The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

  “Father Jean-Claude,” Nellie said, “what do you think I should do?”

  “As a priest, I must say that we all deserve a second chance. As a man who has known le capitaine Maurice for over thirty years, I feel he is worthy of that second chance.”

  Annie’s face burned pink. “Begging your pardon, Father, but I don’t agree. That man scuttled the Marion. He deserves nothing.”

  The captain’s fingers tightened around his hat. “I did not sink the Marion.” He sounded tired. “I was nowhere near the schooner when it disappeared.”

  A tear hung in the corner of Nellie’s eye. “I need one more night to think this over,” she said.

  Maurice bowed his head to her. “I cannot ask for more than that. Bonne nuit,” he said, and walked from the room, his shoulders still bent.

  Father Jean-Claude returned to Chantal’s portrait. “She was a happy child,” he said softly. “The artist has captured that quality in the eyes. Maurice would never have hurt the man she loved.” The priest looked at Nellie. “Regardless of his hatred for him.”

  Not another word was uttered as they departed the house. The moon guided their silent trek along the shoreline. “Sleep well,” Father Jean-Claude said when Nellie reached her front door.

  “Thank you.” She watched him walk toward the convent with Mother Patrick. It wasn’t until they were lost among the shadows that she went inside, going straight up to bed.

  She lay awake sifting through the facts gathered by the Burke brothers and her own investigation into the Marion’s disappearance. By morning she’d come to a decision. When the children were leaving for school, she said with more calm than she felt, “There’s something you all need to be told. Marie has to hear it first, so she’ll stay home this morning.”

  Sam kept his eyes on his books. “Is it more bad news, Ma?”

  Nellie searched for the answer herself. “No, Sam,” she said after a brief hesitation. “It may even turn out to be good news.” The tension in the room lifted like mist broken on a sunny day. The children were down the path and on the road before Nellie spoke again, more to herself than to Marie. “Everything is changing too fast.”

  “I misses Pa,” Marie said. “You made it a whole lot easier for me.”

  Nellie smoothed Marie’s dark hair behind her ears and led her to the living room. Both sat on the chesterfield. “Your mother didn’t want to leave you and your pa.”

  Marie smiled. “I knows that. Pa told me all the time.”

  “He was a good father who wanted the best for his little girl.”

  “Pa told me that, too. Why are you talking so much about what Pa used to say?”

  Nellie licked dry lips. It had seemed easy enough last night when she’d gone over in her head how to tell Marie about Maurice. The reality was tougher. She swallowed. “You’ve heard folks talk about Captain Maurice.”

  “He frightened me at Pa’s house.”

  “He didn’t know you were there. He was looking for letters his daughter had written to him. The last letter she wrote talks about you.”

  Marie’s expression went from surprise to confusion. “The captain’s daughter doesn’t know me.”

  Nellie took Marie’s hands in hers and held them to her heart. “The captain’s daughter was your mother.”

  “That can’t be right. Pa would have told me.” Marie scrunched up her nose. “I don’t understand what you means.”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  Marie’s eyes flew wide open. “He didn’t tell me about Aunt Sheila because she’s mean.” She pulled her hands free of Nellie’s. “That’s why he didn’t tell me my mother was the captain’s daughter! The captain’s mean, too.”

  “The French captain loved your mother and was awful sad when she died. He shut down his heart so he wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

  Marie sniffed. “You said he scuttled the Marion.”

  The energy seeped from Nellie’s body. Could she speak aloud the possibility she had only been able to consider in her thoughts? Father Jean-Claude’s belief in Maurice chimed in her head like church bells. “I was wrong. So is everyone else. Maurice didn’t scuttle the Marion. He’s sorry for being mad at your pa and wants to see you.”

  “Will you be with me?”

  “Whatever you want,” Nellie said. She glanced at the wedding portrait.

  Nellie, love, you understands Ike now, don’t ya.

  Nellie understood now that he wanted Marie to know her grandfather.

  Marie clutched Nellie’s arm. “You promise?”

  Nellie hugged her. “I promise. This is what your pa wanted most of all for you.”

  “I can feel your heart pounding,” Marie said. “Are you scared, too?”

  Nellie held the child closer. Marie couldn’t know that she had never been so uncertain about anything. “I’m beside myself with excitement for you.”

  “When do you want me to see him?”

  “We’ll go to the convent right now, and Mother Patrick can send for him. Is that all right?”

  Marie nodded. “As long as you stays with me.”

  “Before we go, I want you to read your mother’s last letter to Captain Maurice.” Nellie handed her a sheet of faded blue paper.

  Mon chère Papa,

  I am saddened beyond what words can express that you have refused to read any of my letters. I will persist and pray that one day you will change your mind. I miss the kind, gentle man who was my father and loved me as I loved him.

  In a few short months you will be a grandfather. Ike has promised we will move to the Burin peninsula after the baby is born. To visit, you will only be a boat ride away. Forgive me, Papa, for marrying without your consent, but I love Ike. He is a good man and wishes as much as me to include you in our family. I cannot bear for my child to never know its grandfather. My heart aches to see you, to talk about everything and nothing like we used to do.

  If my baby is a boy, Ike has agreed to call him Pierre Maurice. Please, Papa, give my husband the chance to show you the kind of man he is.

  I miss you more with every passing day. Come to St. John’s. Having you with me when mom bébé is born will fill me with much comfort and joy.

  Your loving daughter always. Je t’aime.

  Chantal

  “My mother sounds some nice,” Marie said when she finished reading the letter. “She loved her pa like I loved mine.”

  Nellie took the letter and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a smart girl,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Marie held Nellie’s hand as they walked to the convent. “Will the captain try to take me away like Aunt Sheila did?”

  “No. Besides, he knows it wouldn’t do any good if he tried.” Marie’s hold slackened. Nellie hadn’t noticed until then that the child’s grip had numbed her fingers. They passed Young’s General Store. “We’ll stop off for a treat on the way back.”

  “What about school?” Marie said.

  “You can miss one day.”

  “Can we buy chocolate for Joe, Sam, and Bessie, too?”

  Nellie was about to answer when Denis Burke come out of the convent and scooted off down the road. Mother Patrick waved to her from the door.

  “He donated fifty dollars for school supplies.” The nun folded her arms inside the large habit’s sleeves. “Whatever you said got through to him.” She switched her attention to Marie. “Now, missy. You don’t look sick. Why aren’t you in school?”

  “I’m gonna see Captain Maurice here.”

  Mother Patrick’s eyes twitched, the only sign that she was shocked. “And what makes you think that?” she said, leading the way to her office.

  Nellie closed the door. “I thought this would be a safe place for the meeting.”

  Mother Patrick sent a nun to
Eloise McEvoy’s house to fetch the French captain. “As for you, young Marie,” she said, “go to the kitchen and tell Sister Assumpta I’d like a nice cuppa tea.”

  “Why did you send her off?” Nellie said once they were alone.

  “Have you heard the fuss everyone’s making over the captain staying with Eloise?”

  “Not a word. But I’m not surprised.”

  Mother Patrick sat behind her desk. “Mrs. LaCroix called her a traitor to Fred’s memory. Five of her ten youngsters were with her and chanted the word over and over. She even wrote to Dottie about it. The next day Billy Evans’s mother crossed to the other side of the road when she saw Eloise. The poor girl is beside herself with worry, and came running to me with her eyes red and swollen from crying. She’s doing her pa a favour by allowing the man to stay there. To make matters worse, Seth is due back tomorrow. I told Eloise not to worry, that I would deal with Maurice and the townspeople.”

  Nellie had no doubt that she would.

  Marie came back the same moment that Maurice was shown into the office, his hat crumpled up in his hands. “You sent for me, ma mère Patrick?” he said.

  “It was me,” Nellie said. “Marie’s agreed to talk with you if I stay in the room. She has read your daughter’s last letter.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” Mother Patrick said, and turned to Maurice. “I want a word with you about Eloise McEvoy before you leave.”

  “I realize I have caused a problem for her. I will leave immediately.”

  “Glad to see you have a spark of common sense,” the nun said, and closed the door behind her.

  Maurice sat in the chair next to Marie. “Tu es jolie comme ta mère. Pardon me. You—”

  “You said I was pretty like my mother. Pa was some happy when I did good in French,” Marie said with a smile.

  Maurice cleared his throat and whipped out a handkerchief. He blew his nose with a loud honk. “You are eleven years old,” he said.

  “My birthday was in June.”

  Maurice rubbed sweat from his face and hands. “I am a stupid old fool who let his child and grandchild down. If it isn’t too late, I would like to be a part of your life.” His voice quivered. “Mon petit chou, can you ever forgive me?”

  Marie sat still, her fingers intertwined on her lap. She glanced over her shoulder at Nellie, who sat behind the desk.

  “Say what ya feels.”

  Marie fidgeted on her chair. “Captain Maurice, did you scuttle the Marion?”

  He leaned forward and stared into eyes as green as his. “Non. I did not sink the Marion.”

  “I’m some glad. It would be awful if my grandpa killed my pa.”

  “It’s near noon,” Nellie said. “I have dinner to get ready.”

  Maurice stood up. “When may I see Marie again?”

  “That’s up to her.”

  “Marie, would you like to visit me in St. Pierre? You can meet other children and practice French,” the captain said.

  “Can Bessie come, too?”

  “Bien sure. And Mme. Myles, thank you for your kindness and understanding.” Maurice shook Nellie’s hand. “My crew will come for me today, but I will return on Friday for Marie and Bessie.”

  “They’re not going without me.”

  “That is not a problem, Mme. Myles.”

  Nellie hauled the letters out of her pocket and gave them back to the captain. “I feel like I know Chantal now. You better not hurt Marie.”

  Nellie and Marie arrived home a half-hour before Joe, Sam, and Bessie stormed in after school.

  “Ma,” Sam said, “what did you have to tell Marie this morning?”

  “Captain Maurice is my grandpa,” Marie said, getting straight to the point with one simple statement.

  “Sure, b’y,” Joe said, “and I’m Father Curran’s grandfather.”

  Sam gaped at Marie. “I thinks she means it,” he said.

  Bessie turned pale. “He killed our fathers,” she said. “He’s the hooded man and wants to steal you away.”

  Nellie dished out cabbage hash. “I was upset too, at first. Now I understand. Captain Maurice isn’t the hooded man and he isn’t responsible for the Marion’s disappearance.” The look of absolute disbelief and hurt on her youngsters’ faces seared into her soul. She related the reasons why she’d changed her mind, praying they made sense to the children. “Marie is part of the family now, and the captain is her grandfather. How do you feel about that?” No one spoke. The silence pounded in her ears.

  Joe threw down his fork. “I hates that Pa’s gone.” He stared down at the table and seemed to be absorbed in his thoughts. Sam and Bessie looked away. Finally, he raised his head. “It doesn’t hurt so bad knowing he wasn’t killed on purpose.”

  “Me too,” Sam said. “I couldn’t get it out of me head how Pa must’ve felt when the trawler rammed the schooner.”

  Bessie’s colour returned. “Marie, are you happy the captain’s your grandfather?”

  “He scared me in St. Pierre, but not anymore.”

  “Ma,” Joe said, “all our friends are gonna be some mad when they finds out.”

  “I’ve been giving some thought to that. I’ll ask Father Curran for a meeting in the church to talk to everyone. Mother Patrick will want to help.”

  Marie produced a chocolate treat from Young’s General Store. Joe cracked off a chunk of the thick, creamy bar with his teeth. “Ma, I don’t want to go back to school today.”

  “All right,” Nellie said, and gave him a key. “All of you get some of your belongings together and bring them to Ike’s house. I’ll be over when I’m done cleaning up here.” She washed the dishes and swept the floor, her mind on Maurice. Had she really convinced the youngsters of his innocence? A suspicion of his guilt remained lodged in a far corner of her brain. No, she thought. It’s more than that.

  The suspicion soon warped into a funny feeling that more tragedy was in store for her family. A soft tap at the door became a loud thump before she heard the noise. She turned toward the kitchen door, but realized the rap, rap was coming from the front of the house. No one ever used the front door. She hurried to answer it.

  “Hello,” Mr. Fleming said. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

  Chapter 19

  “The coastal boat is not due for another week,” Nellie said. “How’d you get here?”

  “The mere mention of a boat makes me seasick,” Mr. Fleming said. “I took the train, then hired a horse and cart.”

  “When did you arrive?” Nellie asked, delaying for as long as she could the urgent business that could only pertain to Marie. “Where are you staying? Would you like a cuppa tea?”

  The lawyer smiled. “May I come in?”

  “Goodness me,” Nellie said. “Where are my manners?”

  The lawyer followed her past the stairs and down a hallway painted a soft cream colour. A portrait of each of her children hung in a neat row along the wall. He paused outside the living room and stared at the wedding portrait. “You and your husband made a handsome pair.”

  Nellie steeped tea and enquired about the weather in St. John’s, his daughter, Dottie, Alice, his trip to St. Jacques, anything but the matter at hand.

  Mr. Fleming answered each question with polite patience. “I must apologize,” he finally said when she ran out of questions.

  Here it comes, Nellie thought, and wrapped cold hands around her hot mug. “Marie’s gonna be taken from us,” she said. Her voice echoed hollowly in her ears.

  The lawyer gaped at Nellie and tea slopped over the rim of his mug. “Of course not,” he said. “I apologize for giving you the impression that something was wrong. At times, my lawyer’s mind takes control.” He pulled out a letter from an inside coat pocket. “Sheila Jones notified me that she inte
nded to fight for custody over Marie.” He hurried on. “I sent a copy of Ike’s will to her lawyer, who notified me at once that he will convince his client she’s wasting her time and money.”

  Nellie allowed herself to breathe. “You could have written and saved the long trip.”

  “I have a good friend in Belleoram. This was a good excuse to visit, since I’ve never been to the Burin peninsula.” Mr. Fleming asked for more tea. “I was surprised to hear you hadn’t moved into Ike’s house yet.”

  “We’re in the middle of packing up everything.”

  The lawyer produced a sad smile. “Change is difficult,” he said. “Especially when it’s a result of circumstances out of our control.” They chatted for a while more, and after he said his goodbyes, Nellie went to Ike’s house. The youngsters had each staked their claim to a bedroom and had spent the rest of the time exploring the house.

  After supper she asked Mother Patrick about setting up a meeting to inform the community what had occurred with Maurice and Marie. The nun tapped her foot and folded her arms across her chest. “Like I told you earlier, let me deal with any comments or concerns on the subject.”

  Overtired from a stressful day, Nellie went to bed before the youngsters that night. She blew out the bedside candle and got under the blankets. Sleep wouldn’t come, as one single thought tormented her. “Harry,” she mumbled into the sheets. “Mr. Fleming’s encouraging news hasn’t taken away my funny feeling.” The moon’s shadow bobbed on the harbour water.

  Nellie, love, you only get the bad feeling before someone dies.

  The next morning Nellie dragged herself out of bed, the bad feeling fouling the air like the stench of rotted fish. She chatted with the children during breakfast to occupy her mind, and made dough for bread when they left for school. The mid-October weather was unseasonably cold. The sky was overcast and the wind moaned against the window, rattling the glass like skeleton’s bones. To Nellie it sounded like a death wail.