Mother Lode

  The next day he went to see a lawyer in Dollar Bay. He didn’t know Mr. Olsen, and he didn’t think the man knew his family either.

  In obvious pain the old attorney seated himself on the swivel chair, cleared a space in the center of his desk, and brought out a fresh piece of paper. He dipped his pen in the inkwell, brushed back a lock of thick grey hair and looked up.

  “And what can I do for you, my lad?”

  Jorie said, “Could you tell me, sir, the procedure for declaring a person insane?”

  “Insane? To what purpose?”

  “Well, so that . . . they would be put away.” He could hardly believe he’d said it.

  “Committed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is ‘they’?”

  He wet his lips, felt the sweat on his brow. “My mother.”

  The lawyer’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “On what grounds?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Then I can’t help you.”

  “Well, that would come later. I’m just trying to get a feel for the procedure, how difficult it would be.”

  “I’ll tell you this much, lad, you’d have to have a lot of evidence, witnesses to back up your testimony. Including her doctor.”

  “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  He paid the lawyer on the spot and left the office frustrated.

  Witnesses. He had none. He thought of Doctor Johnson, who had attended him through so many illnesses, had braved the winter nights to bring medicine for him when he was ill. The doctor who’d visited him so often the year he was kept from school because of the Scarlet Fever scare. Could he trust him with this unspeakable story? Would he be willing to talk to his mother, convince her that what she was doing with Eliza was wrong? And if he couldn’t persuade her to change her ways, would he be willing to have her committed? It didn’t seem possible. But still, he would try.

  The doctor listened sympathetically, but was clearly uncomfortable. He shook his head, said he’d make a poor witness, never having known Catherine to behave in a harmful way to her children. He suggested Jorie get his mind focused on his studies, and assured him he would keep this conversation to himself.

  It would be just as useless to talk to the sheriff. He could think of no legal exit out of this quandary.

  What if he kidnapped Eliza and took her out west with him? His mother’s derisive taunt came back to him: You’d be caught and put in prison. And what could you do for her from there? With each plan he found fault.

  He must find a solution.

  When he could think of no other, though every fiber fought against it, he started scheming how he would end his mother’s life. In one scenario he would start playing games with her again. He would suggest Blindfold and Taste. Only this time it would be she who would have to guess what food or drink he gave her. And after offering her a bit of cake and perhaps a taste of honey, he would give her poison, mixed in a sweet drink. If he had to, he’d force her to down it.

  He dismissed this idea; he knew it was not viable. The cause of her death would be obvious. Whatever happened to him, he didn’t want to leave Eliza a legacy of scandal.

  Perhaps a boating accident in Portage Lake.

  His mother must think that all was well again between them. He moved back to the house, started playing the piano again, even cards with her. He was eating humble pie, but his larger objective made it bearable.

  His mother reveled in triumph. He could see it on her face.

  The sound of Cora Foster’s voice broke through Jorie’s reverie. It was time to eat.

  Of course! How could he have forgotten the reason he’d stopped his mother’s life? Why had his demons filtered out all but the unthinkable deed?

  Gradually, another kind of feeling began to pervade his senses. A softness enfolded him. His self-condemnation was always there, droning away in the background, but it didn’t come with such fiery spikes now. He began to take a quiet pleasure in the plain fare of hearty meals Cora Foster bestowed on him, and her husband’s unrelenting vigil.

  The ordinary became exceptional, and healing.

  He thought what he’d done was appalling, but looking back, he still didn’t see any alternative that would have saved Eliza. Could he live with what he’d done? Every day? He didn’t know.

  The next morning when Mr. Foster tried to talk to him, Jorie didn’t resist. He poured out the whole story of that night in Eliza’s room and what followed. It felt good to wrench these secrets from their hiding place, lay them in the open within the safety of these walls.

  “Do you believe me—about what she planned to do with Eliza?”

  The sheriff nodded. “It was all in the last diary.”

  Jorie looked up, surprised.

  Earl wanted to unravel this last knot. “You said you didn’t read this diary—”

  “I never read any of her diaries before you brought them to me.”

  Earl tried to take this in. As if on cue, his elbow started itching. “You had two of them in your closet.”

  “But I didn’t read them. I just . . . couldn’t”

  “And the third you took to Mrs. O’Laerty’s. It spelled out—”

  “I found it at the house the day before you took me in.”

  “But you didn’t read it?”

  “I was going to — the night you arrested me.”

  “How come you didn’t read the first two, but you were going to read the last one?”

  “I didn’t want to re-live all that old pain between Ma and me that had to be in the earlier diaries. But after that night in Eliza’s room, I thought maybe Ma had written her plans for Izzy in her last book. It seemed very important to get a hold of it. I thought if I could bring that part to you as evidence, maybe you could stop her. Then I wouldn’t have to . . .”

  Jorie knew his lips were starting to quiver. He blew his nose to conceal his feelings. “I searched everywhere, every chance I got. I knew it had to be there someplace.”

  “How did you even know it existed?”

  “Because I made it for her. And I knew she was using it. But even . . . afterwards, when I moved into the O’Laerty’s I couldn’t find it. I went back twice before I finally discovered it.”

  “Where was it?”

  “At the bottom of a box of toys in Eliza’s closet.”

  Earl stirred his tea, removed a leaf floating on top. “Why didn’t you tell me where it was?”

  “It was too late. I’d already. . .”

  It was getting cool in the room. Mr. Foster got up and put more wood on the fire. There was a long silence, while the two listened to the popping of the pitch as the flame licked the pine. Slowly, the tension between them seemed to float up the chimney with the smoke.

  He looked out at the storm clouds gathering in the north. Almost December, there would be no more here-today-and-gone-tomorrow weather; winter was preparing to ensnare the whole of Copperdom in its clutches for the long haul.

  His thoughts traveled back to the first storm of the season. Finally, the prison bars of his mind had dissolved enough to allow him to look at that last afternoon with his mother just as it was:

  It was nearing the end of October and the days were definitely getting cooler and shorter. It wouldn’t be long before the snows. He had a new plan, but it depended entirely on the weather. Each day apprehension mounted in his belly as he waited for the forecast. Since he worked at the News, it was easy enough to get.

  On the morning of the twenty-second of October, he learned that a snow storm was coming in from Lake Superior, and should hit sometime late afternoon.

  But so far it was still a crisp and sunny day. After work he didn’t go to bed as usual; instead he said to his mother, “Ma, it’s such a beautiful day I thought you might enjoy a ride in the country.”

  “Now?” She was clearly surprised.

  “When it warms up a bit.”

  “Yes, I’d like that, Jorie.”

  “Where’s Eliza?”


  “She’s at Stockwells. We can fetch her at dinnertime.”

  If she hadn’t been at the neighbors’, he was going to suggest they take her there. Something about the ride being too cold for her. Ma might refuse, but he didn’t think so. She liked it better with just the two of them.

  They waited until they’d had their noon meal. Then Jorie went to the stable to hitch up. Familiar smells assaulted his nostrils, reminding him of that day long ago when she’d made him stay naked, spread-eagle on the stone. He shuddered to think of that happening to Eliza.

  He wasn’t at all sure his idea would work. If it didn’t, he’d have to think of something else. But even now he could feel the temperature dropping.

  He brought the buggy round to the house, helped his mother in, and spread the fur lap robe across her knees. They headed down to the main road and followed it up the hill past the mine and north out into the country. To the far west he could see dark clouds forming, but his mother didn’t seem to notice. It was still sunny.

  She was chatting merrily, as though they were on good terms again, and all was forgiven. She seemed excited, like a schoolgirl being taken for an outing by her beau.

  “I’ve started a new sweater for you, Jorie. You’ve outgrown your old ones. This one will be gray. Will you like that? It will bring out the color of your eyes.”

  He turned east onto a side road. The clouds were behind them, but the snow was not far off. He hoped he could get her on the trail before it started.

  “Where are you taking me? Is it to be a surprise?”

  “Just a pretty road I discovered. Then if you’re up to it, there’s a lovely footpath through the forest.”

  He continued on, watching the skies. Timing was everything. If the snow started too soon, they’d have to go back. If it was late, she’d be cold and want to go home before it came.

  Finally, he turned onto an old lumbering road that veered north.

  “It’s beautiful, Jorie. I’ve never been back in here. Look at the maples—gorgeous color. They’re still holding their leaves. And the oaks, of course. They always do—sometimes through the whole winter. Strange, how they cling so, when their life is over.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “It reminds me of the time when you were about eight, and we were somewhere in a forest. We pretended I was Titania, queen of the faeries, and you came to save me from the leprechauns. ” She turned to him. “Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “You idolized me. I could do no wrong in your eyes.” She squeezed his hand.

  He wished she’d stop this kind of talk. It wasn’t making his task any easier.

  “Can’t you say something, Jorie?”

  “I reckon all boys feel that way about their mums at that age,” he managed.

  “Oh, but we were different. We had a world into which no other could tread. And that made our bond very unique.”

  It certainly did.

  He drove on about a half a mile, stopped the horse, and helped her out of the buggy.

  “Let’s go down this trail.”

  The blue sky was almost gone, and the clouds were gathering quickly. They walked for about twenty minutes. Twice the trail split and each time he took the path to the left.

  His gaze went skyward. The first large, lazy flakes were descending slowly. He licked one off his lip.

  “It’s starting to snow, Jorie. We should turn around.”

  “It won’t last. We’ll be all right.”

  Soon it was coming down fast, turning serious.

  “Jorie, we have to get back!”

  They turned around and walked until the trail split.

  “Which way did we come?”

  “This way.”

  They pushed on. Finally his mother said, “I’m sure we didn’t come this far. Are you certain we’re going in the right direction?”

  “No. Perhaps it was this way.” He led her onto another path.

  “It’s coming down so fast! I’m frightened!”

  Walking became more difficult. The snow fell so thickly they could barely see in front of them. Unseen branches tore at their sleeves and caught in their hair.

  He could hear her gasping for breath, as her steps lagged.

  “I can’t go much farther. I’m slipping, Jorie!”

  “Take my arm.”

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “I think so.”

  “I believe we’re lost!”

  She clung tightly to his arm except where the path was too narrow to pass two abreast. Then she would let go, and fall behind for a few steps.

  Suddenly she slipped and fell, letting out a shrill shriek. He turned to see her on the ground grasping her ankle. He knelt beside her.

  “It’s my ankle.”

  She held it with her hand, rocking back and forth.

  “Do you think you can walk on it?”

  She tried, soon crumpled to the ground.

  “Here, I’ll put some snow on it, to keep the swelling down.”

  He packed her ankle with snow and made a pillow of leaves for her. “Lie down, Mother. Rest.”

  He helped her to a reclining position. She held her arms up to him and he bent to her. The snow was pouring down now, sticking to her lashes and whitening her hair. How old it made her look! How frail!

  “Jorie, you can’t stay here! Go on ahead, find the path. Then come back for me.”

  “Yes, all right.”

  “Go!”

  He could see she was in pain and afraid, but she smiled bravely. “I may die, here. What will my poor Jorie do without his mummy?”

  “Just rest, Mother.”

  “I’ve always loved you, more than anyone, Jorie.”

  He brushed the snow from her face, kissed her on the cheek. He knew if he stayed a moment longer, he would lose his resolve.

  “Go, Jorie. You must hurry.”

  The hooting of an owl reverberated through the woods, answered by the cackle of a crow. He stood, turned quickly toward the path obliterated now by the silence of the falling snow. Leaving her there was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He had never loved her more.

  Chapter 38

  Arthur Johnson came to the Foster house to check on his patient. When he was leaving, Earl walked down the steps with him.

  “He finally broke last night. He told me everything,” Earl confided to his friend.

  Arthur sighed. “He told me as well. In his cell.”

  For the second time Earl felt a pang of jealousy. How hard he’d tried to get Jorie to confide in him. Arthur sees him once and the lad spills all.

  “Do you believe it, Earl—Catherine’s plans for the girl?”

  “Oh, yes! It’s all laid out in her diary like a blueprint.”

  The doctor removed his hat, ran a hand through his white hair, and replaced the hat, all the time his lips working. Earl knew he was fixing to say something. He watched the doctor work up to it.

  Finally Arthur spoke. “You see, the boy came to me before . . . her death. He told me some story about the perverse designs she had for his little sister. He asked for my help in getting his mother committed, to protect the child.”

  Earl was stunned.

  Arthur rubbed his forehead. “I refused. Frankly, I thought . . . The boy has a wild imagination, you know, Earl. Believes he receives guidance from his starline. . .The things he told me that day were just too bizarre for me to believe.”

  Arthur looked at the ground, then raised his head suddenly. For a brief moment Earl got a glimpse of the torment behind his friend’s faded brown eyes.

  “I didn’t even try to talk to Catherine.” The doctor nodded good-bye, turned abruptly and walked away.

  Earl stood watching his comrade climb into his buggy and drive off. He felt a certain bond with the old man now. Perhaps the yoke of guilt would be a little easier to bear.

  The judge had cancelled two poker games. Now another Friday had rolled around, and tonight the game was on.


  Jorie had been with Earl for two weeks and had shown no signs of doing himself in, or running away. Earl figured it was safe to leave him.

  The seed of a plan was sprouting in his mind, but it depended on his getting all the players to agree to the terms.