A Harsh and Private Beauty

by Kate Kelly

  “Did Leland know?”

  “I think he did, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Saying it and knowing it are two different things. Besides, by the time we married, it was already in the past.”

  “But, people have a right to their heritage, or at least the right to the know their biological make-up. Dad needs to know about this right away. He has been having stomach pain and now they are doing all kinds of clinical tests. Does that come from Leland? Shouldn’t Dad be aware of who his real father is? For his own health? You don’t have the right to keep that from him. From me! It’s totally wrong.”

  “It’s the sin of omission.”

  “Omission! It’s stealing, that’s what it is. Stealing someone’s right to know. I understand that it was a different time with different sensibilities, and that it was maybe confusing for you, but still….” Lisa trails off, silenced by the enormity of it all.

  “Larceny. Larceny and chaos. It’s the way everything begins. Ha!” Ruby barks out a laugh.

  Lisa continues as if Ruby hasn’t spoken, her voice strained with contained emotion. “And if you knew and Leland knew and at some level my dad knew, then Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Frank knew—what kind of dynamics does that set off in a family? Nan, it’s irresponsible!” Lisa’s voice is edged with anger.

  “Yes, you’re right, Lisa. It is irresponsible. Sometimes the things we don’t say hurt us more that the things we do say. Another lesson learned and at my age! Ha! And you wanted some good advice from me? Was that what you wanted?”

  Taking Ruby’s hand, Lisa finds herself overwhelmed with compassion for the woman sitting beside her, still defiant and bold and somehow beautiful in her human frailties. She pushes her judgement aside, but her voice cannot hide her disappointment. “Yes, Nan. I do.”

  Looking down at Ruby’s aged hand lying claw-like in her own, the skin paper thin, Lisa continues, “I guess we do what we do, thinking it is the right thing, doing it with the best of intentions.” A silent camaraderie falls between them, finally broken by Ruby’s voice, intimate with introspection.

  “Sometimes when I was singing, the notes would flow with such passion, such ease, seeming to go beyond the moment; the note, the timing, the meaning, one’s self, everything would reach understanding in a simultaneous way, becoming more than the moment. Other times it was a struggle—repeating a passage, a run, until it becomes exact, acceptable, more than passable but never going beyond what it is.” Ruby nods to herself. “I can recount my experiences, my story, but is that the truth of my life? Is there not a greater truth that lies behind and beyond our actions? Is it meaning? Is it intention?” Looking at Lisa, Ruby smiles slowly. “And isn’t that the road to hell, as they say?”

  “Yes, that’s what they say, Nan. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Lisa answers. She looks out the window but sees only the fly that is caught between the panes of glass, still struggling to make its way to the top. “That’s how I feel sometimes,” Lisa says, turning toward the window and the captured fly. “Thinking one thing and finding out something else, thinking you are going somewhere only to realize that you aren’t the one powering anything, that you are just along for the ride, just keeping busy so you don’t realize the futility of it all.”

  “Lisa!” Ruby turns sharply. “That’s just a bit too dark, don’t you think? It’s not where he’s going that matters,” she lifts her finger to follow the fly’s movements, “but that he’s doing it at all. Are things that different now because I told you something that you didn’t know? Does that make life any less worth living and struggling for? The joy is in the journey, honey. You know that. And the journey is going to be fraught with problems, some insurmountable. And we are going to make mistakes, some monumental. But it’s the going ahead and doing of it that lets us know we’re alive. There isn’t any brass ring in the end. There’s only what we learn along the way. And besides, you have to look past the window to really see.” Ruby nudges Lisa with her elbow and nods at the vista outside. “Just look at the beauty out there!”

  Lisa looks. White clouds move across a clear blue sky, pierced by distant pines. Patchwork fields of pale yellow and earth brown spread across the horizon, filling the window frame with a vibrancy that seems unreal.

  “I’ll tell Gary. As long as there’s a breath still in me, I’ll tell him and Francis and Phoebe. We will be with Phoebe today, and I’ll tell her. Francis—well, I’ll have to write to him. I suppose this isn’t something you tell someone over the phone. Francis has been gone so long, living in California now for twenty years. I can’t remember the last time I saw him, and that’s probably my fault.” Ruby takes Lisa’s hand and pats it with determination. Holding her granddaughter’s hand and drawing strength, she continues, “I’ll tell them all. They deserve to know the truth. It won’t make things right, but at least they will all know. It will help your father to know the truth. And Phoebe and Francis. Maybe they’ll forgive me my … omissions.”

  10.

  “DANIEL?” JEANIE’S VOICE IS GENTLE with concern. “Daniel, are you not feeling well? You haven’t touched your breakfast.”

  Daniel looks up from his hands and notices the plate before him for the first time. He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, love. I have a bit on my mind is all.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “No.” Daniel shakes his head slowly, trying without success to take the hollowness from his voice. “Nothing. Well, yesterday…” but he cannot find the words to tell her how he found Michael. Sooner or later, one of the guys will show up at his door with the news. Jeanie is fragile enough with the baby’s death; she doesn’t need to know that Ruby may have seen Michael and Dean’s murdered bodies.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. I’m sure.”

  “I’ll make another pot of tea then. This must be cold.” Daniel stops her hand as she reaches for the pot.

  “No, don’t make tea.” Daniel’s voice, level with decision, forces Jeanie back into her seat. Turning and looking at his wife, her eyes still puffy with sorrow for the child they lost, he continues, “I think we should move.”

  “Move?” Jeanie’s voice is tight with surprise.

  “Yes. I think it would be good for us, as a family, to move. To start fresh.”

  “But, where would we move to? The North Shore?”

  “No, I mean, leave the city altogether.” Daniel pushes on before Jeanie can argue. “I was thinking of moving us to Montreal. We could set up near your aunt and uncle. There is more family there for Ruby and for you, and I think that’s what we need right now.”

  “Well….” The idea of moving back to Montreal is surprisingly appealing, a fact that catches Jeanie off guard. Memories of an earlier time rush into her mind, forcing a smile into her voice, the first hint of happiness Daniel has seen in weeks. Encouraged by this, Daniel laughs, one short volley of humour that works like a spell on the moment. “Come here.” He grins, pushing his chair from the table and indicating his lap.

  “Daniel,” Jeanie chides.

  “What? You don’t like to sit on your husband’s lap anymore? Come on, girl, I want to put my arms around you.”

  Jeanie’s face breaks into a smile that reaches her eyes. She hesitates for only a moment. Wrapping his arms around her, Daniel kisses her neck, inhaling the scent of her. “I think we should make the move, Jeanie. And if we are going to do it, I’d like to do it as soon as we can. It will be a fresh start for all of us. We can try for another child if you like.”

  Jeanie, with the warmth and strength of her husband’s arms around her, feels somehow soothed. She never thought she would feel joy again, but now, sitting with Daniel like this, she dares to find the strength to go on. Overwhelmed, she begins to cry, hastily pushing the tears from her face. She nods, unsure whether she is agreeing to return to Montreal or to life itself. She is relieved to have re
gained her ability to hope.

  They are quiet, both lost in their own thoughts yet aware of each other’s presence—Jeanie’s breath on Daniel’s cheek, her hand lost in his. “We’ll talk about it later, all right? But I do think it will be the best thing for us.”

  Jeanie nods and stands, running her hand through Daniel’s hair. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse with emotion. “I’ll have to check on Ruby. She’s still playing with her doll house. She isn’t even dressed yet.”

  “Well, let her play. I’ll be in the study—there’s some work I have to finish.” Daniel rises and kisses Jeanie on the nose, sealing their decision, before heading to his small study off the hallway, his thoughts tumbling ahead of him with dizzying force.

  Alone in his study, Daniel feels trepidation rising in his chest again, tight and cold as a fist. His emotions, teetering on the edge of panic, leave him paralyzed for long minutes at a time. What has he done? What has he gotten himself into? At all costs, he must protect his wife and daughter. For the fourth time, he opens the bottom drawer of his desk. The deep oak compartment slides out to reveal the money, its smell, warm and almost metallic, wafting up and flooding his mind with the images of the day before.

  “Daniel?”

  He closes the drawer and looks up, a forced smile on his face. “Jeanie, what is it, love?”

  “Are you all right? Didn’t you hear the door?”

  “I guess I’ve been distracted with the books.” He moves his hand over the desk, which is littered with paper and open ledgers.

  “Well, Vincent Ducci is at the door with another man. They’re asking for you.” Jeanie studies her husband, concern creasing the corner of her eyes. “Is everything all right, Daniel? You haven’t been yourself this morning. And now Vincent is showing up like this, so early on a Saturday morning.” She lifts her hand, gesturing towards the front hallway.

  “Show them in. I’ll find out what’s going on. And Jeanie?” Daniel meets her eyes. “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, I promise everything will be fine.”

  Vincent Ducci’s large, square frame fills the doorway. His hand is extended in greeting, his eyes hooded. “Danny, how’s it going?”

  “Good, Vinny. Come in.”

  “You remember Cherry?” Vincent asks, indicating his companion, who nods slightly, his eyes quickly sliding away from Daniels.

  Daniel knows Cherry, otherwise knows as Charles Berry, very slightly. He is one of a number of guys who hang around the flower shop, running errands for Dean, talking big and acting hard, anxious to be seen as something. Daniel has never liked him. Now, as Cherry moves around the room, eyes wandering with covetous hunger, Daniel feels increasingly uncomfortable, on the edge of anger.

  “Sit down, boys.” Daniel indicates the small couch and chair before the fireplace.

  “Thanks,” Vincent answers, seating himself in the chair, running the rim of his fedora held between his fingers. “Daniel, I have some bad news.” He is still looking at his hands.

  “I know.”

  “You know? Know what?” Vincent asks, his attention sharpened.

  “Michael and Dean. Shot.” Daniel’s voice catches on the last word.

  “How did you know?” Vincent’s eyes narrow.

  “Ruby and I dropped by with some lunch for Mick and,” he lifts his hand in a gesture of bewilderment, “I found Dean in the shop and Michael….” Finding it difficult to go on, Daniel looks at Vincent, then out the window. When he continues, his voice is flat, his emotions held tightly in check. “Michael was upstairs where we had left him. He was on the floor, shot in the stomach. He was still alive.” Daniel looks at Vincent again. “He died in my arms.”

  Holding Daniel’s gaze, Vincent nods his understanding. He clears his throat, his anger just under the surface. “It looks like Torrio and Capone have sent us a message, loud and clear. I got there just after Viola and before the cops could mess everything up. Whoever did it was serious about it. Dean—three shots point blank, one in each cheek, one in the gut. They must have gone upstairs to the office and found Mick there with the take for the week. They shot him and took everything. Cleaned out the safe.”

  “This means war, my friends.”

  “Shut the hell up, Cherry. That’s not for you to decide.” Vincent’s voice is harsh.

  “I ain’t deciding anything; I’m just stating the facts,” Cherry spits back.

  “Did you see anyone or anything when you arrived, Danny?” Vincent continues after a moment.

  “No, nothing.”

  “Torrio and Capone are behind this, but I just don’t know who they used. Dean’s death is a message, loud and clear!” Vincent repeats, his eyes narrowing as he looks into the middle distance.

  “Daddy!” Ruby runs into the room, hair still damp from the bath, an empty satchel hanging over her shoulder and bumping against the ground. “Daddy, look! I’m going to school.”

  “That’s nice, honey,” Daniel answers abruptly, standing and moving toward his daughter. “But go find Momma. Daddy’s busy right now.”

  “Hey!” Cherry barks from the corner of the room. “Isn’t that the school bag from Schofield’s?”

  “No, it’s mine,” Daniel answers quickly. “Michael and I both had one. His is at Schofield’s. I’ve had this one for years.”

  “Oh, yeah? It looks just like the one at the office.” Cherry moves closer and squats down beside Ruby. She can feel the man’s intensity, dark and disturbing, as she looks into his face, so close to her own. She can smell the sour scent of his breath.

  “Where did you get that old school bag, doll?” Cherry asks, his voice too sweet to fool even a child.

  “It’s Daddy’s,” Ruby answers, her eyes pulled to the man’s yellowing teeth that seem to be escaping from his mouth in every direction.

  “And where did Daddy get it?” Cherry asks, taking Ruby’s arms in both his hands, his smile widening in an effort to disarm her.

  Dragging her eyes from the stranger and leaning away from him, Ruby turns to look at her father. There is a prickling feeling running up her neck and a tightness in her stomach. She is frightened by the silence that has fallen into the room like a shadow.

  “Hey, my little Jewel.” Daniel moves to Ruby, takes her hand, and leads her to the hallway. “You look like a big girl going to school. You go find Momma and tell her Daddy is going out to the flower shop.”

  Ruby nods, confused and frightened, her voice swallowed by the pain in her stomach.

  Cupping Ruby’s chin in his hand, Daniel turns her face to his, his smile a reassurance. “Go tell Momma that I won’t be long.”

  Without a word or a look back, Ruby runs from her father, pushing past her feelings, anxious to be away from the room and the strange men.

  Turning to Vincent, his voice level, Daniel continues, “Let’s take this somewhere else.”

  THE LATE MORNING is overcast and grey as they head for Schofield’s. Daniel, in the passenger seat beside Vincent, is relieved to be taking this business away from his home.

  “I’ll tell you right now,” Cherry growls from the back seat, “if I found the guys who done this, I’d give ’em a slow death.” Leaning forward, he pulls a gun from his coat pocket and moves it back and forth like a pendulum, laughing. “What do ya’ think, Danny? Where would ya’ shoot a guy so that he dies real slow? You saw action over there in France. What’s the slowest possible death?”

  “Why don’t you shut your goddamned big mouth, Cherry? And get that thing outta my face or you’ll be the one dying the slow death,” Daniel answers, pushing the barrel of the gun from his face, his words heavy with bravado he doesn’t quite feel.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s funny, the satchel and all. I mean, I would have never thought that there were two exact same bags as that. Maybe you just brought it home by mistake. Maybe it was full of money, too.” Pushin
g Daniel’s shoulder, Cherry laughs, low and dangerous.

  “And maybe you should just shut up,” Daniel throws back at him.

  But Cherry doesn’t. By the time they arrive in the back alleyway of Schofield’s, Cherry is convinced Daniel has taken the money. Finally, he turns to Vincent. “Come on, Vinny. He was there. He knows the combination. The golden boy walked in and saw his opportunity all laid out for him, nice and easy!”

  “Yeah, that sounds right. My brother was lying on the floor, shot in the gut and bleeding to death, and I just cleaned out the safe, stepping over his body while I did it. What do you take me for?”

  Vinny glances at Daniel, slows the car down, pulls up along the garbage bins, and reaches for his cigarettes. Daniel is out his door before Vincent has shifted into park. Cherry’s wielding of the gun and the taunting insinuations are driving him into a controlled panic. The air, mixed with the scent of garbage and rotting flowers, does little to relieve his anxiety. Daniel moves toward the back door, his face flushed, his heart racing. He hears the sound of a match strike and Vincent, head bowed, takes a drag on his cigarette. Then Cherry is on him. Daniel can feel the cold threat of steel behind his neck. Rage floods his body as he spins, reaching for the gun and taking both of them to the ground.

  Cherry’s grunt is loud in Daniel’s ear. Daniel’s senses are heightened, and he notices Cherry’s breath against his cheek; the sour smell of smoke and liquor and onions; the course fabric of Cherry’s coat sleeve bunched in his hand; the weight of the other man’s body, hard as iron as he twists from beneath him; the smell of garbage, stronger now as the two men wrestle for dominance.

  “Hey, boys! Break it up!” Daniel hears Vincent’s voice, almost cajoling as he moves with predatory speed from his position behind the wheel.