Bishop's Road

by Catherine Hogan Safer

  Eve doesn’t understand why Mrs. Miflin is not pleased that her husband is back, for all that he is rather dirty and seems to have fallen on hard times. She can’t reconcile the wedding pictures, the dried bouquet, the place so lovingly set at the table, with Mrs. Miflin’s attitude.

  “Well maybe,” says Ruth, “things are not as they appear. It happens, Eve. All the time. Perhaps our Mrs. Miflin is not who we think she is. What’s the story Mrs. Miflin? You spend years yammering on and on about that wonderful husband of yours and now here he is finally home from wherever the hell he was and you’re puking your guts up. A little shy all of a sudden?”

  “Leave her alone,” says Ginny Mustard. “She’s sick. Don’t you talk to her like that. Make him go away Ruth.”

  “She’s the one who has to make him go away. She did it once and I’m sure she can do it again. How did you get rid of him last time Mrs. Miflin?”

  “Please stop this Ruth,” says Eve. “Why don’t you get Mr. Miflin a cup of coffee and ask him to wait a little longer? Would you like that Mrs. Miflin? If we just make him feel at home until you get over the shock? I’m sure you’ll be feeling better in a few minutes.”

  “No!” Mrs. Miflin screams. “I want him gone! He kicked me and kicked me until he killed my baby and I shot him! I want him gone!”

  “Well now,” says Ruth. “This is a fine kettle of fish.”

  Ginny Mustard goes to the attic and returns with the rifle. “I found this in a trunk. We can shoot him again. He killed the baby and we can kill him.” Before the others can stop her she is standing in front of Mr. Miflin. By the time they reach the sitting room she has pulled the trigger. By the time Judy turns from the window she has been looking through, before the curtain falls back into place, Mr. Miflin’s life is colouring the yellow carpet to rust.

  The blast of the old gun was deafening. Maggie is screaming. Hands to her ears and letters all over the floor. Ruth slaps her hard across the face. Tells her to be quiet for God’s sake. “What the hell have you done, Ginny Mustard? Are you completely out of your mind?”

  “I had to, Ruth. He hurt Mrs. Miflin and he killed her baby.”

  “That’s it? You just decide to kill him? Did you even know the gun was loaded? He could have taken it from you. He could have wiped out the whole lot of us. God you are so friggin’ stupid, girl.”

  “I’m not stupid anymore. The doctor said I am not stupid, Ruth.”

  Eve takes the gun from Ginny Mustard’s hands and places it on the floor near Mr. Miflin’s body. Sits on the sofa and says a quiet prayer. Mrs. Miflin is calling from her room. “What was that noise?”

  “As if she doesn’t know,” Ruth is laughing. “Well, this is just great. I’m going to the store for beer. Don’t either of you move a muscle until I get back. Don’t call the cops. Don’t do any-thing. And for Christ’s sake don’t let anyone through that door.” She nudges the bloody Mr. Miflin with her foot. Nothing. “Well, he’s dead, that’s for sure. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t budge.”

  But they do, of course. Ginny Mustard wants breakfast. Eve pulls herself together and goes to tell Mrs. Miflin what happened. Maggie shakes in her shoes for awhile but even she decides to get out of the sitting room and gathers up her letters, wanders to the kitchen to play with the kittens until Ruth comes home. Only Judy stays where she’s told. But turns again to look out the window. Across the street the aspen has lost all of her leaves. The other trees are laughing.

  When Father Delaney hears the noise he jumps. Having been through at least one war, he has never quite forgotten the sound of gunfire. Finishes his breakfast and pulls on his shoes. Runs on his old spindle legs to Mrs. Miflin’s house. Meets Ruth on her way back from the store. Frowns at her purchase. The Jezebel didn’t even have the decency to ask for a bag. The likes of her - buying beer at this hour.

  “What brings you over, Father? Checking up on your parishioners this fine day?”

  “I heard a noise. It sounded like a gun. Do you women have a gun in that house?”

  “Not that I know of. What you heard was probably the stove. The pilot light went out and it gave a bang when Ginny Mustard lit it. Blew her and the oven door right across the kitchen. I keep telling the missus it’s not safe to have something that old in the house but she’s a bit tight with the dollars. Don’t concern yourself with Ginny Mustard. It’ll take more than a minor explosion to kill that one.”

  “Well. I guess I should see how Mrs. Miflin is doing now that I’m all the way over here.”

  “No. You shouldn’t. She needs her rest and we’re just about to have breakfast.”

  “How are you cooking breakfast if the stove is broken?”

  “It’s not broken, Father. It exploded. We put the oven door back on and it’s as good as it ever was. Which isn’t to say it won’t blow us all to kingdom come tomorrow but it will do for the likes of us. Why don’t you run along, now, and change your shirt? You’ve got egg all down the front of it.”

  “I’m home,” sings Ruth. “Be it ever so humble. Pity about the body in the sitting room - but hey.”

  “What has gotten into you Ruth?” asks Eve. “Ginny Mustard has done a dreadful thing and you are treating it like a joke. It’s not funny Ruth. A man is dead. And Ginny Mustard will end up going to jail for the rest of her life.”

  “Yes. Well I thought about that while I was out. You’re right, of course. She’ll have to go to jail. It’s too bad she turned out to be smart. A few days ago she could have pled stupidity and got away with a few months in the nuthouse. The girl’s got lousy timing - that’s for sure. I think we’d best call a meeting of the tenant’s association. I’m going to put this beer away. Let’s have break-fast and discuss the matter at hand. What do you say, old Eve? Think we can work our way out of this mess? And we thought bones in the attic was a problem.”

  Again Ruth is laughing. “Someone bring food to the grieving widow. I can hear her moaning and groaning all the way down here. And then let’s eat before Mister starts to go bad. We’ll have to work fast or we’ll never get the smell out.”

  Breakfast is leftovers. Everything from night before last and some vegetables slightly past their prime. Ruth says, “Ginny Mustard you have found your calling. You’re not a half bad cook. And you’re a pretty good shot too. There may be a place in the world for you yet, girl.” And the others smile at that. Cautiously. Unsure of the etiquette of doing so with one newly deceased in the next room.

  After the plate scraping and dishwashing have been done, things put back the way they were, Ruth calls them to Mrs. Miflin’s room to discuss their latest dilemma. They are in agreement that Ginny Mustard did the right thing. Mrs. Miflin provides vivid details of her married life. The more she talks the less she whimpers. The less she whimpers the clearer her focus. She is more like her old self but without the fuzzy edges that had never made sense. They can see that the man was scum. And that’s all he was. Didn’t matter that he had been a sweet baby once upon a time, that someone had taken the trouble to name him, maybe played with him. In their minds he was never anything other than what he had become.

  If Mrs. Miflin had mentioned the flowers he brought her. Or the way he rubbed her back when she had been sewing for too long. Or the times they walked to the river and threw pennies in to buy a wish, or sat up late at night watching out for falling stars. If she had told them that he cried when their first baby died so soon after he felt it kick, gentle hand on her belly. Oh how he had cried. She had never known a man could cry. If she had told them anything at all, other than what she did, then things might have been different. They might have felt something for the man, some sadness for the waste of life. Might have questioned his fall from saint to monster. Not exactly blissful in their ignorance but, free of pain and regret, they plot to save Ginny Mustard and conceal her wrongdoing.

  “What we need,” says Ruth, “is a freezer. That’s a bit cliche to be sure but I can’t think of anything else at the moment. It will have to be big
enough so we can store him in one piece. I am not about to start hacking him up.”

  “Oh, Ruth, no. The man needs a proper burial no matter what he has done. We can’t just freeze him.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Eve. Stop it. You can’t run around burying people without someone finding out. Next you’ll want an obituary in the fucking papers. Forget it Eve. We have to put him on ice. Ginny Mustard is the only one with any money and since she’s the one who killed the bastard in the first place, she’s going to have to buy a freezer. We’ll put it in the basement and throw some casseroles on top of him so if anyone comes snooping they won’t see he’s there. Though I can’t imagine who’d be looking for the likes of him. Ginny Mustard you’ll have to make a lot of casseroles.”

  “Judy will have to find them in the cookbook. I never made any before.”

  “They don’t have to be edible so don’t be getting all fancy on us. It’s not like anyone will ever eat them. They’re just for show.”

  Judy volunteers to go with Ginny Mustard to pick out a freezer. “We should go now and maybe we can have it delivered this afternoon.”

  Eve is still upset. “He should be buried. This isn’t right.”

  “Well Eve. How about we just dig up the backyard and shove him in? What part of your precious garden do you want to contribute for his grave? How about your roses or those beans you’ve got growing? And what’s to stop a dog from hauling him up once we plant him? It’s not like we can call up the undertaker and order a fucking coffin, is it now? He’s got to be frozen and unless there’s a power outage one of these days, we’re in the clear and that fool Ginny Mustard won’t have to go to jail for the rest of her silly life. God, woman, think.”

  And Eve relents. Knows that Ruth is right. The thought of Ginny Mustard behind bars is terrible, and just when she found out she can cook so well, too.

  “Ginny Mustard,” says Ruth. “While you’re gone for the freezer, you might consider a carpet as well. That one he’s bleeding all over is ruined. I always thought blue would be nice in that room. Something with a pattern if you can find it.”

  Mr. Miflin was laid to rest in the new freezer, covered with enough casseroles to feed a high school as well as some rainbow trout that Eve found on sale and couldn’t pass up. And then a giant-sized carton of popsicles with summer here and it’s so warm out, and what the hell, a rump roast and a few chickens. Shopping is fun and all but it takes a lot of time from Eve’s gardening chores. Now that the blue rug is down in the sitting room it seems only natural to put a fresh coat of paint on the walls and buy slip-covers. Judy decides that the old fireplace will work and sets about removing boards that the frugal Mrs. Miflin jammed in there to cut heat loss. Ginny Mustard has added a microwave oven to her list of recent acquisitions and a new television set with a built-in video tape recorder. She watches cooking shows when she’s not preparing meals. Wanders farther afield than usual shopping for ingredients she has never heard tell of before.

  She hasn’t returned to the big house since the music man gave her the little disc player. She remembers him sometimes, thinks about the puppy. The puppy thinks about her as well. Ever since their first meeting he has been annoying the neighbourhood with his incessant yowling. When he goes to the garden he lies under the rhododendron and it’s all Howard James can do to get him back in the house. He wants Ginny Mustard and he doesn’t like his owner. He has dug up most of the flowers near the fence in his attempt to escape.

  When the report of Judy’s drinking finally makes it to the top of the stack on Patrick Fahey’s desk, Mrs. Miflin has forgotten all about her nasty phone call that morning when Mister showed up and had himself killed. No one but the odd delivery man has come to the door since then. Not expecting anyone, they all freeze momentarily before Eve answers the loud knocking. They were not aware that each had been fearing discovery of the secret in the basement. They had not spoken of Mr. Miflin since they covered him with casseroles. The official look about the man who enters the house keeps them all on edge until he tells them why he’s here.

  He wants to see Judy. There has been a report that she was drinking one night back in June and being underage as well as on probation, she is in a lot of trouble. It’s been a good three weeks since anyone has heard from her. He is a police officer, one who has had the dubious pleasure of having arrested Judy on a number of occasions.

  “Well, Sergeant Fahey,” says Ruth. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat and Judy can explain everything. Ginny Mustard, why don’t you get a cup of tea for Sergeant Fahey and set another place at the table. We’re just about ready to have our supper and we’d be pleased if you can join us. Judy, tell Sergeant Fahey about that night. Remember how Mrs. Miflin was really sick? Remember how she was delirious from the drugs the doctor gave her for the pain in her leg? She was seeing things all over the place. She’s okay now but she got it in her head that you were drinking beer in the kitchen. She even accused us of ordering pizza, which we would never do since she doesn’t approve of take-out food. It’s not good for us, you know and Mrs. Miflin is very concerned about our health. She’s like a mother to us. Tell him, Judy, about how Mrs. Miflin thought you were drinking. You probably don’t recall what happened, Mrs. Miflin, since you were pretty much out of it. You tell him Judy.”

  “Yeah. That’s what happened Sergeant Fahey. Just like Ruth said. Mrs. Miflin is fucking crazy sometimes. Friggin’. I meant friggin’ crazy. But she really looks after us good and we dearly love her.”

  The landlady is a pitiful heap on the sofa and doesn’t have much to say. Ruth forgot to tell Eve that she had given the poor woman her painkillers already and Eve helped her to a second dose an hour ago. Mrs. Miflin is fading to dreamland.

  Patrick Fahey knows they are all lying and doing a pretty pathetic job of it too. He’s tired, though. He spends twelve hours a day tracking down, calming down, holding down unlucky people who don’t have a clue what’s wrong and what’s right, too stunned to figure it out on their own and nobody bothered to teach them. Patrick Fahey was on his way home to beer and a pizza himself after he made this last stop. But that Ruth woman did invite him to stay for supper and the aroma from the kitchen is interesting. His duty to Queen and country can wait. There’s no way he wants to be bothered with Judy right now. And he can’t prove a thing either. Everyone in the house has heard Ruth’s story and he’ll bet dollars to doughnuts they’d repeat it word for word if he were to question them. And this Ruth is not bad looking either. Smart. He could do worse than to sit down with her and have a bite to eat.

  Ruth’s sentiments are similar. There’s something about Patrick Fahey that appeals to her. He’s easy on the eyes. Broad shouldered. Thin but strong looking and tall. A woman could lean on him if she ever felt the need and Ruth has been feeling the need lately. He hasn’t smiled since he came through the front door but the lines around his eyes indicate that he knows how. He has nice teeth and a good mouth. Ruth is not all that surprised at the direction her thoughts have taken. Very few of the goings-on around here come as a shock these days and if she’s attracted to Sergeant Patrick Fahey, well, so what?

  “Ginny Mustard is on a Thai kick this week, Sergeant Fahey. So God only knows what she’s got cooked up for us. We’ve all been practicing with chop sticks but you can have a fork if you like. Maggie there has got the hang of it but the rest of us make a bit of a mess still. Are you staying for supper, or what?”

  What the hell. Patrick Fahey has had beer and pizza enough to last a lifetime. Against his better judgement he says, “Yes. I can file my report in the morning. Judy, there is still the matter of your not seeing your probation officer regularly. Last chance girl. You get over there tomorrow or we take you away for good this time.” With his tie loose and jacket off he looks less threatening but the women are still a little nervous, all except Ruth, who has decided she likes this man very much.

  They eat in silence for a while. Judy is not pleased that the law decided to stick around. He’s
got his eye on Ruth that’s for sure - it’s almost funny to see the way she keeps looking over at him and being all weird when he notices. Looking away. You’d think she never saw a fellow before the way she’s turning all pink in the cheeks. Wouldn’t figure Ruth to be nervous like that. He’s watching her too. Judy finds the whole thing a bit gross but it might be good for a laugh later on.

  Eve makes chit chat and they learn that Patrick Fahey is not married, has a house over on Morris Street and an old dog, visits his mother in the nursing home three times a week. She has Alzheimer’s disease and doesn’t know him any more but he goes anyway. His father died a few years ago. He has two sisters, three nephews and a niece and spends holidays with them, Christmas and Easter mostly. When his mother wasn’t so far gone they used to celebrate with her but one year when she forgot to cook the turkey they gave it up. Soon after that she stopped bathing and when they found her wandering around Water Street in her night-gown they knew she was beyond their help and put her in the home.

  Maggie pipes up. “That’s where I was. A home. I was bad so my mother put me in a home.”

  “Interesting,” says Ruth. “Patrick - I hope you don’t mind if I call you Patrick while you’re off duty - Maggie hasn’t spoken to any of us. Ever. And now here you mention home and she opens her mouth. We heard her scream once. And she laughs now and then.” She directs her attention to Maggie. “What kind of home? How long were you there?”

  “I don’t know anything else. Just that there was a home and my mother. I guess she was my mother.” Maggie’s throat hurts all of a sudden. She puts her hand to her neck and makes little hacking noises, as though she’s choking on something sharp. Judy smacks her across the back and Maggie resumes eating, gracefully, with her chopsticks.

  “Well now,” says Eve. “That was a good start, Maggie. You just rest your voice and if you ever want to talk again you go right ahead.” Maggie smiles and nods.