by Anne Emery
To my dismay, I found his analysis compelling, and I did not look forward to trying to discredit him on the witness stand.
“I’ll tell you this, Monty. Within the Crown’s office, there was some unspoken but obvious resistance to taking this on, because it’s Delaney . . .”
“No doubt, given the thinness of the case against him.”
“But that soon changed to determination to take it on because it’s Delaney. Equal justice for rich and poor, that kind of thing.”
All I said was: “You don’t have a motive.” Not that he needed one.
Morash drained his coffee and put his cup on the table. “The motive may not have existed until the instant before she was killed.”
(Normie)
Wednesday was April Fool’s Day, and we had Elvis in our choir. He had thick, shiny black hair puffed up and pushed back, and a white jacket with shiny jewels on it. Father Burke looked at him, blinked, and looked again.
“Good of you to join us, Mr. Presley. You’ve been missing rehearsals. Where have you been?”
And Elvis answered in a deep voice: “I’ve been wherever there are true believers.”
Father laughed and said: “Would you honour us with something from your repertoire?”
And Elvis did this kind of dance move, and sang something about crying in the chapel, and everybody cracked up, including Father Burke.
Guess who Elvis really was? Richard Robertson! He begged us all not to tell his mother, or she’d kill him.
I drew a picture of Elvis in my diary. But the rest of the day wasn’t so funny. Father Burke was at our house when I got home from school, and he stayed with us until Mum got home. He didn’t say it, but I knew why he was there. He and Mum were scared that Giacomo might come and steal the baby if it was just me and Tommy babysitting! So Tommy took the bus to Lexie’s house, and Father Burke came to babysit. He checked on Dominic, and let him get down on the floor and crawl around, and he played with him for a while. Then he sat at the kitchen table and worked with a bunch of books and papers. Writing sermons maybe, or making notes for the courses he teaches. When Mum came in, she invited him to stay for supper, so he said yes and continued his work. I was at the dining room table, drawing a picture and colouring it. Father Burke looked over at me and smiled, and asked what I was drawing. It was a boat with a big yellow sail, and me steering it and Kim standing in the front with her yellow braids flying back in the wind. I told him I’d show it to him when it was all done.
Then Mr. Delaney arrived, and Mum answered the door.
“Evening, Beau.”
“Evening, my dear. I’ve received the latest missive from Giacomo’s counsel. There are some papers here in Italian. I understand you have a translator on hand.”
“Yes, I do. He’s right here.”
So that was another reason Father Burke was there. He knows Italian, so he would tell them what the papers meant.
“Hello, Brennan.”
“Beau. How are you?”
“Could be worse. Or so I keep telling myself. Have a look at this lengthy affidavit Giacomo and his lawyer have drawn up.”
Father Burke took the papers and started to read them. I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t like what they said. He gave Mum a quick look and went back to the writing. Then he pushed the papers away.
“What’s the matter, Brennan?”
“I don’t want to be reading this, MacNeil.”
“Why not? What is it?”
“Let’s just say yer man Giacomo is a true romantic. He seems to remember, presumably with fondness, every time the two of you were together.”
I looked at Mum, and I saw her face turn pink. She grabbed the papers off the table, and scrunched them up in her hands and then just stood there as if she didn’t know what to do. She looked really upset. Giacomo must have been bragging about taking Mum out for romantic candlelight dinners, and sending her flowers. It ruins things if you do something nice for somebody and then brag about it. She looked around then, and caught me gawking in from the dining room table.
“Up to your room, young lady.”
I heard a bit more on my way up the stairs. Father Burke said: “You’re forever giving out to me about butting into your lives. Well, here’s where I butt out. I’ll help in every other way I can, but reading this personal blather by your boyfriend about you — I’m afraid not. Giacomo may not understand the words ‘personal’ and ‘private,’ but I do.”
“I’m sorry, Brennan. I had no idea the little weasel would stoop to this.”
“He’s just making his case,” Mr. Delaney said. “And it falls to us to unmake it. I’ll hire a translator for this bit of —” He said “herodica”? or “airotica”? or something like that.
Whatever they said from then on, I missed, because I went into my room, and didn’t dare go out to the listening post. I had to draw the parts of a flower for science class, and Mum knew about it. If I didn’t get it done, she would ask what I had been doing instead.
I worked on my flower, and used all kinds of colours in the picture. Then I heard somebody go out the front door. I looked out and saw that it was Mum. So I went downstairs.
“Where did Mum go, Father?”
“She’s gone to Lexie’s to get Tom.”
“Oh. Tom’s been bugging Mum to let him buy his own car. He saw one in the paper for eight hundred dollars. And another one for three thousand.”
“Well, he’d best hire a mechanic to give it a once-over.”
“Yeah, I know. Nobody in our family knows anything about cars if something goes wrong.”
“Tell me about it,” Mr. Delaney said. “Peggy knew more about cars than I ever did. Now I’m hopeless.”
“Tommy promised to learn,” I told them.
Then I thought about something else. When Mr. Delaney said Peggy’s name, that reminded me of how sad he must have been that she died. And how lonesome Jenny and Laurence and all the other kids were. And I remembered how worried Jenny was about their mum maybe committing a sin by yelling out “Hells Angels” and maybe not going to heaven. Mr. Delaney must have been worried about that, too, if Jenny had told him. I remembered Father Burke saying she wouldn’t get in trouble if she talked about it with her dad. I decided to make him feel better. I wouldn’t have the nerve to mention it if it was just me, but Father Burke was there and he could explain it.
“Well, I should get back upstairs and finish studying my catechism for school tomorrow.” It wasn’t really a lie, just because I was working on science. I still had to finish (and start) my catechism.
“Splendid,” Mr. Delaney said. “What a dedicated crop of students you have at the choir school, Father Burke!”
“Thank you, Mr. Delaney. We do our best. If only the adult students at my schola were as dedicated.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I was reading about sins and stuff like that.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine you have too much to worry about there. Wouldn’t you say, Father?”
“I’d like to agree with you, Mr. Delaney, but in fact she’s a little divil entirely!”
“Is she? Appearances are deceiving! I would have thought she was one of God’s holy angels.”
I had to bring it up then or I’d never get it in! So I blurted out: “It’s not a sin to say ‘Hells Angels,’ Mr. Delaney!”
He looked confused. “What do you mean, dear?”
“Jenny told me about Mrs. Delaney yelling ‘Hells Angels’ . . . one night . . . so we asked Father Burke and he said that wouldn’t be a sin!”
Oh my God! Mr. Delaney looked at me as if he was watching a horror movie. As if I really was a devil! But I’m not! I just wanted to help. I was scared of him. Then he looked at Father Burke, and the expression on his face changed to being really mad.
But his voice was so quiet, he almost hissed when
he said to Father: “What’s this all about, Brennan?”
“Take it easy now, Beau. Your little one apparently overheard something her mother said one night at the house. The children had been learning about sin and redemption in catechism class, and that’s how it came up. Jenny mentioned it to Normie, and they asked me. I reassured them. They never brought it up again.” Father Burke put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.
Mr. Delaney said: “Jenny must have been having a nightmare. She has them regularly. I can’t imagine my wife saying . . . anything about bikers. But I wouldn’t know.”
“Don’t be troubling yourself about it, Beau. The children had the best intentions in the world. No need to upset Jenny by bringing it up with her now.”
But Mr. Delaney didn’t say okay. He seemed to be thinking about it, and forgetting we were in the room. He grabbed the papers he’d brought with him, turned around, and left without saying another word.
I started crying, and Father Burke pulled me onto his knee and held me. I could hardly talk, but I tried to say: “I don’t want to get Jenny in trouble!” I was glad I didn’t tell them the Hells Angels thing happened just before Mrs. Delaney died. That would make it even more serious, and Mr. Delaney might be even more angry.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, darlin’,” Father Burke said. “You were just trying to help, and Mr. Delaney will understand that once he thinks about it. If Jenny says anything, you come to me, just by yourself, and I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Really?”
“I promise.”
“Are you going to tell Daddy that I got Mr. Delaney mad at me?”
He looked at me for a long time, as if he had to think about it. Then he said: “Don’t worry, little one, your sinful secrets are safe with me!”
Then I kind of laughed.
That’s when Mummy and Tom came in. “What’s wrong, Normie?” She looked at me and then at Father Burke. “Were you down here listening to grown-up talk and getting yourself all upset?”
“I wasn’t! I just told . . .” Uh-oh.
But Father Burke rescued me again. “I just explained to Normie that she has nothing to worry about at all, at all. She understands.”
Chapter 8
(Normie)
“Daddy, do you know where there’s a building that says ‘Vince’ on it?” I was at Daddy’s house after school on Thursday.
“Vince?”
“Yeah. Or, wait . . .” I closed my eyes and tried to bring the picture back into my mind. “Vincent.”
He looked at me for a while, then said: “Do you mean Mount St. Vincent, the big university we see up on the hill when we drive out the Bedford Highway?”
“The place where I played piano in the music festival?”
“Right.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Maybe you’re thinking of the building on Windsor Street. St. Vincent’s Guest House.”
“Is that it?”
“Um, I don’t know, sweetheart. Why are you asking about a building?”
“Because I saw one in my, you know, dreams.”
“Would you recognize it, do you think, if you saw it?”
“I think so.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
I was scared then. “We’re going there?”
“You don’t want to?”
“Not with all that scary stuff going on! They might do something to us!”
“Who, dolly?”
“Those people I saw, in the robes.”
He was staring at me. “That vision you had, or that dream, about the people in the robes, and the . . . baby dying, did that happen at this Vincent place?”
I nodded my head. “And the other little kid screaming and crying.” Daddy looked as if he was mixed up. But he said we were going. “Tell you what. We’ll drive by in the car, have a quick look, and keep driving. Would that be all right?”
No, I didn’t think so. But I didn’t want to say it. Anyway, he took me by the hand and we walked to the car, and went for a drive. We drove around the Armdale Rodeo. That’s what we call it, but it’s really called the Armdale Rotary, for cars to go around. And then we were on Quinpool Road going towards downtown. We went past some stores and restaurants and the movie theatre. He turned and went up some street and then turned again later. Pretty soon we saw the sign for Windsor Street, and we turned again. He slowed the car down, but I just looked at my hands. I didn’t want to see it.
“There’s nobody around, Normie. Just look up, over to your right. Is that the building?”
I peeked over and looked at the place. It was a big, wide brick building, not very tall, and it had a round porch or something in front, with a white cross sticking up from it. There’s no way it was the same building.
“That’s not it! Not even close!”
Daddy looked as if he was glad.
“What is that place?” I asked him.
“It’s a nursing home. For old folks.”
“Well, it’s not the place I dreamed about.”
“What did the building look like in your dream?”
“It was made of bricks. But it wasn’t a new building like the one we just saw.”
“What colour were they, the bricks?”
“They were brick colour, Daddy!”
“Okay. Reddish brown, were they?”
“Duh! That’s what colour bricks are.”
“Right. How big was the place?”
“Kind of big. And more old-fashioned than this one. It had churchy-type windows.”
“Why don’t you draw a picture of the windows for me?”
“Okay.” I always had a scribbler and a box of coloured pencils in the car, so I drew a picture of the building and shoved the paper at Daddy. He took a quick glance, then kept his eyes on the road. We were on Quinpool again, heading back to his house.
“Gothic windows, those are called.”
“Oh.”
“Was the place a church?”
“No! How could it be, if it said ‘asylum’ on it?”
“Asylum!”
Oh no, I thought. I went and blurted out that the sign said “asylum.” Now he’d say something about mental patients, and get the idea all over again that I was crazy. I was stupid to mention it.
But he just said: “So this was a red-brick building with Gothic windows like the one you just drew, and it had the word ‘asylum’ on it?”
I had to admit it now. “Yeah.”
“You have a really good memory, Normie.”
Hmm. Yes, I do have a good memory. Maybe that means there’s nothing wrong with you, if you have a good memory.
“And you said the name ‘Vincent’ was on it too, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I’ll ask around. In the meantime, how about a drive out to Bedford for a chicken burger and a milkshake?”
“Really? Great!”
I hoped Daddy would forget all about the old building, the asylum, but he didn’t. He and Mummy brought up the subject that night when we went to a movie and came home afterwards. And they went on about doctors and psychiatrists again. They tried not to sound mean but they kept telling me I needed “help” to get over my dreams and visions. Sometimes “help” is a bad word, like “going on the couch.” They say that stuff in movies, and it means going to a psychiatrist. I thought I had made them believe I wasn’t crazy; now it was happening all over again.
I got really upset and hollered at them: “You guys think I’m nuts! Well, guess what? You guys are nuts for not being able to see the kinds of things I see. It’s your fault because you can’t see it. All you know is what’s in front of your eyes, when they’re open, and you don’t know anything else. But you make it sound like I’m loony! If you really loved me, you wouldn’t th
ink that!”
I ran upstairs to get away from them, and I slammed the door of my room, and shoved my chair up against it so they wouldn’t be able to open it. But Daddy opened it anyway, and I yelled at him to go away and leave me alone. Finally, he left and went downstairs. I could just imagine the rotten things they were saying about me down there.
It took me a long time to fall asleep, I was so mad. The next morning, Daddy was there when I went down for breakfast. He must have snuck in early from his own house to catch me being crazy again. I would show him! I didn’t even talk to him, or to Mum. They pretended to be really nice and they talked about the concert our school was having that night on TV. I just kept my mouth shut the whole time, till they dumped me off at school. Then I said: “I bet you’re glad to get rid of me!”
They didn’t even hear me. Or maybe they just didn’t care.
I was still upset all through school that day, even though we spent most of the day practising for the concert and skipped all kinds of hard classes because of it, so it should have been one of the best days ever. How would you like it if your own parents thought you were crazy and maybe wanted to put you in a mental hospital? What if they put me in there, and some dangerous mental patient killed me? Mum and Dad would be sorry then! Or if I ran away, and they didn’t know where I was. If they really loved me, they would be worried to death. It would serve them right.
We didn’t have Four-Four Time after school that day because it was Friday, but Jenny came by anyway. She said she wanted to hang around with me and then go to the concert. Her aunt said it was okay. So we hung out in the music room, and played the pianos. She played the G and D major scales, practising what she had learned the day before. I wasn’t in the mood for major scales. So I played the sad ones, the minor ones. When I finished them, Jenny came over. She looked sad too. “Daddy came for a visit last night, but he was mad at me.”