They met the train a short time later. Despite her easy conversation with Danol, tension crept in once more. He held her hand and squeezed it when he felt the change in her. She sighed heavily and put her head on his arm.
Without Danol by her side, Erith wasn’t sure if she could step down from the train when they reached St. John’s. With ease, he took her waist and swung her from the platform to the ground. With cautious hope that she would be able to get through the rest of the day, she let Danol guide her. He gathered her to him as they walked the half-mile to the solicitor’s office on Duckworth Street. There they would determine what they had to do next.
17
Holyrood
“Caddy, the mail is in,” Mrs. Carroll said. “Looks like there’s lots there to be sorting.”
“Yes, Mrs. Carroll, I’ll finish up with Mr. MacDonald and be right there,” the young flaxen-haired girl said. “Will that be all, Mr. MacDonald?”
“I almost forgot the tea, Caddy,” John said.
“I’ll get that,” Mrs. Carroll said. “You go on over and start the mail.”
Caddy Healey smiled at Mr. MacDonald. He came in quite often of late, she noticed. He seemed to be better off now than when she started working at the store and post office a few years before. But that was none of her business, as Mrs. Carroll continued to remind her.
“Of course, Mrs. Carroll.” Caddy nodded to John while Mrs. Carroll waited for her to come out from behind the shop counter before she moved in to tend on her customer. The Carrolls were good to have hired her so young. She suspected it was to help her mother out after her father had died just three years ago, when she was twelve. She continuously tried to prove her worth both here and home in a conscious effort to help her mother and her five younger siblings stay out of the poorhouse.
Mr. MacDonald had given her mother vegetables in the last few years to help the family get through the winter. Caddy liked him. He was a nice man.
Caddy delved into the bag of mail and began to sort the packages and the envelopes. She was lucky that her parents had insisted she stay in school and not go out into service to some of the rich folks, where the need to read and write was not a requirement of employment. The fact that she could do both had made it easy to get a job at the store. The hours were long, but the work wasn’t that hard, and she enjoyed the people.
“There you go, Mr. MacDonald. On your account?” Mrs. Carroll asked.
“No, I’ll settle up with you now.” The register clanged, and moments later, the bell over the door rang as Mr. MacDonald left. Beatrice had been playing outside with Caddy’s sister, Penny. Caddy glanced through the large store window as Mr. MacDonald offered them both a sucker and said something to her sister, who instantly smiled and took three more from him. He reached for Beatrice’s hand, and they both waved at Penny. Beatrice skipped along beside her father on their way toward home.
Penny peered through the window at Caddy. She shook her head at the girl and nodded toward their house across the road. Penny acknowledged she understood, beamed as she held up the suckers, and turned to go home.
Caddy smiled to herself and hummed as she took out the brown-paper-wrapped parcels and sorted through the envelopes. She paused on one envelope and held it in the air. “Mrs. Carroll, I got another one here for Nancy Martin.”
“Put it in the bag for return,” Mrs. Carroll said.
“Yes, but this one is marked ‘Urgent.’”
Mrs. Carroll came around the postal counter and grabbed the letter from Caddy. She inspected it, holding it to the light of the window, and then tapped it several times on the metal edge of the ink box.
“There is nothing we can do,” Mrs. Carroll said. She tapped the flat side of the letter gently on her chin. “It’s an offence to open, and we don’t know who this Nancy Martin is.”
“But it’s urgent,” Caddy said. “What if—”
“Stop that ‘what if,’ young lady. We have to send it back, just like we’ve done with the dozen others we’ve received over the years.”
“But—” Caddy continued.
“No buts, Caddy.” Mrs. Carroll opened the ink box and found the roller marked “Returned Unopened,” pushed it through the sponge on the blue ink pad, and then spread it across the front of the letter. She threw the envelope into the outgoing mailbag for the next day. “No more about it, Caddy. You hear me?”
“Yes, Mrs. Carroll. I hear you.” Caddy put her head down and continued with the sorting. Several people came for their mail and to post letters and packages. She left the returned envelope on the top of the pile. The next day, before closing the bag, she stuffed the letter into the pocket of her dress when Mrs. Carroll was serving the counter on the other side of the room.
Caddy brought the mailbag to the train platform, as she had done three times a week since she started working at Carroll’s Dry Goods. She patted her pocket. “I’ll find you, Nancy Martin.”
That night, she placed the letter between the mattress and spring of the bed she shared with her two sisters. She tumbled the notion of finding Nancy Martin around in her head until she fell asleep.
18
“What’s on your mind, Caddy, my dear?”
“Nothing, Ma.”
“You’re awful quiet this morning, and you forgot to set the table before the young ones got up.”
“I was getting to it,” Caddy said. She shuffled to the sideboard and took out the sugar dish. Seeing it was nearly empty, she filled it from the tin container in the pantry before returning to the kitchen. Her mother was rooting at the fire with the poker and motioned for Caddy to hand her another few sticks. She was moving toward the door when her mother said, “I already brought in the milk.” Caddy changed her route and went back to the pantry for bread and the knife. She sat on the edge of the long bench behind the old wooden table and began the job of slicing the loaves.
She had ten slices on the faded yellow oilcloth when her mother touched her wrist. “We’re not feeding the place this morning, Caddy,” she said. “What’s gotten into you, child?”
“Just puzzling, that’s all,” Caddy said.
“Quit your puzzling or I’ll have to be baking again today,” her mother said. She grinned at Caddy and took the knife. The woman sat on the chair across from her. “What’s wrong, Caddy? Is it your monthly come early?”
“No, Ma.” Then Caddy told her mother about the letter. She left out the part about leaving it upstairs under the mattress.
“Mrs. Carroll is right, it’s not your business, Caddy.”
“But Ma, it was urgent,” Caddy argued. “What if it was life and death?”
“Caddy, you and your imagination. It’s going to get you in trouble sometime.” Her mother chuckled. “What could be so life and death around these parts?”
“I don’t know, Ma. But I’d like to find this Nancy in case she was in trouble.”
“Well, I can’t help you there, child. Now, let’s get the toast on the damper before the others come down the stairs.”
“Yes, Ma.” They both went about the morning breakfast routine before Caddy left for the store.
Two days later, Caddy still hadn’t figured out the mystery of Nancy Martin. Her mother sat her down again and asked her what was wrong.
“I told you, Ma, nothing’s wrong.”
“Is it this Mary what’s-her-name business again?”
“Martin, Ma. Nancy Martin.”
“So, it is the same thing. What are you worrying about it for?”
“I can’t help it, Ma. She could be needed for something.”
“Now, Caddy, mind that imagination of yours.”
“I’m sorry, Ma.” Caddy went about sweeping the floor, her last chore before going to work. Her mother took her arm and sat her at the table once again.
“I know when you get something
in that head of yours you won’t stop until it’s figured out,” Caddy’s mother said gently. “So, figure it out.”
“I’ve been trying. But there’s nobody named Nancy here.”
“Well, how long have the letters been coming?”
“About three years, Ma.”
“Well, who’s new here since around that time?” Her mother counted the people who had moved to Holyrood. There were four families and five schoolteachers. “Some of the schoolteachers are gone. Maybe it was one of them?”
Over the next two weeks, Caddy waited for an opportunity to bring up Nancy Martin to each of the people her mother had counted out. The first few didn’t prove fruitful. James Millmore, a short, stocky fisherman, and his wife, Mary, equally proportionate to her husband, were the last two on the list. She was sure that Mary Millmore had to be Nancy, although she couldn’t fathom why. Caddy couldn’t wait to deliver the letter to Mrs. Millmore. She brought it to the store every day. She almost gave up on seeing Mary Millmore at the store after the others turned out to be wrong. Growing impatient, she was tempted to go to their house on her next day off and deliver it, but the thought of losing her job kept her from going.
Keeping the letter was an unlawful act, maybe unforgivable, and it might mean she would have to go before the magistrate. Then again, maybe the magistrate would open the letter and reveal what was in there. Caddy had been tempted to look but drew the line at going to jail. Mrs. Carroll had warned her many times that peeping in others’ mail would have dire consequences. She was only allowed to read letters to somebody if they asked. Caddy often read the newspaper out loud when an article was of particular interest and groups gathered after supper to hear her.
Most recently, folks had been coming to the store to hear about the man who’d escaped from authorities during a jailbreak at the penitentiary in St. John’s. He was captured again, without incident, in Labrador, only to escape once more in Harbour Main. A sudden windstorm had kept the boat from docking in Harbour Grace, where he was due for court. Many constables from the Newfoundland Constabulary had passed through on the train and had set up stations in towns from Holyrood to Harbour Grace in an attempt to capture the criminal. It was really quite sensational, and Caddy put a lot of effort into emphasizing the words to bolster the imaginations of those gathered.
That evening, Saturday, would draw a bigger crowd. Caddy hoped to see Mr. and Mrs. Millmore. She planned to mention the name Nancy Martin and hoped Mrs. Millmore would ask about the letter.
The store was full when Mr. and Mrs. Millmore entered. Caddy had already read the paper, and the place was alive with chatter about the escaped criminal.
“Out for a stroll?” somebody asked the Millmores.
“It’s a grand evening for it,” Mary Millmore replied.
They exchanged pleasantries amongst the crowd before Caddy called her aside.
“Some lovely drinking glasses over here, Mrs. Millmore,” Caddy said as she took the larger lady’s arm and guided her away from the milieu. Halfway down the aisle between the two rows of dry goods, Caddy stopped in front of a selection of glasses.
Mrs. Millmore reached for one glass. “Very fine, indeed,” she said as she inspected the glass.
“Mrs. Millmore, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Millmore said as she replaced the glass and took another. She didn’t look at Caddy.
Mr. Millmore called out to her. “How much longer, Mary?”
“We just got here,” she called back to her husband.
“I’ll have that drink, then,” he said. “Caddy, will you get it?”
“Just a moment,” Caddy said.
“I don’t have all night,” he said.
“Just a moment,” Mrs. Millmore said, and she waved her hand as if to dismiss him. “What is it, Caddy? Anything wrong with your mother?”
“No, no. Nothing like that?”
“What is it, then?”
“Are you Nancy Martin?” Caddy blurted out under her breath.
“Am I who?”
“Nancy Martin,” Caddy repeated.
“Nancy Martin?” Mrs. Millmore’s brows furrowed. “Why would you ask such a question? I was christened Mary Agnes Josephine Chaulk.”
Caddy’s shoulders sank.
“Are you all right, girl?” Mrs. Millmore asked. She took Caddy by the elbow and looked her in the eye. Tears were welling there. “What’s this about?”
Caddy quickly explained the situation, leaving out the fact that she had the letter with her. Mr. Millmore grumbled loudly near the counter. “I better go,” Caddy said finally.
The girl scurried back to the counter and grabbed a bottle of rum from a shelf beneath and a small glass from behind her. She poured a sizable drink and laid it before Mr. Millmore. Caddy filled a few more glasses and exchanged them for coin or a mark on a monthly bill. The women all gathered near the window, chatting, while the men finished their drinks. Mrs. Millmore joined the women.
19
By the time she got home that evening, Caddy was ready to give up on finding Nancy Martin. She had a headache from puzzling over it—she was getting nowhere. When Monday came, she sneaked the letter into the mailbag and sent it back where it came from. That was the last she’d think of Nancy Martin.
Wednesday, her day off, she was bringing in the clothes from the line when Penny came home crying. Caddy grabbed the last bedsheet and threw it over her shoulder, jammed the pins in the pocket of her apron, and entered the house a few steps behind her younger sister.
“Quit that bawling, you hear me?” her mother said.
“I can’t help it,” Penny sniffled. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand to try and stop the tears. “Beatrice is my best friend, and she’s going away.”
“Where’s she going?” Caddy asked as she folded the clothes on the daybed.
“Somewhere far away. To North Harbour, she said, but we don’t know where that is,” Penny cried. “I’m going to miss my friend.”
“Who’s she going there with?” Caddy asked offhandedly as she continued with her chore. Her mother had grown tired of the conversation and went upstairs.
“Beatrice said it was with the man who talks funny and his wife.”
“You mean he stutters?”
“No, he’s not from around here,” Penny said.
Caddy remembered well the tall man who had bought things for the MacDonalds last year. He talked differently than most. Somebody mentioned he was from Boston.
“I know the one you mean,” Caddy said. “He’s living in St. Mary’s Bay.”
“Is that far?” Penny asked.
“Far enough. Why is she going there?”
“Beatrice doesn’t know. Her mother told her not to ask questions. They’re leaving tomorrow.” Penny started to howl once more and ran upstairs.
Caddy started to mull that around in her head till her mother reprimanded her for taking too much time at the clothes. She fetched the black iron frying pan for the fish and forgot about Penny’s woes as she prepared supper.
Two days later, Mrs. Millmore came to the store in search of Caddy. “I dropped in to see your mother, and she mentioned you were working today.”
“I work every day except for Wednesdays and Sundays,” Caddy said as she wiped the rag across the counter. “I spilled pickle there. Mind your sleeve.” Mrs. Millmore moved back to give the girl room to finish cleaning the reddish brine off the wooden rack. “Mrs. Carroll will be here soon if you want to see her.”
“No, Caddy. I was looking for you.”
Caddy stopped. “For me?”
“Yes, I was thinking about your question.”
“I gave up on that,” Caddy said.
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
Caddy l
aid the cloth in the pan of warm water and wiped her apron over the top of the counter to dry it off. “Too bad? Why?”
“Well, I remembered something. But if you don’t want to hear it, well then . . .”
Caddy bolted from behind the counter and stood face to face with Mrs. Millmore. The woman smiled at Caddy’s excitement.
“What is it?” Caddy asked.
“You know I was the schoolteacher here before I married John.” Caddy nodded and leaned in to make sure she caught every word. “Young Beatrice had just started school. Your Penny, too.”
“Yes,” Caddy said. “But what’s that got to do with Nancy Martin?”
“I’m not quite sure if it has anything to do with it, but it was strange just the same.”
“What?” Caddy asked. Her hands clenched and her face reddened.
“I shouldn’t be spreading rumours,” Mrs. Millmore said. She looked toward the floor and lowered her voice.
“Cross my heart, I won’t tell anyone, Mrs. Millmore,” Caddy said. “I won’t go starting stories. I just want to deliver her mail.” She didn’t tell Mrs. Millmore that she had already sent it back.
“You’re sure, Caddy? You won’t go telling anyone?”
“I’m sure!” Caddy held her breath. She was afraid she would miss something. “You were saying . . . Beatrice and Penny had started school . . . and . . .”
“Well, that’s just it, it might not be the same thing.”
“What?”
“Mrs. MacDonald. Alice,” Mrs. Millmore said. “She asked me to write a note for her and an address on an envelope.”
“What has that got to do with Nancy Martin?”
“The note said something like: ‘I’ve settled in Holyrood, Conception Bay. Don’t worry about me.’”
“What’s so unusual about that?”
“She asked me to sign it ‘Nancy,’” Mrs. Millmore said. “And the address on the envelope was somewhere in Labrador. I can’t quite recall where.”
“Was it Nain?” Caddy asked.
The Liars Page 10