The Loss of the Marion

by Linda Abbott

  Joe and Sam pretended to be uninterested in the box, but Nellie caught them sneaking a glance in its direction.

  Marie untied the ribbon and opened the paper one flap at a time. Bessie bounced on her chair. Marie took the lid off the box beneath the paper and pulled out a small linen tablecloth. She spread it out to reveal a word embroidered with blue thread in the centre and blue bells along the edges. Chantal.

  “It’s a tablecloth for a child’s play table and chairs,” Nellie said. “It’s beautiful.” She smiled at Marie. “It must’ve belonged to your mother when she was a little girl.”

  Joe and Sam looked at each and groaned. “Can we eat now?” Joe asked.

  Nellie served pea soup topped off with gingerbread and tin cream, the only luxury she permitted the family with Ike’s money. It wasn’t easy to break a lifetime’s habit of scrimping to make every penny stretch to a dollar.

  Annie cut a slab from the gingerbread loaf and slapped on two spoons of cream for herself. “Any more trouble with the other youngsters at school about Maurice?” she asked.

  Joe shoved an oversized portion of gingerbread into his mouth. Cream coated his top lip like an old man’s fuzzy moustache. “No,” he said, his mouth full. “Mother Patrick had a long talk with everyone.”

  Bessie giggled. “She took the whole afternoon.”

  “Elsa said she was sorry. She cries all the time about her pa,” Marie added.

  “’Tis enough to break your heart,” Annie mumbled, and remained quiet for the rest of supper. She stayed at the table after the children had gone.

  “You all right?” Nellie said.

  Annie played with a button on her blouse. “Marie will be devastated if she finds out the truth about her grandfather.”

  “Bessie, too.”

  Annie sniffed. “I’m dead tired,” she said. “Perhaps a little rest will set me right.”

  Nellie rocked in her chair and knitted for the first time since she moved in. The grandfather clock in the entrance bonged twice. This chair makes me feel close to ya, Harry. She wished there was something she could do to make Elsa and her ma feel better.

  Nellie, love, what are you gonna do with all that money Ike gave ya?

  An idea popped into her head and she bounded from the rocker. She threw on her winter coat. The early November air hinted at snow, and her nose and cheeks glowed cherry red as she approached her destination.

  Denis Burke half rose from his chair when Nellie walked into his office. “Mrs. Myles. What have you come to tell me off about today?”

  Nellie saw the hint of a smile in his eyes. “I have a favour to ask. Before you starts preaching about how business works,” she added, “you won’t have to part with a penny of your money.”

  “Please sit, Mrs. Myles,” Denis said, and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t think what sort of favour you’d want from a Burke.”

  “I’ve racked my brain for weeks and came up with the idea not an hour ago.”

  “How can I help?”

  Nellie unbuttoned her coat. “The pile of money Ike left me every month will last until I’m old and grey.”

  Denis nodded. “That was quite generous of him.”

  “I want to start a fund for the Marion widows.”

  “That’s a grand idea, but what does that have to do with me?”

  “The widows have their pride,” Nellie said. “They’ll see my money as charity.”

  “I see your point,” Denis said. He folded his hands under his chin. “If the money comes from the Burke brothers, the widows will see it as their right.”

  “Exactly,” Nellie said. “Will you set up the fund in your family’s name with the money I give every month for as long as I can?”

  “My brothers won’t mind at all taking the credit.” Denis paused, a pensive look on his face. “It won’t sit well with me, though.”

  “All I want is for the widows and their families to have a better life.”

  “If that’s what you want. I’ll talk it over with my brothers and get back to you.”

  “Remember,” Nellie said, “only you and your brothers are to know. I haven’t even told Annie or Mother Patrick.”

  “You have my word, Mrs. Myles. No one will hear about this from any member of my family.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Burke.” Nellie turned to leave, and paused. “Harry said you were different from your brothers. He was right.” She walked away before Denis could respond, and she passed Jon on the way out of the building.

  Jon went straight in to see his brother. “I saw Nellie Myles just now,” he snarled. “What sort of trouble was she trying to stew up this time?”

  Denis looked up into his older brother’s eyes. “Shut up,” he said. “Sit down and listen good to what I have to say.”

  He paid a visit to Nellie very late that night. Over gingerbread and cream they finalized the details of the Widow’s Fund. On Nellie’s instructions, a simple handshake sealed the deal, with no paperwork involved.

  The next day the Burkes called a meeting in the church to announce their generous offer.

  “Well, well,” Mother Patrick whispered. “It’s about time the Burkes did something for someone besides themselves.”

  “Indeed it is,” Annie said with a smile.

  Nellie saw by the glint in Annie’s eyes that she hadn’t been fooled, not even when Skit Kettle’s wife stood up and said, “I’ll be! What a grand gesture.”

  Jon Burke smiled. “It’s the least we could do to help out the community.”

  Denis went red in the face and excused himself from the church.

  Chapter 23

  Snow fell the next week and coated the hills like white icing on a chocolate cake. The first signs of ice shimmered on the water. Nellie looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. She missed the view of the main road and the harbour from her old house.

  Annie and Mother Patrick came in and went straight to the stove to warm themselves. Annie blew on her fingertips. “It’s cold enough out to freeze your breath,” she said. “I’ll allow winter’s here to stay.”

  Nellie turned away from the window. “Don’t worry yourself sick,” she said. “The coastal boat will get Dottie and the twins here for Christmas.”

  “You’re right,” Annie said. “I shouldn’t look for problems.” She poured tea for herself and Mother Patrick.

  The nun carried the steaming liquid to the table. “Don’t you think it odd Maurice hasn’t been back to see Marie since the day he gave her that lovely tablecloth?”

  “It’s only been a few weeks,” Nellie said.

  Mother Patrick breathed in the steam rising from the tea. Condensation gathered on her nose. “You must be delighted your bad feeling amounted to nothing.”

  “It hasn’t exactly gone.”

  Annie choked down a mouthful of tea. “Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

  “What does that mean, Nellie?” Mother Patrick asked.

  Nellie thought for a moment how to answer the question. “My bad feeling comes and goes like the tide, always there.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It feels like high tide today.”

  Mother Patrick tapped her foot. “No more dreary talk,” she said. “Have you heard that Dr. Fitzgerald’s oldest son, Charles, is here for a short visit?”

  “I did,” Annie said. “Steve Marsh will take the pair of them to St. Pierre tomorrow for the weekend.” She chuckled. “Hattie is staying put. She gets greener than you on water.”

  “I almost forgot,” Mother Patrick said. “The good doctor said he’d be happy to deliver a letter for Marie to Maurice.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Nellie said.

  Marie wrote a two-page letter. “Thank you, Dr. Fitzgerald,” she said with a smile when he arrived after supper
.

  “My pleasure, Marie.”

  She skipped out of the kitchen to her room.

  “Annie, you’re doing quite well,” the doctor said, following a brief examination. “My best advice to you is never to climb another ladder.”

  “I’m cured of any more foolish risks,” she said, to Nellie’s surprise.

  “I’m off,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. “We leave at dawn for St. Pierre.” He wished the women a good night.

  “Have a safe journey,” Nellie said, showing him to the door.

  The doctor put on his coat. “Isn’t is marvellous about the Widow’s Fund?” He winked. “The whole community knows how generous the Burkes are.”

  “I . . . who told you?”

  “Hattie saw you come out of the Rooms the day before the big announcement.” He patted her hand. “My dear, what you wish to do with your money is entirely your concern.”

  Nellie prayed no one else would figure out what she’d done.

  Steve led Dr. Fitzgerald and his son Charles to the Hôtel de France. “Join us for a drink,” the doctor said.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Steve said. “I’m staying overnight anyways.”

  Close to noon, the bar was empty. They ordered drinks and sat at a corner table. “Isn’t the Widow’s Fund a godsend?” Charles said.

  Steve downed a rum and water. “Can’t see the Burke brothers offering help to anybody,” he said. “Specifically if money’s involved.”

  “I agree, Mr. Marsh,” Charles said. “It’s been six months since the Marion disappeared. What took them so long?”

  Steve smacked his lips together. “To be honest, b’y, I think Nellie Myles had a hand in the Widow’s Fund.” He grinned. “We all knows once she gets started on something she don’t stop. Ike gave her a load of money. I believe she’s the fund’s source.” He ordered and paid for another drink. “The Burkes wouldn’t give away shit from thrown-away fish carcasses, let alone money. Nellie’s a good woman and understands how we feels about charity.”

  “Well,” Charles began. “If you’ve reached that conclusion, so will everyone else.”

  “I ain’t in dire need of money. Widows like Mrs. LaCroix are too desperate to worry about where it’s really coming from.”

  Father Jean-Claude came into the bar with Maurice. The priest nodded to Steve and sat with the captain at the opposite end of the bar.

  Steve finished the second drink and stood to leave when Father Jean-Claude and Maurice walked over. “Hello, M. Marsh,” the priest said. “It is good to see you again.”

  “Likewise, Father.” Steve introduced the doctor and the doctor’s son.

  “Mother Patrick speaks very highly of you, Dr. Fitzgerald.”

  “Gentlemen,” Maurice said, “I would be honoured for you to join me in my home for the noon meal.”

  “We’d be delighted,” the doctor said. “And a good opportunity for me to give you a letter from Marie.”

  Mme. Dubois smiled politely as she served chicken sandwiches, French bread, and a variety of cheeses, tea, and custard pastries. After dinner the men adjourned to the den for a smoke and a glass of sherry. Steve tasted his, made a sour face, and laid it aside. He smoked one cigarette and doused the butt in the fancy glass ashtray on the side table. “I’ll be on my way,” he said.

  “We should as well,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. “Thank you for a lovely meal, Captain. Please give our regards to your housekeeper.”

  “You are—”

  Suddenly, Maurice clutched his chest and sagged forward with a loud cry. His glass of sherry smashed to the floor.

  Dr. Fitzgerald dropped to his knees beside the captain. “Can you describe how you feel?”

  “My chest . . . is tight.” His skin was grey. Sweat soaked his face. “My left arm is numb.”

  “Charles,” the doctor said. “Help Steve get him to bed.” He turned to Father Jean-Claude. “Have Mme. Dubois send for his doctor. He’ll know the captain’s medical history.” He grabbed his medical bag and followed his son and Steve up the stairs.

  Dr. Renard arrived shortly after.

  “How is he?” Father Jean-Claude asked.

  “He suffered a massive heart attack,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. “He is as comfortable as possible, under the circumstances. Dr. Renard said he has had two mild attacks over the past three years.”

  “Will he survive?” the priest asked.

  Dr. Renard shook his head. “Too much hurt to his heart,” he said in his limited English. “Little time left to him.”

  “He wishes to see Marie,” Dr. Fitzgerald said.

  “I was planning on spending the night here,” Steve said. “As time’s important, I’ll go back now. We should be back around dinnertime tomorrow.”

  “That is most kind of you,” Father Jean-Claude said.

  Dr. Fitzgerald and Charles parted for their hotel with condolences to Father Jean-Claude and Mme. Dubois.

  Nellie shivered and rubbed her arms. Despite the sun’s rays, which stretched to every nook of the kitchen, the bad feeling lingered in the air like the smell of day-old fried fish.

  “You can’t be cold,” Annie said. “The heat from that stove is enough to stifle ya.”

  Nellie swished the water in the sink to make it soapy. “I ain’t cold.”

  Annie passed her five dirty plates. “It’s the bad feeling again, right? Try to put it aside and think about what to buy the youngsters for Christmas.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Tell you what. Forget the dishes. Go to the post office. Maybe Dottie’s written us.”

  Nellie smiled. “I’ll get some of the cocoa you likes at Young’s, too.”

  The wind off the water, mixed with the salty air, aggravated her uneasiness. She turned her thoughts to the Widow’s Fund. Most of the widows had taken advantage of the money with no concerns or suspicions raised about the source.

  “Good day, Mrs. Myles,” the postmaster said, and handed Nellie three letters, two from St. John’s, one from Montreal. “I hope that Jones woman ain’t trying to start trouble again.”

  “Me too,” Nellie said, and paused outside to open the letters. Her hands stopped trembling when she stuck the last letter back in its envelope.

  “Not bad news, I hope,” Father Curran said, stopping to say hello.

  “Not at all,” Nellie smiled. “Sheila Jones’s lawyer wrote to reassure me there’s no way she can take Marie from us.”

  “Lovely,” the priest said, and went on his way.

  Nellie stopped by Young’s for the cocoa and dashed home.

  “That’s one pain in the arse gotten rid of,” Annie said upon hearing the news about Sheila.

  Nellie handed over the envelope addressed to Annie and opened the other from Ike’s lawyer. “Mr. Fleming asked the lawyer in Montreal to write me. This is a surprise.” She read on. “He wants to buy a house here as a summer home. He wonders if I’ll look into it for him.”

  Annie looked up from her letter. “Well then, missy. Who’s house will we sell?”

  “Tommy’s,” Nellie said softly. “I ain’t ready to let go of mine.”

  “Dottie wants me to come to St. John’s for Easter,” said Annie.

  “Proper thing. Maybe me and the youngsters will come along.”

  The full moon guided Steve Marsh into Burke’s Cove. He docked his boat and headed for Ike’s house. Nellie answered on the first knock.

  “Mr. Marsh, what are you doing here?” A knot formed in her chest. “Dr. Fitzgerald said you were s’posed to stay overnight in St. Pierre.”

  “Would you mind if I came in, Mrs. Myles? I have a bit of bad news.”

  The knot tightened. “Where’s my manners,” Nellie said. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Much oblige
d, ma’am.”

  “I’ll heat up some fish and brewis and scruncheons left over from supper.”

  “That’s kind of ya. I haven’t eaten since dinnertime.” Steve took off his coat and drank tea while Nellie prepared the food. “Here you go,” she said, placing a hot plate in front of him.

  “Lovely,” he said, and dug in.

  Nellie’s mind was racing. What bad news could Steve have brought her from St. Pierre? Mother Patrick would be the one to tell her if something had happened to Father Jean-Claude. It couldn’t be about Eloise’s parents. They were almost strangers to her.

  Annie strolled into the kitchen. “Thought I heard the door,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Steve.”

  “Father Jean-Claude sent me.” He looked toward the hallway. “The youngsters in bed?”

  Nellie and Annie nodded.

  “Captain Maurice had a heart attack. Me, the doc, Charles, and the priest were at his house when it happened. The French doctor agreed with Dr. Fitzgerald that the captain ain’t got much time left.”

  “He wants to see Marie, doesn’t he?” Nellie said quietly. Funny, she thought. I don’t feel anything at all. She glanced at Annie. The older woman’s face told nothing of how she felt.

  “I came back tonight so we could leave tomorrow morning, if that’s all right with you.”

  “That’s awfully good of you, Mr. Marsh,” Nellie said.

  Steve smiled. “Just helping out my neighbours. Just like you are.” He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “Is eight o’clock tomorrow too early?”

  “Whatever’s good for you.”

  “I’ll see myself out. Good night, then, ladies.”

  Annie finally sat down. “It couldn’t happen to a more deserving man,” she said.

  “Annie,” Nellie said softly, “it’s not like you to be so unchristian.”

  “That devil took away our menfolk.” Annie’s voice was thick. “I feels some bad for poor Marie, though. She was starting to love the old bastard.”

  Nellie wrung her hands. “Should I wake Marie and tell her or wait until morning?”