The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

  Simon Nugent, a forty-year-old fisherman who’d just disembarked from the black schooner, ambled over to Nellie. “Mrs. Myles, What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Simon, have you seen the Marion in your travels?”

  The man’s eyebrows drew together. “Isn’t she back?”

  “No,” Nellie said. “There’s been no word either.”

  Simon hauled off his cap. “She cleared the channel buoys at St. Pierre and sailed with the rising sun, due east for the Grand Banks. We were on our way into St. Pierre.”

  “When was that?”

  Simon thought a moment. “Near on two weeks ago. When we reached the Banks the next day, she wasn’t there.”

  “You didn’t pass her on the way?”

  “Never laid eyes on her after St. Pierre.”

  “Where could she be?” Nellie said, more to herself than to Simon. She rowed back home. Tears stained her cheeks.

  Chapter 6

  The sun rose over Fortune Bay in mid-July with still no word from the Marion.

  “Dinner might be late today,” Nellie said to the children at breakfast. “The Burke brothers are having a meeting at the church to tell us about their investigation into the Marion’s disappearance.”

  “Annie told us they travelled to St. Pierre themselves,” Joe said.

  “Ma,” Bessie said softly. She held Marie’s hand under the table. “Maybe they found Captain Ike, Pa, and all the others.”

  Sam threw down his fork. It clanged against his plate. “Pa’s dead,” he said. “They’re all dead.” He scraped his chair back from the table and ran out the door.

  A lump formed in Nellie’s throat. “We have to keep praying there’ll be good news. Now finish your breakfast.” She went to the door. Sam stood on the wharf, looking toward the harbour entrance. He’d done the same every morning for a month.

  Nellie walked down the hill and stood next to him. “Sam, I don’t want to give you any false hope. I believe your pa and Uncle Tommy are . . . dead.” Sam didn’t speak, didn’t move. Nellie put her arm around his shoulder. “Bessie and Marie are going to need you to be strong for them.”

  “I will, Ma. I promise.”

  Together they climbed up the path to the house. A fisherman’s youngsters have to suffer unfair hardships, Nellie thought. She sighed wearily when she saw that Joe, Bessie, and Marie hadn’t touched their food. Sam gobbled the rest of his cold scrambled eggs and the others followed his lead.

  “Me and Sam are going to the nun’s field to help them make hay,” Joe said.

  “Sister Thérèse wants to teach me and Marie how to milk a cow today,” Bessie said.

  Nellie smiled. “That’s some exciting. You’ve been waiting a long time for that.”

  Bessie shrugged. “S’pose so.”

  Things will get better with time, Nellie wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t form on her lips, and the children left for the convent. She washed the dishes and swept the floor before the walk to the church, which seemed longer and more tiresome than usual.

  She slipped into the front pew with Dottie, Annie, and Mother Patrick. Sister Thérèse was watching the twins at the convent. The church soon filled with the Marion’s family members and concerned people from neighbouring communities.

  Denis and Jon Burke, local merchants, sat behind a table the priest had placed up front. Denis cleared his throat for attention and the murmurs subsided. “We questioned Captain Maurice and all the men from the Fleur de Lys,” he began. The French trawler was known to everyone in the church. “Eyewitnesses agreed with their story. Ike Jones scraped the steel side of the trawler when he docked the Marion at St. Pierre. People around were of the opinion it was a deliberate act.” Denis paused to drink some water.

  Jon took over. “That night at the Hôtel de France, the French crew taunted our men about the incident until a brawl broke out. Fred McEvoy and Harry and Tom Myles had already left by then. Captain Maurice and Ike never showed up at the hotel. The local authorities launched their own investigation and found nothing suspicious.”

  “Where was Captain Maurice?” Nellie asked.

  “The French captain said he was at home. His housekeeper was at the house of a friend, so she couldn’t confirm that. However, no one saw him that night. The next morning, before leaving St. Pierre, Ike fired a musket over the trawler’s bow.”

  “The stun bastard,” a man at the back said.

  “Why’d he do a fool thing like that?” another man growled.

  Jon continued. “Denis and myself have offered a handsome reward for any information concerning the Marion. There have been no takers so far.”

  Dottie stood up. “Our husbands didn’t melt into the air,” she said in a trembling voice. “They have to be somewhere.”

  “We were offered a possible explanation for the loss,” Denis said. He stopped and looked at all the people crowding the church.

  “Well, out with it,” Annie said.

  “It’s wartime. German U-boats have sunk Grand Banks schooners with their deck guns.”

  “Baloney,” Simon Nugent said. “I was on one of them schooners that got sunk. We used our dories as lifeboats and were picked up in no time by another schooner. The men on the Marion have vanished like they never existed.”

  “There were also reports of icebergs and storms on the Banks last month. Perhaps the Marion met her fate in a natural disaster,” Denis continued.

  “That’s too easy an answer,” Nellie said. There were other schooners in the area. “Why is it only the Marion that’s lost?”

  “We’ve done everything possible to locate the Marion,” Denis said.

  Annie waved a hand at the brothers. “It ain’t enough.”

  “We’ll keep the offer of a reward open,” Jon said. “We’re terribly sorry.”

  The last light of hope for the Marion’s safe return was stubbed out by a few words, extinguished like a candle blown out on a dark, moonless night. Men stared at their feet. Mothers and wives wept.

  Nellie’s expression hardened. “Seventeen souls vanished from the face of the earth, just like that. I can’t—I won’t!—accept it was an accident of nature.”

  Annie’s eyes lost their lustre. Her body seemed to shrink in on itself. “My sweet Harry and Tommy, gone forever,” she mumbled.

  “No!” Dottie cried out. “It’s not fair! Fred didn’t see his sons yet.” She beat her fists on the wooden pew in front of her. “It’s not fair!”

  Mother Patrick folded Dottie into her arms. “There, there, child. You must be strong for the babies.”

  Denis and Jon Burke walked down the aisle and out the church doors. No one paid any attention to them leaving.

  Nellie took hold of Annie’s shoulders and shook her. “Take Dottie home. She’s all the twins have now.”

  Annie snapped out of her daze at the mention of the children. “The wee ones,” she said softly. “They needs their ma.”

  Mother Patrick handed Dottie over to Annie’s care. Everyone else departed, some with their heads low, some with red and swollen eyes, others with blank stares. Nellie sat alone in the pew, staring at the altar where she’d been married fifteen years earlier. How could she let go of Harry when there wasn’t even a body to say goodbye to?

  Dry-eyed, she went out to the cemetery and sought out Uncle Joe’s grave. “Harry and Tom are with you,” she said. “I know you’ll look after them.”

  Mother Patrick opened the squeaky gate and stood next to Nellie, who now stood facing Harry’s parents’ grave. “I saw you from my office,” she said.

  Nellie kept her eyes trained on the headstone. “Harry died the same age as his father.” She felt a heaviness in her chest. “At least there was a body to bury.” Still the tears didn’t flow. “Uncle Joe told me Harry and Tom’s moth
er couldn’t get past the grief. Pneumonia took her a year later.”

  Mother Patrick shook her head. “A tragedy for everyone.”

  “Harry was ten, like Bessie is now. Tom was a baby. I always thought she was selfish to give up on her youngsters. I should not have judged her so hard.” A balmy breeze lifted Nellie’s fine hair out of her eyes. She looked at Mother Patrick. “I must find out the truth.”

  “The Burkes have tried.”

  “I want to go to St. Pierre to speak with the French captain myself. He did something.” Nellie placed a hand over her heart. “I know it deep in here.”

  Chapter 7

  The early morning sun poured through Nellie’s open kitchen window. Sweat dribbled down her back as she turned over French toast browning in homemade butter. There wasn’t even enough of a breeze to flutter the curtains.

  Bessie pushed away her plate, three-quarters of her French toast left untouched. “Ma, is Pa coming home?” she asked. Joe, Sam, and Marie all turned to Nellie. She looked at each face, hungry for the answer to the question neither of them had dared ask before.

  Nellie’s heart thumped so loud she was certain the youngsters could hear it. Her first instinct was to assure the children that they shouldn’t give up on Harry, that he, Tom, and Captain Jones would arrive any day. She took a deep breath and pushed the frying pan to the back of the stove.

  “It’s best you learn the truth from me,” she said, and laid out, one by one, the results of the Burke brothers’ investigation. “The Marion is gone. The men are gone with her.”

  “No,” Sam said. “We can’t give up on them.”

  A lump formed in Nellie’s throat. “I know it sounds awful, but there’s no point in hoping for the impossible.”

  Marie clutched her mother’s arm. “Pa wouldn’t leave us alone.” She burst into tears. “He can’t be gone forever. It won’t ever be the same without him.”

  Sam glared at Joe. “See what fishing does,” he snapped. “It’s no good.”

  Joe lowered his head. “It’s how we makes our living,” he mumbled.

  “We got to pull together,” Nellie said, “not be angry at each other.”

  The children picked at their food, the usual chit-chat left somewhere in the past. “If you’re not hungry,” Nellie said softly, “get up from the table.”

  Bessie and Marie went to their room. Joe went outside to chop wood. Sam made for the wharf and dangled his legs over the edge, his eyes on a point somewhere beyond the harbour.

  Nellie couldn’t find the strength to get up from the table.

  “How are you today?” Mother Patrick said from the doorway. She glanced at the plates of partially eaten food.

  “I promised the youngsters last night I’d make French toast.” Nellie fingered Sam’s plate. “Couldn’t disappoint them.” She turned heavy eyes to Mother Patrick. “I told them the Marion’s gone for good.”

  The nun looked out the door at Joe and Sam. “The poor lads. Harry was a good father and a marvellous influence on them. Which is why I’m here. Nellie, are you still determined to go to St. Pierre?”

  Nellie threw the napkin she had gripped with clenched fingers all morning onto the table. “I won’t give up until I find out what happened.” She rubbed her temples. “Tom was going to quit after this trip. He’d gotten a cooking job in St. John’s.”

  “Another example of life’s little injustices,” Mother Patrick said. “Hattie Fitzgerald told me this morning that Charlie Whittle over in Boxey died of consumption yesterday. He was only seventeen.”

  Nellie’s jaw tightened. “Shelly Fewer was shipped off to the sanatorium last month. If the sea doesn’t get you, consumption will.”

  Mother Patrick took the dishtowel from the stove’s oven handle and fanned herself. “This heat is unbearable. A drop of water wouldn’t go astray.” She drained a large glass in one extended gulp. “Nellie, if your mind’s made up about going to St. Pierre, I’ll assist you.”

  “I’ve a little money put aside,” Nellie said.

  “Nonsense, you’ll need that for the children. I’ve made arrangements for transportation and a place for us to stay while we’re in St. Pierre.”

  Nellie was afraid to believe she’d heard correctly. “We?”

  “Yes, child. I’m as anxious as you to discover what fate befell those men. Eloise, Fred McEvoy’s sister-in-law, hails from St. Pierre, as you know. Her parents will be happy to put you up. Old Steve Marsh volunteered to bring us to St. Pierre and pick us up for free.” Mother Patrick put her hands on the table. “He’s not satisfied with the results of the Burke investigation either.”

  “Where will you stay?”

  “Father Jean-Claude is a good friend as well as St. Pierre’s resident priest. He speaks perfect English and can act as our interpreter.”

  Nellie’s face clouded over. “I can’t go without Bessie and Marie. They’re scared enough without me leaving for a couple days.”

  “Not a problem. When would you like to go?”

  “Tomorrow if possible. I’ll talk to Annie about the boys staying with her.”

  “It’s a good possibility this French captain might be out to sea.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “We’ll meet Steve Marsh at Burke’s Cove tomorrow morning at nine. See you then.” Mother Patrick got up to leave.

  “I’ll walk with you. I want to talk to Annie right away.”

  Nellie found her dozing in the rocking chair by the living room fireplace. She gently touched Annie’s shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open. “You don’t nap during the day,” Nellie said.

  “Dottie’s in her room with the twins. She cried all night long. I had to tend to the darling babes.”

  Nellie knelt beside the woman she considered her children’s grandmother. “Are you all right?”

  “I can keep going as long as someone needs me. That’s the only thing worth any salt.”

  “Me and the youngsters will always need and love you.”

  At precisely nine o’clock the next morning, Mother Patrick arrived at Burke’s Cove. The sky was heavy with black, lumpy clouds threatening rain. Fog gathered across the harbour entrance like a grey stone barrier. Steve took the nun’s small suitcase and helped her down from the wharf. Nellie, Bessie, and Marie were seated inside the boat.

  “Not a good day for travelling on the ocean,” Mother Patrick said.

  “I’ve gone in weather way worse than this,” Steve said. “It’s a long run. Try to get comfy.”

  The boat eased away from the wharf, then steered toward the open sea. A large sack in the corner fell open. Nellie noticed a homemade wool sock protrude from the hole where the tie strings had loosened. “I see Mrs. Marsh has been busy knitting,” she said. “You’re not thinking of smuggling certain goods back to St. Jacques, are you?”

  “Trading is more like it,” Steve said. “We’ve run low on the cooking basics. A hundred pounds of sugar costs three dollars in St. Pierre.”

  Nellie almost gagged. “It’s more than three times that at home.”

  “Got that right,” Steve said.

  “Are you sure you won’t be trading for cigarettes or rum? They’re a lot cheaper as well.”

  Steve hauled off his hat and held it over his heart. “I gives my word of honour, missus. I’m bringing back sugar and molasses.” He slapped the hat back on his head. “This time.”

  Nellie leaned close to Mother Patrick. “Generations of Steve’s family have smuggled rum, tobacco, sugar, molasses, flour, and other goods for family and friends, not for profit. It’s as much a way of life as fishing is.”

  “Isn’t that risky?” Mother Patrick said. “What happens if someone gets caught by the Newfoundland Rangers who patrol the area?”

  “That depends,” Steve called out.
“Some customs officers make us pay duty charges on the goods. Others take the stuff for themselves.”

  The boat cleared the harbour and they entered a world of shadowy mist. The dampness seeped under Nellie’s skin. She shivered and hauled a blanket across her shoulders. Marie and Bessie played alleys on the floor. Mother Patrick’s bright red complexion became a pale shade of green.

  “We Irish folk turn this lovely colour on water.” She looked at Nellie with a weak smile.

  Nellie handed her a dry slice of bread. “I brought this along to settle the girls’ stomachs in case they got seasick.”

  The nun chewed the offering gratefully. “I have a note from Eloise to her parents explaining why we’ve come to St. Pierre. I suggest we meet Father Jean-Claude first. He’ll introduce us to the family.”

  The boat slashed through the water, swaying like a toddler learning to walk. The wind whipped up waves that slopped into the boat.

  “Oh my,” Mother Patrick wailed, and hung over the side. She was even greener when she turned back to Nellie. Her face was soaked with ocean spray.

  “You should’ve told me you get so seasick,” Nellie said. “This is too much for you.”

  The nun held a hand over her mouth. “Nonsense. Once we touch land, I’ll be myself in no—” She spun around and lunged for the side yet again.

  The boat docked at St. Pierre mid-afternoon. Steve escorted his four passengers to the church rectory. “I’ll pick you up in two days,” he said.

  “We’ll be waiting,” Nellie said. “Don’t forget about your trading.”

  Steve grinned.

  Mother Patrick was about to knock on the rectory door when it opened. “Ma mère Patrick,” a priest said. “Quelle belle surprise!”

  “Bonjour, mon père,” Mother Patrick said in flat French and pointed to Nellie and the children. “Nous avons besoin de votre aide.”

  “Bien sure. Entrez donc.” The priest smiled and stepped aside for them to enter.