The Daughters' Story

by Cyr, Murielle;

  Nadine laughed. “You’re right about all those things except the plain Jane part. I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful daughter. I’m so very proud of you.”

  Lisette cleared her throat and looked down at the floor. “That’s a first. Nobody’s ever told me that before. They always said I wasn’t a good fit—too moody, too disruptive, too rude… one even said I was too high and mighty—she never did tell me why. I don’t remember anything about my adopted mother, but one thing I do know for sure, I never once hugged any of my foster mothers.”

  “How about starting with your own mother?” Nadine reached for her daughter, her eyes brimming with tears. It was more of a one-sided hug, with Lisette’s arms stuck to her side, but still, she was able to wrap her arms around her and hold her close for the very first time.

  Nadine poured a second cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table with the Sunday Gazette. They had stayed up talking late into the night, about Serge for the most part, but Nadine had managed to bring up Papi and Aunt Jan quite a few times. Her attempts to broach the subject of Lisette’s father hadn’t worked out as planned.

  “By the look on your face, I can tell you’re about to tell me something weird. So don’t bother.” Lisette raised her palm each time she tried to bring the subject up. “My mind can’t take another family gloom story tonight. When I started searching for you, I expected to find a normal family. The first person I found was Grandma Stella. The story about your father stabbing your mother to death really got to me. I went through enough crap growing up. I don’t need to learn any more gruesome details about my so-called real family. If Social Services hadn’t called me, I wasn’t going to continue the search. So let’s talk about positive things right now. I need to know I come from a boring, loving family.”

  “It’s too bad Grandma Stella brought that up right away. That’s a pretty rough start for you.” Nadine remained silent a while before speaking again. “She’s probably never gotten over what happened. I know I haven’t. But you’re right. Let’s enjoy our evening together.”

  Lisette emerged from her room in pyjamas, eyes swollen, and clutching a Kleenex in her hand. Nadine’s heart went out to her. If only she could offer her a magic potion that would make her pain disappear.

  “There’s a plate of pancakes keeping warm in the oven for you. The butter and maple syrup are both on the counter.” She continued with the Gazette crossword puzzle.

  Lisette pulled the plate out of the oven, placed it on the table across from Nadine and dragged her feet back to the percolator to pour herself a mug. She leaned against the counter to sip her coffee, a distant look in her eyes.

  Nadine waited a moment before looking up. “Don’t forget to turn the oven off.”

  Lisette blinked, reached out to push the off button and shuffled back to sit at the table.

  Nadine went back to her crossword, not knowing how to address her. The girl might not be a morning person—there was so much to learn about each other. She didn’t want to jinx anything after the pleasant time they’d had yesterday. Lisette’s initial hostility towards her had toned down and she seemed more trusting. She watched from the corner of her eye as Lisette ate a mouthful of her pancake and pushed her plate away.

  “Serge and I always go for breakfast at our local diner Sunday mornings.” Her eyes dull, her voice flat. “He loves their roasted potatoes. I always have to watch he doesn’t steal some from my plate.”

  “You must miss him a lot.” Nadine jotted down another answer, pressing the nib of her pen hard into the thin newspaper. The girl seemed completely obsessed with a guy who placed his politics before his personal obligations.

  Lisette leaned her elbows on the table and placed her head in her hands. “I called him late last night. He told me not to, but I just needed to hear his voice.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “What did he have to say?” Nadine restrained the words rising in her throat. The guy had completely isolated himself from Lisette without allowing her any way of reaching him. Public telephones were still a safe way to contact her. If he loved her as much as Lisette believed, he’d be there for her. But Nadine didn’t have the courage to tell her how unfeeling she thought he was. Lisette wasn’t ready to hear anything negative about him. It was only going to sabotage whatever relationship had started to blossom between her and her daughter.

  “That’s the problem.” Lisette lay her head on the table. “There’s no more service at that number. I don’t know if Sylvie got her number changed, if they’ve all moved out, or if they’re all at the police station. I don’t know what the heck’s happening.” She sat up straight. “He’s made it all up. Nobody’s following him and the phones aren’t tapped. He said all that to get rid of me. Pit and Sylvie never liked me from the beginning. I’m just a bad fit for them.” She paused. “But that’s nothing new.”

  That Serge might have fabricated his situation didn’t surprise Nadine. She’d heard enough lame excuses from men wanting to break up with her to recognize the signs. “Well, you’re a perfect fit to me. I know it’s easy for me to say, but try not to worry too much. You’ve only got a short time left to rest before the baby comes. Why don’t you come visit Aunt Jan with me and Papi. It’ll be an emotional visit for me, but I’d really like you to meet her. It’ll take your mind off things.”

  Lisette pulled her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry about the outburst—just a pregnant woman with hormones gone wild. I’ll pass on that visit for now. You’ll probably cry and talk about sad things. Listening to Grandma Stella go on about your father was enough for me. But he wasn’t really your father, right? According to her story, that’s why your parents had that big fight.” She wiped her glasses on her cotton nightshirt and pushed them back on. “I think I’ll skip the library too and go back to bed. My eyes have been acting up the last few days so I’ll avoid straining them today. My papers can wait till tomorrow.”

  Nadine’s head shot up. “What’s with your eyes?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t have that problem before I got pregnant.”

  “So what is it exactly?”

  Lisette pushed her hair away from her face. “Nothing much. It only happens sometimes, but more often lately. I’ll be reading for a short while and big white blotches appear on the page like I’ve got openings in my eyes. I can only see disjointed patches of what I’m supposed to read. It sure doesn’t help with all the reading I’ve got for my courses. I’ve tried compresses of cold tea bags, cucumber slices, eye drops, but nothing works. The problem will go away after the baby comes.”

  Nadine skipped a breath. “Have you seen an eye specialist?” She remembered, as they spoke, sitting on the old sofa in her pyjamas beside Grandpa Pritchart. He’d point to the bold headlines while she’d read the article in the newspaper out loud to him. The small newsprint strained his eyes, making the words fade and disappear on him. Your grandmother never went to school long enough to learn how to read proper, he’d say to her. His thigh pressed into the side of hers. His hard fingers massaged her lower back, sometimes sliding down below the elastic waistline of her pyjama bottom.

  “He wants to try a new operation.” Lisette grimaced. “But it can be risky, so he won’t do it if my problem turns out to be genetic. That’s why—” She stopped to think. “It was one of the reasons I looked you up in the first place. With everything going on, I keep on forgetting to ask you. It’s no use asking about your father, but did anyone from your mother’s family have these problems?”

  Nadine let her pen drop on the table and pushed her crossword puzzle aside. She clasped her hands together under the table to hide her trembling. Lisette’s question had triggered a thickness in her throat.

  It was time to tell her about Grandpa Pritchart’s disorder. Lisette needed to know. Yet besides giving her something else to worry about, telling her the truth wasn’t going to change much. That baby was
well on the way no matter what. Waiting till after the birth might be a better time. She’d get a proper diagnosis from her doctor, and a more informed decision about possible eye surgery from the obstetrician. But still... keeping this from her might jeopardize whatever trust had formed between them.

  She bit down hard on her lip, determined to tell her. The words froze in her throat. A wave of cold sweat surged over her body. If bolting from the room and hiding under her blankets without appearing too neurotic had been an option, she would’ve taken it. She had kept the secret of Lisette’s father festering inside her so long, she wasn’t able to dislodge it. She took a deep breath. “The only thing I know about my mother’s family is that they came from back east.”

  Chapter 19

  Quebec City, Quebec

  October 1970

  It was early morning when Paul exited off the Quebec Bridge to take Highway 132 towards Montreal. He was looking forward to seeing Janette but he knew emotions were sure to run high today. He had called her as soon as he arrived home from Montreal to tell her about Nadine—bad move, telling her in person would’ve been easier on her. Janette had sobbed a good while after he broke the news to her. When Nadine phoned afterwards to tell him about reuniting with her daughter, he decided not to tell Janette. It was up to Nadine to announce the good news.

  Denis had always acted as if he was Janette’s saviour. Not that she needed saving. Paul’s daughter was solid, from a long line of strong independent women who never backed down in the face of adversity. She might appear meek and docile at times, but she was the one who held the reins in her marriage. Paul had always left his daughter’s parenting to his mother, trusting her to handle all the tears and temperamental outbursts of a growing girl. His role had been the cameo father, bringer of gifts on work breaks and holidays.

  The three-hour drive to Montreal didn’t bother him. He had a lot to think about. His family wasn’t the only thing on his mind. The two logging camps he had visited on the north shore of the river yesterday had left a feeling of heaviness in his chest. The forestry industry wasn’t the same anymore. The good old days when he first started working for the Forestry Workers’ Union after World War II were no more. No more shaking hands with the lumberjacks, or listening to their wild stories about life in the camps. Gone was the camaraderie—the satisfaction of doing a good day’s work.

  Bush workers at one time used to welcome him to the camp, trusting he could help make their working conditions a little easier. His sole contacts these days were the operators of powerful chainsaws and machinery. These sub-contractors dealt only with large players in the pulp and paper industry. Their main concerns were contract renewals, not food, lodging, or working conditions. Axes, bucksaws and sleighs were tools of the past.

  The traditional crude logging camps he had frequented as a young axeman had disappeared. Chopping at the trunks of gigantic pines from sunrise to sunset was no longer required. The isolated woods had once been a man’s world, where his masculinity was on the line. Strength and endurance with axes and crosscut saws defined his identity. A man’s performance nowadays was no longer judged on brute strength, but on the ability to operate the different chainsaws and machinery. Improved roadwork and easy access to vehicles now made it possible for workers to have their weekends off. No longer was it necessary for loggers to live away from their families six long months at a time.

  He found himself thinking of Rose and how much easier it might have been on their marriage had they seen each other every weekend. His young wife had found their months apart at his parents’ home especially difficult with a newborn always crying for attention. If only he’d been by her side those last precious days before she died. Not only had he failed as a husband, but by giving his mother free rein to bring up his daughter, he had failed as a father too.

  Janette had grown up in the shadow of a dead mother and a part-time father who, apart from the few days at Christmas and Easter, was only present a few weeks during the summer season. His long absences had weakened the God-given bond offered to him on the day of her birth. Absent on that important day, he had decided to stay at the bush camp rather than risk the long journey home during the spring thaw. The fissure that had opened between them deepened as she grew older.

  When it came time for her to marry Denis, she had gone ahead without asking his blessing. He had forfeited his right to such respect. His visits with her as a married woman had always been tense. Denis had never been welcoming, and Janette had done her best to balance her sense of duty to both her husband and her father. Paul had formed an instant bond with his adopted grandchild, Nadine, a child who like him had lost the love of her life. Her disappearance at age sixteen had shattered him as much as it had Janette.

  His regular visits to Rose’s and his parents’ tombstones made him hesitate to move from Saint-Roch. All his childhood friends were long gone. His neighbourhood no longer resembled the one he grew up in. His apartment was close to the union office yet it was getting harder for him to motivate himself to even show up for work. It was time to move closer to Janette and try to mend a few of the broken fences he had neglected for so long.

  Meeting up with Nadine last week had awakened painful memories—the sharpest one being the day he had learned of Rose’s death. Every thought, every image that had crossed his mind when he hopped off the train on that fatal Christmas Eve were as vivid to him now as they had been fifty years ago.

  Chapter 20

  Saint-Roch, Quebec

  December 1918

  Paul Brault lowered his gauze mask before hopping off at the Saint-Roch station, in the working-class town just below Quebec City. The air was safer… healthier, outside the train. Though most of the passengers wore the required mask, there was still a lot of wheezing and coughing.

  The late afternoon winter sky had already started to darken. He glanced around a few times, puzzled not to see Rose waiting for him. Not once in the four years since he had started taking the train to the logging camps had she missed his arrival. Saying goodbye was another story—It’s bad luck, she’d say. Paul always made sure to throw his knapsack over his shoulder and head for the train station while she was busy in another room. It was a little weird at first and it sure ruffled his parents, but it’s what Rose wanted and that was plenty good enough for him.

  Except for a few stragglers standing around or sitting on benches, the station was empty. All had cloth masks covering their mouths and noses, including the ticket agents behind the counters. He dragged his feet towards the exit, an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. In the few short months he’d been away in the bush, the Spanish flu scare had reached his hometown. The Great War had at long last come to an end in November. All those recruiting war posters that had instilled fear and anguish in the hearts of Canadians for the last four years had disappeared. Plastered over them were newer ones warning against the deadly epidemic:

  Coughing and sneezing spread disease!

  Eat more onions!

  Stock up on garlic and camphor!

  Wear a mask and save your life!

  He remembered the newspaper story he had read on the train about a San Francisco health officer shooting a man in the downtown area for refusing to wear an influenza mask. He let out a long breath and quickened his step. Fear of death from the Spanish Flu, like the fear of dying during the war, brought out the worst in people.

  Before stepping out of the station, he paused to look back over his shoulder, a little uncomfortable about leaving without the comfort of Rose’s hand tucked into his. He squared his shoulders and set out on the long trek down to his parents’ home in the lower part of Saint-Roch. The walk had never seemed long with Rose trotting by his side. She chatted nonstop about the things she’d forgotten to write to him in her letters. Private conversations between them were rare with his parents always at home. She took advantage of their short time alone to reveal all the things that had bo
thered her since they had last spoken. As soon as they reached his parents’ home, she resumed her usual taciturn self.

  She always wore her best outfit to greet him at the train. For the most part, it was something borrowed from her Aunt Lea, a seamstress who worked from her Saint-Roch flat. Most of her creations were meant for her wealthy English customers from uptown, although she’d sometimes get an order from a local woman. When one of her rich customers decided the finished dress wasn’t exactly to her liking, Lea turned around and sold it to someone else. The English clientele always paid up front, not like the locals who could only pay her a few coins each week. Lea never came up short and was happy to let her favourite niece borrow a dress any time she fancied one.

  His face softened recalling how elegant Rose looked the last time she came to the station. The loose one-piece frock of beige charmeuse took his breath away. A short vest front of light brown crepe stopped a little above her ankles. The matching veiled hat enhanced Rose’s dark hair and eyes, and when she beamed up at him and took his arm, he felt he was walking with royalty.

  Rose’s last letter mentioned their eight-month-old daughter was coughing a lot. That his wife was staying home today because Bébé Janette didn’t feel well made sense to him, although his mother Anne was always willing to lend a hand with the child. As far as he knew, it was normal for babies to catch colds, and Rose had finished her nursing training last month. The baby was in good hands. Anybody who coughed and had a fever these days was convinced they were dying of Spanish flu. Paul picked up speed. If the child was still sick, he’d get a doctor to come to the house. He didn’t want his daughter going to the hospital with all those flu victims corded like logs into all available spaces.

  His eyes widened at the sight of his neighbourhood almost deserted on a Christmas Eve. Most people heeded the ban on public gatherings and stayed home until the flu was under control. All churches, schools, theatres, and taverns remained closed. Big department stores and banks were allowed to stay open if the employees wore gauze masks. He peered up the street expecting to see Rose running up to meet him. She might’ve been too busy with the Christmas preparations to remember he was coming home.