by Linda Abbott
“You nibbles at your food,” Annie said with quiet patience.
“I feel like throwing up when I tries to eat,” Dottie said.
“You mopes around all day long, pitying yourself, leaving the care of your youngsters to me and Sam. They deserve mother’s milk and your attention.”
“Don’t be mad at me,” Dottie whimpered. “My heart is broken that Fred will never see his sons.”
“I’m not angry, but you must come to your senses. What would Fred say if he knew you was ignoring his little ones?”
Mother Patrick and father Jean-Claude sat in the priest’s den, enjoying tea and custard-filled pastries. Mother Patrick sank back into the oversized armchair, the teacup resting on a saucer in her lap. She put her fingertips together under her chin. “Father, how long have we known each other?”
“Since I arrived in North America. I cannot believe it’s been over thirty years.”
“And we know each other well?” She stared at the priest as if assessing him.
The priest raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”
“Very well. Why didn’t you tell Nellie everything about Captain Maurice?”
Father Jean-Claude’s eyes opened wide. “I told her all that I know.”
Mother Patrick placed her cup and saucer on a side table. “What did Maurice say to Bessie and Marie?”
“Unspeakable, foul names.”
“Jean-Claude, you cringed at what Maurice said. You’ve lived among hardy fishermen for most of your adult life. A few foul words wouldn’t have affected you like that. What did he say?” she insisted.
Father Jean-Claude ran a hand through his scruffy hair.
Mother Patrick moved to the edge of the armchair. “Did he threaten Marie because she’s Ike Jones’s daughter?”
“Not exactly.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
The priest hesitated. “Give me time to consider the best course of action for Nellie and Marie.”
“What he said was that awful?”
“Even I did not comprehend to what degree bitterness has warped Maurice’s heart.” He reached across and touched Mother Patrick’s hand. “Will you say nothing to Mme. Myles for the present?”
“You have my word.”
“Shall we call it a night? You have a long boat ride tomorrow.” Father Jean-Claude grinned. “But of course it is common knowledge you love to travel by sea.”
Mother Patrick slept on and off during the night, ate very little breakfast, and arrived at the port at eight-thirty. Steve Marsh greeted her with a warm smile. Nellie and the children came twenty minutes later and they all set out under a blue sky and calm seas. The pale nun stayed glued to the side of the boat and chewed so much dry bread she gagged. She scrambled onto the wharf at Burke’s Cove as soon as Steve pulled in. Once the bags were collected, the women and children hitched a ride in a horse and cart to St. Jacques. With a weary wave, Mother Patrick disembarked at the convent. Nellie and the children continued on to Annie’s house.
Annie was stirring a big boiler on the stove when they arrived. “Hope you’re hungry,” she said. “I made pea soup with extra dumplings. Joe and Sam already ate.”
Nellie noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the exhausted edge to her voice. “Hope the boys weren’t too much for you.”
“To be honest, I would’ve been lost without them.”
Marie and Bessie lapped up the soup. “Go feed the chickens,” Annie said after they each devoured a second bowl. “I wants a quiet chat with Nellie.”
“You look ready to drop on your feet,” Nellie said.
“I ain’t had a proper night’s sleep since you left.” Annie rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. “Dottie’s acting like the babes aren’t there. It breaks my heart to see her so miserable.”
As if on cue, Dottie came into the kitchen; her eyes were red and swollen, her shoulders slumped.
“Nellie, did you find out who killed my Fred?” Her voice was raspy, as if she had a sore throat. Tears spilled down her face. “He never got to see his babies.” She lowered her head in her hands. “It’s not fair.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Annie said. “Sadly, it’s the way of a fisherman’s wife.”
Nellie led the new mother to the table. “There’s no denying you’ve suffered like the rest of us. But you’ve been blessed with two precious gifts from heaven.”
Dottie wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I ain’t got nothing. My parents are dead. Fred’s dead. He was some excited about being a father. His babies will never know him.”
Annie shook Dottie none too gently. “Don’t be flying in the face of God. I was a year younger than you, and childless, when my man died in a blizzard, frozen like a chunk of ice. Listen good to me, girlie. Enough of this nonsense. Thank the Lord you have Fred’s youngsters, the best part of him.”
Dottie bawled even louder and ran from the kitchen.
Annie stared toward the hallway. “I wasn’t trying to be hard on her,” she said.
“I understand,” Nellie said. “Dottie must put the babies before her grief. I have to do the same for Harry’s sake, for his youngsters’ sake.” She sighed. “Harry lived through the pain of losing his own father too soon.”
Annie dropped her chin into her hands. “Are you any closer to the truth about the Marion?”
Nellie told Annie all she’d learned, with emphasis on the trawler’s damaged stern spotted the day after she’d chased the Marion. “I’m going straight to the Burkes this minute to ask why they left that bit out.”
“I’d love to give that crowd a piece of my mind,” Annie said.
“Tell the youngsters to be home before dark.” Nellie hopped off the chair and walked with a determined step down the hill. The Burke’s Rooms, a large building where supplies were kept, came into sight against the glittering water. Attached to it was the family home and business office.
Denis was reading papers when Nellie threw open the door. It whacked against the wall and the glass at the top rattled. Denis jumped off his chair. “Mrs. Myles! What brings you here at this late hour?”
Nellie marched to his desk. “Why didn’t you tell us about the stern of Captain Maurice’s trawler being damaged by a so-called iron marker?”
“Ah,” Denis said, “I see you had a fruitful visit to St. Pierre.”
“You’re damn right. How dare you keep the truth from us! Our menfolk were murdered and you covered it up.”
“Hold on one minute, Mrs. Myles. That is a very serious accusation.”
Nellie slapped her hand on the desktop. “Why did you lie to us?”
Denis Burke’s face flushed to the tips of his ears. “I’ll explain, only if you calm down and hear me out.”
Nellie plunked down into a chair. “All right.”
“Your reaction is the reason me and Jon decided to keep the trawler’s accident a secret. You’ve assumed the trawler scuttled the Marion. I presume you’re aware the French gendarme proved the trawler did collide with a marker. We didn’t want the community to ignore the facts and hear what they wanted . . . as you did. Which proves my point.” Denis got up, came around the desk, and stood in front of Nellie. “You’re well aware that we offered a very handsome reward for any information. Not one person approached us. No one could resist that much money if they knew something.”
Anger burned inside Nellie, rising like lava ready to erupt from a volcano. She sprang to her feet, her face inches from Denis. “You high and mighty merchants have more money than a thousand fishermen could ever hope to earn in their lifetimes.” She wagged a finger under his nose. “Why didn’t you equip the Marion with a Marconi wireless, instead of wasting money on a ‘very handsome reward’ that’s too late to do any good?”
“Really,
Mrs. Myles. That’s not—”
“Spare me your selfish excuses.”
Nellie stormed from the room and slammed the door. She didn’t hear the glass shatter and crash to the floor. Nor did she or anyone else in Fortune Bay ever learn the rest of the story. Outside, Nellie breathed deeply to quiet the drumming in her chest. She topped the hill, swinging her arms furiously.
“Merchants,” she grumbled. “Think they can do what they want.”
Images of Tom and Harry crowded her head: soft-spoken Tom, a proud, loving uncle and godfather to Joe; Harry in the brown suit he’d saved for months to buy for their wedding. Nellie gritted her teeth to fight through the wave of grief threatening to crush her.
A week later, rain splashed against the church’s stained glass windows and pounded on the roof like horses’ hooves. With all hope for the Marion’s return gone, the priest held a service to say a final farewell to the crew. All four Burke brothers sat in the front pew, their wives and children seated with them. Denis Burke glanced at Nellie with a half-hearted smile. She looked away. The families of the Marion’s crew were spread out among the many residents who had come from surrounding communities to offer their sympathies. Seventeen tragic deaths at one time impacted the lives of all the families along the coast.
Dottie wore a black dress, which had once fit her to perfection but now hung loose. A black shawl draped over her back as she leaned against Annie. The dark clothes accentuated the chalk-white pallor of her once rosy complexion. Mother Patrick had volunteered herself and Sister Thérèse to watch over the twins.
Every face turned to the priest as he climbed the steps to the pulpit. Children who normally squirmed and grumbled remained motionless, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of their chests the only indication they were alive. There was no low murmur of voices to quiet down when Father Curran began his talk.
“This is a sad, tragic time for all Newfoundlanders. So many decent, God-fearing men taken without warning.”
Stolen is more like it, Nellie thought. Cheated out of a life they deserved. The priest’s voice droned on. All she heard was a jumble of meaningless words until a familiar name penetrated the haze.
“Fred McEvoy. Never had the good fortune to know he’d been blessed with twin sons.”
Dottie sobbed into her handkerchief.
“Frank Fewer.” Another widow wept, surrounded by her five teenaged children. “The best carpenter in Fortune Bay, despite his gammy leg.”
Nellie realized the names of the crew were being called out.
“Gordon McCarthy. Never got the chance to drive a train like he always wanted.” A child cried, and a mother’s soothing voice tried to calm him.
Every name pierced Nellie’s heart.
“Beloved brothers, Harry and Tom Myles, who lent a hand whenever needed.” Father Curran smiled down at Annie Cluett. “The lads couldn’t have had a finer mother figure.”
“Captain Ike Jones. Doted on his motherless little girl.” Bessie hugged Marie.
“Billy Evans. Far too much life left to live.” His mother bawled out loud and Father Curran paused long enough for Mrs. Evans to compose herself.
“Cousins John and Ron Hodder. Big men with even bigger hearts. Avoided trouble whenever possible.
“Ned Noseworthy. I never saw another human being smile so often.” Six children, aged three to eight, sat between their mother and grandparents directly in front of Nellie.
“I’d give years off my life to hear his sniff,” Nellie heard his widow sob into her handkerchief.
“Dave LaCroix. Young’s store couldn’t keep up with all the Bull’s Eyes he ate.” Mrs. LaCroix smiled through her tears. “Ate more than his ten youngsters put together.
“Skit Kettle. Loved his pipe and was more at home on the sea than on land.” Mrs. Kettle nodded in agreement.
“Clive Pope.” His seven children filled a pew. “A humble man of few words.” The priest gave a wistful look. “Guess that’s due to the fact he couldn’t hear much.” Soft chuckles rippled through the church. Even Mrs. Pope cracked a smile.
“Mick Drake, known as Whitey to his friends. Signed on with the Marion at the last minute. Took care of his three little sisters as well as his own children.
“Sid Davies. Sickness couldn’t keep him down. Worked in the lobster cannery, as well as fished on the Banks, to help out his widowed brother’s family.
“Earle Fiander. Who among us has never had his three-fingered hand poked in our face while he regaled us with one of his sea adventures?
“Simon Whelan. Just begun his married life.” Alice, his bride, scrambled out of the pew and dashed to the double doors.
Father Curran’s deep voice boomed around the church as he concluded his roll call. “They will live on in our hearts and minds.” His eyes roamed over every face. “Let us pray that some day we’ll come to terms with this tragedy and find peace.” The priest blessed the congregation and left the pulpit. He stood at the double doors and greeted people as they filed past him.
The pews emptied one by one. Nellie listened to the tread of footsteps on wood. Slow. Heavy. Defeated. She knelt down to pray, only half-aware of the sun’s shadow creeping down the aisle.
Annie entered the church and softly walked to the middle pew. “It’s time to go, Nellie. Dottie and the youngsters are waiting for you at the convent.”
Nellie’s head shot up. “What?” She looked around the deserted church. The candles on the altar had burned down to the quick.
“Father Curran finished an hour ago.”
“Annie, I won’t find peace until we know for certain what happened to our menfolk.”
“Come along,” Annie said, and helped Nellie to her feet. They made their way to the convent.
“I insist you stay for tea and rhubarb pie,” Mother Patrick said when Nellie declined the invitation. “The twins are asleep and the youngsters are busy shelving books in the library.” She pulled the white cloth off the pies. “Picked the rhubarb myself.”
“Guy Hays is getting hitched this afternoon,” Annie said.
Mother Patrick cut the pie. “I don’t recall anyone by that name in St. Jacques.”
“He’s from Belleoram.”
“That’s the Anglican community,” Mother Patrick said. “Why’s he getting married in the Catholic church?”
“His mother’s from St. Pierre, so all the children were raised Catholic.” Annie ran her fingers around the rim of the china cup Mother Patrick used for guests. “Guy’s real name is Guillaume. He’s . . . was Tommy’s best friend. Spent as much time at Old Joe’s house as he did in Belleoram.”
Nellie produced a crooked smile. “He speaks French like he was raised in St. Pierre. He tried to teach it to Tom.”
“Right,” Annie said. “Tommy felt silly trying to speak a foreign language he didn’t need.”
Nellie shook one leg, which had fallen asleep with the circulation cut off. “I forgot all about the wedding. Tom was supposed to stand up for Guy.”
“His brother’s stepping in,” Annie said. “Guy stopped by last night to make sure I’ll be at the reception in Belleoram. He said it’d be like having a bit of Tommy there.”
Nellie patted Annie’s hand. “What a lovely thought. You should go.”
Dottie drank a cup of tea and dug into a hefty chunk of pie. Mother Patrick smiled at her. “What a lovely surprise to see you eat with such heartiness.”
“The service really knocked the fact into my head that Fred’s gone. My boys needs me to look after them, and to think about their future, like Annie’s been preaching all along.”
“I’ll help you out,” Annie said.
“I can’t depend on handouts for the rest of my life.” Dottie looked at Nellie. “We’re widows with youngsters. We have no choice but to find a way to feed ou
r families.”
Nellie squeezed her eyes shut as the statement bore into her brain. “Of course,” she said. “I’ve been so angry about what happened.”
Dottie picked pie crumbs from her lap. “I ain’t got no intention of marrying again just to put food on the table like some poor widows are forced to do.”
“Joe Myles saved me from that fate,” Annie said. “He paid me to help look after two darling boys.”
A slight smile curved Nellie’s lip. “Everyone thought you’d marry Uncle Joe.”
“There wasn’t any room left in me heart for married love. My Robert filled it up too much.”
“Fred’s brother, Seth, has his own family to look out for,” Dottie said. “It’s time to think seriously about my next step.”
Mother Patrick poured more tea. “There’s another problem to consider.” All the women stared at her. “Marie. What’s to become of the poor child?”
“That’s not a problem,” Nellie said. “She’ll live with me. She and Bessie are closer than sisters. Even Joe and Sam consider her one of the family.”
“I hate to say this,” Mother Patrick said. “You’re a widow with three mouths to feed. How will you cope with a fourth?”
Robert woke up and began to fidget. Dottie reached for him, saying, “Maybe Marie has relatives who’ll take her in.” Robert stuck a thumb in his mouth and fell back to sleep.
“No,” Nellie said. “Marie won’t be happy with strangers.” She caressed Robert’s cheek. “For the first time in my life I don’t know what to do.”
Annie looked at her. “You’ll find the answer. Strong women always do.”
Chapter 9
Nellie put supper on the table. Fish and brewis, smothered in grease, with extra large chunks of scruncheons. She sighed inwardly. Harry liked the fatback fried like that. Annie had dropped off a coconut cream pie, the only sweet Harry ate. Old habits are hard to break, Nellie thought as she called to the youngsters.
Joe said grace, taking over the practice from his father. “Ma, how are we gonna pay for food and the other stuff we need?” he asked when they began to eat.