The knock. Ellie sets down the latest demand letter from the bank. She turns her ear to the sound. Another knock. Then his voice, tentative. ‘Hello? Ellie? Is there anyone home?’
Ellie unties her apron and tosses it onto the bed’s patchwork quilt. She pats her hair, tied into a messy bun, and clears her throat.
‘I’m coming.’
Ellie hurries down the staircase, pausing for breath on the final step. Crossing the small foyer, she opens the door.
‘George! Good heavens, this is a surprise.’
George takes off his hat and holds it awkwardly against his chest. ‘Ellie. It’s so lovely to see you.’
Ellie leans forward and gives him a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘Come in. Come in. Where are my manners?’ She looks over his shoulder. ‘Where’s Dottie? Is she in the car?’
‘No, Dottie didn’t come. She doesn’t like the idea of flying.’
Ellie frowns. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Oh, everything’s fine. I—I thought it was time for a visit. I’m Vice President of Mcklintock’s now, Ellie. I just told them I was taking some leave. And, here I am.’
‘And, Dottie … didn’t mind? You coming out to see me?’
‘Actually, it was her idea.’
Suddenly, it’s like a weight she’s been carrying for years is lifted from her shoulders. Dottie’s come around? Forgiven me for whatever it is she felt I did to her?
She takes hold of George’s arm. ‘That’s wonderful, George. You have no idea how happy that makes me. Come in. You must tell me everything. We have so much to catch up on.’
***
Ellie reaches for the teapot. ‘More tea, George?’
George shakes his head. ‘Thank you. I’m fine.’
His face is fuller, Ellie notes, and tired. Dark marks like thumbprints dent the skin under his glasses, and his black hair, still carefully combed and shiny with brilliantine, is thinning, and grey threads the hair at his temples.
‘It’s lovely to see you, George. Though, it’s such a surprise. Why didn’t you write to say you were coming?’
‘I know.’ He takes off his glasses and, removing his handkerchief from his trouser pocket, rubs the lenses. He puts the glasses back on and looks back at Ellie.
‘I need to talk to you about something.’
‘Is it about the cheques?’ She reaches over and squeezes his arm. ‘It’s fine. It really was presumptuous of me to ask you for money after Thomas died, and you’ve been so good. The money got me on my feet, though the past few months have been … challenging. But, I’ll manage. Don’t worry at all about that.’
She looks down at her teacup, at the tea leaves clumping on the bottom of the china cup. ‘I had no one else to turn to after Thomas died. You don’t know what it was like. I would have gone back to England, if I could have.’ She presses her lips together into a sad smile. ‘But that was impossible.’
Shifting in the wooden chair, George pulls his arm away. He rubs his forehead and clears his throat. ‘I was happy to do it, Ellie. I was … I was so pleased you came to me. I’ve always … I’ve always loved you. You have to know that.’
‘George—’
‘No, please. Let me say what I’ve come here to say.’
Ellie sits back in her chair, surprised by the note of urgency in his voice. ‘All right.’
‘The money stopped because Dottie found out about it.’
Ellie holds her hand up to her mouth. ‘She didn’t know? You didn’t tell her? Oh, George.’
‘I couldn’t. Dottie’s changed a great deal since you last knew her. She’s … I was careless. She found one of your letters on my desk. She didn’t take it well.’
‘But you said it was her idea for you to come here.’
He leans his elbows on the table and presses his fingers into his forehead. ‘You know she can’t have children?’
Ellie shakes her head. ‘No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, George. But, there’s been no communication. She’s never answered any of my letters or cards. The only time I heard from her was a short telegram when Poppy died. And you never said anything, either, in your letters, though I did wonder why you never mentioned the twins to me over all those years.’
‘Nothing would make her happier than to have a child.’
‘I’m so sorry, George. If only there were something I could do.’
George looks over at Ellie. ‘There is, Ellie.’
***
Emmett stands behind the screen door. He watches his mother bury her face in her hands. Watches the man with the shiny hair reach over to touch his mother’s shoulder. Watches her bat the hand away.
Slipping off his rubber boots, he pads down the porch steps, careful to avoid the creaking step. When he reaches the dirt road at the bottom of the hill, he stuffs his feet back into the boots and heads back down to Rod Fizzard’s. Just last month there’d been a notice up for fisherman up in the Change Islands. He was too late for that, but he’d keep an eye out. The government was finally throwing some money at the outports. It wouldn’t be long before something else’d come along. When it did, he’d take that money from Ottawa. It might take him a dozen years or so fishing cod, but he didn’t need much to live. He’d save every penny he could. Then he’d buy the boat-building business from Rod Fizzard and he’d provide for his mother. He’d never let her be brought this low again. One day he’d pay back the man with the shiny hair. Every cent. He’d save his mother’s immortal soul, free her from this black debt, and set her free.
Chapter 77
Tippy’s Tickle – 17 September 2011
‘What did my father mean when he said you could do something?’
Ellie reaches out a thin hand, the veins like blue rivers against the white, age-mottled skin. ‘I’m your mother, Sophie.’
Sophie pulls her hand away. ‘Dottie was my mother.’
‘Yes, of course, she was. She raised you and loved you. But I gave birth to you.’
Sophie steps away from the bed and stares at the old woman, her mind a rollercoaster of confusion. ‘How can you be my mother? That’s impossible. I was born in England.’
‘Yes, you were born in Peterborough, England, just like your birth certificate says. George and I had to go to a hospital where no one would know me. He said I was Dottie. I had her identity papers. He paid for me to fly back to England for the birth. Emmy had gone up to Fogo to join a fishing crew for a few months before I started showing and I left Winny with Agnes. I told her Dottie was ill, and I needed to be with her for a while. I told her George was buying the aeroplane tickets for me.’
‘Why on earth did you do such a thing?’
‘I did it for Emmy’s and Winny’s futures. I did it because I thought it might heal the terrible rift between Dottie and me. I was desperate, Sophie. The bank, the creditors … you have no idea what it was like.’
Sophie presses her fingers against her forehead where a throbbing headache is taking hold. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Dottie agreed for your father to pay me a substantial amount of money if I had their baby. I’d have enough money to go back to England with the children, like I’d dreamt about all those years after Thomas died. All those years when I’d felt like a prisoner in that house. Thomas’s war pension was hardly enough to live on, and Agnes …’ Ellie shakes her head. ‘After you were born, I flew back to Gander. George promised to transfer the money to my account.’
‘I can’t believe this.’
‘The money never arrived, Sophie. I wrote to your father, I tried ringing …’ Ellie licks her dry lips. ‘After that, the only place I wanted to be was here in Tippy’s Tickle. My relationship with your parents …’ She grimaces. ‘Well, that was finished. There was nothing left for me in England.’
She looks at Sophie, a weak smile playing on her pale lips. ‘Somehow I managed. Emmy helped me when he could with money from his fishing. He knew nothing about you. I’ve never told anyone, not even Florie.
‘
I began teaching art at the school and started selling my work. When Florie arrived, she persuaded me to make postcards and prints for the tourists. Florie bought the shop with some money she’d saved up. Things slowly got better.’
She reaches over to the table for the plastic cup of water, her body shaking with the effort. Sophie holds the cup to Ellie’s mouth, watching her take a long sip.
Ellie settles back against the pillows with a sigh. ‘I was furious with your parents for a long time, Sophie. Furious with myself. Then, as the years passed, I often wondered about you. I sent a few Christmas cards, a few letters, but I never heard back from George or Dottie.’ Her thin shoulders rise and fall under the hospital gown. ‘Then you showed up on my doorstep ten years ago, and all of the anger I’d been harbouring for years dissolved.’ She smiles weakly. ‘You were a lovely baby, Sophie, but you weren’t mine. You were Dottie’s and George’s.’
‘But why did my mother hate you so much, if you did that for her? Because she did. She really did.’
‘I don’t know, Sophie. Perhaps she was just a very, very unhappy woman. She had a terrible fear of abandonment. She felt that she was responsible for our mother’s death, which was ridiculous. It was an accident, a terrible, unfortunate accident.’
‘What happened?’
‘Dottie had been playing on the road on her tricycle, even though she knew it was forbidden. When Mummy ran out to get her, she was hit by a car. Dottie saw everything. She was only four.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘Yes, it was. But it was an accident. I think Dottie may have felt guilty about what she’d asked of me and George. We’d all committed a terrible sin. We’re Catholics, Sophie, or I was then. We’re very good at guilt.’
Sophie’s eyes burn as the tears finally come. She brushes her hand across her wet cheeks.
‘Why do you want to ruin my life like this?’
‘I don’t want to ruin anything. There’ve been too many secrets in this family. Years of secrets. It’s time for you to know the truth. For Sam to know the truth. That Winny was your half-sister. That you’re Becca’s aunt.’
‘But you want me to keep the secret from Emmett that we have the same father.’
‘Please, Sophie. If you feel you have to tell him, please wait until … I can’t bear to see his face.’
Sophie fights back a sob. ‘What do you want me to say? That I love you because you’re my mother?’
‘Sophie, my darling girl, you don’t owe me anything. I just wanted you to know who you are, before it’s too late.’
Chapter 78
Tippy’s Tickle – 17 September 2011
Aside from black streaks of soot on the white clapboard around the bedroom window, Sophie sees little evidence of the fire as she follows the path down to Bufflehead Cottage. She spies Sam’s motorcycle beside the porch door. As she approaches, voices filter into the garden, but the words are carried away on the cold breeze. Tugging Florie’s sweater up to her chin, she rubs her cold nose with the rough wool and steps into the porch.
‘… another fire. Just like the last time. Did you set this one too?’
‘What are you talking about, Emmett?’
Sophie steps back against the porch wall and turns her ear to the agitated voices coming from Sam’s living room.
‘Boston. The one in Boston, Sam, b’y. The fire that took my poor sister. There was some big whisperin’ about that when you came here all those years ago. Not a penny on you, and me havin’ to take you into the business. I didn’t wants to do it, b’y, but poor Mam was beside herself, losin’ Winny like that in the fire, and Becca only a young thing.’
‘That fire …’ Sam’s voice cracks. ‘That fire was an accident.’
‘So, why did you hightail it up here, broke as a tinker when you’d had a big business down in Boston? Smelled like rotten cod to me.’ A rattle of paper. ‘Where there’s a stink, there’s a reason.’
A long pause. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘In the desk drawer in your furniture workshop. Had to jimmy the lock on the tin case. Figured there’d be something interestin’ in there, it being all locked up. I should’a looked a long time ago. When the fire happened yesterday, it got me wonderin’ all over again.’
‘I know what the report says.’
‘You’re a murderer.’
There is the crash of objects hitting the floor, something decelerating as it spins to a stop. ‘Get out of here, Emmett.’
‘Heard you had a temper, Sam. Did a good job of hidin’ it. Is that what happened, Sam? You had a fight with Winny and you set fire to the place to cover it up?’
‘Get out of here!’ Something slamming against a wall. ‘Get out!’
Footsteps thud towards the porch. Sophie presses herself against the wall, nothing to conceal her but the late afternoon shadow. Emmett stumbles past her and out of the door, his hand over his left eye.
Sophie treads quietly across the threshold into Sam’s kitchen. Sam stands by the wood burner staring out of the window, a white document rolled up in his hand.
She steps over the broken crockery and pot lids. ‘Sam? What’s going on?’
Sam turns to look at her, his face shadowed with turmoil. ‘Nothing.’
‘He called you a murderer.’
‘You believe him?’
Sophie hesitates at the dining table.
‘I guess you do.’
‘Don’t make this about me, Sam. What’s going on? What’s that paper?’
Sam strides over to Sophie and hands it to her. ‘I’ll be outside cleaning the soot off the wall. Come and talk to me after you read it … if you still want to.’
***
Ellie opens her eyes. She must have dozed off. The sun is so lovely. So warm on her face. She takes a deep breath. Such fresh air. She loves this spot. Just under the fir tree on the hill by the house. Her spot.
She reaches for her sketchpad and her pencil.
‘You’ve made me look quite nice.’
She laughs. ‘What an odd thing to say, Winny. Quite nice. You sound like a little English girl.’
Winny leans over the drawing, her long blonde braids hanging over the sketch like two tassels. She smiles at her mother, her blue-grey eyes shining. ‘C’mon, Mummy. I want to show you something.’
‘Not right now, pet. Mummy wants to rest for a bit. Sit down and I’ll draw another picture.’
Winny holds out her hand. ‘Please, Mummy. You’ll like this. I promise.’
Ellie looks at her daughter’s eager face. Someone’s drawn a Peace sign on her cheek. ‘Where did that come from?’
Winny laughs. ‘Florie. She has one too.’ She beckons to her mother. ‘C’mon, Mummy.’
Ellie sighs. ‘All right then.’ She sets her sketchbook on a velvety clump of moss. ‘But we can’t be long. Your sister’s coming later, all the way from New York. We need to make supper.’
‘Can we have spaghetti and meatballs?’
‘If you like.’
‘And chocolate cake? It’s my favourite.’
‘We can have chocolate cake too. Just don’t let the dogs get at it. Chocolate’s not good for them.’ Ellie threads her fingers through her daughter’s. ‘So, where are we off to?’
‘You’ll see.’
They start along the crest of the cliff, through the scrub woods and past the old grey piebald horse in Joe Gill’s field. When they reach the marshland, they stop to pick handfuls of fat, ripe red partridgeberries, and then they climb, higher and higher, up the grey rocky hills until they reach a thick mass of bushes heavy with blueberries. Someone is bent over one of the bushes, intent on filling a fedora hat with loot. He turns around.
‘Thomas?’
‘There you are, maid. You took your time. Blueberries are some good, but there’s a limit to how many a body can eat.’
He picks up the hat and walks over to them. ‘Go on. Help yourself, m’ darlins’. They’re the best you’ll ever eat.’ He pops a fat blueb
erry into his mouth. ‘Purple heaven.’
Far below, the ocean glimmers blue under the summer sun, the water broken only by spouts like fountains. Far down the coast, the red roof of the lighthouse is a dot of colour against the blue sky.
They stand on the cliff, eating blueberries from Thomas’s hat. Winny points out towards the horizon, which shines silver in the distance. ‘See, Mummy. I told you.’
‘It’s lovely, Winny. You were right.’
Thomas holds out his hand. ‘C’mon, maid. Let’s have a dance.’
Winny squeezes Ellie’s hand. ‘Let’s go, Mummy.’
***
Sophie takes another sip of coffee. ‘So, the fire in Boston was caused by faulty wiring?
‘We’d been renovating an old Victorian house in Dedham. It was pretty much a wreck when we bought it, but we could see the potential. Our money was tied up in my construction business. I figured if I did most of the work myself, we’d save money.’
‘So you did the wiring.’
Sam nods. ‘The night of the fire I was out of town managing a project upstate. Becca was in the hospital having some tests. Winny …’ He shakes his head. ‘Winny never had a chance.’ He presses his fingers against his eyes.
He shakes his head. ‘There was an inquiry. I was found to be culpable. I lost my business. I had a deaf five-year-old daughter to support. It was a disaster. Ellie offered me a lifeline.’
‘A job working for Emmett.’
Sam shrugs. ‘We moved into Kittiwake with Ellie and Florie. I had to swallow my pride and get on with it. I knew how to build things, and Emmett taught me how to turn wood. I built the cottage in my spare time, then I started making furniture. I set up my own joinery company a few years ago. I’ve been helping Emmett with the boat-building when he needs it. He does some work for me. That’s over now.’
Sophie pushes the coffee mug away from her and taps her fingers on the table. ‘My mother always believed that you could control your destiny by the decisions you make and the actions you take. If you don’t choose your path, your path will be chosen for you. Random things would occur, and you’d be like a plastic duck bobbing in a swirling current, getting tossed around with nothing to ground you. My mother hated that idea. She was all about control.’
The English Wife Page 33