Prairie Hardball

by Alison Gordon

  “Jack,” I said.

  “He is my son. Mine and Carl Johannsen’s.”

  The room seemed to tilt, suddenly. I wanted to reach out to her, but didn’t know how. I couldn’t even find words to speak.

  She wiped tears from her eyes, then took a deep breath.

  “The details probably don’t matter, but this is how it happened,” she said, her voice without expression. “Virna took charge, the way she always did. The first thing she did was announce her marriage. Of course, she made the husband up. She used the name of a cousin of hers, who really was in the army, overseas. Then she began a correspondence with him. When his letters arrived, she pretended they were from her husband.”

  “But what about you? Did no one realize you were pregnant?”

  “No, I never carried any of my children big. And the baby wasn’t born until late November. November 27th. 1944·”

  She took a deep breath, fighting for control.

  “I was in good shape, remember, from playing baseball. I got teased about getting fat, but that was all.”

  “What about Virna? Did she say she was pregnant?”

  “No. The next spring she showed up with the baby and told them she had played pregnant and didn’t want the league to know.”

  I wanted her to stop, just stop talking, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t until she was done.

  “I didn’t go home after the season, of course. I told my parents that I had a job in the States for the winter, which made them very unhappy. Virna and I went to Chicago and rented a room. I had the child, using Virna’s name, and the name of her cousin as the father.”

  “She knew she couldn’t have children,” I said.

  My mother nodded.

  “She knew, but she wanted one desperately. This way, we could both go on. She was willing to raise the child on her own. I was never brave enough for that.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments.

  “Now you understand why I didn’t want you digging into the past. Why I wanted the secret to go with Virna to her grave. But you wouldn’t let go of it. You always were a stubborn child.”

  She smiled weakly. I waited to see if she had anything more to say, but she just sat, looking into the glass she still held in both hands.

  “Daddy doesn’t know, I take it,” I said, finally.

  She shook her head.

  “Are you going to tell him? And Jack? Will you tell him?”

  “It’s best to leave well enough alone. Jack is Virna’s son. He always has been.”

  “But now he has no family. You could give him that.”

  “I’ve thought of that. But I don’t know if I am willing to hurt your father to do it.”

  “It’s your decision,” I said. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

  “I don’t think I made a mistake giving him to Virna,” she said, almost to herself. “She did a good job with him, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, he’s a nice man. Does he look like his father?”

  “Exactly,” she said, with a slight shudder. “He’s older than Carl was when I knew him, of course. Carl was just a boy when he died, really. But I see it in his eyes and his chin. The set of his mouth. Just like Carl.”

  “He was a very handsome man, then,” I said, inanely. I wanted her to go, just go away.

  She put down her glass and stood up.

  “I’d better be getting back to your father,” she said. “He’ll be wondering.”

  All I could do was watch as she crossed the room to the bathroom. I lit another cigarette, my hands trembling. I could hear the water running. When she came back into the room, her tears were gone. She was back in control.

  “Will you keep the secret?” she asked, briskly.

  “It’s not mine to share.”

  “Thank you.”

  She opened the door.

  “Don’t think too badly of me,” she said, not turning around. Then she was gone, and I was the one in tears.

  Chapter 38

  I cried until I couldn’t any more, until all the emotion of the day had drained away. I cried for my mother and for Morley and for Elwy, tears of sadness, anger, and confusion.

  How had she lived with this all these years, raising her daughters, knowing that she had a son growing up too? Virna wrote letters to her from time to time. They must have included news about Jack. Had she sent photos, too? My poor mother, carrying this secret, and her own shame, for more than fifty years.

  My father is a forgiving man, but I understood why she hadn’t shared the burden with him. She wouldn’t want to hurt him. It would undermine everything they had built together.

  And I wished that she had never shared her secret with me.

  Finally, like my mother, I went and washed my face with cold water and sucked in all the pain. When Andy came back, I was in control again. He called from the lobby.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Never better.”

  “Yeah, sure. Are you up to meeting us in Jack Wilton’s room? I think you should be there. It’s 428. We’re in the lobby, on our way there now.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess to let him know who killed his mother.”

  “Morley?”

  “He confessed in the note.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Room 428.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I took the stairs up a flight, and got there at the same time as the elevator delivered Andy and Donald Deutsch. Jack’s door was open. He was inside, clearing piles of clothes off various surfaces, making room for us to sit down.

  “Sorry about the mess,” he said. I found myself unable to look at him.

  Deutsch sat in one chair, I sat in the other, Jack was on the edge of the bed, and Andy leaned against the desk, arms crossed.

  “We’ve brought copies of the letter that Morley Timms wrote before he shot himself,” Deutsch said. “It indicates that he suicided out of remorse for killing your mother.”

  He handed one to me and one to Jack.

  “Just have a read, and we’ll answer any questions you might have afterwards.”

  I looked at the note, which was written in the same cramped hand as the warning letters.

  To: Miss Kate Henry

  I’m glad you made me tell the truth. Honesty is the Best Policy. That is why I am writing this letter. I’m sorry for everything I did. Please tell your Mother and the other ladies. I shouldn’t have done it.

  Wilma Elshaw was the LOVE OF MY LIFE until she was STOLEN AWAY by that unnatural woman, that ABOMINATION whose name I will not write down. It was the girls baseball and the LOW MORAL CLIMATE that turned my beloved Wilma from me. When I saw that Old Woman prancing around in her baseball dress like a harlot, it got my goat. She is in the Hall of Fame like she wanted, but her soul is ROASTING IN HELL.

  But I shouldn’t have tried to frighten the other ladies. That was wrong.

  Yours sincerely,

  Morley Timms

  I finished reading it, and looked at Jack.

  “There’s a lot of hatred in this letter,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady. “He sure hid it well.”

  “He did,” Deutsch said. “He hid it for all these years.”

  “What an unhappy life he must have had,” I said.

  “I imagine the rage was buried pretty deep,” Andy said. “It took seeing Virna to trigger it off.”

  “Who found Morley?” I asked.

  “Garth Elshaw,” Deutsch said. “Morley had phoned him, he said. He was evidently very agitated, so Garth went to his house to settle him down. When he knocked, Morley didn’t answer. The door was locked. Garth kept knocking, then heard a shot. He broke down the door. A neighbour heard the commotion and called 911.”

  “Did he do it with the shotgun I s
aw?”

  “No, an old revolver,” Deutsch said. “Probably a wartime souvenir. He’s lucky it still worked. If lucky’s the right word.”

  Jack closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

  “So it’s over.”

  “There are still a few things to clear up,” Don said. “There will be an autopsy, and we’ll send samples to the lab for comparisons, but, yes, it’s over.”

  He stood up, and the rest of us followed suit. Deutsch shook Jack’s hand and offered his condolences again.

  “I hope you’ll come to the service for my mother tomorrow,”

  “Of course.”

  Then Andy shook his hand and we went into the hall.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.” Deutsch said. “Want to join me?”

  “Kate, what do you want to do?” Andy asked.

  “You go ahead. I should go tell my parents.”

  “You deserve it,” Don said. “You were the one who figured it out.”

  “I was the one that got the guy dead.”

  “You saved the people of Canada some money. That’s worth drinking to.”

  “I’ll see, after I tell my parents. By the way, has anyone told Ruth Fernie’s nephew he’s off the hook?”

  “Hugh Grenfell’s over there right now. He hasn’t got anything to worry about.”

  They headed down the stairs and I went and knocked on my parents’ door. My mother answered. We had a hard time meeting each other’s eyes. I told them what had happened.

  “I just wish I knew why,” I said.

  “We’ll never know, now,” Daddy said.

  I said good night to them and went and found Andy and Don at a table in a relatively quiet corner. I was sick of the bar, with its cracked Formica tables, annoying gambling machines and non-stop rock and country videos. I was also sick of the clientele, a depressing bunch of characters. I lit up what was probably my tenth cigarette since my mother’s visit. So much for cutting back.

  After our drinks came, I brought up Morley Timms.

  “Do you think he would have been convicted?” I asked.

  “He would have ended up locked up somewhere,” Don said. “Either maximum security psychiatric or in the jug.”

  “The poor man’s better off dead,” I said.

  “Probably,” Andy agreed. “I wonder if he meant to kill Virna. Would you have gone for first degree on this one, Don?”

  “Depends on his statement, depends on the crown attorney. You know how these things go. A man Morley’s age, it isn’t going to matter whether it’s first degree, second degree, or manslaughter, because he’s going to die in jail however it turns out.”

  “Do you ever feel badly about putting someone in jail?” I asked. “Someone like Morley, who was kind of pathetic and unlikely to ever do it again?”

  “You do the crime, you got to do the time,” Don shrugged.

  “Everything is so cut and dried with you guys,” I said. “Everything that isn’t white is black.”

  “No, I see greys, too,” Don said. “I also see all the pretty colours. But my job is to uphold the law.”

  “It’s no use, Don,” Andy said. “She’s a stubborn one.”

  “Only when I’m right,” I said.

  “Which you always are,” Andy answered.

  I wasn’t in the mood to play. I butted my cigarette and drained my drink.

  “No hard feelings, but it’s been a tough day. I’m for bed.”

  I packed my cigarettes into my purse and stood up.

  “And even though we disagree, as a sign of conciliation, I will allow you law-abiding chaps to pay for my drink.”

  “Glad to do it,” Don said. “I’ve enjoyed sparring with you.”

  “Maybe we’ll go a few rounds another time when I’m not so tired,” I said.

  “I won’t be long,” Andy said.

  “No rush. I’ll be asleep anyway.”

  Which I was, the moment my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 39

  The funeral was at two the next afternoon. The gathering was small and the ceremony was brief but comforting. My father spoke with quiet eloquence about loss, grieving, and forgiveness. Jack spoke, movingly, about his mother and her importance in his life. I didn’t dare look in my mother’s direction, but knew the pain she must be feeling. It was all over in fifteen minutes, and we were back in the parking lot in the sunshine. In addition to my parents, Jack, Edna, Andy, and me, there were a few locals. Don Deutsch, Hugh Grenfell, and Walt Digby came from the RCMP; Dave Shury from the Hall of Fame was there with his wife, Jane; Garth Elshaw, who must have been still reeling from the shock of his friend’s death; and, surprisingly, Ruth Fernie.

  I wanted to talk to Garth, who stood a bit apart, waiting to have a word with Jack, but I didn’t know what to say. Andy interrupted my indecision before I could make my move.

  “Do you mind going back alone?” he asked. “I’m going for a coffee with Walt Digby. He’ll drop me back at the hotel.”

  “That’s fine. Don’t be too long. I’ll finish packing and check out.”

  Garth was in conversation with Jack by then, so I felt somewhat let off the hook. I told my parents I would see them back at the hotel and hopped in the Grapemobile, something else I was going to be glad to see the last of.

  I took the old highway back towards Battleford, pulling off the road when I got to Finlayson Island. I was a little overdressed for hiking, but I was wearing flat shoes, which would be fine for easy walking. I had half an hour to kill.

  The parking lot was empty, which was a surprise on such a beautiful afternoon. I walked down the trail through the trees until I came to the river’s edge. I could hear birds singing, but, as usual, couldn’t find them without help from Andy. He’s the birdwatcher. The only time I’m any good at finding the damn things is in the spring and fall, when there aren’t any leaves.

  I found a log by the path near the shore to sit on, and watched some ducks swimming, a mother and four babies. It was good to be alone.

  Aside from the faint sound of cars on the bridge and the birds, it was quiet. I closed my eyes and held my face to the afternoon sun and breathed in the peace.

  Then I heard something, an animal, maybe, crackling through the brush. I sat up and saw Garth Elshaw come down the trail.

  “Mr. Elshaw! You startled me,” I said.

  “I saw that purple car from the road. I thought I would find you and that Munro fellow.”

  “Well, Andy’s not here. He’s with the RCMP officers.”

  “I guess you’ll be heading back east now.”

  “Yes, tomorrow,” I said. “We’re flying out of Saskatoon. We might even drive down tonight, depending on how my parents feel. I’m glad you found me. I was going to say goodbye after the funeral, but I didn’t want to interrupt your talk with Jack.”

  “Well, I wanted to tell him I had no hard feelings. He said he might come up for a visit sometime.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I guess I’m the closest thing to family he’s got, now.”

  Little did he know.

  “I guess you are,” I said.

  “What are you doing walking around here?”

  “It was a nice day. I like to get away from people sometimes. Sometimes I prefer the birds for company.”

  “There’s a great horned owl down the path,” he said, not taking the hint. “She sleeps in the same tree a lot. You ever seen one of those?”

  “We have them back east, too.”

  “I’m not much of one for birds. Morley liked them. He liked to walk around here. That’s why I came by this way. Thinking about him and all.”

  Garth looked slightly embarrassed by this display of sentiment. I kicked myself for trying to brush him off.

  “Of course,�
� I said. “You were friends for a long time.”

  “Over seventy years.”

  “Shall we walk for a while?” I asked.

  “I recall him telling me about some birds he saw last week, some avocets, he said.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those,” I said.

  “They have long legs, and this curious kind of bill. Sort of pretty, and comical at the same time. Called the American avocet. At the far point of the island, he said. I thought I’d go have a look at them.”

  “Do you mind if I come along?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  We walked down the trail, side by side when it was wide enough. He led the way when it got narrow. We followed a path away from the shore, into the woods.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” I said. “I can’t help wondering if what we talked about upset him and made him, you know, do what he did. But when I left him, he seemed fine. He really did. I just wish I had stayed.”

  “I don’t know how he could have been fine,” Elshaw said. “When he called me on the phone, he was raving, he was as crazy as I’ve ever heard him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “How the police were after him, they were coming to get him, I had to help him get away. He said he couldn’t go to jail. He was afraid of prison. He was afraid of being locked up again.”

  “But I told him he wasn’t going to have to go to jail.”

  “Well, he didn’t believe you.”

  “I’m just so sorry. I’d give anything to have prevented it.”

  Elshaw touched my arm and pointed at a tree just off the path.

  “Look there, now. There’s the owl.”

  Following his finger I could make out the distinctive shape with its tufted ears.

  “Saw one go after a cat one time,” Elshaw said. “Almost got him too.”

  Not a pleasant thought. We continued down the path.

  “Mr. Elshaw, did it surprise you, about Morley, I mean?”