The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

  “Dottie’s stronger than we give her credit for,” Nellie said.

  Annie smoothed down the red and white checkered tablecloth. “Life’s real hard sometimes. Especially when you’re getting on in years like me.”

  “Marie doesn’t want to go to her house ever again,” Nellie said, changing the subject to break Annie’s sombre reflections.

  “Poor mite. It’s not the same without her pa.”

  “Maybe I’ll pick up some of her things myself. Ike gave me a spare key in case Marie needed anything while he was away.”

  “If Marie wanted any of her stuff, she would have said so by now.”

  “She’s missing Ike, that’s all. Every child loves to have familiar things around them.”

  “Leave well enough alone, Nellie. Marie is doing just fine.”

  “But—”

  “Nellie,” Annie interrupted. “Did you forget about Ike’s sister? She might be bad enough to accuse us of stealing. Do you want to risk that?”

  “It’s only Marie’s things.”

  “So wait until she asks to go.”

  Nellie escaped to the living room, as she’d done every night of her married life, once the youngsters were in bed. Harry’s vacant armchair loomed as a constant reminder of the long, lonely evenings ahead. She looked at the wedding portrait. “Harry, I don’t know how to help Annie.” Her voice was a shade softer than a whisper. “All the heartache is getting the better of her. She’s terribly upset about Dottie.” The room grew dark as clouds drifted over the full moon. Nellie lit the candle on the table next to her and began to rock. The chair squeaked and groaned into the early hours of the morning. Nellie yawned yet didn’t move, her eyes transfixed on Harry’s portrait. She couldn’t get used to going to bed without him.

  “Ma, what’s wrong?” Nellie hadn’t heard Joe come down the stairs. “You goes to bed later and later every night.”

  Nellie turned misty eyes to her son.

  “I misses Pa, too,” he said.

  Nellie eased herself out of the rocker. “You’re a good son to worry about your mother.” She ruffled his hair.

  “Ma,” Joe said when they reached his room. “Pa would want us to be happy, right?”

  “That’s the one thing I’m sure of.”

  Nellie lay in bed staring out at the water, thinking about how the Marion’s disappearance had forever changed the lives of so many. Annie was shaken, her tough outer surface cracked. She deserved someone to be strong for her. Youngsters struggled to cope without their fathers. Everywhere she went in the community, someone grieved. All because of one man. The conversation with Guy Hays suddenly came to mind. He believed the deaths of the Marion’s crew was a deliberate act of revenge that would never be proven. Nellie buried her head under the covers. For the first time since Harry’s death, she cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  Dottie stood on the wharf with Mother Patrick, Annie, and Nellie. Her trunk, containing every possession she owned, was already loaded on board the supply boat. The only memento of Fred was the small knife he used for whittling, which she carried in her purse at all times. Dr. Fitzgerald and his wife had gone aboard earlier with the twins.

  Annie hugged Dottie. The younger woman almost disappeared in her friend’s embrace. “Are you sure this is what you wants to do?” Annie said.

  Tears stained Dottie’s cheeks when she drew back. “I’m awful scared,” she said. “But I have to do this for my boys.”

  Annie patted Dottie’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, dearie, I understands.”

  Mother Patrick folded her arms. “There’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Fitzgerald and his good lady will make sure you’re settled and feeling good about your new home.”

  “That’s right,” Nellie piped in. “Your parents couldn’t do any more if they were alive.”

  “You’ve all been so helpful and loving.” Dottie’s voice broke. “I’ll miss all of ye.”

  Annie wiped away Dottie’s tears. “Don’t carry on like that. You’re doing what any good, sensible mother would do for her youngsters.”

  “Thanks for everything. You all helped me get through Fred’s loss.”

  Mother Patrick sniffed and pulled out a crisp white handkerchief. “Hay fever is such a bother,” she said, rubbing her nose.

  Annie wiped a tear from her own cheek. “The darn fever is catching.”

  “I best go before the boat takes off without me,” Dottie said.

  Annie took her hands. “Write the first chance you gets. We’ll keep you up to date on all the happenings here.”

  “I’d really like that. No matter where I lives, this will always be my real home.”

  Nellie smiled. “Never forget, we’re only a boat ride away.”

  Dottie gave Annie a final hug and hurried away. She waved from the dock.

  Nellie turned to Annie and Mother Patrick. “Come to my house for a mug-up,” she said. “A little pick-me-up is what we all need right now.”

  “Life goes around until we ends up where we started,” Annie said as they walked. “I’m alone again in a big, empty house.” She closed her eyes. “The older you are, the harder it is to deal with.”

  Nellie gave Annie’s arm a squeeze. “You’ll be too busy with the youngsters and making jam preserves from the buckets of blueberries they’ll pick to even think about being alone. In no time you’ll be begging for a little peace and quiet.”

  Annie looked sideways at Nellie. “Don’t forget all the butter I’ll have to churn, because that’s the one chore you hates.”

  Mother Patrick screwed up her nose. “Milking cows is mine. Those cantankerous beasts don’t like me for some inexplicable reason.”

  The women laughed and continued past the convent. Sister Thérèse opened the door. “Mother Patrick,” she called. “A Sheila Jones is here to see you on a very urgent matter. She is in your office.”

  “What?” Nellie cried out. “She’s not supposed to be here for another month.”

  “Come along, ladies,” Mother Patrick said, scurrying to the convent.

  Sheila Jones sat tall in a chair with white gloved hands on her lap. She turned her head toward the door when Mother Patrick and her two companions walked in. “You are Mother Patrick, I presume,” she said with a Canadian accent.

  Nellie stared at the woman who planned to steal Marie away from her. She was at least sixty years old with grey hair tied back in a neat, tight bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a black dress with a stiff, white lace collar and a black coat. Her skin was pale. Her lips were almost as pale and seemed to fade into her face. She took in Nellie and Annie with a single, quick glance as if they were unimportant before focusing her attention on Mother Patrick. “I wish to speak to you in private.”

  Mother Patrick extended her hand to Sheila. “Good day to you.”

  Sheila’s fingers lightly grazed the nun’s hand. “It’s been a long day. The boat ride to this . . .” She paused and flared her nose as if there was a bad smell in the room. “. . . to this quaint little settlement lasted forever.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mother Patrick said. “Our community is quite lovely. Must be a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy, overcrowded city of Montreal.”

  Nellie smothered the urge to laugh.

  Sheila stiffened and flicked an invisible object from her dress. “As I wrote in my letter, I’m here to pick up my niece.”

  “Of course,” Mother Patrick said. “First I’d like to introduce two of my closest friends. Mrs. Anne Cluett.”

  Sheila gave a slight nod.

  “Mrs. Nellie Myles. She’s taking excellent care of Marie.”

  Sheila stood up. She was as tall as Annie and thinner than a stick of wood on a picket fence. “I’ll take the child off your hands as soon as possible.” />
  Nellie’s heart thumped in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mother Patrick cut across her. “Before we get down to business, Mrs. Jones—”

  “Miss Jones,” Sheila interrupted.

  Mother Patrick smiled. “My apologies, Miss Jones. Let me offer you something to eat.”

  “I’ve been informed that the supply boat doesn’t return for another two weeks, and the train doesn’t run this far,” Sheila said. “Therefore, I have no choice but to remain. Where’s the hotel?”

  “You’ll stay at the convent. That way we’ll get to know each other much better.”

  Sister Thérèse entered the room. “Mother Patrick, tea is ready in the dining room as you requested,” she said.

  Egg and cheese sandwiches were laid out on white plates. Tea had been steeped in a matching white teapot. “I’d like to convey my sympathy for the sudden loss of your brother,” Mother Patrick said.

  Sheila chewed on the corner of a cheese sandwich. “At fifteen I met my brother for the first time. He was a mere infant. I never saw him again.” She chewed her food and swallowed. “We have different mothers. Mine died when I was four. My father sent me to live with my mother’s sister. I rarely saw him after that.”

  “How awful,” Annie said.

  “Not at all. My aunt raised me to be the person I am today.”

  “Like I said,” Annie mumbled under her breath, “how awful.”

  Nellie rubbed sweaty palms on her knees. “Why are you willing to take care of Ike’s child if you haven’t seen each other for years?”

  “It’s quite simple,” Sheila replied. “I was taught that duty and obligation must be upheld no matter how unpleasant or inconvenient.”

  “What about love?”

  Sheila bit off another corner of her sandwich. “I don’t see your point.”

  “Marie is happy and loved. Why take her away from that?”

  Sheila raised an eyebrow. “My dear woman, what does love have to do with anything? Marie will learn to accept her new life with contentment. Just as I did.” She cast a glance out the window. “Montreal has so much more to offer a young girl.”

  Annie’s jaw tightened. “Like what, for instance?”

  Sheila stared at her, the frown line between her eyes deepening. “Paved streets, sidewalks, theatres, museums, a proper education, reliable transportation. Need I say more?”

  Annie folded her arms across her large bosom. “Mother Patrick and the nuns give the best schooling around.”

  Sheila looked at Mother Patrick. “No offence, Mother Patrick. I believe there’s more to education than religious teachings.”

  The nun smiled. “I agree with you one hundred per cent.”

  Nellie saw Annie’s lips press together and sprang to her feet. “Come on, Annie,” she said. “It’s almost suppertime. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Jones.”

  Sheila gave an almost imperceptible nod. Nellie grabbed Annie by the arm and dragged her from the room.

  “The nerve of that woman,” Annie said once they were outside the convent, “coming here and acting like she’s better than us. The old bat would ruin our sweet Marie.” Annie paused to catch her breath. “She never even asked how the child was coping with Ike’s death.”

  “Mother Patrick wrote Ike’s lawyer in St. John’s ages ago looking for advice about Marie,” Nellie said. “He hasn’t written back yet.”

  Annie flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Townies are all alike. You can’t depend on them.” She sighed. “We can’t put off any longer telling poor Marie about her lovely Auntie Sheila.”

  “Come home with me. You should be there when I break the bad tidings to the youngsters.”

  Joe was out chopping wood when they arrived.

  “Where’s Marie?” Annie asked him.

  He split a round of wood in two. “They’re playing alleys in the shed.”

  “Go get them. Your ma needs to talk to all of you right away. Don’t worry, no one’s been hurt,” she added when Joe stared at her with frightened eyes.

  Two buckets full of blueberries sat on the kitchen table. “Bessie and Marie picked those,” Nellie said. “They can’t wait for me to make tarts.” She moved the buckets to the counter. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?”

  Nellie, Annie, and Sam were seated in the living room when Joe came back with the girls. Marie flopped on the chesterfield next to Nellie. “You wants to tell us something real important?”

  Nellie’s throat was dry. Her face felt frozen and she couldn’t even give her a reassuring smile. “Marie, I have some news that concerns you,” she said after a slight hesitation. “Your father’s sister is in from Montreal to see you.”

  Bessie hugged Marie. “How exciting!”

  “I don’t have an aunt. Pa would have told me.”

  Sam shifted on the chesterfield. “She’s here to take Marie away.” He sounded old. Every head turned toward him.

  “You’re nuts,” Joe said. “She wouldn’t do that to Marie.”

  “I’m afraid Sam’s right,” Nellie said.

  Marie’s chest heaved. “I won’t go with her.”

  Nellie smoothed down Marie’s hair. “She’s your real family. That should make you happy.”

  Marie shook her head over and over. “No! You’re my real family. Please don’t let her take me away.”

  Nellie’s eyes pleaded with Annie for help.

  “We all loves you,” Annie said softly. “None of us wants you to go, but your aunt has the right to raise you.”

  “Please, please,” Marie sobbed. “I don’t want to go.”

  “If Marie leaves,” Sam said, “we’ll never see her again.”

  “Just like Pa,” Joe added quietly.

  The lump in Nellie’s throat almost choked her. “Maybe if we tell Miss Jones how much we love Marie, she’ll change her mind,” she said.

  sheila jones pushed her plate aside and cleaned the corners of her mouth with a white handkerchief from her pocket. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry,” she said, digging into a second slice of pie.

  Mother Patrick stared at the woman over the rim of her cup. “May I ask when was the last time you spoke to your brother?”

  “Ten years ago. He wrote to me about his marriage and the birth of his daughter.”

  “Do you know anything about his wife?”

  “Only that she was from St. John’s. I don’t recall her name.”

  “How did Ike’s lawyer know where to contact you?”

  “Obviously Ike gave him my address. We may not be close, but we were brother and sister, after all.” Sheila consumed the last crumb of pie. “I’d like to rest after the long trip.”

  “Of course,” Mother Patrick said. “I had your luggage brought up to your room. Marie always stayed with the Myles family whenever Ike went to sea. It’s her second home.”

  “She’ll thrive in my care,” Sheila said, and followed Mother Patrick down the hall and up the stairs.

  “Marie adored her father. She needed love and stability to get through the heartbreak. The Myles family bestowed both in abundance.” Mother Patrick turned to face Sheila. “I don’t see how ripping her away from that will make her thrive.”

  Sheila’s expression remained unreadable. “I will make it so.”

  Mother Patrick nodded to the door on the left. “This is your room. Have a good rest.”

  “I want to see my brother’s house as soon as I wake.”

  “Mrs. Myles has a key and will be delighted to take you there,” Mother Patrick said, and went downstairs, muttering to herself. She turned a corner and almost ran into Sister Thérèse.

  “Mother Patrick, are you okay?”

  “Forgive me, Sister. I didn’t see you there.
I’m going out for a while.”

  Her face was flushed when she barged into Nellie’s kitchen a few minutes later.

  “Miss Jones wants to see Ike’s house after her nap,” she said. “Any self-respecting aunt would prefer to meet her niece first.”

  Nellie peeled potatoes at the table. “I thinks she’s more interested in how much money Ike has,” she said.

  “Ike’s lawyer should’ve had the common decency to respond to my letter,” the nun said. “I’ve never been so riled up in all my life. Heaven help me.”

  Nellie wiped her hands on her apron and put water in the kettle. “A hot cuppa tea is what you need.”

  “Lovely idea, child. My nerves are getting the better of me. A slice of fruitcake will surely revive me.”

  Mother Patrick devoured the sweet and left the house with half the cake wrapped in parchment paper.

  Nellie peeled the last of the potatoes and put them in the boiler. Then she went outside to get an armful of wood for the stove. Marie sat alone on a stump.

  “Mrs. Myles,” she said. “I wants to go to my house.”

  “What brought that on?”

  “There’s something I wants to give Bessie.” Marie dug her toe into the dirt. “I heard Mother Patrick tell you that Pa’s sister wants to see the house. She might not let me . . .” She paused. “Can we go right now?”

  Nellie quickly grabbed the key from the cupboard and, taking Marie’s hand, hurried down the path. Ike’s house stood on the crest of a hill overlooking a waterfall. A magnificent garden had once graced the front. The grass needed to be cut and weeds had begun to ravish the flowerbeds. What will become of it now? Nellie thought, inserting the key into the door. She glanced at Marie. Especially if you’re forced to leave.

  A large marble table stood in the centre of the front room. Dust had formed on the smooth surface and on a glass vase that held dry, withered carnations picked from the garden. Carpeted stairs wound up to reveal a wide hallway with three bedrooms on each side; a dining area lay straight ahead. The hallway to the right led to the living room, den, and kitchen. Nellie walked toward the den where, according to Marie, Ike had spent most of his time. A desk stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling window with royal blue curtains partially drawn. The sun peeked through, giving just enough light for them to inspect the room. Books adorned every shelf along three walls.