Being Mary Ro

by Ida Linehan Young

  Finally, Danol shook hands with the constables, and the two officers strode away. Danol paused in the porch, struggling to remove the borrowed coat before warming his hands over the stove. Neither spoke for a moment; then Danol asked, “Mary, can I talk to you for a little while?”

  Mary nodded. With the house so crowded, she motioned for him to come to the stairwell. Danol sat on the step while she closed the doors on either side of them, allowing a minimum of privacy.

  “I’m so sorry for the brouhaha I’ve caused here,” he said.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Danol. Please don’t blame yourself.”

  He held up his hand. “Mary, I owe you an explanation. Please let me say what I have to say.”

  She stood before him with her arms crossed, and he patted the runner on the step below his tread. “Come have a seat. This might take a while.”

  Mary sat, putting her back to the wall, and gazed up at the man who had filled her house and her life for the last few days.

  “First of all, I want to say I’m sorry. I really am. I came here with the intent of finding Sherman Pearce—you know him as Harold Bolt. That’s the name he was travelling under. I wasn’t thinking clearly after the fire aboard the Abyssinia. I didn’t know which boat rescued him or which community harboured him. I only knew I couldn’t be discovered because, if he found me, he would’ve killed me.”

  Pearce, Danol explained, had robbed a bank in New York about seven months before. Danol’s father, Cian, was a police captain, and Pearce had shot and killed him, as well as two other officers. Danol, in Boston serving as a detective lieutenant, rushed to New York to investigate his father’s death, but the criminal’s trail seemed to have gone cold.

  Mary reached for his hand. “I’m sorry about your father, Danol.”

  He nodded and continued telling her about a lead he got through his connections with the Irish community that, at a bar not far from where the crime took place, a man was overheard bragging about the robbery. Danol found an informant who, after much persuasion, reluctantly told him Pearce bragged not just of the theft, but also of the cold-blooded murder of three policemen just for the sport of it.

  “Turns out he had good reason to be scared,” Danol said with much regret. “A week after we spoke, Pearce—well—slit his throat.” Pearce had done even worse than that, but Danol would spare Mary those details. “But by this time I was on his trail and discovered Pearce, using the alias Harold Bolt, was booked on a mixed passenger/freight liner heading to Liverpool, carrying all the money from the robbery. If he got off that ship, I would never find him.”

  Danol booked passage, notifying the captain of his presence. Foolishly, Danol confronted Pearce alone. Pearce set fire to the cargo of cotton and left Danol to die. Luckily, a steward came along, smelled the smoke, and helped Danol out before the fire spread too far. He didn’t get burned but swallowed a lot of smoke. He and the steward struggled to contain the fire, but it was too late.

  “Pearce ran on deck shouting ‘fire,’ panicking the passengers, and a mayday went out. People started jumping ship. Luckily, nobody was killed.” Danol had been able to sneak on board one of the steamers bound for John’s Pond and stay hidden. In all the commotion on the wharf, he managed to slip away, looking for an abandoned place so as not to put others in danger. But then he passed out and knew nothing until Mary found him.

  “I didn’t mean to bring this on you, Mary. Forgive me.”

  “Danol, there’s nothing to forgive. We’ve a bad man here who will be put away for a long time. By the sounds of it, if you had been with the others, we may have had many deaths on our hands.”

  He had reported all this to the constables, who went to check Pearce’s room for the money. Pearce had already confessed to them that he kidnapped the Davis girls because he thought they had seen the money and would interfere with his plans to go on to Europe. He only kept them alive because he thought he could use them as hostages if he needed to escape through North Harbour.

  “Once Pearce recovers, I’ll accompany him and the constables to St. John’s, and then on to New York on a merchant ship in a week or so. Until then, we’ll stay here in John’s Pond. I’m getting a room at the store until everything settles down.”

  “You can stay here,” she told him.

  “I know, Mary. But I respect your—situation. I consider you my friend—” and my angel, he added privately “—and I don’t want anything happening to you because of me.”

  Mary smiled, and she heard the front room door open behind her. Peter came out, pretending not to have heard most of the conversation.

  “I have to get some water for Meg,” he said.

  “Is she awake?” Mary asked.

  “Yes. She’s asking for you both. She won’t believe that Danol is well unless she can see him for herself.”

  Mary grabbed Danol’s hand to help him up.

  Meg had better colour than she’d had earlier and was smiling at them from the makeshift bed. “Danol, I was so worried about you.”

  “I’m hard to kill, Meg. By the looks of it, so are you,” he said, grinning, although he was concerned for the girl. She had played a big part in his survival.

  “This is nothing.” Meg smiled. “This gives a woman character, don’t you think?”

  Danol laughed. “It sure does.”

  They chatted until Peter returned. He told them that Meg needed to rest. Meg yawned, confirming Peter’s words.

  “I know now why you slept so much, Danol. This foolishness of losing blood sure is hard on a body.”

  “It sure is, Meg. Rest now. We’ll keep near.”

  Danol left, but Mary stayed, holding Meg’s hand until she was asleep.

  Danol moved to a room at Mrs. Ange’s later that day, winning the old lady over when he smiled. He was still weak and needed rest, and Mrs. Ange promised to keep him fed. With all the excitement around town, she was happy to have somebody to look after—her personal mission and contribution to the cause.

  Peter stayed one more night at Mary’s with Meg. This time, Carla made up a bed for him upstairs, as well as for Mr. and Mrs. Dalton. Both she and Brian kept vigil while the rest of them got some much-needed sleep. The next evening, under a medical escort by Peter, Meg was barrowed to her parents’ house, to her own room, upstairs in the two-storey house. According to Peter, she would be up and around in about a week. He would visit her every day. Brian and Carla went home for the first time in three days. Both begged Mary to come with them, but she refused, needing time to be alone. By that evening, she was.

  Dr. Parker returned to Colinet along with the Davis sisters and their family, as the girls were well enough to travel and would recuperate better at home. All the patients at the church were freed from care, and most had already left on schooners commissioned by the owners of the SS Abyssinia.

  John’s Pond was nearly back to normal—schooners and merchants came and went, and the community would soon prepare for the inshore fishery that would start in a few short weeks. The cannery line would commence soon as well, and Mary’s life would be busy enough. In the meantime, she would spend some time weeding and trenching her garden, and if she had time, she would go for walks in the woods. All the excitement was dying down, although it would be talked about for years. Life had to go on or the community would be in trouble when the snow was upon them in a few short months.

  Mary hadn’t seen Peter or Danol in two days. She had asked Mrs. Ange to tell them both to stay away. She visited Meg often and spent time with the girl, who was almost back to herself. She planned her visits carefully so as not to run into Peter. This still allowed her to notice that Richard also made frequent trips to the Dalton house.

  As Mary walked home, she waved to the neighbours and stopped at a gate or two to say hi if somebody poked his head out. She always returned home alone. Her life returned to tasks: preparing a meal fo
r herself, bringing in wood and water, cleaning the few dishes, milking the cow, getting the eggs—nothing different than she had done before. Yet somehow more different than she cared to admit. Mary was not quite as comfortable with her own company as she had been.

  After finishing the chores, she pulled the washtub into the kitchen and filled it with warm water from the kettles, the tank on the stove, and the bucket in the porch. She closed the curtains and barred the doors, then stepped in, happy to have the warmth of the water infuse some life into her bones. She washed and rinsed her hair and sat near the stove to dry it. It was warmer now, almost too warm for the fire, but Mary, ever practical, didn’t want to have damp hair while in bed.

  She arose early after a restless night. She was about to make toast on the damper when she heard footsteps in the lane. Who could be coming so early?

  She unlatched the door. Peter stood before her on the step, distraught.

  “Meg?” she asked, unconsciously touching her hand to her mouth. Her heart almost stopped. He shook his head and she gave a sigh of thanks. But then, why was he disturbing her?

  “I’m sorry, Mary. I wanted to give you some time to yourself before I talked to you, but my circumstances have changed.”

  “What’s wrong, Peter? Come in. I just put some tea on,” she said. He followed her but refused the tea.

  “A boat just came in with news for constables Jeffries and Barnes. They were called back to St. John’s on urgent business. There was a fire, and St. John’s has burned down.”

  “The town has burned down? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, but apparently most of the buildings were destroyed, and many lives may have been lost. I have to go back, Mary.” Peter’s voice trembled. “I have to find my son.”

  “Of course, Peter. Have you heard from them?” she asked, wondering about Martha as well.

  “No, I haven’t, so I have to hurry now. But I must speak with you first.”

  “Peter, you can tell me anything you need.” Her mind briefly returned to times when their relationship was truly that way.

  “Mary, I came here to John’s Pond as a craven fellow. I wanted to find you and see if we had a chance together. I was worried you’d married or were gone somewhere else but hoped you weren’t.”

  Mary found herself sitting on the daybed.

  A whistle sounded at the wharf, signifying the boat was about to leave.

  “I have to ask you this.” He knelt before her and took her hands in his. “I know this is a lot for you to take in, and I have no right to ask you, but I will anyway. Mary, Martha died over a year ago. I want to marry you, I want to be your husband, but I have to go. Eddy needs me, and St. John’s needs doctors during this desperate time.”

  He asked her forgiveness and for her to come to St. John’s when she was ready. He told her if she wasn’t there by the spring, he would know he’d lost her for good. He didn’t know if his house on Queen’s Road had been spared, but she could always find him through the harbourmaster or at the General Hospital. Clearly distressed, Peter kissed her hands and held them firmly. The distant whistle sounded once again.

  “I have to go, Mary. It kills me to leave you, but I have to go. I hope I’ll see you by the spring. I won’t pressure you by writing first but will answer any letters you send. I love you, Mary. I always have.” He turned toward the door, paused, and came back to her again. He leaned toward her on the daybed and gently pressed his lips to hers. And then he was gone.

  Mary was in a trance the rest of the morning. She was transfixed by the flood of emotions that his kiss threatened to draw out of her. Every now and again a rational thought would intercede. She had to move, do chores—alone. But her head was reeling at the possibilities and what it would mean for Mary Ro.

  What was wrong with her? Looking through the curtains, she could barely make out the boat sailing away in the distance on the bay.

  She had heard the words that were supposed to be spoken over nine years ago, yet here she was, alone. She sat back on the daybed and cried until she thought she could cry no more.

  Hugging herself, rocking back and forth, she wondered if she had the stomach to go after what she wanted. Was being happy as Mary Ro applicable only in John’s Pond? Was she content in the wasteland of her own being, lonely and unloved? She had always wanted to marry Peter Nolan. Had that prospect just slipped through her fingers once again? Mary Ro had been a coward when push came to shove—afraid to take that first step into the unknown. She had done that for the Davis girls, but could she do it for herself? That realization engulfed her once again, and she submerged in a new wave of tears.

  12

  Danol watched Peter Nolan race to catch the boat with the two constables. Peter was upset at the news of the fire, agonizing for his son. Danol had no son and didn’t know what that must feel like. A loner with a house but no home, Danol had friends but no family—at least none he was still close to—until now. There was Maude, but she was a distraction, almost an afterthought, and in any case more interested in his social status than his character.

  And now there was Mary. She had saved him. He liked what he had experienced of life here in John’s Pond, and he felt it pulling at him to stay. The people were friendly and had welcomed him, treating him like one of their own.

  And he was drawn to Mary’s spirit. He felt a strange, indescribable connection. Although he had known her only a few short days, he held himself responsible for her—her protector—and she had a profound influence over him. She had cracked his tough shell and made him look at himself in a new light. Nothing like nearly dying to wake a man up.

  Despite this, Danol now had a job to do that would finish what he had started. He was left to handle Pearce and finally avenge his father’s murder. Since the fire in St. John’s had destroyed the courthouse and jail, Danol was contracted by the two constables to take Pearce to the judge in Placentia—after the captain of the SS Abyssinia had confirmed his bona fides. Under Danol’s authority, Pearce would be held and tried in Placentia and likely deported to the United States for trial at the first opportunity.

  Things had moved slowly while he waited for Pearce to heal, and now here it was, the end of his stay in John’s Pond. The vessel was at the wharf, leaving on the next tide for Placentia. He didn’t have much time.

  He had had loads of time to think while he mended at Mrs. Ange’s house, and he had spent some time with Peter.

  Mrs. Ange told Danol how Peter and Mary were meant to be married. Danol was madder than a hornet and confronted Peter about it one evening when the doctor was reluctantly removing the thread from his arm.

  Peter didn’t deny it, talking about his life with Mary before he left John’s Pond. He told Danol about his brother, Ed, and talked about duty. It had been Ed’s birthday that day, and Peter was particularly talkative while reminiscing. Danol didn’t understand that bond. He hadn’t grown up like that. He didn’t have a sibling. However, he guessed he did understand it somewhat, when compared to his own commitment in tracking his father’s killer. As hard as it had been to admit, Peter was a gentleman. Danol had been ready to punch him for causing Mary distress but changed his mind upon hearing him out. Perhaps there was really no blame to be placed.

  Mary had saved him, not once but twice: he owed her and wanted her to be happy. He had seen how she looked at Peter when she thought nobody was watching.

  With so much time to think, Danol had been toying with an idea he thought brilliant. There was only one way to find out. He grabbed his coat. He had respected Mary’s wishes to stay away and let her be and give her the time she said she needed. However, he had to talk to her before leaving this little place, of which he had grown so unexpectedly fond.

  Mary heard the knock and wiped her eyes and face in her blouse. She threw the door open, foolishly hoping Peter hadn’t left, only to find Danol.

  He smiled. �
��Don’t look so disappointed.”

  “Oh, Danol, I’m sorry,” Mary said, bursting into tears. “I let him go.”

  Danol stepped in and closed the door before hugging her tight. He held her until she stopped crying. He gave her a few moments to compose herself before he spoke. Mary apologized, then turned away, embarrassed by her show of weakness.

  “Mary, I have something to ask you,” Danol said. “I’m leaving with Pearce on a fishing schooner headed for Placentia, and I’m expecting to head back to the States with him next week.”

  “You’re leaving, too, Danol,” she said flatly, afraid to show any more emotion and not sure she had any tears left. She didn’t understand why Danol had become so important to her in such a short while. She was also scared to explore her feelings in her current confused state.

  “Yes, I have to go,” he said solemnly. “I have to finish this for my father.”

  “I understand, and I’ll miss you, Danol. I’ve grown partial to having you around.” She forced a smile.

  “And I’ve a fondness for being here.” He paused and stared into her eyes.

  “I want you to take a chance, Mary,” he said carefully. “On yourself.”

  “What do you mean, Danol?”

  “You have sisters in Boston?”

  She nodded. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Mary, you’re a healer, and you can’t spend your life in this house waiting for something to happen. Come with me to Boston. Stay with your sisters and go to doctors’ college. We’ll be there in time for the fall semester. And when you finish your studies, you and Peter can take your doctoring on the water,” he suggested.

  Mary was stunned into silence. Doctors’ college? A woman at doctors’ college? A woman from John’s Pond at doctors’ college?

  But Danol wasn’t finished. With Pearce delivered into custody, he would earn a substantial award. It would buy him a ship, one that could function as a coastal boat, and a medical one, just as the Grenfell mission was starting farther north. He sounded both earnest and as if he was making this up as he went. She almost laughed at the absurdity, but there was a spark of intrigue growing in her belly just the same.