  Infuriated, I started running after the man. I was gaining on him when he looked over his shoulder and saw me. He started running, too. Then he darted across the road, heading towards a field. I started to cross the road after him, but there was a screech of tires and the blaring of a horn, then Eddie Churchill’s brandnew pickup truck stopped inches from me.

  He jumped out of the car with the engine still running and grabbed me by the shoulders.

  “Jaysus Christ,” he roared. “You trying to get yourself killed?” His fingers were digging into my shoulders and I whimpered. He released me and ran a hand through his grey hair.

  “Sorry, girl,” he said. “I’m a bit twitchy after that accident I had. What’s got you all riled up?”

  “He put another note on my car,” I said. “I just want to know why.”

  “Who?”

  I pointed across the road. The man had stopped when the tires screeched, but now he began to run again.

  “That’s Ron Drodge. Hard case, that one. What’s the note say?”

  Wordless now, I handed it to him. “When are you going to start listening you mainlander bitch? Frig off back home,” it read.

  I told Eddie I’d been finding notes like that on my car all year. “The little bastard,” he said. “I’m ashamed of him. Come on, get in the truck.”

  We drove back to the school and Eddie came inside with me. “I think we should tell Patrick,” he said.

  “No!” I didn’t want to see Patrick right now.

  “Well, someone needs to be told,” said Eddie.

  “Someone needs to be told what?” said Doug, who had appeared in the hall.

  Eddie handed him the note. “Ron Drodge left this on her car this afternoon.” He jerked his head at me. “She says she’s had a few of these notes.”

  Doug read the note. “Let me get my keys,” he said.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “To have a chat with Ron.”

  By now, I was shaking and couldn’t face the drive back to Clayville. “Can you drop me at Lucille’s?” I asked.

  “She’s gone to Clayville,” said Eddie. “Drove her there meself.”

  “I’ll bring you to our place,” said Doug. “Mudder would love to see you.”

  During the short journey to his house, he kept starting to speak, then stopping. He brought me inside the house and called out to his mother.

  Grace wheeled herself into the hall and her face lit up. “Rachel, grand to see you,” she said. “We can all have tea.”

  “I needs to go out, Mudder,” said Doug jingling his keys.

  “Off you go, then,” she said. “Rachel and I can manage without you just fine.”

  “I can make the tea,” I said. “If you give me some direction.”

  I put the kettle on and Grace told me where to find mugs
and milk. The water splashed onto the burner as I poured.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve got the jitters.”

  “Bad day?” she asked

  She looked so sympathetic that I ended up telling her about the note and how Doug was gone to talk to Ron.

  “I don’t understand why he hates me so much,” I said. “I’ve never even met him. I’ve been getting these notes since my first day of teaching.”

  Her expression changed. “Oh, Doug never told me that.”

  “I didn’t tell him,” I said. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “No one?” Her tone was one of surprise.

  “I didn’t know who it might be, so I was afraid to tell anyone.”

  My dear,” she said, “I’m some disappointed to hear that all of Little Cove was a suspect in your eyes. Do you not trust any of us?”

  I looked down at my lap. Why hadn’t I told anyone about the notes? Had I really suspected everyone?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Well, never mind,” she said. “But if you’d mentioned it to Lucille, she would’ve sussed the culprit right quick. Anyway, I’m not surprised it was Ron. He’s bad news. I expect he was doing it for Brigid.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps in his mind, you took her job.”

  We’d drunk our tea and Doug was still not back, but I was suddenly anxious to leave Little Cove. I said goodbye to Grace and she put her arms up for a hug.

  “I’ll never forgive Ron for doing that to you,” she said. “You were an innocent party.”

  As I walked down the road to get my car from the school, I found myself wondering how much longer I could lay claim to that label around here.

  35

  Over the next few days, I dragged myself through lessons. Every time there was a knock on my door or a note on my desk, I felt sick. The wait was over when Judy arrived at my classroom all business and said that Mr. Donovan wanted to see me and she would cover my class. So, this was it. I was about to be fired.

  I grabbed my purse from the back of chair in case I was asked to leave immediately. Through the open doors of the other classrooms, my fellow teachers were carrying on as normal. Doug was sitting on the edge of his desk talking to his class. He stopped talking, and the class laughed in unison. What had he said? I wondered. Sister Mary Catherine’s room was silent. The students were diligently working and she was at her desk, reading.

  I knocked on Patrick’s door, then stuck my head in.

  A woman who looked a few years older than me sat opposite him. She had wavy blonde hair and violet eyes. Her skin was so pale I could see blue veins running beneath it.

  “Oops, sorry,” I said. “I’ll come back later.”

  “Come in, Rachel,” said Patrick. His face was red and blotchy under his beard. “Come and meet Brigid. She was the French teacher here before you.”

  “Hello,” she said softly.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” I said. And we both blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  She inclined her head slightly. “It’s all right.”

  Then she said to Patrick, “I’ll be off. I’ll wait to hear.”

  Patrick walked around his desk. “I’ll see you out, Brigid.” When they reached the door, he called over his shoulder. “Sit tight, Rachel, I’ll be right back.”

  After a minute I saw them in the parking lot. Patrick walked Brigid to her car. He leaned into the window and talked to her for a few minutes. He waited until she drove away, then he looked up at the sky for a minute before walking slowly back towards the school.

  “Christ on a cracker,” he said, sitting down heavily in his chair. “Sorry about that. She pitched up here just now to ask for her job back. Said she heard you were on a one-year contract.”

  “What were you going to talk to me about?”

  Patrick picked up a big ring of keys from the desk, weighing them in his hand. “I don’t know. I was hoping to come up with a plan, but now Brigid’s complicated things. I told her I had to confirm your intentions seeing as you’re the incumbent now.”

  “But what about Father Frank?” I asked, faint stirrings of hope rising in my heart.

  “I don’t know,” said Patrick. “I needs to have a word with him and now we got this complication. I don’t think he’ll want Brigid back, but I didn’t know what else to say. I couldn’t exactly tell her I was waiting to hear if you’d be fired.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “So you’re still waiting to hear?”

  He nodded.

  We sat in bleak silence while dust motes danced between us in the light from the window. At lunchtime twenty students had shown up for French club, including a few first-timers. Behind Patrick on the bulletin board was a draft poster for the garden party. I hadn’t yet gotten the students to agree to play, but felt I was wearing them down. I’d played with them again at the pub in Mardy a few weeks back. And what about Calvin? How would he get on at the trades college in September? Would Cynthia bounce back? All these people I hadn’t known a year ago now mattered desperately to me. My thoughts had just turned to Doug when the bell rang so loud in Patrick’s office that I jumped.

  “Patrick,” I said. “I know I screwed up, but I would really like to stay on next year.”

  He looked bleak. “It’s out of my hands, Rachel,” he said.

  I nodded and said goodbye.

  That evening Patrick called me at home. “Father Frank doesn’t want you back next year,” he said. “I can’t find a way to go against him. You’ll finish out the year. It’ll be non-renewal of contract, rather than termination. I managed to get that much out of him.”

  “Thank you,” I said, then added, “Are they really giving Brigid the job over me?”

  “That has yet to be determined. I’d ask you to say nothing about any of this, please.”

  I hung up the phone and flung myself on the loveseat, wondering how running off with a priest compared with my supposed sins.

  36

  At school the next morning, Judy greeted me with a friendly smile. It was the first sign of a thaw since the debacle with Cynthia.

  “You’ve an appointment in the library,” she said. “Yes, I’m covering your first lesson, again.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But why does Patrick want to see me there?”

  “It’s not Patrick,” she said. “It’s Father Frank.”

  Walking slowly down the corridor towards the library, I understood how a condemned prisoner might feel. I stood outside, hand on the doorknob, and tried to regulate my heart rate. Then I took a deep breath and went in.

  Father Frank was sitting at one of the study tables. His folded hands rested on a manila envelope.

  “Good morning, Father,” I said.

  He didn’t reply, merely indicated that I should sit down opposite him.

  “Miss O’Brine,” he said, “I do not like to have my instructions ignored.”

  I folded my hands together and waited for the lecture.

  “The first time we met, I underlined the important role you would play in the lives of our young people and the moral code of conduct you were expected to display.”

  I bowed my head. It killed me to admit it, even to myself, but he was right. However much I might not agree with some of the teachings of the Church, the contract I’d willingly signed required me to uphold them.

  “If it were up to me,” he continued, “you would be leaving St. Jude’s today. However, there are some complications now associated with this situation.”

  I waited for him to raise the subject of Brigid.

  “I’ve had written confirmation that the archbishop will finally be visiting our parish this summer.”

  I looked up.

  “A great deal of work needs to be done before then,” he added.

  “I see, Father,” I lied.

  He tugged at his collar, revealing a nick from his razor. “I don’t appreciate being blackmailed,” he said, sha
rply.

  “I’m sorry, Father, I don’t understand.”

  He tapped the envelope in front of him. “Two of the Holy Dusters paid me a visit last night,” he said. “Lucille Hanrahan and Biddy Cormack. For some unfathomable reason, they are very fond of you. They made quite the impassioned case for you to remain in our parish.”

  “But how did . . .” His frown silenced me.

  “My dear,” he said, in a tone that made clear this was not a term of endearment. “One thing you must be aware of by now is that Lucille Hanrahan knows every blessed thing that goes on in this parish.”

  He put on a pair of reading glasses and removed a sheet of paper from the envelope. “This is a list of the ‘miracles’”—he looked up at me over the glasses—“not a word I would choose, but the miracles you are alleged to have performed.” He read:

  Rescued a drowning dog.

  Helped a young man find a vocation.

  Ended a feud, returning a woman to her community.

  Reminded the community about hope.

  He put down the note and took off his reading glasses. “Now I must say, I was unaware that this community needed reminding about hope. And I would add that you are encroaching on my territory with that last one.”

  He replaced the note in the envelope. “According to Lucille, the Holy Dusters have downed their mops. She says they won’t do a tap of work unless I agree you can stay.”

  A grin threatened to bloom on my face, but I managed to suppress it.

  “So, can I, Father?” I asked. “Stay?”

  He nodded.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “One more thing, now, before you go. I’ve told Lucille and Biddy that if anyone ever gets wind of this blackmail, the deal is off. Not a word is to be spoken, do you hear me? Not even between you and Lucille.”

  “Yes, Father.” Then I remembered Cynthia.

  “Father, what if Cynthia—”

  “She told me you said ‘get rid of it.’ Is that correct?” His face was puce.