“That’s Finn,” she said triumphantly, pointing to a word that seemed to keep repeating.
I stared at it. “I think you’re right.”
“And that’s 1795, I think,” she said, her finger on a number.
I squinted. “Yes. Let’s get some paper and write it out as we decipher it.”
“There’s paper in here,” she said, diving into another drawer and coming up with paper and a pencil.
We set to work. It took a while, even with the magnifying glass. Different people had written the entries, and some of the handwriting was more difficult to figure out.
It started in 1795, with a Finn who married a Murphy. It listed their children. They had ten, but four of them had died under the age of three. There was a Michael Finn born in 1805, who married a woman named Ann Keegan. They had several children. They all died the same year—1879.
“The year of the flood,” said Ruby.
Eva and Eileen Finn were born in 1810. Eileen married Robert Barrett in 1828—
“Robert Barrett,” I said. “The dead man on the floor.”
They had two children, Moira and Martha, in 1830, and both Eva and Eileen died in 1832.
“That’s when the Cathleen went down,” said Ruby, “1832.”
I was staring at the names I’d just written down. “Moira,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Moira,” I said, pointing to it. Eileen’s daughter. “That’s what my mother called me the last time I had the shipwreck dream, in the barn. She called me Moira.”
Ruby’s eyes grew big. “Moira,” she said. “Why would she call you Moira? Unless…she wasn’t your mother, but Eileen. And you weren’t you. You were Moira.”
The room seemed to grow darker and I felt that familiar dizziness creeping around the edge of my vision.
“Ruth!” said Ruby, sharply, reaching out her hand to me and grabbing my arm tightly. “Ruth!”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
SEVEN
I dragged myself out of the spin. Ruby’s hand clutching my arm felt like a lifeline, and I focused on that. The dizziness receded.
“Ruth?” Ruby’s voice was tense. “Are you okay?”
I took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Yes. I stopped it that time. Because of you, holding on to me. I didn’t want to go down into it. I’m sorry, Ruby. Maybe we could have found out more if I’d let it come, but…I…I just couldn’t do it.” I felt like I’d failed her.
“It’s okay,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Ruth. It’s good that you can control it, even a bit.”
My breathing was coming back to normal. “Yes.”
She smiled at me and then gave me a quick hug.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to figure it out. I know we are.”
“Right,” I said, and did my best to smile back at her. “I guess we should get back to these names.” I looked at my notes. The name Moira jumped out at me like it was the only one on the page.
“What does it mean, Ruby?” I said softly. “Why did she call me Moira? Am I seeing the past? But why does it feel like it’s my mother and me? I don’t understand.”
We sat there for a moment in silence. Finally Ruby shook her head.
“I don’t know what it means, Ruth, except that you’re connected to those two, Eileen and her daughter Moira. Something to do with the Sight. Maybe they both had the Sight too, so you can see through their eyes somehow.”
I looked back at the growing list of names and dates I had copied out from the Bible. I sighed.
“Maybe. But we can’t figure it out now. What we can do is get some of this written into our family tree,” I said. “We need to get it clear, who everyone was.”
Ruby agreed and volunteered to run up and get my sketchbook from the bedroom. While she was gone, I went back to deciphering the spidery, old-fashioned writing.
When Ruby got back with the sketchbook, she sat down and started fitting the new names into our tree, starting with Michael Finn and his sisters Eva and Eileen, and then Eileen’s daughters, Moira and Martha.
Moira had married a man named Patrick Keegan and given birth to twins in 1850, Caitlin and Catriona. Moira and Martha both died on June 28, 1858. Ruby and I looked at each other.
“They died the same day,” I said.
“Of course they did,” said Ruby.
The handwriting changed. It was easier to read now. Catriona married Boyd Duggan and gave birth to Fenella and Fiona in 1877. All the rest of them died in 1879. In the flood.
It listed off the marriages and children of Fenella and Fiona, including the twins born to Fiona, Lucy and Lily, born in 1900. This is where the information in the Finn Bible tallied with what we’d sketched out before in our family tree.
Lily married Clarence Duggan in 1922 and Doll and Daphne were born in 1926. Lily and Lucy died on May 10, 1935, and Daphne married Bob Duggan in 1945 and gave birth to Meg and Molly in 1946. Bob Duggan died in 1950. Daphne died in 1958.
Ruby did a quick count.
“Seven,” she said. “Seven sets of twins who were cursed, if you include Daphne. We’d be…” Her voice faltered. “We’d be the eighth generation of twins to be cursed, if we can’t find a way to break it.”
Our eyes met. “We’re going to,” I said. “Seven is enough.”
“Right,” said Ruby. “Seven is a magic number in lots of fairy tales. We’ve got to make it work for us.”
I smiled and went back to the Bible.
Molly’s marriage to George Peddle and Meg’s to William Windsor were recorded, both in 1967. Ruby was listed as born to Molly on December 10, 1966, and my birthday was listed as born to Meg on December 5. Meg and Molly’s deaths were recorded as December 10, 1967.
There was nothing after that. Clarence’s death wasn’t recorded.
“It must have been Clarence who kept it up to date,” said Ruby. “All the entries since Lily are in the same handwriting.”
“I wonder why he kept it hidden away?” I asked.
“Maybe it was here when he married Lily and moved in,” said Ruby slowly. “And he discovered it behind the painting. Aunt Doll says this room was always full of paintings and books, even when she was a little girl. Maybe someone else made the secret cupboard behind Michael Finn’s painting.”
“But why wouldn’t he tell someone about it?” I asked. “Why keep it a secret? Aunt Doll said he only spoke about it when he was dying. And why would he keep recording all the births and deaths in it?”
Ruby looked thoughtful. “Maybe for the same reason that Aunt Doll told Eldred not to tell Meg and Molly about the curse. Everyone was trying to keep it secret, thinking that if people didn’t know about it, they might not die.”
“But Aunt Doll knew about it, and probably Daphne too. It’s hard to keep that a secret, with mothers dying all over the place.” I was getting upset. “And he kept writing it down. His wife. Her sister. His daughter.”
Ruby put out her hand to me. “We’re going to get there, Rue. I know we are. We’re going to break it.”
I shook my head to get rid of the tears and tried to focus on the Bible entries. I couldn’t help thinking of Clarence as an old man, sitting in this room recording the deaths of his granddaughters by lamplight. I shuddered.
“When did he die?” I asked. “Clarence?”
“I’m not sure. I think it was just after I went to live with Dad and Wendy in St. John’s. I remember he wasn’t here when I came back the next summer.”
“How come Aunt Doll never found this little cupboard?” I said. “The way she cleans, wouldn’t she have taken down the paintings to dust them?”
“I don’t think she likes coming in here much. I think it reminds her too much of her dad. She cleans it, but as quick as she can. She sends me in to dust it while I’m here in the summer. She probably never moved the paintings.”
I looked at the list. “Michael Finn was Eva and Eileen’s brother. He must have been on that ship with
them.”
“I guess he and his wife brought up the two little girls after their mother died,” said Ruby. “And then he became a painter. I wonder how his paintings got here?”
“There’s still this box,” I said. “And the envelope.”
The box wouldn’t open. It didn’t seem to have a keyhole.
“We’ll have to work on it later. Maybe I can find something in Eldred’s workshop that would open it. But meanwhile let’s put it all in the secret room so that Aunt Doll doesn’t find it—oh no!” she wailed.
“What?”
“What time is it? The mac and cheese was supposed to go in at a quarter past four!”
At that moment there was a far-off bang as the front door closed.
“Ruby! Ruth! I’m home!” called Aunt Doll.
We looked at each other in dismay.
“I’ll go,” said Ruby. “I’ll get her in the kitchen. Put everything back the way it was and take the stuff upstairs once the coast is clear.”
“Ruby!” called Aunt Doll again, an edge to her voice. “I don’t smell dinner!”
Ruby made a funny face at me and then went out to greet Aunt Doll.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THE FIRE
Aunt Doll was disappointed in me. She gave me a reproachful glance when I came into the kitchen after carefully stowing the Bible, the envelope and the wooden box in the secret room.
“I thought you were going to remind her,” she said, hands on hips.
Ruby was setting the table. She gave me a quick look and rolled her eyes.
“I saw that, Ruby Peddle!” said Aunt Doll. “You girls are old enough to take some responsibility. I should be able to count on you to put a casserole in the oven, for goodness’ sake. When I was your age I was doing whole dinners. And baking bread.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Doll,” I said. “We just got talking…and we forgot.”
“Humph,” she said. “You can make some coleslaw. Ruby, show her how. The macaroni and cheese won’t be ready for another half hour at least.”
Ruby got cabbage and carrots out of the fridge and handed me a grater. Aunt Doll sat down in her comfy chair with a sigh.
“I’m that tired, from Ann talking my ear off for two hours. That woman has more to say about everything than anyone I ever met.”
“How come you were cooking whole dinners when you were our age?” I asked.
“Well, my mother died when my sister and I were nine. My older sisters, Effie and Jane, were grown up and married by the time Daphne and I were twelve, and the boys were no use in the kitchen. So Daphne and I did the cooking. Mostly me, though, because Daphne didn’t like cooking and I did.”
“What about your dad? Clarence? Did he ever do any cooking?”
Ruby gave a snort of laughter and Aunt Doll smiled. “Men don’t cook in Newfoundland, Ruth. No women’s liberation here, I’m sorry to say. We leave that up to you on the mainland.”
“Told you,” said Ruby.
“But you went away to work in St. John’s,” I said.
“That was during the war,” said Aunt Doll. “And a fine time I had, too. I would have stayed, if it hadn’t been for my poor sister dying.”
“But it’s not fair,” I said. “You had your career. You had to give it all up just because the men couldn’t cook?”
“No. It wasn’t just that,” said Aunt Doll. “Meg and Molly were twelve, and their brother, Jack, was fourteen. My poor father was gutted and couldn’t cope. The girls were running wild even before Daphne died, and they needed a firm hand.”
“But you gave up so much,” I persisted.
Aunt Doll looked at me with a sad smile. “It’s just life, Ruth. It isn’t always fair. And I settled in here.”
“I’ll never give up my career for a man,” said Ruby.
“Let’s hope you never have to,” said Aunt Doll. “But I had to weigh things out. My father had lost my mother years before, and brought up all of us without her, and now he’d lost his daughter.” She sighed.
“It seems like a lot of sad things happen to this family,” I said.
Aunt Doll looked up at me sharply. “Yes. You could say that. But every family has its sorrows. If you went into the history of every other family in Buckle, you’d find just as many.” She stood up. “If you girls can watch the casserole, I’m going to put my head down for a few minutes before supper.”
She left.
“She’s upset,” said Ruby. “Why did you get her going on about all of that old stuff?”
“I just want to find out what happened. I really wanted to ask her about Clarence, what he was like, but I couldn’t figure out how to bring him up without letting on we’d been in his room.”
“I remember him. I used to go into his room and he’d be sitting at his desk, and he’d stop to talk to me or give me some paper to draw on. He smelled like tobacco. He smoked a pipe, but Aunt Doll always made him smoke it in the other side of the house. I liked him.”
“All these people,” I said. “Down through the years. Living with the sadness. Losing their wives, their daughters, their mothers. It’s not right, Ruby. We have to do something about it.”
“I know,” she said. “But what?”
* * *
By the time dinner was over and the dishes washed, we were both so tired we just went to bed.
“We’ll look at the box and the envelope in the morning,” said Ruby. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”
She went to sleep before I did. I lay there, listening to the wind whistling around the corners of the house, thinking about all the people who had lived here. My ancestors. All connected to me by blood. And the curse. As I drifted off to sleep, I started to fall into a dream. I saw seven pairs of twins walking along the Ghost Road, holding hands. Eva and Eileen. Moira and Martha. Caitlin and Catriona. Fenella and Fiona. Lucy and Lily. Daphne and Doll. Molly and Meg. They all looked the same. They all looked like Ruby and me (except for Doll). One after the other, the twins walked slowly up over the hill and disappeared.
I woke to the acrid smell of smoke and the crackling of flames.
“Ruby?” I said, sitting up. A red light filled the room. Ruby was in her bed, not moving. I threw back the covers and put my feet down on the cold floor, but before I could reach out to her, a movement caught my eye by the dresser.
It was my mother. Meg. Her golden hair fell down to her shoulders, and she was wearing a white nightgown, just as when I’d seen her before. She put her finger to her lips as if to say “Shhhh.”
“But…the fire?” I said. She shook her head and held out her hands to me.
That’s when I realized that although I could smell the smoke, there was none in the room. I was dreaming. Or—not dreaming exactly. Having a vision, like before. Ruby was safe. The house wasn’t on fire.
Not now, anyway. But sometime in the past?
I walked over to Meg. I had never been this close to her before. She was lit by the red flickering light of flames. She didn’t look like a ghost. She looked as solid and real as me.
“The painting,” she whispered. I don’t know how, but I knew what she wanted me to do. I took the painting down off the wall and looked through the hole.
The nursery was engulfed in smoke and flames. I could just make out two still figures lying on a bed in the middle of the room. I could see they were women, with bright blonde hair. Everything was burning. And in the roaring of the flames, I heard that same dreadful voice screaming, “By fire! By fire! By fire!”
I turned back to Meg.
“No,” I said. “Make it stop.”
Tears fell down her cheeks.
“I can’t,” she said. “Only you can. You and Ruby.”
I reached out to her, and she moved toward me. I felt her arms encircle me. She held me tight and said, “My sweet Ruth,” and at that moment I knew she had done this before, hugged me and said those exact words. I felt something that I’d held locked deep inside me let go and then—
&n
bsp; I was standing alone in the dark. The fire, the smoke and my mother were all gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
THE DEED OF GIFT
I sank down to the floor, crying. Crying for my mother. All those years without her, all those years longing for her, they all seemed to come together into that one moment of pain, with me kneeling on the floor, rocking and holding my stomach. Everything hurt.
“Ruth?” came Ruby’s voice from the darkness. She sounded scared. “Ruth, are you okay?”
I heard her scrambling out of bed and she must have found the flashlight, for a thin line of light came toward me. Then she was kneeling on the floor, her hand on my arm.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
I couldn’t stop crying long enough to tell her. She put her arms around me and held me, and I was reminded of my mother. She was gone, but I had Ruby now. And Aunt Doll. And—strangely, I thought of the witch. My Nan.
Gradually my tears subsided. I dried my eyes on my pajama sleeves.
“Whatever happened?” said Ruby.
I told her.
“The fire,” she said, when I had finished. “Who was in the fire?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. But it was twins. And they were grown up.”
“Maybe that’s why the nursery was closed up,” said Ruby slowly. “Because of the fire. It was too horrible to remember, so they blocked it all away. But we should be able to figure it out,” she said, getting to her feet. “Come on.”
She led the way into the closet, the flashlight a wavering beam of light. I hesitated.
“Come on!” she said, sticking her head back out the door.
“I don’t know if I can.”
She came out and stood looking at me. She took my hand.
“Ruth, I know. It was awful. But we have to keep going. We have to find out everything and then we have to break it. Everything has been pushed down and forgotten for too long.”
I nodded. “I know,” I whispered. “But I’m scared.”
The Ghost Road Page 15