The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

  “Well,” Nellie said. “That was good of Mr. Young.”

  “Wasn’t him.” Alice cracked off more gingerbread cake. “Denis Burke paid and didn’t want anyone to know. Mr. Hodder let it slip.”

  Nellie gasped. “Are you sure it was Denis Burke?”

  “His brothers near had a fit when they found out.” Alice leaned against the side of the boat. “He paid for my boat ticket, too. Pa was mad at first. He didn’t want to be beholden to no merchant. Changed his mind, though, when Denis had a private word with him.”

  “I’ve heard it all now,” Nellie said. “Maybe a guilty conscience can force a man to do the right thing.”

  Alice laid down her half-eaten piece of gingerbread. “I’m some scared, Nellie. Women shouldn’t have to be so dependent on men for everything.”

  “Dottie felt the same way and did something about it.”

  “I haven’t told my parents I’m staying in St. John’s after the baby’s born. I’ll find work like Dottie. I refuses to marry just for support or spend the rest of my life cleaning fish in the factory.” Alice shut her eyes tight. “I never wants to see another fish or fish flake as long as I lives.”

  “Joe starts in Burke’s fish plant tomorrow,” Nellie continued. “Sam’ll do the same next year. That’ll keep us going for a while.” Her appetite had gone. “They’ll both end up fishing on the Banks some day.”

  “Bessie will marry a fisherman,” Alice said. “She’ll worry if her man will go the way of her father.”

  Marie crammed her mouth with a tea bun. “Pa didn’t want me to marry a fisherman,” she said.

  “Why was that?” Nellie asked when Marie remained quiet.

  “He said I’d understand when I was older.”

  Alice turned away, but not before Nellie saw the look of anger on her face. An anger that matched her own. At least the old coot didn’t come right out and say his daughter was too good to marry a lowly, uneducated fisherman. Nellie threw the remainder of the food back in her bag.

  Alice stared back toward Sheila, who sat in the bow of the boat. “Marie, do you like your aunt?” she asked.

  “She hardly ever speaks to me and doesn’t care that I wants to stay here. I hates her.”

  “She talked to no one the whole time she was in St. Jacques.”

  “Mother Patrick said she hardly ever left the convent,” Nellie said.

  “She went to see the Burkes,” Alice said. “My uncle brought fish to the Rooms and overheard her ask Jon if he wanted to buy Ike’s house.”

  “She can’t sell my house,” Marie said. She gaped at Nellie. “Can she?”

  “Sorry, angel. I know nothing about legal things.” Nellie hadn’t intended to call Marie by her father’s nickname. “Your pa’s lawyer will know.”

  “Jon Burke is real interested in the house,” Alice said.

  Marie grabbed hold of Nellie’s arm. “Pa promised I’d never have to leave St. Jacques if I didn’t want to.” Her voice quivered. “Why did he lie to me?”

  The coastal boat passed through the Narrows into St. John’s harbour. Nellie couldn’t believe how appropriately the name fit. The Roman Catholic Cathedral was the first landmark along the sloping hillside to catch her eye. “St. John’s is so big. It’d be some easy to get lost.”

  “What’s that?” Marie said. She pointed to a brick building standing alone at the top of a hill across from the city.

  “Cabot Tower,” Nellie said.

  “Oh! That’s where Marconi sent the wireless message across the ocean to England. Mother Patrick told us all about it.” Marie looked toward the shore. “Look at all the tall brick buildings!”

  “That’s Water Street,” Alice said. “That’s where all the stores are.”

  “Stores!” Marie’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hair. “There’s more than one.”

  “Yes,” Alice said. “My sister-in-law says you can buy whatever you wants.”

  Sheila gave no indication she was impressed with the oldest city in North America. “Probably thinks it’s a hovel compared to gorgeous Montreal,” Nellie muttered.

  “What?” Alice said.

  “Thinking out loud is all.”

  Once the passengers collected their luggage, they stood on the wharf and greeted loved ones. Alice’s sister-in-law and husband arrived in a horse and cart. “We’ll be here for two weeks at a hotel,” Nellie said. “Maybe we could visit Dottie before the boat leaves.”

  Alice looked at her sister-in-law. “Can we do it tomorrow at nine?”

  “No problem,” the older woman said. “Are you ready to go?”

  Sheila strode over to Nellie. “Marie will come with me now. Oh,” she said looking over the child’s head at the new arrival. “How nice to see you again, Mr. Fleming.”

  “How are you, Miss Jones?” He was a medium-built man with greying hair and moustache.

  “Quite good, considering the long stay in St. Jacques and the very tiresome boat trip.”

  Mr. Fleming patted the top of Marie’s head. “And this little girl has to be Ike’s daughter. She’s the image of her mother.”

  Marie tried to smile at him.

  He extended a hand to Nellie. “I’m William Fleming. You are Mrs. Myles, I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  The lawyer smiled for the first time. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ike spoke very highly of you.”

  “I’d like to get down to business as soon as possible,” said Sheila.

  “Of course, Miss Jones. I’ve booked Mrs. Myles and Marie into a hotel. Once they’re settled, we—”

  “A hotel?” Sheila interrupted. Red blotches formed on her cheeks. “How can a fisherman’s widow afford such a luxury?”

  “I’m following my client’s instructions,” Mr. Fleming said in a level, lawyerly tone.

  The blotches on Sheila’s cheeks spread down her neck. “Why would my brother waste money in that manner?”

  Mr. Fleming smiled at Nellie and Marie. “We’ll discuss that in my office after you’re checked in at the hotel. Please follow me, ladies.” He picked up Marie’s two suitcases.

  “Surely you have transportation for us,” Sheila said. “My cases are quite heavy.”

  “Indeed I do. A few steps and we’re there.” They walked the short distance to Water Street. Nellie’s head buzzed with a flurry of questions.

  Sheila dragged her cases and had to stop when one opened and clothes tumbled out. Marie giggled. Nellie rushed to help retrieve the clothes and hid a smile, noticing the many undergarments.

  Marie jumped up and down on the street’s smooth stone. “The nice flat rocks would be some good for skipping rope,” she said excitedly. “Look at the train tracks!”

  “The rock is called cobblestone,” Mr. Fleming said. “The tracks are for the streetcar. It runs near the hotel. I thought you’d enjoy a run.”

  Marie clapped her hands. “I can’t wait to tell Bessie.”

  “Your best friend,” the lawyer said. “Ike filled me in on every aspect of his daughter’s life,” he added when Nellie shot him a questioning look.

  Sheila’s lips twitched, but she said nothing.

  Marie sprang back when the streetcar arrived. “It’s some big,” she said.

  The lawyer took her by the hand. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said, and guided her up the steps. The streetcar began to move.

  Marie jolted back into a seat. “That was fun,” she giggled.

  Sheila sat with Mr. Fleming and tried to question him in a low voice.

  “As I stated earlier, Miss Jones, we’ll discuss business in my office.”

  The car stopped, letting three people off. Two got on. “That store is called Parker and Monroe,” Marie said, reading the sign over a door.
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br />   “A wonderful shoe shop,” the lawyer said.

  The streetcar slowed. Marie read another sign. “Bowring Brothers.”

  “It’s my little girl’s favourite store,” Mr. Fleming said. “They have lovely dresses.”

  “I never saw so many people in my whole life,” Marie said, gaping at the crowded sidewalk.

  The streetcar rounded a slight bend and stopped beside an old hotel. “Here we are,” Mr. Fleming said. He carried Marie’s bags to the front door and came back for Sheila’s.

  “Mrs. Myles,” Marie said. “It must be the tallest building in the world.”

  “My dear niece,” Sheila said in a tone of voice Nellie felt sure the woman thought dripped with affection. “This is nothing compared to the buildings in Montreal.”

  The joy went out of Marie’s face.

  Mr. Fleming held the front door open. “After you, ladies.”

  Nellie studied the furniture in the lobby. “Marie, this is as pretty as your house.”

  Marie walked over to the lawyer, who was talking with an elderly man at the front desk. “Sir, why can’t I live with Mrs. Myles in St. Jacques?”

  Sheila hurried over. “Marie, dear. That’s already been decided. You’ll feel better when we’re in Montreal.”

  Mr. Fleming handed Nellie a key. “Your luggage will be brought up to your room. Once Miss Jones is checked in, we’ll go to my office.”

  “Wonderful,” Sheila said. “The sooner the better.”

  “Miss Jones,” Nellie said outside the hotel. “When are you taking . . .” She looked at Marie, but couldn’t say her name. “. . . when are you going back to Montreal?”

  Sheila rolled her eyes. “Not for another week. This island of yours is rather difficult to get to, and even more difficult to get away from.”

  “My office is at the other end of Water Street. We’ll take the streetcar if there aren’t any objections,” Mr. Fleming said as the streetcar made its stop.

  “I’d love to,” Marie said, and hopped on without any assistance. They disembarked in front of a three-storey brick building and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  Deep green carpet ran the length of the corridor and into the lawyer’s outer office. Summer landscapes hung around the room and a long cushioned bench hugged one wall. A woman in her early twenties smiled at the group from behind a desk.

  “Miss Murphy, I don’t want to be disturbed for the next hour,” the lawyer instructed his receptionist.

  “Yes, sir. The file you asked for is on your desk.”

  “Grand,” Mr. Fleming said. He smiled at Marie. “Young lady, would you mind waiting here with Miss Murphy?”

  The receptionist came around the desk. “Would you like a sweet treat?”

  Marie rocked on her feet. “Do you have any Bull’s Eyes?”

  Miss Murphy opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a paper bag filled with the candy.

  Mr. Fleming opened the door to his office. “Miss Jones, Mrs. Myles, let us begin.”

  Chapter 14

  Mr. Fleming’s office was spacious with a large desk in front of a window that covered one wall from floor to ceiling. The sun blazed across the room to where several framed pictures of Signal Hill and the Narrows lined another wall. A blue velvet lounge chair in the far corner beckoned exhausted visitors to take refuge in its luscious material. The lawyer directed the women to cushioned wooden chairs in front of the desk. A family portrait adorned the wall to the right.

  “Your wife and child are very pretty,” Nellie commented.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Myles. Joanie, my little girl, is ten.”

  “The same age as my Bessie and Marie.”

  Sheila fidgeted. “Yes, yes,” she said. “Smart-looking family.”

  Mr. Fleming sat in a faded black leather chair, the back and seat worn thin from years of use. Nellie noticed a half-empty jar of Bull’s Eyes on the corner of the desk. “I enjoy a sweet while I work,” the lawyer said with a grin. “Keeps my brain sharp.”

  A shadow passed over Nellie’s face. “Dave LaCroix loved them, too.” The lawyer looked at her with a curious expression. “He was on the Marion,” she said softly.

  Mr. Fleming folded his hands on the desk. “I wish to extend my deepest condolences for the loss of your loved ones.”

  Nellie stared at his family portrait. “We have to carry on for our families.”

  “I agree,” Sheila said. “Mr. Fleming, why is Mrs. Myles even here?”

  The lawyer tapped a glossy file folder with a pen. “Mr. Ike Jones requested her presence for the reading of the will.”

  Sheila’s back stiffened. “Very well. Let’s hear it.”

  “Before I do, there are several questions I’d like to ask you concerning Ike’s estate.”

  “I know nothing about my brother’s affairs.” Sheila waved a hand. “But I will comply to move matters along.”

  “Thank you, Miss Jones. What do you intend to do with the Jones home in St. Jacques?”

  “Mr. Jon Burke, a merchant from the area, wishes to buy it.”

  A rush of sadness overwhelmed Nellie. Marie was to be thrown out of her home without the slightest consideration for her feelings.

  “Jon Burke,” the lawyer said. “I know him well.”

  “A fine gentleman with exquisite taste,” Sheila said.

  “That’s only your opinion,” Nellie blurted out. A hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fleming. I didn’t meant to interrupt.” She thought she saw a hint of a smile on his face.

  Sheila raised an eyebrow at Nellie.

  Mr. Fleming continued. “Miss Jones, what are your plans concerning Marie?”

  “She’ll live with me in Montreal. There are several fine schools for girls where proper manners are a priority.”

  Nellie dug her fingers into her palms. “So you’re gonna send her to a boarding school,” she said.

  “Is that correct, Miss Jones?” The lawyer asked, as if addressing a witness on the stand.

  “Of course it isn’t. Marie will stay with me and learn how to be a gracious young lady.” She smiled. “I only want the best for my sweet niece.”

  Mr. Fleming gave Sheila an equally charming smile. “I should expect no less.” He turned to Nellie. “Would you please bring Marie in?”

  Marie was sitting with Miss Murphy on the bench in the reception area. She chewed a Bull’s Eye candy while listening to the receptionist talk about all the fancy stores on Water Street. Nellie reached for Marie’s hand. “Mr. Fleming wants to see you.”

  “I’d like a private chat with you, Marie,” the lawyer said with a big grin when they walked in together. “That is, of course, if you don’t mind.”

  Marie stuck close to Nellie. “It’s all right,” Nellie said. “I’ll be in the next room.”

  The telltale red blotches sprouted on Sheila’s cheeks like burned skin. “Mr. Fleming, what’s this about?” she said.

  “As I told to you earlier, I’m following Mr. Jones’s instructions.”

  Sheila walked past Nellie. “Come along, Mrs. Myles.” She closed the door with a heavy hand.

  “Don’t be scared, Marie,” Mr. Fleming said in a fatherly voice. “I’d like to ask you some easy questions. Is that all right?”

  Marie nodded.

  “Good. Tell me about your life in St. Jacques.”

  “I loves Mrs. Myles, Bessie, Joe, and Sam.” She paused. “Even when Joe teases me. I likes school, playing alleys, and skipping rope. I have heaps of friends. Annie and—”

  “Who’s Annie?”

  Marie explained Annie’s relationship to the Myles family. “Annie treats me like her grandchild, too. I loves her coconut cream pies.”

  “Tell me about school.”

 
“Mother Patrick is awful strict sometimes. That’s all right, ’cause she’s the best teacher in the world.” Marie giggled. “The boys calls her Sister Crooked. They denies it, but they likes her and all the other nuns. They gives us milk and cookies for recess.”

  “What can you tell me about your Aunt Sheila?”

  The smile fell from Marie’s face. She lowered her head and clasped her hands until the knuckles showed white.

  “Marie, I promise you that Miss Jones will never find out anything you tell me.”

  Marie looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “She never talks to me.” Marie wiped her nose with Harry’s handkerchief. “She makes me feel like I’m invisible.”

  “You did an exceptional job, Marie,” the lawyer said, his voice a shade lower than normal. “I need a few more minutes with your aunt and Mrs. Myles. Do you mind waiting with Miss Murphy again?”

  Marie’s smile returned. “She’s nice.”

  Sheila marched into the office the instant Marie appeared in the outer room. “Mr. Fleming, are you finally ready to read the will?”

  “Yes.” He pulled out a document from the file folder and scanned the first and second pages. “Mr. Jones made the will ten years ago. A year ago, he made several revisions.”

  “He came to St. Jacques when Marie was just a few months old,” Nellie said.

  “A difficult time for Ike,” Mr. Fleming said. “He’d just lost his wife.”

  Sheila snorted with derision. “Why he ever chose a place like St. Jacques to live is beyond me. At least St. John’s has some modern conveniences.”

  Nellie ignored the slight. “Marie knows very little about her mother. Did Ike tell you anything, Mr. Fleming?”

  “Only that her name was Chantal and that she wasn’t a Newfoundlander.”

  Sheila put her hand to her mouth as if to stifle a sob. “Terrible business,” she said, and quickly added, “but I feel Ike would want us to move on, to get back to the will.”

  “To hurry the process along, I’ll simply read the six major bequeaths. Item one. The house in St. Jacques, along with the contents, goes to his daughter, Marie, and cannot be sold until her eighteenth birthday.”