The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

  Marie’s face beamed. “Mother Patrick said we need his help and the priest said to come in.”

  Father Jean-Claude reminded Nellie of a grizzly bear. He stood well over six feet tall, with shoulders like a Japanese wrestler she’d seen in a magazine at Young’s General Store. A head of busy black hair and a beard to his chest, along with black robes, completed the illusion.

  Once the luggage was deposited in the front hall, everyone congregated in the den. A tiny, white-haired woman brought in tea and croissants topped with cream and melted chocolate. The children dug into the treats. “Eh bien,” Father Jean-Claude began. “Ma chère mère Patrick. You hate to travel by boat. There must be a grave reason for your presence here.”

  “Indeed there is. This is Nellie and her daughter Bessie. Her husband, Harry, and his brother Tom were on the Marion.”

  The priest’s eyes softened. “Madame, I am terribly sorry for your loss. Quelle tragédie.”

  Mother Patrick gently touched Marie’s arm. “This child is Marie Jones, the captain’s daughter. Her mother died many years ago.”

  “Pauvre enfant,” the priest said. “Poor child,” he repeated in English.

  Marie held Bessie’s hand. “Nos pères nous manquent,” she said quietly. A tear slid to the tip of her nose.

  Father Jean-Claude smiled at the girls. “Of course you miss your fathers.” His eyes lingered on Marie. “You speak French almost as well as a native. Was your mother from St. Pierre?”

  “I don’t remember her.”

  “Marie has a good ear for languages,” Mother Patrick said. “We never met her mother, nor do we know where she came from.”

  The priest’s gaze wandered back to Marie. “Have you been here before, mon enfant?”

  “No, Father.”

  Father Jean-Claude opened his mouth to speak, when the housekeeper came in to remove the dishes.

  “Father,” Nellie said. “I appreciate any help you can give me. I need to find out exactly what happened to the Marion.”

  Mother Patrick licked cream from the corner of her mouth. “Nellie and the girls are staying with the Lavier family. Where do they live?”

  “Just around the corner,” the priest said. “Come with me.”

  The Laviers greeted Bessie and Marie with hugs after they read their daughter’s letter. Marie’s limited French was sufficient to make herself understood. Nellie put her bags in the bedroom and returned to the rectory; the sound of Louisa, the Laviers’ youngest daughter, babbling in French to Marie and Bessie greeted her.

  “We eat,” Father Jean-Claude said. “Then we begin with our questions about the Marion.”

  Nellie tried to finish the delicious lamb chop and sweet peas but only managed the occasional bite. She finally gave up and drank a mouthful of red wine. “Goodness gracious. It takes your breath away.”

  “I enjoy a good French wine,” Father Jean-Claude said.

  Nellie folded her napkin and laid it on her plate. “Father, do you know anything about Captain Maurice?”

  The middle-aged priest hesitated. “Le capitaine is not an easy man to get to know since his wife’s death.” He sipped wine and savoured the taste. “I came to St. Pierre from France as a young curate. Maurice, his wife, and baby girl travelled on the same ship.”

  “He’d visited France?” Mother Patrick said.

  “Non. He is from Marseilles. Mme. Maurice was born and raised in St. Pierre and wished to return. Le capitaine adored his wife. Alors, they moved here.”

  Nellie rested her elbows on the table. “I’m surprised he was so considerate of his wife’s feelings.”

  “Two years later she died from an illness you call consumption. Maurice grieved very badly and devoted himself to their daughter, Chantal. He gave her whatever she desired. Sent her to the finest school in Paris.” Father Jean-Claude sighed. “His daughter was the centre of his life. Not a good thing for Chantal, I think.”

  “Why not?”

  “When Chantal was twenty, she went to St. John’s on a shopping trip, where she met a man. Maurice forbade her to see him ever again.” Father Jean-Claude threw his hands up in the air for emphasis. “Le vrai amour, c’est pour toujours.”

  Annie looked at Mother Patrick with a perplexed look.

  “Something about love,” the nun said.

  Father Jean-Claude laughed softly. “True love is forever. Chantal ran away and married the man. I never saw her again.”

  “What did the captain do?” Nellie said.

  “There was nothing for him to do. He felt betrayed by his daughter.”

  “Do you have any idea why he and Captain Jones were always at each other’s throats?”

  The priest shrugged. “Bitterness intensifies when we embrace it. Who knows what it leads to?”

  “I want to talk to him,” Nellie said.

  “Maybe we should speak to the people who were present on the dock when the Marion left before we approach le capitaine Maurice. I hate to say it, but he is not a pleasant man.”

  Nellie’s spirits rose. “It’s possible they saw or heard something.”

  “Eh bien,” Father Jean-Claude said. “We finish our meal, then go to see these people.”

  The early evening sun beamed down on the trio walking toward the dock. Nellie and Mother Patrick stood off to the side while Father Jean-Claude talked to a small group of dock workers unloading a ship from France. Nellie listened to the men’s responses, in foreign, lilting tones that sounded almost musical. She paid particular attention to their facial expressions and hand gestures, a universal language.

  Mother Patrick murmured in Nellie’s ear. “The French speak like they have to get everything said in five seconds. I can’t catch a single word.”

  “Merci bien,” Father Jean-Claude said with a nod and turned to the women.

  “You found out something,” Nellie said. “I could tell.”

  “Oui, madame.” Sweat beaded on the priest’s forehead. “It is very hot. Let us go to the Hôtel de France for a cool drink.”

  They each ordered a glass of orange juice. Nellie spoke first. “Father Jean-Claude, what did the men say?”

  “None of them were surprised to hear the Marion never arrived home in Fortune Bay.”

  “Why do you mean?” Mother Patrick asked, the glass nearly slipping from her hand.

  Father Jean-Claude waited a moment before he answered. “When the Marion was leaving port, le capitaine Maurice shouted at Ike Jones that he would pay for everything he did. Maurice vowed Jones would never see his daughter again.”

  Nellie somehow managed to keep back her tears. “Was there anything else?”

  “The French trawler followed the Marion to sea a few hours later. She was not due to leave for another four days.” Father Jean-Claude looked from Mother Patrick to Nellie. “The trawler returned a day later with a badly damaged stern.”

  Mother Patrick blessed herself. Nellie went cold all over.

  “Maurice said the ship collided with an iron channel marker.”

  “The Burkes didn’t mention that,” Nellie said. She sounded winded.

  “Le gendarme, our police, found the iron marker. They took pictures that proved the dents and paint on the trawler were caused by the marker.”

  “Did the police question why he left port so early?” Nellie said.

  “I dine with the police captain tonight and will speak to him about it.”

  Nellie rubbed both hands over her face. “I’ve left Bessie and Marie alone long enough for one day.”

  Father Jean-Claude downed the last of his juice. “Tomorrow we go to see le capitaine Maurice.”

  Nellie lay in bed with Bessie on one side and Marie on the other. She’d never spent a night away from her sons and ached to see them, to touch them. Her e
yes closed and Harry’s handsome face filled the dark void. Why didn’t you stay home like I wanted? Nellie stuffed part of the blanket in her mouth to strangle a sob.

  The night dragged on. Bessie moaned so often Nellie was tempted to wake her.

  Marie never stirred. Nellie watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. Poor little mite, she thought. Ike was a brute, but he loved you. No matter what comes to light about him, I’ll make sure you remember that. She turned to Bessie and kissed her forehead. I’ll protect you both from the truth.

  The first rays of light streamed in through the window just as Nellie drifted off to sleep. A soft tap on the door woke her. Bessie and Marie were gone.

  “Mme. Myles.” Mrs. Lavier’s head poked around the bedroom door. “Le petit dejeuner . . . breakfast est prêt.”

  Nellie sat up. She wasn’t in the mood to eat but didn’t want to be rude. “Merci.”

  Father Jean-Claude and Mother Patrick were seated at the table with the children, munching on a breakfast of cheese croissants and tea when Nellie came down. She itched to ask the priest what information the police had told him, yet decided to wait until the youngsters were out of hearing range. Father Jean-Claude conversed with the Laviers while Nellie ate.

  After breakfast, Marie and Bessie accompanied the adults to Maurice’s house. They walked with Mother Patrick while Nellie and Father Jean-Claude stayed several steps behind. She heard Marie say good morning in French to every passerby.

  “I can tell that you and your daughter love Marie very much,” the priest said.

  “She’s like a sister to Bessie.” Nellie lowered her voice. “You spoke to the police captain?”

  “Oui. Le capitaine Maurice left port early because his cargo of salt fish was ready.”

  “Where was he going?”

  “Barbados, to exchange the fish for salt and molasses. The accident with the marker forced him to return to St. Pierre for repairs.”

  Nellie frowned. “Was it unusual for him to leave days earlier?”

  “Not at all.”

  Father Jean-Claude turned a corner and indicated the last house on the street. “That is the residence of le capitaine Maurice.”

  “Bessie, Marie,” Nellie said, “wait here with Mother Patrick while me and Father Jean-Claude chat with the captain.”

  “Mme. Myles,” the priest said, “I must warn you again. Maurice is a difficult man to deal with at the best of times. The police and the Burke brothers grilled him about the Marion. He may not talk to you.”

  Nellie squared her shoulders. “That’s all right. It’s really important I see his face.”

  Father Jean-Claude knocked on the black, wooden door. It creaked open to reveal a grey-haired, elderly woman.

  “Bonjour, Mme. Dubois. Je suis ici pour voir le capitaine Maurice.”

  “Bonjour, mon père. Entrez,” Mme. Dubois said, her expression one of pure delight. She brought them down a narrow hallway carpeted in dark red and showed them into a room surrounded with wall-to-wall bookshelves. She indicated two armchairs facing a desk. “Asseyez-vous.”

  “Le capitaine is well read,” the priest remarked, browsing through the books. “He speaks several languages, including English.”

  “Puis-je vous aider?”

  Nellie turned to see a short, wiry man in his early sixties, clean-shaven, his dark hair peppered with grey and neatly combed. Nellie had never seen a more gentle-looking man. The devil wears many disguises, she thought.

  “Mme. Myles is the wife of Harry Myles, a fisherman lost on the Marion,” Father Jean-Claude said in English.

  Maurice turned to Nellie, the soft edges around his mouth and eyes suddenly replaced by harsh lines. “I am not responsible for the disappearance of the Marion,” he said in a monotone. “I have been harassed enough.”

  “What did you and Ike Jones argue about?”

  “Ike Jones is not worth my time or effort to discuss. He takes pleasure in destroying people’s lives.”

  The tone of voice, more than the words, pricked at Nellie’s skin like ice chips. “How did he destroy your life?” she asked.

  “I refuse to respond to any more of your questions. Allez-vous en. Please leave my home.” The French captain escorted them out of the room. He barely glanced at Nellie when she passed him on the way out the front door.

  Outside, Bessie stared at Maurice, her body rigid, her breathing ragged. Mother Patrick pressed her hands lightly on Bessie’s shoulders. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  The captain’s deep green eyes flared. “Do not bother me again! I have had enough of—” His voice died abruptly as his gaze swept over the group toward the children standing side by side. He mumbled something in French to Marie.

  The tall, burly priest gaped at the door even after the captain had shut the door.

  Marie threw her arms around Nellie’s waist. “I’m scared of him.”

  “Me too,” Bessie sniffed. “I want to get away from here.”

  Mother Patrick turned Bessie around to face her. “Don’t let the captain upset you,” she said. “Some people are so unhappy they want everyone else to feel the same way.”

  Father Jean-Claude came out of his trance. “Mes petites enfants,” he said, addressing Bessie and Marie. “I have a marvellous idea. We have a wonderful chocolate shop and a bakery with all kinds of croissants that are baked fresh every day. I would like to treat all of you to these delights.”

  Bessie’s and Marie’s frowns slipped away like smoke through an open window. Father Jean-Claude took each child’s hand. “Which will we visit first? The chocolate or pastry shop?”

  “The chocolate shop,” the girls said as one.

  They all munched on French chocolate and ate croissants taken directly from the oven. As they left the pastry shop, Bessie stopped and stared into the distance, squinting against the sun. “Those are really small stone houses,” she said.

  Father Jean-Claude looked at Mother Patrick as if seeking advice. “Tell them,” she said.

  “That . . . that is the cemetery,” the priest said. “We follow the custom of France. We bury our people in crypts where you can look inside.”

  Bessie gazed up at the priest. “We couldn’t bury Pa.”

  “It’s almost suppertime,” Nellie said, a slight tremor in her voice. “We’d better get you and Marie back to the Laviers’ house.”

  Louisa Lavier was waiting outside. She hugged Marie and Bessie like they’d been gone for years.

  “Father Jean-Claude, what did Maurice say to the children?” Mother Patrick asked when she and Nellie relaxed in the priest’s den.

  “Le capitaine’s anger is like an open sore that has been left untreated.”

  Nellie sighed. “He drains the life from you.”

  Mother Patrick shook her head. “Shocking but true.”

  Nellie slowly got to her feet. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” Father Jean-Claude walked the short distance with her.

  Marie was asleep when Nellie stepped into the bedroom. Bessie lay on her back, wide awake.

  “You should be snoozing, young lady.”

  Tears slid down Bessie’s face onto the bedsheet. “I’m scared of the French captain.”

  Nellie consoled her daughter. “He won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  Bessie flung her arms around her mother’s neck. “He’s the hooded man in my dream.”

  “That’s impossible, sweetie.”

  “He has the same eyes.”

  “A lot of people have green eyes.” Nellie laid her daughter back on the pillow. “The captain’s are bloodshot; that’s why they’re red.”

  “Ma, don’t leave me alone.”

  Nellie kissed her cheek. “I promise to never leave you.”

  Bessie’s eyelids d
rooped as drowsiness swept over her. “He is the hooded man,” she mumbled. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter 8

  A faraway noise roused Annie from a restless sleep. She leaned on her elbows and waited. A baby’s cry sounded and turned into a howl as another tiny voice added its hungry wail. Annie got out of bed and hurried to Dottie’s room. Two cribs stood together at the foot of the bed. The infants had kicked off their blankets, their faces red from crying. As if oblivious to the twins’ plea for milk, Dottie sat on a chair and stared out the window.

  “Your babes are hungry,” Annie said softly.

  Dottie gave them a fleeting glance and turned back to the window. “I have no milk.”

  “You ain’t tried to breastfeed.”

  Sam stumbled up the hallway and peered through half-open eyes into the room. “What’s wrong?”

  “The darlings are starving,” Annie said. “Go warm up the milk like I showed ya.”

  The babies howled louder, and Sam darted down the hall.

  “Go ahead, Dottie,” Annie yelled over the noise. “Stare out the window at whatever is more important than your youngsters. I have better things to do.” She picked up Fred Jr. and rocked him. “These babes are lucky Mother Patrick has cows and gave you milk. She hasn’t charged you a penny either.”

  Dottie continued to sit and gape out the window, looking like a rag doll, her limbs limp, her hair a tangled mess stuck to her face.

  For the second night in a row, Sam helped feed the twins and change nappies. At first he’d grumbled that it was women’s work. “Your old Uncle Joe changed more than one nappy in his day,” Annie had said with a broad smile. “So did your pa.”

  Sam put Robert back in his crib. “The boys will crucify me if they finds this out.”

  “I’ll have a word with Joe,” Annie promised. “He’ll answer to me if he blabs.”

  Sam grinned. “Maybe next time he can change the nappies.”

  Annie patted Sam’s back. “You’ve been a grand help. Now go back to bed.”

  “Thank you,” Dottie mumbled, without turning from the window.