Amazing Grace

by Lesley Crewe

  “What was the gossip?”

  “That Harvey and Dora might be getting a divorce.”

  My mouth drops open. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I forgot about it after that.”

  This news shocks me. “She put up with him for forty-five years and now she decides life would be better without him? Wow.”

  “You get older, you realize your time is limited.”

  Makes sense to me.

  When we get home I invite Dora up for lunch. Might as well hear it from the horse’s mouth.

  “Is it true?”

  Dora shoves a sandwich in her mouth. “Yes and no,” she mumbles.

  “Explain yourself.”

  “I told Delima and Janet Pickup that I was thinking of getting a divorce. Naturally, it made the rounds of the village and got back to Harvey.”

  “What did he say?”

  “‘Wanna go to Paris?’”

  “You sly dog!” We high-five each other. “When are you going?”

  “In a few weeks. Can you guys look after the critters?”

  “Of course! It will be nice to pay you back for all the free babysitting.”

  I go down to take their two rotund labs out in the morning, because I find I’m too weary to deal with them in the evening. Fletcher brings them up after supper and takes all the dogs out for a walk on the hill. The first time I don’t join him, he gives me a funny look. I pretend I’m busy.

  But after a while I can’t ignore the pain in my hip and go to my doctor for tests. “Don’t tell Fletcher.”

  “I can’t tell him, but you should.”

  “Wait until we know.”

  The phone rings a couple of days later and the doctor wants to see me. Nothing good ever comes from this. I really want Fletcher with me, but I can’t face it if he’s with me, so I go alone. He thinks I’m shopping for a couple of new outfits. Men are so gullible.

  I wait for my death sentence in his office. He comes in and sits down with a resigned air. I guess it’s true that body language accounts for most of our communication.

  “Well?”

  “It’s back.”

  “How long have I got?”

  “I’m not answering that question. I’ve had people live for years when I thought they’d be dead in months. You don’t want to put a thought in your head that will take root. You had great luck with chemo the last time. I think that’s the course of action again.”

  “No. I’m not wasting the rest of my life feeling like shit.” I stand up. “Gotta go.”

  “Grace…”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Don’t call the house.”

  The hospital hallway is endless. I’m walking but I never get to the front door. I’m in a deep well and just need to make it to the top so I can breathe.

  It takes me forever to get to the Pontiac in the parking lot. It’s like a mirage in the desert that keeps fading in and out. When I finally open the door and get in, I feel embraced by my wonderful aunts. They comfort me as I cry. I hoped the doctor would say I had arthritis and my red blood cells were low. Anything but this.

  Right now, deep inside, I’m still nine-year-old Amazing Grace, but when I look in the rear-view mirror, an older woman looks back at me. When did that happen? All my days of fighting took a toll.

  I have no business driving the car and should call Fletcher to come and get me, but I feel like I need to get home on my own.

  As I drive home I decide I’m going to tell Fletcher right away, but I don’t have to. When I pull into the driveway he’s sitting on the patio in his grandmother’s rocker. He stands up when I get out of the car and we look at each other.

  He knows.

  I put my face in my hands, and the next moment he has me in his arms. Then he picks me up as if he’s carrying me over the threshold and takes me into the house. He sits in his recliner with me in his lap and strokes my hair gently.

  “It’s all right. I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry, Fletcher. I’m so sorry.”

  “Hush now. We can do this. You did it before and you’ll do it again.”

  “I’m not going to go through that again. I want to be present while I’m here.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Is that bad?’

  “Hell yes, it’s bad! Are your seriously going to tell me that you refuse to fight for yourself, when you have everything to live for? We have a family now! A great group of crazy people who want to be with us, who want us in their lives. And you’re going to disappoint them by giving up? That’s not the Grace I know, and it’s not the Grace they know. So you’re going to pick yourself up and face this with as much determination as you did the last time. You’ve got this! For god’s sake, you’re a grandmother to Aaron, and like a grandmother to Ryder, Sunni, and Finn!”

  “Who’s Finn?”

  “Oh yeah, Andre called. Deanne had a little boy this morning.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “They need you hollering at them on the beach next summer. Now, I made some chicken soup. Would you like some?”

  “Yes.”

  He takes me by the hand and we have supper together. The dogs and cats watch us as we eat.

  You take all this for granted. You do it every day of your life, eating with your loved ones around you, but you hardly ever stop to think about what a gift it is. How fortunate we are to have this quiet time at the end of the day.

  Life is in the ordinary moments. And I want a few billion more.

  Fletch is right. I’ve got this. I start my chemo immediately, much to the doctor’s relief, but I still don’t tell my family.

  About a month into treatment, Trixie calls to say she might come down for the weekend. Without thinking, I say, “Sorry, I’m busy with chemo this weekend.”

  “Fucking hell!” she yells. “Just fucking, fucking hell!”

  She slams the phone down.

  I love her.

  I call her back and she lets it ring about six times before she picks up and gives me shit. “How dare you make me love you? How dare you not be here for me and my boys? You are a selfish bitch and I hate you right now!”

  I can’t stop laughing. She begins to chuckle too and soon we’re gasping for air.

  “Stop laughing, Grace! It’s not funny. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Why should I? You’d only worry. Now I beg you, do not tell the others. I don’t want anyone fretting, because I’m beating this bastard again.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll beat it. All you have to do is give the big C one of your almighty pissed-off looks and it’ll shrivel like a pecker in ice-cold water.”

  “I’m so glad I can talk to you. This makes things a thousand times easier.”

  There’s silence on the end of the phone. I think I hear sniffling.

  “Sorry, Trixie. I didn’t mean to burden you with this.”

  “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I’m just not ready to have the boogeyman put you in the bog.”

  “What?”

  “It’s something my mother always said when she’d threaten me with something. ‘You don’t want the boogeyman to put you in the bog.’ What a stupid thing to say to a kid. It scared the crap out of me.”

  “Oh my god.” I’m lightheaded. I can hear someone moaning, but I don’t know it’s me.

  Trixie yells into the phone. “What’s wrong, Grace? What’s wrong?”

  “The boogeyman killed my mother and put her in the bog.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Who killed your mother?”

  “That’s why I was never able to find her! Maria must have seen him do it and run for her life. They didn’t leave me behind, they didn’t forget me! Ed Wheeler told everyone that Maria ran away and Mom went after her and they believed him. That’s why yo
ur mother was so messed up. Who wouldn’t drink if they saw their mother being murdered?”

  “Who’s Ed Wheeler?”

  “The man, the man I told you about, the man who raped me and my mother and your mother. Someone who managed to destroy a whole family with his disgusting depravity. I’m going to kill him. Do you hear me? I’m going to kill him!”

  “Grace, stop it! He’s probably dead now anyway. You’re using up precious energy. I’m going to hang up and I want you to tell Fletcher. He’ll know what to do. I’ll call you later tonight. I have to go.”

  She hangs up and I understand why. She has her own guilt and sorrow to deal with.

  I don’t seek out Fletcher because I can’t get off the chair. My mind whirls as all the little signs drift into place like fresh snow. Mom went out to find money and food. Ed somehow suspected what she was doing and dragged her out to the bog to confront her. Maria went looking for Mom, and must have eventually run to the bog to check.

  How did Ed kill Mom? Did he strangle her? She always had red marks on her neck. Or maybe he held her head down and drowned her, then slowly watched her disappear into the muddy water and sink to the bottom of the muck.

  Maria had to run away. If she’d come back for me, he might have killed us both. She protected me by leaving. But how does a twelve-year-old with no money make her way in the world? The only scenario that comes to my mind is horrific. If she was in foster care, there would be records, and I was never able to find any. She obviously didn’t go to the police—or did she? Maybe no one believed her. We’ll never know what she endured.

  When Fletch comes in for supper, I spill the whole story. His shock is as drastic as mine. All he keeps saying is “What? What?” Like he can’t comprehend what I’m saying, and who could? Things like this don’t happen to people you know. The big bad world always happens to other people. I should know better.

  “What should we do?” he says.

  “I am going to finish my chemo before I do anything, because I have a fight on my hands, and I need to be strong. You say I have a lot to live for? You bet your bottom dollar I do. I’m going to find my mother’s body and bring her home. And then I’m going to find Ed Wheeler.”

  “Grace—”

  “If this man is still alive, I want to see his face when I tell him I know what he did to my mother. He thinks he got away with this. Well, I’m about to burst his stinking bubble.”

  “Grace, please. I don’t want you to burn out.”

  “I’m burning up. And that’s a good thing. I’m too busy to have fucking cancer.”

  I complete my round of chemo like I said I would. So far it seems to be working, but that’s almost the furthest thing from my mind these days. I’ve reprogrammed my brain not to wallow in self-pity. Lots of people get cancer and lots of people are cured. I’m going to be one of them.

  The family still doesn’t know about the cancer, but I tell them how I’m meditating now, and going to yoga class. I’m also swimming to build up my strength and Fletcher and I and the critters still walk every day. Yesterday I even made it to the top of my hill.

  Dora bought me a juicer and spent a whole week showing me how to use it. I’ve never had so much green goop in my life. Fletch and I have bought a dehydrater, too, to dry fruits and vegetables.

  I know I still have to wait for the test results, but I’m confident that the things I’m doing are helping me beat this. It’s time to tell Jonathan my plans.

  Jonathan meets Fletch and I in a hotel in Guelph, a far cry from the crappy motel I stayed in the last time I came looking for my family. The farm is only twenty minutes away. We sit with our morning coffee in the dining room of the hotel.

  “Mom, you look like you’ve lost weight. Are you sure you’re no overdoing this diet business?”

  “My appetite hasn’t been great since I found out about this. It’s only temporary. I’ll feel much better soon.”

  “Look, Mom, I understand that your suspicions may very well be true, but what if you’re wrong?”

  “I have to know one way or another. If the police find my mother’s body in the bog, then I can finally put her to rest.”

  Fletcher takes a sip of coffee. “Do you think the police will investigate? Or even take you seriously?”

  “There are case files on me floating around Guelph, Brampton, Kitchener, and Waterloo that say I was raped. They wanted me to testify. There’s also a social worker’s files on the children who went into foster care after the fire. On top of that I can always get in touch with Helen and she can verify that Ed Wheeler did indeed abuse us and that he was in charge there.”

  Jonathan nods. “We can always hire a Canadian detective to look into all this.”

  Fletch laughs. “I think you’re looking at her.”

  No time like the present. We drive right to the police station, where we ask to speak to the police chief. He eventually shows up and introduces himself as Chief Doug Howard and asks us to

  come into his office. It takes me about half an hour to explain the situation. He doesn’t do much talking, but he does seem to be listening.

  “So this would’ve been when?”

  “When I was nine years old, in 1962. That’s when they disappeared. The fire wasn’t until 1965. That was the year they asked me to testify against him, but I was too frightened. He was still living in Guelph when I lived here in 1988. Is there any way you could track him down, or find out if he’s alive?”

  “First things first. We’ll have to go back and look through the records and see if all this adds up; we need a probable cause to conduct an investigation.”

  “How many Bibles do I have to swear on to convince you that I know with absolute certainty my mother’s body is in that bog? I know it’s been fifty years and that’s about as cold a case as you’re going to get, but my mother deserves peace and I deserve to have her back.”

  Fletcher puts his hand on my arm. “Grace, calm down. He’s here to help you.”

  Take a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s been a tough time.”

  He passes me a pad of lined paper. “Why don’t you write down the facts and we’ll take it from here. Let me know where you’re staying and I’ll be in touch if I find out anything.”

  “But you can do it soon, I hope?”

  “Mrs. Parsons, police work is not quite how they portray it on television. We don’t solve things in sixty minutes.”

  “We realize that.” Jonathan glances at me. “We very much appreciate your time and being kind enough to hear us out. This has been a terrible burden for my mother, not knowing what happened to her only parent all these years, so the idea of being this close to finding out is naturally making us anxious.”

  “I’ll do the best I can.”

  It takes me another hour to write everything down and by then I’m done. Once more we head for a hotel, where Jonathan takes out his credit card.

  “You can’t be paying for everything,” Fletcher says. “We can contribute.”

  “Please let me do this. I owe my mother.”

  “Well, I’m buying dinner.”

  We don’t hear anything for two days. I beg Jonathan to go home because I feel guilty that he’s missing his family, and tell him we can handle it.

  “I see more of my family now than if I was home, thanks to email, Skype, texting, tweeting, and the actual phone. Believe me, I’m not missing anything. And I can do my work on my laptop.”

  Fletch and I look at each other.

  “Remember the old days, Grace, when you left and people didn’t see you until you got back?”

  “That was often a good thing.”

  The phone finally rings and it’s Officer Howard asking us to come to the police station. We try not to get a speeding ticket on our way there. He ushers us into the office.

  “Well, I can tell you that Edward Wheeler is alive.”r />
  “Naturally. Evil people live forever.”

  “He’s in prison for sexual assaults against children.”

  “Gee, there’s a surprise!” I shout before Fletcher again touches my arm.

  “Sorry.”

  “We found your records from after the fire, when you went through the foster care system, and we also have confirmation that the fire was indeed in 1965 on the old Wainwright farm, which is now owned by someone else. Based on the validity of all the facts, I think we can go ahead and search the property.”

  I want to run out of the office there and then, but once again we have to wait for bureaucracy to shift itself. That takes another two days. Fletch and I play cards to pass the time while Jonathan works away in his room.

  The morning we are to go out to the site, I’m up before the sun rises. Fletcher’s still sleeping so I get dressed in the bathroom after my shower to avoid waking him. I have to wipe off the steam on the mirror, and when I look at my face, the truth is there for everyone to see. What’s going to happen today? If there’s nothing in the bog, what do I do? And if there’s something…what do I do? My teeth are already chattering.

  None of us can eat breakfast, so we head out right away to meet the police at the farm. The car is silent. It’s all been said.

  For some reason I expected the place to look the same as the last time I was here, but it’s completely different when we turn down the driveway. Someone has built a large two-storey house and resurrected the barn, which is actually quite beautiful, painted red like in storybooks. It even has a wrought-iron weather vane in the shape of a rooster.

  “I’m not sure where I am,” I whisper to Fletcher.

  We get out of the car and stand among the police vehicles, vans, and a tractor-trailer that brought in the backhoe. The people who live in the house are on their back deck, looking nervous.

  Chief Howard comes over to us. “Good morning. I’m glad it’s not raining. Makes our lives a lot easier. Now, if you would follow me, Mrs. Parsons, I want you to show our machine operators exactly where to dig.”

  “I need my husband and son with me. I can’t do this alone.”

  “Of course, I understand.”