Mercy of St Jude

by Wilhelmina Fitzpatrick

  “That sounds like a good idea. We’ll talk to Merce in the morning.” He would save the idea of adopting the baby until then, as if it had occurred to him overnight.

  “I’ll make some inquiries first thing.”

  Callum felt suddenly drained, incapable of coherent thought. “How about we sleep on it for tonight?” He took her hand. “Thank you, Judith.”

  For the first time since the nightmare began, he thought he might actually get a decent sleep.

  13

  “I know about the boyfriend you made up,” Mercedes whispered the next morning when Callum came to her room. “It’s really easy to hear what anyone says down in the kitchen.” She paused. “But what you said earlier, about adopting?”

  Judith hustled in, heels clicking on the wood floor. “Good morning.”

  Callum gave a discreet shake of his head to Mercedes. “Judith, I was just telling Merce how I filled you in on everything. So now we can figure out what to do.”

  Judith reached over and lifted Mercedes’ chin, her freshly manicured nails pressing into the soft flesh. “I am very disappointed in you.” She dropped her hand abruptly. “Come down and we’ll discuss what on earth we’re going to do with you.”

  Mercedes’ eyes flashed for the briefest moment, then she nodded meekly and followed Judith down the stairs.

  In the kitchen, Dinah Shore’s “Shoo Fly Pie” filled the silence.

  “Well, I don’t know about pie, but breakfast sounds good.” Callum’s voice was louder than he intended.

  “I’m not very hungry,” Mercedes mumbled, watching Judith slice a loaf of bread.

  “There’s someone other than yourself to think about now,” Judith lectured.

  Callum saw the tears in his sister’s eyes. “You’ll be good and hungry when you sees what Judith can do to a couple of eggs.” Breakfast was the one meal she could cook reasonably well. “You like scrambled, right?”

  Mercedes went almost impossibly paler. She bolted from the table.

  Callum started to follow but the rap of a spoon on the counter, accompanied by a curt shake of Judith’s head, stopped him. He cranked up the volume on the radio.

  “Go easy on her, would you, Judith?”

  She slapped another slice onto a stack of toast. “There’s no sense coddling her.”

  “I know, but she’s hardly more than a child.”

  “A child! A child does not do what she did with that boy.”

  A jolt of anger shot through him, but just then he heard his sister’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. He switched off the radio.

  Judith placed a dish of fried eggs and bacon in front of Callum and passed Mercedes some dry toast. “I thought you’d prefer something plainer.”

  “Thank you,” said Mercedes gratefully.

  “I suppose we’ll have to go see your brother.” Judith sounded reluctant.

  “Yes,” said Callum, “but we won’t tell him what’s going on.

  He’ll tell Betty and she’ll tell her sister and then everyone back in Green Harbour will find out. Besides, they got enough to worry about.” He smiled at Mercedes. “It’ll do Joe a world of good to see you, though.”

  Judith put down her fork. “We have work to do first. And the sooner we start the easier this will be on everyone.” Her distinctive New York accent barrelled across the breakfast table to where Mercedes sat unmoving, eyes glued to a crust of toast that had fallen beside her plate. “I made some inquiries this morning, discreetly of course, about St. Agatha’s. Sister Ignatius is the Mother Superior, and a nosy, bossy woman by the sound of her.” Judith’s tone was contemptuous. “Full of questions about the girl and the father and the family. I made it clear that was none of her concern.”

  “We don’t want them angry at Merce before she even gets there,” said Callum.

  “Don’t worry. They’re quite familiar with this sordid sort of thing. Heaven knows this has happened to better girls than you, Mercedes.”

  Callum’s mouth opened but one look at his wife’s face and his anger died. The disturbing truth, he realized, was that Judith had meant no offence.

  Judith glanced up from her notes. “Callum? Something wrong?”

  There was no point arguing; she had it all figured out. And really, wasn’t that what he’d hoped for? “No, nothing. Go on.”

  “Anyway Mercedes, Sister Ignatius will take you in when your time is closer. Till then you can work in Uncle Harold’s hotel as a chambermaid or a cook or something. The people there won’t know we’re related, of course. You’ll be an out-of-towner who came to us through the church…”

  As Judith filled in the details, Callum had the unsettling thought that he’d given power over his sister’s life to someone Mercedes didn’t even know, someone who, really, he didn’t know all that well, either. Yes, he’d wanted Judith to take over, and, yes, he was relieved that decisions were being made, but he was beginning to wonder how they had all come to this place in time. How had he and his sister ended up sitting at this table in this house with this woman determining both their futures?

  “… and you can go home and start over,” Judith finished with a self-satisfied air.

  Callum looked at Mercedes. “Mercie, is this what you want?” he asked gently.

  “What she wants?” Judith said incredulously. “Want has little to do with it. The bottom line is this is what she gets, and it’s as good as it gets.”

  “Callum, it’s fine. I mean, there’s no other choice, is there?” Mercedes tried to smile. “I think I’ll lie down for a while.” She rose unsteadily and left the room.

  “Well!” Judith crossed her arms. “A little gratitude might be nice.”

  “Judith, please. Give her a break.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She stood up. “I have work to do.”

  Early in the afternoon Callum went to check on Mercedes.

  She was asleep, her face like pale wax. Except for the rise and fall of her chest, her body never stirred.

  Supper was a quiet affair. Judith made several stabs at conversation but eventually even she gave up. They picked at their food, the meat tough and overcooked, the potatoes crunchy in the centre.

  “Should we go to your brother’s tomorrow?” Judith asked when they were done with the pretence of eating. “It’s too late to go now, don’t you think?”

  For once, Mercedes looked Judith in the eye. “Yes, it’s far too late now.”

  The next morning after Mass they drove to the Bronx. As they turned onto Joe’s street, they saw an old car raised up on blocks. It had no windshield, no tires. Three shabbily dressed children played on the road, unsupervised. A foul odour, of sewer maybe, wafted into the car. Judith rolled up the window. Joe’s apartment was at the back of a small house, past the garbage bins. Two half-rotted steps led to his door. Judith’s gloved hand barely touched the rusted railing for balance.

  “Joe? Joe, you home?” Callum called through the open door. Inside, he could see dirty dishes and empty beer bottles on a makeshift table.

  Seconds later, Joe appeared. A smile instantly brightened his face, softening the effects of his unshaven chin and the cigarette hanging from his lips. “Cal! What a nice surprise.” The cigarette fell from his mouth. “Mercie? Is that you?” he yelled, brushing past Judith to lift a squealing Mercedes off the floor and whirl her into the house.

  Callum stepped on the cigarette and followed them in. “Surprised you, didn’t we? Merce said you always loved surprises.”

  “Huh?” Joe looked puzzled as he set Mercedes back on her feet. “No odds. It’s some good to see you, girl. Betty,” he shouted down the hall. “Bring Sheilagh here.”

  In all the commotion, Judith hung back, her eyes on the open door.

  When Betty came in, she carried a small child whose fine, silky hair was as black as her face was white. She looked to be about six months old, but in fact was about to celebrate her first birthday.

  With extraordinary delicacy, Joe took her and snuggled h
er to his chest. “Sheilagh, this is your Auntie Mercie,” he said. “Can you smile for her?”

  The child stared listlessly up at him. Even when he held her out for all to see, her gaze didn’t shift. Soon, Betty reclaimed her and went back down the hall.

  Joe sat next to Mercedes on the sofa. “I think she’s better these days. Them doctors don’t know everything, no matter what they thinks,” he muttered.

  “God is keeping an eye out for her, Joey. You just keep saying them prayers.” Callum turned to his sister, his voice breaking. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Mercedes nodded and leaned her head against Joe’s shoulder. Callum watched the tears slide down her face. She swallowed silently.

  It was an awkward visit, filled with erratic bursts of conversation. Joe kept asking about Mercedes’ trip, but his questions were half-hearted. He kept coming and going from the room whenever there was the slightest peep from Sheilagh. Betty rejoined them a couple of times but, like Joe, she was constantly alert. When she did sit with them, her nervous fingers fidgeted non-stop.

  “So poor old Dad is home on his own,” Joe remarked at one point.

  Judith, who had been quiet throughout, spoke up. “You didn’t know? He’s gone to Toronto with Paddy Griffin.”

  “Paddy Griffin?” Joe looked taken aback. “That son of a bitch. Remember Cal? That time I caught him behind the house?”

  “It was nothing, forget it.” Callum did not look at Mercedes.

  “Anyway—”

  “Nothing!” cried Joe. “Watching Merce through the window was nothing?”

  “That’s so long ago.” Callum tried to wave him off. “How about a cup of tea?”

  “You were fit to be tied. I never seen you so mad.” He started to rise. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”

  Mercedes’ hand gripped his arm. “What do you mean, ‘watching Merce’?”

  Callum reached out to her. “Mercie, it was a long time ago—”

  She pushed his arm away. “No. Tell me what he’s talking about.”

  Joe threw Callum a questioning glance. Callum nodded.

  “Couple of years ago, I came up on him behind the house…”

  Joe reddened.

  “And?” Mercedes demanded. “What was he doing?”

  “And…he was rooting at himself, his drawers half down around his ugly fat arse.”

  “Oh?” Her lips were tight.

  “Anyway, I walked up on him and he ran out the woods stuffing himself together. Then I saw you up in your bedroom, and the light was on, and it was pitch black outside.” Joe blushed again. “It was before I fixed that shade on your window.” Mercedes glared at Callum. “I should have known. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Merce, I didn’t think—”

  “Callum was all for telling you,” Joe cut in, “but I said you were too young to be hearing that dirt. Then the bastard went away so it didn’t matter.”

  Mercedes stared at Joe as if he was out of his mind. “Didn’t matter!” A small, strangled cry escaped her lips. Callum had never seen her look so hopeless.

  He noticed Judith watching them. Faking a smile, he made a show of rubbing his hands together. “Time for the big news, eh Merce?”

  They all stared blankly at him, including Mercedes.

  “Merce is going to stay and go to work at Judith’s uncle’s place,” he announced.

  There was a prolonged moment of silence, a moment when he wasn’t sure if he’d said the right thing at all, or if he’d said it loud enough for all to hear. But soon it seemed to register and work as a further distraction. Joe was full of questions again. They fumbled through as best they could until a child’s cry interrupted. Joe hurried off. Judith sat rigid in her chair, pushing at the excess skin around her cuticles, her eyes focused on the rusted swing suspended from a branch of the yard’s only tree.

  Eventually Joe trudged back in and dropped down onto the couch. Mercedes placed her hand on his. They sat for a while, hands together, not speaking.

  Callum nodded at Judith, who immediately rose. “I’ll wait for you in the car. Goodbye Joe.” She pulled on her gloves and hurried down the steps.

  Joe hugged Mercedes. Both had tears in their eyes. Callum watched, helpless in the knowledge that there was so little he could do for either of them and nothing they could do for each other. They were all powerless in this great city, incapable of saving themselves or one another from the pain to come.

  Just as they reached the car, Mercedes caught hold of Callum’s arm to stop him. “If Joe hadn’t kept you from telling me, would I be here now?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not Joe’s fault, Merce.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then got in the car and closed the door.

  With plans to leave for the hotel early in the morning, Mercedes went to bed right after supper. Callum would have done the same but Judith insisted on having tea, so they could talk, she said. As the water boiled, he looked around at their impeccable kitchen. The aluminium bread bin shone on the counter. The chrome of their barely used stove reflected off the new refrigerator, the hum of its motor constant in the background. Lace curtains framed the sink’s bay window, providing by day a view out into the pretty back garden. At night, the view turned inwards, into their brightly lit, sparkling kitchen.

  “Good Housekeeping” perfection.

  He tried to keep the conversation light, away from provocative subjects like Joe or Mercedes or unplanned pregnancies, but Judith kept niggling away. She seemed determined to burrow down and root out whatever it was he might not be saying.

  Sure enough, without meaning to, Callum found himself talking about adopting the baby.

  Judith’s nostrils flared. “Are you insane?”

  “It was just a suggestion. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “If you think I’m going to raise that baby you’re out of your mind. This is your sister’s problem, not ours. I think we’re doing a hell of a lot more already than she should expect. She ought to be grateful instead of trying to foist her little bastard on us.”

  “Judith!” He glanced upwards. “It’s just an idea. She don’t even know how serious I am.”

  “Serious? How can you be when we haven’t even discussed it?”

  Callum couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to raise the issue. In fact, he didn’t fully remember how it had come up.

  But it was like that with Judith. She somehow managed to get him to say things he was only thinking. Sometimes he was hardly aware he was thinking them. Even when he’d proposed to her, the next day he couldn’t remember the words he’d used for the most important question of his life.

  “It’s just…well, we’ve been trying for a while and no luck, so I thought maybe this is how we’re supposed to be parents.

  Can’t we even talk about it?”

  “I hardly think we need to run out and take somebody else’s cast-off just yet.”

  “But we’re married going on a year. Surely something would have happened by now if it was going to.” He took down the teapot from the shelf by the stove.

  “What’s the rush to be saddled with children?”

  “Saddled with children? But we decided—”

  “What did we decide? You said God meant for us to be making babies.”

  “That’s not how it was. You agreed. You said fine, we should have a family.”

  Judith took a tea bag from the canister. “I didn’t mean right this minute, did I?”

  “I don’t get it. We’ve been going about it, and you’re still not pregnant.” Even as he spoke, some insight nagged at him, just beyond his grasp.

  Turning her face away, she muttered something about it not being the right time.

  There was an escalating ache at the back of his skull. “Every month I wait for the news and nothing happens, and then I feel worse, thinking I can’t give you a baby.”

  “Now, Callum, it’s not that simple and you know it. I want children. I do. But we need to
get established first. All the good families do it this way.”

  “Do what? Lie to each other?” Anger had replaced his earlier confusion. “It’s not that easy to not get pregnant - just look at my poor sister. How did you do it?”

  “I didn’t do anything. Neither did you, not when it wasn’t the right time.”

  “Like you got them headaches at the right time, or is it the wrong time?”

  Judith busied herself with getting down the cups, avoiding an answer.

  “Headaches so bad I couldn’t even sleep in my own bed.” There was a whistling noise as steam shot up from the kettle.

  “My headaches are real. They come and I can’t do anything about them.”

  Callum moved the kettle to another burner. “Then tell me why Ruth said she never knew you to have headaches.”

  She whirled on him. “How dare you question my sister!”

  Callum replied in as cool a voice as hers had been heated. “I was rubbing a stiff neck one day and Ruth asked what was wrong. I’d slept on the couch after you had one of them nights when you had such a pain in the head you couldn’t stand the bed moving at all. She was right surprised when I told her how often you got the headaches.”

  “You bastard! What right—?”

  “They’d be hard to hide though, wouldn’t they, sick as they make you?” He rubbed his temple. “I said as much to her, but she said the last time you went to bed sick was after some big party at the Wilkinson’s. And to think I was worried that it might be married life that was causing it, that I was asking too much, or too often.”

  “Don’t be crass. So I didn’t want a family right away. What’s wrong with that? Look at your brother. They’re only together because she got pregnant. Well, their daughter is paying the price. That child will never see her second birthday.”

  “What’s that got to do with Sheilagh being sick?”

  Sweat coated her forehead. Her eyes looked slightly crazed.

  “Maybe God is punishing them, giving them a weakling for a child.”

  “How can you say things like that?”

  “With your family? Look at your sister. A little whore to the nearest boy. Well, I won’t have her bastard as my own. She’s not foisting that on me, the little slut.”