The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

She poured hot water into a pan for the dishes. Someone whisked open the back door. The sudden movement startled Nellie, and she splashed soapy water onto the counter and down her apron.

  “Mme. Myles, you must come right away!” Sister Thérèse held the door open. The icy wind chewed at her reddened fingers. Her veil spiralled out like a schooner’s sail. “Mrs. Cluett has had an accident.”

  Nellie’s bad feeling stirred, like ripples on a smooth pond. “Please God,” she whispered. “Not Annie.” A black haze swarmed in front of her eyes. She shook her head to dispel the sensation. “Is she all right?”

  “She is unconscious. Dr. Fitzgerald is with her.”

  Nellie stood transfixed.

  “Please hurry,” the young nun said. Sister Thérèse reached out and grabbed her by the arm. “There is no time to waste!”

  Nellie threw on her coat and raced down the path, the open door abandoned to the whims of the wind. She prayed all the way to the convent.

  Mother Patrick was pacing in front of the graveyard fence when Nellie and Sister Thérèse arrived. The wind beat the heavy robes against her legs.

  Nellie rushed toward her and almost knocked her over. “What happened? Is Annie all right?”

  Mother Patrick pulled her inside the convent and hurried down a side corridor to the kitchen. Hot tea awaited them both.

  “Denis Burke found Annie at the foot of a ladder outside her house. Can you believe she was cleaning windows in this weather?”

  Nellie shoved aside the steaming tea. “Is she here?”

  “Denis helped Dr. Fitzgerald carry her to his house.”

  Nellie sprang to her feet.

  “Sit down. Denis will let us know when the doctor says it’s all right to see Annie. He doesn’t want us underfoot acting like scared youngsters while he’s examining her.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Nellie said. “I knew something awful was gonna happen.”

  “What!” Mother Patrick stared at her. “Please tell me you don’t have one of your bad feelings.”

  Nellie fell limp into a chair. “It’s a curse. I couldn’t save Harry or Tommy either.”

  Sister Thérèse stood in the doorway. “M. Burke was just here. You may go to see Annie now.” The young nun darted to the side in time to avoid being trampled by the two anxious women.

  “We must remain calm,” Mother Patrick said when the doctor’s house came into view. “Hysterical women only get in the way.” Nellie heard the edge of panic in her friend’s voice.

  Hattie Fitzgerald met them at the door. Her face was grey, solemn. “Conrad will be with you in a few minutes,” she said, and showed them to the den.

  Neither Mother Patrick nor Nellie enquired after Annie. Both knew the doctor’s wife would not comment on any of her husband’s patients.

  “Good day, ladies,” the doctor said just after his wife departed to make tea. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”

  “Sweet Blessed Virgin,” Mother Patrick cried out. “I refuse to hear that good woman is gone.”

  Nellie had a sensation of floating. The nun and doctor looked like shadows on a wall. Dr. Fitzgerald patted her hand. She looked at him. Why did he seem so far away? Water dribbled down her chin.

  “Drink it,” a voice ordered.

  She swallowed the cold liquid. The shadows took on solid form.

  “Nellie, how do you feel?”

  Nellie shook her head and stared around the room. “What happened?”

  “You fainted,” Dr. Fitzgerald said.

  Nellie rubbed her face with both hands. “I’m all right now. How’s Annie?”

  “Annie suffered a serious concussion, as far as I can tell. She hasn’t regained consciousness.”

  Mother Patrick tapped her foot. “Isn’t there some way to bring her around?”

  “No. We have to wait for her to wake up.” Dr. Fitzgerald sat down, his movements slow. “There are several things that can happen in the meantime. She may lapse into a coma, from a blood clot, or her brain may swell.”

  Nellie trembled. “Can they do anything for her in St. John’s?”

  The doctor heaved a great sigh. “Even if they could, it would take too long to get there, and I dare not risk moving her.”

  Mother Patrick slid into an armchair. “What can we do?”

  The doctor ran a hand through his hair. “She could really use your prayers right now.”

  Word about Annie’s accident reached every corner of the community. By dinnertime, most of the people had crowded to the doctor’s house, only to leave, disheartened by Annie’s condition. Sister Thérèse took it upon herself to pull Marie and Nellie’s youngsters out of class to tell them before they heard it from a neighbour. Mrs. Fitzgerald made a pot of chicken soup in anticipation of their arrival. She insisted they eat when they stampeded into her house, anxious to see Annie.

  They’d gobbled down the soup and ran to the den in time to hear Dr. Fitzgerald’s update. “Annie’s condition hasn’t changed,” he said to the frightened faces staring at him.

  “It’s been hours,” Mother Patrick said. “Surely that isn’t a good sign.”

  “It’s not. The longer she’s unconscious, the less chance there is for recovery.”

  Sam sat down next to his mother. “Is Annie in pain?” he said.

  “No, son. She doesn’t feel anything.”

  “Conrad,” his wife called from the top of the stairs. “Come quickly!”

  “Stay here,” Dr. Fitzgerald said, and ran from the room. His wife had gone back to attend to Annie by the time he climbed the stairs two at a time.

  The door to her room was ajar. Hattie leaned over the prone figure on the bed. There was no sound, no movement.

  “What happened?” Dr. Fitzgerald said, his breathing deep but steady.

  His wife stepped aside.

  Annie lay back against a pile of pillows, her eyes open. “How’d I get here?” she moaned.

  The doctor moved to the bed. “You fell off a ladder and struck your head.”

  Annie closed her eyes. “On a ladder? What was . . . That’s right. I wanted all the windows cleaned before I moved to Ike’s house.” She tried to sit up. “Ohhh. My head feels like Joe used it for a soccer ball.”

  The doctor opened his medical bag. “That’s to be expected.”

  “Don’t fuss over me,” Annie said when he tried to take her pulse.

  “I don’t want to hear any more complaints, Annie Cluett. I’m examining you whether you like it or not.” He checked her eyes and held up two fingers. “How many do you see?”

  Annie squinted. “I have never had such an awful headache in my life.”

  “How many?” Dr. Fitzgerald repeated.

  “Two.”

  “Excellent. Are you dizzy?”

  Annie shook her head. “Ohhhhhh,” she groaned. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Do you feel like vomiting?”

  “No.”

  “You’re very lucky to be alive with such a severe concussion.”

  “I wants to go home.”

  “You’re staying right where you are until I say otherwise. Hattie will be up shortly with a light soup.”

  Annie made to object. A low moan came out instead.

  “Lie still and behave yourself or I’ll send Mother Patrick up to look after you.”

  “All right,” Annie grumbled.

  Dr. Fitzgerald soaked a cloth in a pan of water on the bedside table and placed it on Annie’s forehead. “This should make you a little more comfortable. Let me know right away if you feel dizzy, get blurred vision, or feel sick to your stomach.” He waited for his wife to come up with the soup. “Hattie, call me if she gives you an ounce of trouble.”

  Hattie smiled. “I’m sure
she’ll co-operate.” The doctor took his leave and returned to the den.

  “You took long enough,” Mother Patrick snapped.

  “Your prayers worked, Mother Patrick. Annie’s awake.”

  “Blessed be the saints! Is she up to visitors?”

  “Not for a day or two. She needs rest and care for at least two weeks.”

  Bessie looked at Dr. Fitzgerald with huge eyes. “Is Annie really all right?”

  He smiled again. “It looks that way. She’s staying here tonight. You children go on home.”

  “Go ahead,” Nellie said. “There’s dough on the counter for toutons. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “I wants to stay,” Bessie said.

  Joe took her by the hand. “We can have the toutons ready when Ma gets home. She’ll like that.”

  “I would indeed,” Nellie said.

  As soon as the youngsters were out of the house, Mother Patrick turned to the doctor. “Is Annie out of danger?”

  “Not yet. People with severe concussions who lose consciousness and stay out for as long as Annie did usually develop one of the life-threatening conditions I described. She’s strong, but her age is against her.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Thank the good Lord she’s beaten the odds this far.”

  “Years of good, hardy work kept her strong and healthy,” Nellie said.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald poked her head in the room. “Conrad, Annie’s resting as best she can under the circumstances.”

  “Thank you, Hattie, dear. I’ll be up in a minute. As for you, ladies,” he said, addressing Nellie and Mother Patrick, “if there’s any change in Annie’s condition, I’ll send for you both right away.”

  “Come along,” Mother Patrick said. “Let’s not pester the good man any more.”

  They walked as far as the Rooms. “Nellie, is there something else besides Annie troubling you? You haven’t opened your mouth since we left Dr. Fitzgerald’s house.”

  Yes, Nellie thought. The answer came out as no. Her bad feeling gnawed at her stomach like a hunger not quite satisfied.

  Chapter 20

  Three worrisome days after Annie’s fall from the ladder, Dr. Fitzgerald gave her permission to leave his home, with strict orders to do nothing more strenuous than get in and out of bed for at least a week.

  “Nellie’s going to St. Pierre with Marie and Bessie today,” she said. “I must look after the boys for the weekend.”

  “Not necessary,” Mother Patrick said. “You and the boys will stay at the convent.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t need no one to coddle me.”

  Mother Patrick tapped a foot impatiently. “I won’t hear another word about it. You’re coming to the convent.”

  Nellie helped Annie with her coat. “Give in without a fight. You knows what Mother Patrick’s like when she’s made up her mind.”

  “Indeed I do,” the nun said, and linked arms with Annie. “Nellie’s brought a few of your things to the convent. Come along. Steve Marsh is waiting outside with his horse and cart.

  “I ain’t riding in no cart,” Annie said as Mother Patrick led her out of the room. “There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

  Nellie smiled at Dr. Fitzgerald. “I wonder who’ll win that little tug-of-war?”

  “My dear Mrs. Myles, is there really any doubt about that?”

  Annie eased into the seat next to Mother Patrick. She was flushed; sweat dribbled down the sides of her face and her breathing was heavy. She looked at Nellie and massaged her temples. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt just this once to accept a ride.”

  “Your room is ready and waiting,” Mother Patrick said. “I baked a rhubarb pie especially for you this morning.”

  Nellie hid a smile and scrambled into the cart. What would the youngsters say about the crusty old mother superior if they could see her fuss over Annie?

  Steve Marsh climbed into the driver’s seat. “It’s some good to see ya up and about, Annie,” he said. “Gave the whole community a scare.”

  “Take us home,” Mother Patrick said. “And for goodness’ sake, man, watch out for the bumps in the road.”

  Steve saluted her with two fingers to the side of his cap. “Right-o.”

  Annie grunted with disgust. “You wouldn’t know but I was a babe in arms.”

  Steve directed the horse to go as slowly as possible. “Old Winnie usually listens to me, Mother Patrick,” he said, “but she’s got a mind of her own.”

  Denis Burke hurried out of his office to see Annie when they passed by. His bright smile at her recovery caused Nellie a pang of guilt for ripping into him about the Marion’s loss. “It’s too bad his brothers aren’t more like him,” she said after they drove past.

  Steve glanced over his shoulder at the women. “Never thought I’d hear words like that uttered around here about a merchant.”

  “Never thought I’d be the one to speak them,” Nellie countered.

  The cart stopped numerous times for well-wishers to have a few words with Annie. “We’ll get you straight to bed,” Mother Patrick said when they finally rolled up to the convent. “And I’ll bring you up a nice tray for supper.”

  “I am a mite tired,” Annie admitted, bringing a hand to her forehead. “A rest would do me good.” Steve lifted her down as best he could without jostling her.

  Mother Patrick linked arms with her once again. “I’ll mix up some herbs for that headache.”

  Annie didn’t turn her head to look at the nun. “That would be lovely.”

  Nellie kissed her cheek. “Me and the girls will see you Sunday afternoon.”

  Annie mumbled a response and permitted herself to be led inside.

  On the way back home, Nellie saw Captain Maurice’s trawler chug into Burke’s Cove. Bessie and Marie had eaten supper and placed their packed bags by the door. “We made fish cakes,” Bessie said, pointing to the table with excitement. A plateful sat at Nellie’s place.

  The food looked delicious, but the knots in Nellie’s stomach prevented her from enjoying it. “Captain Maurice’s trawler is here,” she said. Marie poured tea for her.

  “We knows,” Bessie said breathlessly. Marie almost danced the teapot back to the stove.

  Nellie sipped at the tea, holding the mug with two hands. “Did Joe and Sam have supper yet?”

  “They’re playing soccer in Ned’s Field,” Bessie said. “Mother Patrick told them to go to the convent for supper.”

  “We’d best get the dishes done,” Nellie said. “The captain will be here soon.”

  Nellie was right. Maurice arrived minutes after they swept the floor. “A crewman is waiting at your wharf,” he said. “We will go to the trawler by boat, if that is not a problem.”

  “I don’t mind,” Nellie said, thrilled she didn’t have to walk through the community with the man.

  The young crewman smiled as he helped Bessie and Marie into the boat. Nellie noted he was two or three years older than Joe. Too young to face the sea’s treachery and its lonely life. As soon as they boarded the trawler, they departed for St. Pierre. A moment of panic overwhelmed Nellie. She’d put her trust in a man she hardly knew, one she’d believed had killed seventeen defenceless men. The moment passed, and soon she breathed easier.

  The crossing was smooth, with no wind or rain to delay them. The captain gave Bessie and Marie a tour of the ship, while Nellie opted to sit on deck and savour the evening air. Wrapped in a blanket, provided by the same young man who’d rowed them to the trawler, she tried to imagine a fisherman’s life on a schooner. Harry never talked about his time on the sea, a sure sign it was a back- breaking, desolate experience. He never encouraged his sons to follow in the tradition. On the contrary, he’d displayed disappointment when Joe expressed a keen interest.

  �
�We arrive soon,” a voice thick with a French accent said.

  Nellie looked up into the face of the young crew member. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Le capitaine wants that you know.”

  “Have you been long with the captain?”

  “I sail one time.” The young man paused. Nellie could see he was searching for his words. “I come from France two month ago.” He smiled. “Excusez-moi, Madame. I have work to do.”

  Nellie watched him walk away, not sure what she’d hoped to learn about Maurice. She turned back to the water. The lights of St. Pierre twinkled under the stars, and the island floated on the horizon with the sway of the ship. Her mind came back to Harry. What had he thought whenever the tiny French community came into view? Had he wished it was home? She shook herself to free her mind. Maurice, Marie, and Bessie walked toward her.

  “We dock in ten minutes,” the captain said.

  The bliss she saw in Marie and Bessie’s faces soothed her misgivings about going to the captain’s home. The harbour was half-full with foreign vessels, and the wharf bustled with fishermen and dock workers.

  Mme. Dubois, Maurice’s housekeeper, had tea and pastries laid out on the dining room table. She insisted the guests eat before being shown to their rooms. The captain joined them and chatted with Nellie and the children about St. Pierre, as if they’d known each other for years.

  “Le capitaine est tellement exciter de vous avoir içi,” the housekeeper said when the children were in the backyard with Maurice.

  From her smile and gestures, Nellie gathered that Mme. Dubois had said the captain was as excited as they were. “Oui,” Nellie said, the only French word she knew.

  Mme. Dubois collected the dishes and left Nellie alone. She inspected the room for the first time, amazed at how much it resembled Ike’s dining room. Happy voices filtered in through the open window. Maurice sat on a wooden bench with the children, acting like any grandfather with his grandchild.

  “Mme. Myles, je vous amène à votre chambre.”

  Nellie picked up her bag and followed Mme. Dubois upstairs to a room at the end of a long hall. Three walls were pale green; yellow wallpaper patterned with white carnations completed the fourth. The open bay window was framed by soft cream lace curtains that fluttered in the wind. A pale green bedspread, white bureau, and wardrobe accentuated the polished medium-dark hardwood floor. Nellie wondered if this had been Chantal’s room. She took off her shoes and lay down to ward off the headache threatening to explode behind her temples. Nellie drifted to sleep to the faraway sound of Bessie and Marie’s laughter.