by Linda Abbott
“Let the child sleep,” Annie said. “There’s not a thing she can do about it tonight.”
Chapter 24
Noon the following day, Nellie and Marie climbed out of Steve’s boat. The circles under his eyes and his unshaven face testified to his exhaustion as he carried their luggage to Maurice’s house.
“My missus said I have to wait for you, even if it takes a couple of days.”
Mme. Dubois opened the door, her eyes also bloodshot from fatigue, and showed them to the den where Father Jean-Claude sat drinking tea.
“How’s Grandpa?” Marie asked. It was the first time she’d spoken since leaving St. Jacques.
“I am very sorry, my child. Dr. Renard does not give your grandfather much more time. He wishes to see you right away.”
“I’ll come with you,” Nellie said.
“Mme. Myles, he wishes to see her alone.” The priest showed Marie to the captain’s room. “I will wait with Mme. Myles in the den.”
“Merci,” Marie said, and opened the door to her grandfather’s room.
Maurice opened his eyes and smiled. “Ah, mon petit chou, come in,” he said in a weak voice. “I am so very happy that you came.”
Marie sat in the chair by the side of the bed. “I don’t want you to die,” she said. “It’s not fair.”
Maurice smoothed a tear from her cheek. “It is my fault we do not know each other well.” He paused to catch his breath. “Mon enfant, you will make me a promise, oui?”
“All right,” Marie said. “What is it?”
“Do not allow anger and stubbornness to rule your life. Forgive and let your heart guide you. If I had done this, we would have shared many years together.” Maurice reached for her hand. “Do you promise, chérie?”
“Oui, mon grandpère.”
Maurice smiled and closed his eyes. “Je t’aime.”
“I love you, too,” Marie whispered in his ear.
A soft knock came at the door. “Mlle. Jones, voulez-vous quelque chose à manger?”
“Oui, I would love a bite to eat,” Marie answered.
Maurice opened his eyes. “Mme. Dubois is an excellent cook. Go eat and ask le père Jean-Claude to come up.”
“I’ll come back as soon as I finishes.”
Me. Dubois brought in a tray of French onion soup, bread, pastries, and tea for Marie and Nellie.
“Thank you,” Nellie said.
“She’s some sad,” Marie said.
Nellie stared at the departing French woman, amazed that such a cruel, evil man could inspire such love and loyalty. “I wonder if Mme. Dubois has family here?”
“Non,” Father Jean-Claude said, coming into the room. “She is a widow. Her only child died of consumption many years ago.”
“What will become of her?”
“This house will belong to her with a yearly allowance for the rest of her life.”
“A generous man,” Nellie said with a slight trace of sarcasm.
Father Jean-Claude looked toward Marie, who slurped at the French soup, seemingly unaware of the conversation. “Le capitaine is capable of generosity, amongst other things.”
As soon as Marie and Nellie were done eating, Mme. Dubois took the tray and showed them to the same rooms they had stayed in during their last visit. Father Jean-Claude left for the rectory and assured them he would be back within the hour. Nellie went to check on Marie and found her with Maurice.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, standing in the doorway. “I came looking for Marie.”
“I am very happy you brought her here,” Maurice said.
Nellie managed to keep her shock in check. Maurice seemed to have shrivelled to half his size. His face was grey with black circles under hollowed eyes. His voice sounded old, feeble. For a moment she experienced a pang of sadness.
“I wants to stay until he goes to sleep,” Marie said.
Nellie quietly closed the door and went back to her room. Marie would grieve the death of the man who had taken away her father. She paced the room. Fate had played a nasty trick on the child.
Nellie heard movement in the hallway and opened her door.
“Grandfather’s asleep,” Marie said. “I’m tired. Can I stay in your room for a while?”
“We’ll both catch a nap before Father Jean-Claude and the doctor come back.”
Nellie closed the curtains to darken the room and found a blanket in the bureau. Marie dropped off to sleep with hands clasped under her cheek.
Nellie’s eyes fluttered open. She rolled onto her side and looked toward the window. The sun had disappeared, and faint glimmers of stars filled the sky. She leaned on her elbow. The house was quiet and cold. Nellie slipped from under the blanket and tiptoed from the room so as not to wake Marie. Everything was shrouded in darkness. She didn’t bother to turn on any lanterns as she went downstairs. The den was empty, as were the library and kitchen. She made her way back up the stairs and was about to go into her room when she noticed the door to Maurice’s room was open. She treaded softly down the corridor and heard a low voice come from the captain’s room.
Nellie turned to leave, but something inside her wouldn’t let her move. The voice spoke again, low, soft.
“I have a question to ask before I give final absolution,” Father Jean-Claude said.
Nellie wondered why he had switched to English.
“Did you sink the Marion?”
“I know the fate of the Marion.”
Nellie heard Father Jean-Claude gasp. She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her own cry of shock.
“Non, mon père. I was not responsible. The Marion was half sunk in the water when I came upon her.” A pause. “Most of the crew were dead. Some drowned. Some from injuries.”
Nellie leaned against the wall to keep from falling over.
“What sort of injuries?”
“In the distance was a German warship.” Nellie could hear Maurice struggle for breath. “It had attacked the schooner. It burned to ashes. My men brought aboard one survivor.” A long pause this time. “He was wounded badly in the head and died a few hours later.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“No. He was not very lucid. He pressed a wooden seal into my hand and spoke. Sadly, I could not make out what he said.”
Nellie slid to the floor and covered her mouth to hush her sobs.
“I gave the poor man a decent burial at sea.”
“Why did you not bring him home to Newfoundland?”
Maurice coughed. Several more seconds passed before he could talk. “I knew the people of St. Jacques would accuse me for the destruction of the schooner. I was correct.”
“You kept the wooden seal?”
“Oui. It must have been very important to the young man.”
“What became of le capitaine Ike?”
“He lay over a man with three fingers on one hand. Ike must have tried to protect him from a beam that had broken free.”
Father Jean-Claude began to mumble in French the monotone rhythm of absolution. Nellie gripped the wall to get to her feet and hurried to Marie’s room. Nellie sat on the bed and took deep breaths to slow her racing heart. Harry and Tommy had been murdered by unknown enemies from another country. An enemy with no name and no face. Harry had survived long enough to pass on the wooden seal, an object that meant the world to him. What had he said to Maurice?
Nellie, you know what I said.
“I love you too, Harry.” She held her head and sobbed faintly.
“Mme. Myles,” Father Jean-Claude whispered through the door. “May I come in?”
“Yes,” Nellie called.
The priest stood before her. “Le capitaine has passed.”
“I’m awful sorry
, Father. I really am.”
“I know that,” he said. “Marie will also be saddened.”
Nellie wiped her eyes. “She’s asleep. Should I wake her?”
“There is time enough for the child to learn of her grandfather’s death.”
Nellie got off the bed. “How did you know I was in Marie’s room?”
“I heard you cry.” The priest followed her into the hall. “For an old man, I have exceptional ears.” He looked at her with wise, kind eyes. “They miss nothing.” They stared at each other a long time. “Excusez-moi. Mme. Dubois is terribly upset. I must go for Dr. Renard.”
You wanted me to know the truth one way or another without breaking the seal of confession, she thought. “Thank you,” she murmured to herself, regretting she could never say it out loud to him.
Three days later, Pierre Maurice was laid to rest in the crypt with his wife. Grey clouds skidded across the sky. A cool wind blew. The air was moist with the promise of snow. Only Father Jean-Claude and Nellie remained at the gravesite. Steve had taken Marie back to the captain’s house.
“I wonder where Ike buried his wife?” Nellie said as she gazed into the crypt.
The priest looked at her in surprise. “Chantal is buried here with her parents. Ike wanted her to be with her mother.”
“Why didn’t Maurice tell Marie that?”
“He did not want her to know about the animosity between himself and her father. Also, Maurice was ashamed of his behaviour and the way he had hurt Chantal.”
Nellie shook her head. “I misjudged Ike some lot. I saw things one way when they were the other.”
“Do not be too hard on yourself, Mme. Myles. Ike was a very secretive man.”
Nellie sighed. “I s’pose.”
The next day, Steve took them St. Jacques under a sunny sky and calm seas. “It’s some good to be home,” he said when he rounded the hills into Burke’s Cove.
“I can’t thank you enough for everything, Mr. Marsh,” Nellie said. “I know you’ve lost a bit of ‘trading’ time.”
Steve grinned. “Never you mind about that, Mrs. Myles. Knowing what really took the Marion makes it all worthwhile.”
“Do you think anyone will believe the story?” she said as Steve tied the boat to the dock.
Steve puckered his lips. “Hard to tell.” He glanced at Marie dragging her suitcase from the boat. “I believes it. Are you gonna tell everyone?”
“I don’t know as of yet, Mr. Marsh.”
“The secret’s safe with me, if that’s what ya wants.”
“I’m hungry,” Marie called.
“We made it in time for supper,” Steve said as they made their way to St. Jacques.
The convent was quiet when they reached it. “I have to get something at Annie’s house. Wait here,” Nellie said, and hurried down the road. The sunshine warmed her face, bringing a smile to her lips. She took the wooden seal from its place of concealment and headed for home.
Annie and the boys had just sat down to eat. “What a sight for sore eyes,” Annie said, hopping up from the table and hugging Marie.
Sam looked at his mother. “Is Captain Maurice all right?”
“He’s gone,” Nellie said. She placed the wooden seal on the table. “Harry gave this to him to bring home to us.”
nellie sat in her rocker after the others had gone to bed. She was surprised that she’d actually missed Ike’s house. It felt like her home for the first time. She rocked and knitted a scarf for Bessie, humming softly.
Joe came into the room.
“I thought you were in bed,” Nellie said.
“I couldn’t sleep, thinking about pa, fishing . . . and this.” He held out the sculpture. “Pa always promised he’d give me the seal on my first trip to the Banks. He said it brought him good luck.”
Nellie sighed. “Not in the end.”
“I think it did. If you hadn’t found it in Maurice’s desk, we wouldn’t know how Pa and Uncle Tommy died.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Father Jean-Claude asked Maurice about the Marion because of the wooden seal, right?”
Nellie put down her knitting. “You want to tell me something, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Fishing on the Banks was hard work, Ma, but I don’t want to do anything else.”
“I only ask one thing.” Nellie picked up her knitting and finished off the row. “Wait until the war is over.”
Joe smiled and went off to bed. Nellie turned out the lantern, got into bed, and stared at her wedding portrait. “Harry Myles,” she whispered, “thank you for finding a way to ease my mind and heart about the Marion’s disappearance.”
Nellie, love, the whole community needs to hear the truth.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Paul Butler for his encouragement, and whose guidance kept me on the right track. Special thanks to my mother, Alice, who always believed without reservation that I would one day be a published author. Many thanks to Garry Cranford for allowing me to fulfill a lifelong dream.
About the Author
Linda Abbott was born in St. John’s, the eighth in a family of ten children. She is a graduate of Memorial University, with a Bachelor of Arts and Education. She holds a Certificate in French from Laval University, Quebec City, and attended the Frecker Institute in St. Pierre. She is a recently retired French Immersion teacher, having spent most of her career at Holy Trinity Elementary School in Torbay. She resides in St. John’s.
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Abbott, Linda, 1954-
The loss of the Marion / Linda Abbott.
Electronic monograph in multiple formats.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-77117-009-3 (EPUB).--ISBN 978-1-77117-010-9 (Kindle).--
ISBN 978-1-77117-011-6 (PDF)
1. Marion (Schooner)--Fiction. 2. Shipwrecks--Newfoundland
and Labrador--Fiction. I. Title.
PS8601.B26L67 2012C813’.6 C2012-904186-6
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© 2012 by Linda Abbott
All rights reserved. No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.
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the loss of the marion
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