“I fell down the church steps.”
“Ann, for God’s sake, I said, where’s Mary, and—”
The door opened and Little Helen bounded onto the bed. Harry was too short to do so. Beatrice scooped him up into her arms.
“Oh, my dears. I could eat you up, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Mary gone,” Little Helen told her, and nestled down.
“Yes, I know, sweetheart, but we’ll find her.”
“Oh, Mary’s hiding, but she’s near,” Ann said, placing a finger to her lips.
“Hiding, for God sakes, what’s that mean?”
Ann snuggled down into the bed. “I need my medicine.”
“Where is it? I’ll get it for you.”
“Mabel keeps it from me. I have to beg for it. I think there might be some in that top drawer over there.” Ann pointed across the room.
Beatrice found a half empty bottle of whiskey among the clothes.
“This isn’t medicine,” she told Ann, holding the bottle in the air.
“Oh, yes, it is. Dr. Creed prescribed it for me himself.” Ann motioned for Beatrice to come closer.
“Well then, I’ll be talking to him, that’s for sure.” Beatrice put the bottle back and closed the drawer.
“Please, Bea.”
“When did you start drinking, Ann?”
“Mummy drinks a lot,” Little Helen proclaimed to no one in particular.
“God help us.” Beatrice flung herself down on a chair and looked at the three of them on the bed. Ann began to cry again. Beatrice crossed the room, took the children up into her arms, and opened the bedroom door. She handed Little Harry to John and led the way downstairs.
After discussing Ann’s condition with Mabel and John, Beatrice asked Fred to take her to see Dr. Creed. Then she booked herself into the Victory Hotel in Pugwash and telegrammed her father that she would be staying in Cumberland County until Mary was found.
***
“This might be the missing Rockley girl, if it’s possible for a body to travel that far,” Amherst Sheriff Dan Sherman said, waving a paper under his deputy’s nose.
Lawmen and justices of the peace all over the Maritime provinces had received telegrams announcing the discovery of a young girl’s body on a Prince Edward Island beach.
“It says she had clothes on when she was found. Get back to this Sheriff Flynn in Summerside, will you, and ask him to send me over a piece of clothing. And I’m going to send this message through to Ryan in Pugwash just to make sure he got it too.”
Three days later a brown envelope containing a two-inch square of plaid fabric arrived on Sherman’s desk. As soon as the sheriff received it, he took the train to River Philip.
Mid-afternoon the following day, Sherman and Constable Ryan rode up to the Dempsey farmhouse on horseback. Will, unshaven and shirtless, answered their knock.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he asked, buttoning up his underwear and slicking back his blond hair with the palms of his hands.
“Mr. Harney, we’d like to have a word with you and your family,” Ryan said, placing a foot inside the porch.
Will stepped aside to let them enter, then closed the door. “Have a seat.” He gestured towards the kitchen table.
Both men removed their hats and placed them on their knees. There was a glass container of molasses and a large butcher knife on the table. Frowning, Sherman pushed away crumbs with his hand. He and Ryan nodded at Mabel who was sweeping the floor, and Sherman winked at Little Helen who was sitting in front of the open oven door on a braided mat, hugging a doll. As Will sat himself down at the table, the kitchen door opened again and John, who had seen the men ride up, came in. He greeted them then leaned against the wall beside the stove, with arms folded, and waited.
“Little Helen, go tell your Ma to get in here,” Will told his daughter. “Now, what can I do for you?” He smiled.
Before either man could answer, Ann entered the kitchen, unsteadily.
“Do you have news of Mary? Have you found her? Where’s Mary?” she demanded, wringing her hands in front of them. Her face was haggard and her hair hung in her eyes.
“Jesus Christ, woman, shut up and they’ll tell you.” Will turned to their visitors and rolled his eyes.
“Crazier than a loon,” Mabel said.
“Shut up, Ma,” Will barked.
Ann hung her head. “Forgive me.”
“No need to apologize, ma’am,” said Ryan. “Unfortunately, what we have to tell you is not good news.”
Ann turned and grabbed her husband’s arm. As he attempted to loosen her hold, she sank to the floor, folding up, as she fell, like a hinged wooden puppet. Ryan rose to help her but Will shook his head. “Let her be.”
Sherman reached inside his long coat and placed a piece of faded red, black, and white plaid fabric on the table. Mabel stopped rocking and craned her neck to look while Ann grasped the table leg and attempted, laboriously, to stand once again. She snatched the fabric and held it close to her face as if struggling to see it.
“Last week, the body of a girl washed up over on Prince Edward Island. She was wearing a skirt made of this material. Does it look familiar to you?”
Ann stared at Sherman, her eyes glassy. Still clutching the fabric, she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Hey, wait.” Sheriff Ryan started up from his chair.
Will laid a hand on his arm.
“Let her go, man. That was Mary’s all right and she knew it. That was a piece of the skirt she used to wear to church.”
“It’s evidence,” Ryan warned. Sherman shook his head.
“Well, then you go after her.” Will shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “It’s Mary’s all right. How did you get hold of it?”
“It was sent over from the Island,” Sherman told him. “A young girl about the same age as your daughter washed up on the shore over there on the twelfth of this month and nobody knows who she is. They sent it after I requested a piece for identification. It looks like we got a match.”
“But we need to find out for sure if it’s hers,” Ryan said, looking at Sherman.
John moved away from the wall and walked slowly up the stairs.
“Now what happens?” Will asked.
“Somebody’s got to go over to the island with me to identify the body.” Sherman got up from the table.
Will looked from one to the other.
“I suppose that’s me,” he sighed.
Summerside
Prince Edward Island
September 19, 1877
Sherman and Will met Flynn at his office. The girl’s garments were in a brown burlap bag. The first item Flynn removed from it was the brown belt.
“That was hers.” Will jumped up off his chair, spilling his coffee. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, these were Mary’s things, I’d know them anywhere. There’s her skirt, see, with the piece cut out of it.”
“You sure?” Sherman asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure. You know, I was kind of mad about having to come over here but it’s proved to be a good time,” Will said. “I’d never been on the ferry before, you know. And I’ve never been to the Island before. The place sure is green, even at this time of year, and I’d heard that the dirt was red but never realized how much until now.”
Flynn and Sherman eyed each other across the room. The latter turned away, shaking his head.
“I thought that today we’d go out to the farm where she was found and talk to the family there and go look at the gravesite,” Flynn said.
“What, she’s been buried?” Sherman looked puzzled.
“Yeah, buried the day before I sent you that telegraph. Didn’t realize they were goin’ to do it so soon. It turned out all right after all since we know now who she is. No harm done.”
“It’s n
ot right, though. The body should have been kept longer so it could be properly identified. It’s not right,” Sherman repeated.
Flynn threw up his hands.
“Look, I’m just as glad not to see a dead body,” Will said. “These are Mary’s clothes so that’s that. What I’d really like to do now, if it’s all the same to you, is look around town for a while, maybe walk down the street and take in the sights.”
“Ah…sure, fine.” Sherman nodded.
“But be back in a half-hour, then we’ll take a drive out to the Bell farm. I’d like to have a talk with them even if you don’t.”
“Good. Can you point me in the direction of the harbour?”
Will started to whistle as he made for the door. While Flynn turned to the pot-bellied stove to refill his coffee cup, Sherman watched as Will proceeded down Water Street, tipping his cap to everyone he met along the way.
***
“What time do you think they’ll be here?” Avard asked Gilbert as they sat down at the kitchen table. Catherine was ladling out boiled dinner for the noon meal. It was a windy and uncommonly chilly day for late summer and the ham, cabbage, and potatoes would taste good, Gilbert thought, after a morning of hauling and stacking wood in the shed.
“They’re supposedly on the two o’clock train. Land here just at mealtime, I suppose.”
“The poor man. I feel so sorry for him and his family,” Catherine said, placing a bowl before her husband.
“Why they had to come here I’ll never know,” Gilbert said.
“The sheriff will have questions, and the father will want to meet the people who found his daughter. He’s likely thankful that she was found at all. And we did give her a proper burial.”
“Just cuts into the workday, is all.”
“She’s been buried,” Eddie said. “How are they going to identify her now?”
“That’s a good question,” Gilbert said, fearing he knew the answer.
“Anyway, it may give the poor man some comfort to know she was found and where she’s buried,” Catherine said, carrying her own bowl over to the table and sitting down beside Jimmy, who was carefully eating around the cabbage in front of him.
***
Gilbert looked up from the harness he was mending to see three men drive up in a buggy. The only one he recognized was Sheriff Flynn. A stocky man with a brown moustache jumped down from the left side of the front seat, followed by Flynn. The buggy’s lone occupant, a tall, thin man with blond hair, was sitting in the back.
“Gil, I’d like you to meet Sheriff Dan Sherman from Amherst.”
Flynn motioned towards Gilbert and then the stranger with his right hand. His left hand held a piece of straw he had just removed from his mouth.
“So that’s the father?” Gil asked, raising his chin towards the buggy.
Avard and Eddy came around from the back of the woodshed, where they had been chopping and piling kindling.
“Do you know the name of the dead girl, sir?” Avard asked.
“Harney,” Sherman told him. “Mary Harney from Rockley, just outside of Pugwash, over in Nova Scotia.”
“Harney, eh? Never heard that last name before,” Gilbert said.
“Originally from around Pictou way,” Sherman said.
“There’s been a bit of a misunderstandin’,” Flynn told Gilbert.
“Oh, how so?”
“The sheriff here didn’t realize that the body had already been buried. He wanted the father to identify it. But he’s seen the clothes and they’re hers all right. Took one look at them—I hadn’t gotten them all out of the bag yet—and he said they were hers. So at least we know now who she is. So many that are washed up are never identified.”
“Have you been over to the graveyard?” Gilbert asked.
“No, and I don’t think we will. He’s not really interested in seeing his daughter’s place of rest.” Sherman shrugged. “More concerned in smoking my cigarettes and when the next meal is going to be. He seems to be regarding this as one big holiday.”
“Gil,” Flynn said, “do you think that Catherine would have the teapot on?”
As they went towards the house, Avard and Eddie made their way over to the buggy.
“How many acres you got here?” Will asked.
“Pa has about a hundred,” Eddie answered.
“I got two hundred acres back home. And got about twenty men working full-time at the place. Wouldn’t believe it to look at me but it’s true.”
“We’re really sorry about…about Mary,” Avard told him.
“Thanks, boy. Yeah, it was a hard blow to both me and her ma. Mary was a good child. Prone to storytelling, but other than that she was mostly well-behaved.”
“How old was she?” Avard asked.
“Eighteen come next January…I think. She was a bit slow-witted. It was hard to get any work out of her either.”
“Did she have a beau?” Avard asked.
“One young fellow had been sniffing around her the last year or so. Had to keep my eye on the pair of them.”
“Would you like to come in the house for some tea?” Eddie asked.
“Wouldn’t mind.” Will smiled. “It’s been a long morning. It’s been a nice trip but, like I say, it’s hard to be away from the farm. I’m needed at home. By the way, could you boys point me in the direction of your outhouse? I drank a lot of strong coffee this morning.”
“I’ll show you,” Avard offered.
As the boys moved to the front of the buggy, Will opened up a satchel on the floor and rummaged around inside. Avard saw him pick up a bundle, also from the buggy floor, and stuff it into the satchel.
“All right, where’s the shithouse?” Will asked, jumping to the ground.
***
Back in Summerside, Sherman purchased tickets for himself and Will for the six-fifteen ferry crossing to Cape Tormentine. It was as they got ready to board the ferry, Prince Edward, that Sherman noticed the burlap bag was missing.
“What the hell, Flynn? I thought you told your deputy to put that bag in the buggy.”
“I did. It should be there.”
“Well, it’s not. Do we have time to go back and get it?”
“You get aboard. It’s getting late. I’ll go back and ask Gerald what he done with it. I’ll get him to run it down here to you before the ferry leaves.”
“All right, but he’ll have to be quick about it. I’ll get the captain to hold the ferry if need be.”
Will whistled as he made his way up the ferry’s gangplank. “It’s a grand day for a boat ride, don’t you think?”
Sherman grumbled under his breath. He took tobacco and papers out of his jacket pocket and started to roll a cigarette.
“Could you spare one of those, Sheriff?” Will asked, walking back down.
Sherman sighed and passed over the newly rolled smoke.
“Thanks.” Will grinned. “Think I’ll take a turn around this tub and see what’s happening.” He flicked a bit of ash into the water and boarded the boat once again.
Sherman commenced to roll another smoke.
He was waiting on the dock when Flynn’s buggy came into view in a cloud of dust. Gerald was driving as fast as he dared through town. He then reined the team in hard to avoid going over the side of the wharf. The horses tripped over their own feet in their attempt to stop. Gerald jumped out and ran up to Sherman, puffing. “I put the bag in the buggy. It should have been there. I put it in the buggy,” he repeated while trying to catch his breath.
Sherman cursed. “Well, then, it’s gone. If it shows up, which I doubt, send it on to Amherst.”
He waved to the first mate, and hurried up the gangplank in search of his travelling companion as the steamer’s engine rumbled to life.
***
When the Prince Edward docked at Cape Tormentine, She
rman hired a wagon to take him and Will to Sackville, where they stayed overnight in a boarding house near the railway station. Throughout the trip Will denied seeing the burlap bag of clothes after they left Flynn’s office.
“Honest to God. I don’t remember the young fellow putting anything in the buggy and I was outdoors with him the whole time he was getting the horses ready,” he claimed.
Sherman wrestled Will’s satchel away from him but the only things inside were an extra shirt, two apples, and a newspaper Sherman himself had purchased in Charlottetown. He suspected Will of lying but didn’t understand why he would take the clothing when he had already been told that it would be returned to the family. And if he did want them back right away, where were they now?
It just doesn’t make sense, Sherman kept telling himself.
***
The train chugged into River Philip at eleven o’clock the next morning. Will shouldered his bag and started walking north. After twenty minutes, a salesman with three steamer trunks in the back of a wagon stopped to offer him a ride.
“Women’s clothes and dainties,” he replied when Will asked what he was peddling.
He was going to Pugwash, as part of his monthly rounds through the county, and had a bottle with him. Will stayed on the wagon and was driven down the main road right past the farm. He saw John walking, stooped, to the barn and grinned to himself. He decided to go straight through to Pugwash, and make his holiday last a little longer. He was sure he’d get a ride back later in the day. The peddler let him off on Main Street and Will tipped his cap to his new friend and walked off in search of a drink.
Hank Baxter lived off Water Street, just behind Phoebe Carter’s bakery. Phoebe let him stay in a room at the back of her building. It was an open secret that Hank and his brother Mac were bootleggers. Mac, who lived just outside town on the way to Wallace, supplied the liquor and Hank sold it. Phoebe didn’t mind. Hank did odd jobs around the place and acted as a live-in night watchman. The Baxter brothers were well liked and many people appreciated the convenience of having a place to buy rum and whiskey on Sundays or after the Wharf Tavern closed for the night.
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