Letters to Lincoln

by Tracie Podger

  “How did your dad betray you?” I understood how he felt about Daniel, but he hadn’t mentioned his dad.

  “He supported Daniel’s decision not to tell me. He could have been the mediator, it would have absolved Daniel from whatever crime it is to speak out about a confession, but he didn’t.”

  “How did your dad know if she confessed to Daniel?”

  “Because my dad was the parish priest before Daniel. He might not practice or whatever the word is, I’m not remotely religious, but, I guess, Daniel confided in him, thinking he would give him answers. I get that Daniel was troubled and he was torn. But he chose his faith over me, and that didn’t sit well with me. I can’t honestly say I’d have done the same had I been the priest.”

  “Was it your dad at…?” I didn’t want to say the words.

  “No, he retired and until Daniel came here, there was a temporary vicar. Do they have temporary vicars? I don’t know if that’s the right word, but you know what I mean.”

  I had settled into the corner of the sofa again and the whisky was having the desired effect of numbing my brain, and my legs. It wasn’t the largest shot but I wasn’t a drinker, and perhaps, if it was a little aged, it was also more potent.

  I rested my head back and closed my eyes. “I like this whisky,” I said, letting the alcohol wash over me.

  “Do you think, if you tried, you could forgive Daniel?” I asked.

  “If I tried, maybe, but there’s more to it than that. For now, though, I think you’re about ready to pass out.”

  “I’m not drunk,” I said, opening my eyes.

  “Didn’t say you were, but I bet you’re fucking exhausted. I’ll leave now, let you get some sleep.”

  I reached to place my glass on the coffee table; instead Miller stood and took it from me.

  “Don’t get up, although don’t fall asleep there, either. When that fire dies down, you’ll be cold.”

  “Pam was a silly woman. You’re a very considerate man,” I said, and then clamped my mouth shut for fear of having overstepped the mark.

  “Yep, that she was,” he said. He walked through the living room door and I heard the kitchen tap run, I assumed he’d rinsed the glasses.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called out, as he walked out the back door.

  I listened for the rumble of his truck engine and the crunch it made driving over the gravel and then sighed. I stretched out my legs and pulled the old throw from the back of the sofa over me.

  It had to be early hours of the morning that I woke, stiff and cold, as Miller said I would be, after the fire had died out. I climbed from the sofa, still clutching the throw around me and made my way to bed. I was thankful that at least I’d had a few hours of dreamless sleep, and had no doubt the whisky was to be thanked for that.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Footsteps along the hall woke me. I lay still and listened to the shower run in the bathroom, then the buzz of an electric razor before the toilet flushed. I guessed it to be Dad, not expecting that Christian would be bothered to shave. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat for a while. Like a movie in slow motion, the events of the previous day filtered through my mind, and the sickness I’d felt washed over me again. I looked over to the chest of drawers to see a photograph of Trey and me on a holiday somewhere. We were laughing at something, we looked young and in love. I walked over and laid the photograph face down. I didn’t want to see his face.

  The footsteps crept past my door and continued down the stairs. I heard the radio being turned on and a tap run as Dad filled the kettle for his morning tea, I imagined. My legs ached, my whole body ached as I stood and grabbed a fresh towel from the stack on a chair.

  Once I had showered and dressed, I joined Dad in the kitchen.

  “Did you manage to sleep?” Dad said, as he slid a pad over to me.

  “On and off,” I replied, not needing the pad.

  “I wasn’t sure…” He indicated to the pad, I guessed he thought I’d gone mute again.

  “Like I said, shock took my voice, shock gave it back,” I said, noticing the bitterness in my voice.

  “I suppose we should cancel the speech therapist appointment, but I wonder if you’d still like to talk to someone.”

  “I don’t know that I need to. What can anyone say to me, Dad? My husband had an affair, fathered a child, and then died.”

  “I don’t know what to do to make this all better.” Dad turned away from me and I wondered if that was so I didn’t see the sadness that settled over his face. He busied himself making tea.

  “There’s nothing you can do, I don’t think. We just have to work through this ourselves, I guess.”

  For a moment we were silent, and I watched his shaking hand lift the kettle to pour hot water into the pot.

  “Your voice is different,” he said quietly.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, raspier, I guess. I imagine it will take some time to get back to normal.”

  “I don’t think any part of me will ever be normal again,” I replied, taking the mugs to the table.

  Dad joined me with the pot of tea and poured.

  “No, I don’t suppose you will.”

  “Something I remembered during the night, Chris said the name in Helen’s phone was Kitt. Trey has never been called that, to my knowledge. Do you think Chris has it wrong?”

  “He said Helen admitted it was Trey.”

  “Convenient, though, since he’s dead.”

  Was I trying to find a reason that she could have lied? The more I thought about it, the more I wondered. There had been absolutely no evidence that Trey had been having an affair. Not that I was aware of the times they were together, but surely I would have noticed something, wouldn’t I? I didn’t believe Trey to be so devious, so calculated, and so good at concealment he could have had a two-year affair and fathered a child without one wobble in our relationship.

  “Ring Patricia for me. Ask her if Trey ever had a nickname. I’m not sure I can speak with her right now, just in case I break down. I’d hate for her to know what might have happened.”

  “Are you doubting Christian’s story?” Dad asked.

  “Not Christian’s, Helen’s. I want some proof, Dad. I want evidence that Alistair is Trey’s son. I need that.”

  The previous day I’d been ready to dig his bones from the grave he shared with my daughter, and I wasn’t sure what had happened overnight, but I couldn’t just accept her word. By having an affair in the first place, she’d proven herself not to be trustworthy, or was I clinging on to some mistaken belief that I had the perfect husband?

  I sat bolt upright in my chair. “I need to go to the storage unit, where my things are.”

  “What do you hope to find?”

  “Evidence, Dad. If they exchanged letters, where are the ones she sent to him?”

  “Do you want to put yourself through that?”

  Dad’s comment surprised me.

  “Not only did I lose him in an accident, for which I have no closure because it was all so sudden, I can’t confront him. I can’t look at him and get an explanation, he can’t tell me it’s all lies.”

  “Or the truth,” Dad said quietly.

  “Do you believe her?”

  Dad sighed deeply. “I just don’t see why she would have named Trey, knowing the devastation it would cause. Why not make up a stranger that no one knows? Surely that would have been easier, wouldn’t it?”

  “Because Christian can confront a stranger, he can’t confront a dead man.”

  My voice became raspier the more upset I was becoming. I took a large swig of my tea.

  “It’s too convenient, Dad. Can’t you see that?”

  “Of course I can, I’m just not sure that you aren’t grasping at something just to be let down, feel even more hurt when the truth comes out. I’ll ring Patricia a little later, at least we’ll start there.”

  “I can’t be more hurt than I am right now, but thank
you. I think I’ll take a walk, if you don’t mind. I need to clear my head.”

  Instead of walking the coastal path, I wrapped up and left the house by the front door. I walked up to the honesty box concealed in the hedge by the farm gate. My thoughts went to Lincoln and an urge to write to him, to speak to him face-to-face overcame me. He’d understand my need, I was sure of that. I stood for ages, just looking at the cracked and paint chipped wooden box. Childhood memories flooded back. There would be a small table underneath with fruit or vegetables bagged up. Sometimes boxes of eggs would be stacked, and I remembered one time when Christian knocked the table and a couple of boxes fell. The eggs smashed on the ground and we were both so upset by what had happened that we ran back home to empty our piggybanks and put the coins in the box. I was sure that Christian even wrote an apology note.

  “Woo hoo,” I heard. I turned to see Mrs. Hampton walking down the lane.

  She waved and her pace quickened to catch up with me.

  “I thought that was you. What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing, I was just thinking,” I replied.

  She skidded to a halt and stared at me. Her smile grew broad.

  “Dani, you can…”

  “Yes, I guess that block in my brain decided to shift. It hurts to talk too much, though.”

  “You need to keep a scarf wrapped around your throat. Oh, and honey and lemon with hot water, keep drinking that. Maybe an inhalation of steam as well. You need to keep your throat very well lubricated. When I was in the choir, we had to do all sorts of exercises to keep our vocal cords in tip-top condition. I’m sure I’ve got some notes written down somewhere. I could drop them down, I haven’t had a cup of tea with your dad for a while.”

  I was unsure if the drop them down was out of concern for my vocal cords, or the need for a cup of tea with my dad. Either way, I found myself smiling at her.

  “That would be lovely, and I know Dad would love to spend some time with you over a cup of tea.”

  “He would? Well, that’s settled then. I’ll be down this afternoon, I’m sure I have a cake somewhere. Does your dad like cake, or you? Do you like cake?” she corrected herself just in time.

  “We both like cake. However, I might be out, I have some errands to run, so you might have to suffer Dad all on your own, would that be okay?”

  “Oh, of course. It’s a shame you won’t be there, but I’m sure I can entertain your dad for a little while.”

  I tried not to laugh as she shuffled back up the lane, without so much as a goodbye. She had been a welcome break from the shit whirling around my mind for a few minutes.

  I continued to walk, taking a right down a very narrow lane. I hadn’t walked the lanes for years and struggled to remember where it would lead me. Overhanging trees shaded most of the lane, and the dip in temperature as I walked under the tree canopy was noticeable. I wondered if Mrs. Hampton might have had a point in wearing a scarf. I could feel the cold air catching in my throat. It was so quiet, and I noticed the absence of birdsong. I guessed I was used to the sound of the ocean when walking the coastal path; this route was eerie. I rounded a bend, pleased to note I was walking in a square, not that I thought I’d get lost.

  A lone dog, probably a working dog from the farm that framed either side of the lane, wandered past me. It took no notice, other than to give me a cursory glance. One eye was blue and the other brown, its tongue was hanging out, as if the dog had just finished a hard session of sheep rounding. I watched it dart through a gap in a hedge too high for me to see over. The bleat of sheep suggested the dog was back to work.

  I continued on my way dodging puddles, cow shit, and mud, I guessed a tractor had recently driven down the lane. Eventually, I took another turn and found myself further past the church than I imagined. I remembered that Miller lived this side of the church, or was it Daniel? Or maybe, they lived together. One of them had said that if the church hadn’t been there, we’d be neighbours. There was a small collection of cottages, and if I remembered correctly, there would be a path down to a slipway. Years ago, Christian and I would watch small boats be hauled up the slipway and buckets of fish placed on the ground. The locals would take tourists out fishing from this point, and I wondered what had happened to finish all that.

  I weaved through a couple of cottages looking for the slipway. I sat on the edge of a wall that bounded the slipway and what, I remembered, had been a very small harbour area. Beside me was a collection of lobster traps, coiled rope, and a neatly folded fishing net. Such was the nature of the locals; they could leave their means of fishing, knowing it wouldn’t be stolen.

  The sound of an engine disturbed the peace. I turned to see a trailer holding a small boat being reversed down the slipway. I stood, knowing there was plenty of space but wanting to make sure the driver of the vehicle could see me. I saw his elbow resting on the open window and when he looked out, he smiled at me.

  “What are you doing here?” Miller asked.

  “Needed a walk, haven’t been around this way since I was child, I don’t think.”

  “Has it changed much?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure there was a pub, or a restaurant, or something over there.”

  Miller continued to reverse until the trailer was partly submerged in water. He left the engine running but climbed from his truck.

  “Do you need some help?” I asked.

  “I’ve got this, but thanks. And it was a fish restaurant, if I remember. No menu, you got whatever the boats had brought in that day.”

  “That’s right. Although I don’t think we ate there much, but I remember sitting outside.”

  I watched as Miller partially unstrapped the boat before tying it to a metal pillar on the side. He then released the boat gently into the water, before jumping back in the truck, and pulling the trailer out of the water.

  “Want to do something?” he said, leaning out of his window.

  “I thought you were going out in your boat?”

  “Not today, that thing hasn’t been on the water in years. I thought I ought to see if she still floated first. Come on, get in.”

  I rounded the truck and climbed into the passenger side. “I should tell my dad I’m still out.” I patted my jacket knowing full well I didn’t have a mobile phone on me.

  “I can give him a call, if you want, or you can use my phone.”

  He reached forwards to a small compartment on the dashboard and produced a battered black phone that he handed to me.

  “You know, I can’t remember my home phone number. How awful is that?” I said.

  “Well, you don’t generally call yourself. And you probably just have it programmed in your phone, so you don’t need to remember it.”

  He took the phone back and with one eye on the road he scrolled through his contacts; the phone was ringing by the time he handed it back to me.

  “Dad, it’s me. I’m using Miller’s phone because I didn’t take one out with me. I’ll be back later, okay? I didn’t want you to worry. Is Chris up?”

  “He is, although he’s not talking too much. Do you have a coat, are you warm enough?” Dad said.

  “I do, and I am. I’ll call you later and let you know what I’m doing.”

  We said our goodbyes and I placed the phone back into the compartment on the dash.

  “I’ve got to drop the trailer off first, then I want to take you someplace,” Miller said.

  We pulled into the driveway of a house I could not have imagined Miller to live in. It was a chocolate box cottage, with wisteria growing up the front and hanging over a small wooden porch. He reversed down the side of the cottage and told me to wait while he unhooked the trailer. He was gone no more than a couple of minutes before returning.

  “Is that your house?” I asked.

  “It is. Needs a lot of work inside,” he said with a chuckle. “So how are you doing today?”

  In one way I wished he hadn’t asked, I’d have to remember and up until that point, he had
been a welcome distraction.

  I sighed, loudly. “Uh Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” he said.

  “How do I know she’s telling the truth, Miller? Surely I would have noticed something in my marriage. They were together two years, how did I miss that? There’s a large part of me that thinks this is all too convenient. He’s dead; he can’t answer any allegations. What’s to say she picked him instead of the real one so Christian couldn’t confront whoever it was?” I knew I was rambling but all my fears seemed to tumble out.

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  “My gut? My gut went into meltdown when they died, I couldn’t trust one instinct of mine right now. Half the time, I don’t know which way is up. I spend most days lying to everyone, and myself, about how I feel. Right now, either I’m in denial of something so bloody obvious, or I’m right. Figure that one out.” I laughed at the absurdity of it all.

  “Christian said that she admitted it, he found some letters, or something?”

  “He did, but the contact name in her phone was Kitt. Trey never had a nickname. Not once in five years had I heard that name being used by anyone. I mean, what kind of a nickname is that, anyway?”

  “What about the child?”

  “She said that Trey was the father. How would she know, for fact? Chris didn’t say that she’d had some sort of test done, but she was certainly screwing two men at the same time. I’m going to book an appointment at the storage facility, I want to see if I can find anything.”

  “Who packed up your house?”

  I paused and stared at him. He glanced over when I hadn’t answered as quickly as he expected.

  “They did.”

  Did that mean that any evidence that could have been in my belongings would no longer be there?

  I slumped back in my seat. “I don’t know what to believe. Like I said to Dad, if it’s true, the last two years of my life has been a lie.”

  “I can understand you wanting proof. I’ll go with you to the storage facility if you want, maybe a guy, or someone unconnected, might spot something you’d miss.”

  “That’s kind of you. I have no idea where it is, I can only assume in London somewhere. Christian sorted it all out. I accepted an offer on my house, I’m hoping that will go through soon, but I don’t want to go back there. Especially now.”