1929 Book 3 - 1930 Aryl's Divide

by ML Gardner

  Jonathan Sr. saw the women approaching and stood up, wiping black grease from his hands.

  “I sincerely hope they’re here to talk to you and not me,” he snickered.

  “What do you mean?” Jonathan poked his head out to the side and saw them with decided looks on their faces and a steady march.

  “Jonathan! We need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t know what you did, Son, but…I’ll be inside.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  He stood and met them as they all came to a halt at the same time.

  “We need to talk to you, Jonathan. It’s about Maura,” Ethel said.

  The slightly entertained look on his face dropped and seriousness took its place.

  “Is she alright?”

  “Well, yes. Mostly. She’s moving about, eating and such. She’s thin and pale and somewhat weak, but the worst of it’s over,” Kathleen said.

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “She’s not up for visitors, though,” June said.

  “Well, that’s not abnormal.”

  “Yes, it is,” June countered.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

  “Jonathan. You enlisted our help to get Maura through this and back on her feet,” Kathleen reminded. “Physically and mentally.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then trust us when we say that we are worried about her.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just—“

  “There’s something missing in Maura,” Margaret said, using a gentler tone. “Physically she is fine but emotionally, this has changed her and I’m worried that if we don’t do something soon, it may change her for good.”

  Jonathan blew out his breath and folded his arms. He wanted to argue that something like this would change a person. That she shouldn’t be expected to receive visitors and act like nothing happened. Realizing he was drastically outnumbered, however, he chose his words carefully.

  “What do you ladies propose we do, then?”

  “She needs something more than we can give her, Jonathan. We can clean her kitchen and make food and small talk with her. Tell her jokes and distract her best we can. But it’s not enough,” Margaret said. “She needs something stronger, more powerful to pull her past this.”

  “And what would that be?” Jonathan asked, rubbing his eyes and digging for patience.

  “Her Mother,” they all said in unison.

  ∞∞∞

  The next day Jonathan brought it up in the midst of casual conversation with Ian. They stood in line with the other fishermen waiting for their catch to be weighed. At the suggestion, Ian went a little pale.

  “Are ye sure ye want to do that, Jon?”

  “The others seem to think Maura needs her. That she can help her get back to herself. I’ve heard stories, but you know her mother. I want to know what you think. Because if we send for her, it’s going to take every cent we have. As much as I love Maura, it’s not a decision to be taken lightly.”

  “No, I understand. Can we manage to put the business and our families in such a predicament?”

  Jonathan took a deep breath and shrugged. “If I can do something to help Maura, I want to try. I don’t know if she ever shared it with you, but, she saved my life. I owe a lot to her.”

  “No, she never mentioned. What happened?”

  Jonathan shook his head, closing that part of the conversation. “I just need to know what you think about bringing her mother over. Do you think she can help Maura?”

  “Aye. Most likely. She’s a strong, stubborn woman. God help ye if you cross her, but she’s full of hard love and won’t hesitate to set a person straight.”

  Jonathan smiled, remembering Maura’s words on Christmas Eve, the night he almost ended his life. She'd handed him an heirloom Cross and said,

  Mr. Jonathan, If ye don’t take it, I’ll have me mother on the next boat from Ireland and trust me, I’m a mild mannered angel compared to that woman.

  “It would take a Maura to save a Maura, wouldn’t it, Ian. I’ll go to the others tonight and we’ll try to pull together the funds. Don’t say anything to her, alright? I don’t know how soon we can do it and I want it to be a surprise.”

  “I’d like to say I’ve something to contribute, Jon, but after we buy Scottie shoes and even if Maura makes his winter coat this year, we’ll barely have enough to survive the winter. And that’s not counting another mouth to feed if her mam does come.”

  “No, let us do this for you.”

  Ian nodded with a grateful and somewhat relieved smile. “Thank you, Jon.”

  Later that afternoon, Jonathan took a mason jar from the cupboard and began the collection. He opened the trunk in his and Ava’s bedroom, digging around until he found a small canvas bag with their life savings. He explained everything to Ava as he dug around, counted out change and did some math in his head. Jean clung to Ava’s leg with his head on her hip, listening to Jonathan recount Maura’s hurt and need.

  “I don’t know that we can come up with enough money right off but…we’ll do the best we can,” he said with a sigh.

  Jean turned and left the room. Ava’s eyes followed him, then returned them to Jonathan with a smile.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Jon. How can I help?”

  “Well, I’m going to everyone that knows Maura and asking them to help. Maybe you could organize something with the women…a bake sale or something. All the proceeds can go toward the effort.”

  “I’ll get right on it. I’ll bet we could put some flyers up in town and hold it out on Caleb’s property. Maybe a rummage sale, too.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll leave the planning to you.” He held up the jar. “I’ll be back in a few hours. And I’ll telegram her mother while I’m out.”

  “Wait, please.” Jean’s small voice came from the doorway. He stood with one hand behind his back. “I want to help, too.”

  “Well now, Jean, I appreciate that but I think you should stay here and help Ava.” Jonathan knelt down in front of him, balancing the jar on his knee.

  “I don’t want to go with you. Here.” He pulled his hand from behind his back and dropped three pennies in the jar. “I was saving them for a present for the new bebe.”

  Jonathan stared at the three shiny pennies among the quarters in the bottom of the jar for a long moment.

  “Thank you, Jean,” he whispered. “Every little bit helps.”

  Ava took a deep breath as her eyes misted at the generosity of such a small child, who had lost so much, yet gave so freely.

  October 4th 1930

  Everyone gathered early at Caleb’s farm. Patrick, Arianna and Shannon had worked hard to begin gathering in the garden and Ethel was preparing for a massive canning.

  Jean and Aislin were in charge of collecting strawberries, and for every two they picked, they ate one.

  “Will Maura be here today?” Shannon asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve invited her.” Jonathan lifted a crate of mason jars from the backseat. “I think Kathleen will talk her into coming.”

  Claire’s eyes flickered at the mention of Aryl’s mother, and she clung to Ava’s arm.

  “I’ve talked to her,” Jonathan said. “I’ve asked her not to mention anything upsetting.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ava craned her head, looking for Kathleen and Michael’s car. Jonathan took her arm.

  “Let’s get inside. They’ll be along.”

  They heard a sputtering and Ava turned with a smile. It dropped when she saw it was only Gordon’s milk truck. She narrowed her eyes with a presumptuous nod.

  “I didn’t know he would be here.”

  “He said he might stop by to help.” Claire looked toward the house and back to the truck. “I’ll catch up.”

  ∞∞∞

  “You made it,” Claire said.

  “Are you glad?”

  “Every pair of hands makes the job easier.”


  He smiled. “I meant are you glad to see me.”

  “I think everyone will be.”

  He nodded slowly, patiently.

  “I brought some jars I found in the barn. Thought you could use them.”

  “I could, thank you.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. I hate to be so forward, but did you have a good time last Friday?”

  “I did. Thank you.”

  “I know the ‘firsts’ are hard. First date, first holiday, first anything. I wouldn’t have been upset if you said you hadn’t enjoyed it.”

  “It was a wonderful dinner and the picture was fine. A comedy was a good choice.”

  “I thought a lot about it.”

  “I can tell. And I appreciate it.”

  Gordon squinted past her at the car coming up the lane. “How’s Maura been?”

  “Not herself. She’s moving and doing but the fire’s gone.”

  “It’s hard to imagine that.”

  “It is. She didn’t even grill me for details after our outing.”

  “How’s the collection coming to bring her mother?”

  “We’re about half way there. We were thinking of arranging a bake sale after harvest to raise the rest of the money.”

  “Sounds fun. I’ll donate ten quarts of milk. You have to have milk with cookies and cakes.”

  “Thank you, Gordon. That’s really sweet.” She gave a slight smile.

  “I can’t wait to see what it really looks like.”

  “What?”

  “Your smile. A big, honest, true smile. I’ll bet it’s beautiful.”

  She sighed deeply and fidgeted her fingers.

  “Gordon, glad you could make it.” Jonathan came up beside Claire and shook his hand.

  “Jon, how can I help?”

  “Oh, there’s an army of women in the kitchen…I’d avoid that, but Patrick knows what’s going on as far as bringing in the produce. If you find him, he’ll direct you.”

  Jonathan’s eyes flickered to Claire and back to Gordon.

  “Listen, I have to run into town, I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “What for?” Claire asked.

  “I just need to pick something up. But Ava’s asking for you. She’s in the kitchen.”

  ∞∞∞

  Victor Drayton sat down and glanced around the restaurant. It was a grand one that he and Ruth used to frequent often. He ordered a drink and sat back, sweeping the restaurant with his eyes.

  “Where are you, you little bastard,” he whispered. For a moment he worried he’d mis-read the meeting place. He pulled the letter out of his jacket pocket and nodded. He was in the right place. He lit a cigarette.

  “Sorry I’m late. Thank you for meeting with me.”

  Victor kept a solid expression.

  “Did I have a choice?”

  His companion smiled. “Not really.” Looking at his cigarette, he held out his hand. “I forgot mine, do you mind?”

  Victor reluctantly held out his case and tossed a match across the linen tablecloth.

  “Why don’t we just get down to business? I’m not one for small talk.”

  “Can’t I order a drink first?”

  Victor waved the waiter over with strained patience.

  “You enjoy keeping me waiting.”

  “I’ll have scotch, please. And the French onion soup…charcuterie for a starter, roasted rack of lamb and let’s finish with crème brulee.”

  “Very good, Sir.” The waiter nodded and turned to Victor. “And for you?”

  “Nothing.” He kept his eyes pinned across the table as the waiter left. “You have expensive taste.”

  “Is there any other kind to have when you're not paying the bill?” He smiled.

  “Why don’t we get down to the business of your letter?”

  “Right.” He tapped his cigarette and took another drink.

  “My patience wears thin,” Victor warned.

  “Then perhaps you’d better dig deeper, Victor. Because I have a lot to say.”

  Victor stubbed out his cigarette and ground his teeth. “Then perhaps you’d better get on saying it.”

  “You do spoil my anticipation.”

  Victor stared. One eye twitched.

  “I’d like to know how I know you.”

  “You don’t. But I know you. And I know people who know you.”

  Victor laughed. “You have a beef with me for…let me guess. Did I sleep with your wife? Impregnate your daughter? Shift you on a business deal? You look too middle class to have lived in one of my slums so doubtful I evicted your granny.”

  “Oh, I do enjoy a good game of cat and mouse. Surely you can appreciate that, Victor.”

  “Surely. But at some point the game must get underway. I grow old waiting.”

  He smiled tightly as the waiter placed his drink.

  “I saw you, Victor. That night in Rockport. At the marina. I saw you.”

  Victor went white and sat back slowly.

  “I watched you cut the wires, shred the sails and spend a good amount of time messing around the engine of the Ava-Maura.”

  Victor held his gaze and swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  After a long moment, Victor shook his head and regained his posture. “I was in Florida when that happened. I’ve already been questioned and cleared by the police.”

  “Have you, now?”

  “I have. So whatever your goal is, you’ve wasted your time.” He made to stand.

  “Take a look over there.”

  Victor turned his head and briefly met the eyes of a man staring at him over the top of a newspaper. He quickly flipped it up.

  “You’re being watched, Victor, by the police. Seems they don’t quite believe your story about a sunny vacation in Florida. And, it appears you’ve wasted your time and risked your neck for nothing. Because Jonathan Garrett is alive and well.”

  Victor’s eyes flashed. “That’s impossible! The newspaper said—”

  “Newspapers have been known to make mistakes. And they made a big one when they interviewed that old fisherman that told them it was the captain of the Ava-Maura that went down. They rushed it to print without verifying anything. The other newspapers followed.”

  “But it did go down.”

  “It did. And took Aryl Sullivan with it. Nearly killed Caleb Jenkins. But Jonathan Garrett didn’t go with them that day. You failed, Victor.”

  His body tremored and he struggled to find something to say.

  “What do you want?”

  “What any blackmailer wants. Money.”

  “And if I go to the police for harassment? You have no proof but your own word.”

  Laughter rang out from across the table. With a heavy thud something landed on the table. Victor looked at the badge, closed his eyes and sighed.

  “My name is Marvin. I’m a deputy in Rockport. All I may have is my word, Victor, but it’ll hold a hell of a lot more weight than yours. Now, let’s talk about what it’s worth to you to make this go away.”

  ∞∞∞

  Maura stepped out of the car and straightened her clothes. Kathleen grabbed her hand—to keep her from running away, perhaps—and smiled.

  “You'll be better for getting out a bit, Maura.”

  She shot her an irritated look and started up the stairs. The whole kitchen hushed as she stepped inside. It was just what she was dreading. The sympathetic looks, the careful glances, the hushed words when she wasn’t looking. If anyone asked, how are you? She'd send them through the roof, she was sure of it. She knew she was pale, her cheeks gaunt, and the dark circles around her eyes didn't make her look any younger. Her hair was flat and her lips dry. She'd tried in vain to make her appearance look better than she felt. The earthy smell of green beans grated on her nerves. The bright light streaming in the windows gave her a headache. She scanned the faces staring at her and grew more irritated by the second.

  “I'm so glad
you could make it.” Ava stepped forward and gave her a hug. “There’s a lot to do, so jump in where ever you want. Tarin is washing, Shannon is packing, Claire is putting on the lids, Arianna is running bushels from the porch and Ethel and I are processing.

  “Where's Jonathan?”

  “He had to run into town. Patrick, Ian and Caleb are out in the gardens gathering.”

  “Or in the barn, drinking,” Arianna snorted.

  The only available spot in the kitchen was at the table. Large tin strainers filled to the brim with green beans, waited to be snapped. She sat down and her thin fingers quickly found a mindless rhythm and soon she was staring at the wood grain of the table while her hands worked.

  Trying to tune out the careful conversation of the women, desperately trying to talk of anything other than children, she heard a scuffle on the porch. Patrick set down a heaping bushel of carrots, tipped his hat and smiled at her before turning back toward the garden. Maura went back to her green beans. The air was thick with caution and careful words. Nothing like the bustling chatter she had walked in on. It quickly became too much.

  “Has anyone taken the men something to drink?” she asked.

  “No, they get a drink with every few bushels they bring to the porch,” Arianna said, setting the carrots out of the way in the pantry with a grunt. She sat down to help Maura while waiting for the next bushel. Maura saw no reason why she couldn't do both and stood up, excused herself and stepped out into the humidity. Taking a deep breath and feeling like she might drown for doing so, she gathered up her skirts and headed up the hill to where the men worked.

  Men may spend most of their married life daft, she thought, but they sure knew when to keep their mouths shut when it came to delicate subjects. And they were good at the business of moving on and acting like nothing ever happened. She glanced over at the barn and thought of Caleb. Well, most of them are. A small part of her wanted to go to him. She struggled for a moment, lowered her head and walked on.

  ∞∞∞

  The clothes Katie Mallory wore were simple, yet she wore them with an air of staunch dignity. With no particular expression at all, she might appear angry, thoughtful, displeased or content. All dependent on who was looking and what they thought she might perceive of them. It ran in the blood, this 'seeing into the soul' and Katie, like Maura, had a way of making you understand yourself, or your particular problem, without saying a word. Of course, words helped.