Taken by the Muse

by Anne Wheeler

  “Then, one spring night, when I saw he was sleeping deeply, I put my long-time plan into action. I took the key from his pocket and opened his trunk. I took three dollars from his money box and added it to the forty-two cents I had gathered.

  “Maggie was four and a half, and Brigitt was three. Both of them were able to walk some distance on their own, and both were perfectly aware that we were sneaking away from their father.”

  “But you didn’t know where you were!”

  “No. But anywhere away would be better. With a sense of delight, I blocked the door from the outside. Then I opened the corrals and let all the animals go, including the horse. They charged out into the fields and away. I figured Mathew would go after them before he came after us. Maybe he would be glad to see us gone.

  “Using the North Star to guide me, we headed south. We didn’t follow any paths and the children didn’t have proper shoes, so the going was slow. But sure enough, after hours of slogging through fields of mud and climbing over deadwood in the aspen forests, I saw something in the distance that made me weep. I saw a steeple, flashing like a beacon, reflecting the light of the morning sun. What a bedazzling sight that was. We arrived at the small wooden church on the edge of town. The doors were open but nobody was inside, so I told the girls to go lie down on the pew and rest, while I went next door to the rectory.

  “As I crossed the small graveyard outside the church, I could see the road to town and the railway crossing over it. There must be a station, I told myself. With a little help, I would be on the next train. In front of the rectory, there were two lovely lilac bushes in full bloom. I remember the perfume, the sweetness of spring. It gave me hope. I gave the door a good strong knock and immediately a cheerful voice called out from inside, ‘Hello! Come in!’ It was a woman!

  “It had been years since I had talked to a woman. What would she think of me, standing out here stinking up her yard? Haggard and filthy, with my hair pulled back into a mangy knot, I couldn’t imagine she would want me inside her house.

  “The voice kept chirping away at me, ‘I’ll be right there, make yourself at home,’ she went on, but I didn’t presume to go in. Finally, the door opened, and a short, round woman stood there looking at me. Everything she wore was clean and crisp and ironed. Her hair was braided and coiled perfectly on the nape of her neck. She scanned my frightened face, then gracefully reacted. ‘Oh my, you poor soul,’ she said. ‘What have you got on your feet? Where are your boots? Come in and get warmed up, my dear.’”

  Doris’s voice breaks as she remembers this first meeting and I can’t help but weep along with her. She blows her nose and continues. “Her voice was soft and loving, genuine. When I could finally speak, I told her that my two wee girls were waiting in the church, needing to be fed. Without hesitation, she came with me to get them. Seeing their pale frightened faces, she was overcome with pity and tried to gather them up in her ample arms, but they were shy and backed away.”

  “What was her name?” I ask.

  “Peggy, aye, Peggy. She led us to the back to her kitchen and wrapped my girls, with such care, in blankets, and sat them down in front of her big, beautiful stove. Her house was shining. There was fresh baking on the counter and soup stock bubbling on the stove.

  “I told her straight out that we were trying to escape, that I had a wee bit of money. Did she know when the next train out of here would come? ‘Tomorrow at noon,’ she told me while she set the table and put out some warm bread and leftover chicken. She told us her husband was in town helping some folks move. ‘You have something to eat and I’ll be back soon,’ she said. I’m glad she left us alone, because this was the first time my girls had actually sat at a table like civilized people. They had no idea what to do with the knives and forks, napkins and saltshakers.

  “When Reverend Ruttledge arrived, in his long tailored coat, he took off his hat and had a good long look at us. Then he suggested to his missus that she should give the girls a bath. The girls followed her to the bathhouse across the yard, and the two of us were left alone.

  “‘My wife told me you are unhappy,’ he said, ‘that it’s been very difficult for you. I see that. I’ll go with you out to the farm tomorrow, and speak to your husband.’

  “Horrified, I exploded with defiance. ‘No sir. I am not going back there! Never. We’ve been living like animals — can’t you see that? My babies are starving. My husband is a monster!’ He kept nodding but remained unmoved as I raged on. At some point, I was completely spent and collapsed on the floor. He kept his distance, but asked, ‘What is your name, Madame?’

  “‘Doris Ward,’ I said. That seemed to shake him; I could see it immediately. Then he asked me what was my husband’s name. ‘Matthew Ward,’ I told him.

  “That changed everything. He was thunderstruck by my answer and sat down. ‘Matthew Ward?’ He kept repeating it over and over. ‘Are those his children then, those two girls?’ he asked.

  “‘Yes,’ I said, ‘though he doesn’t seem to want them. He doesn’t even call them by name. He only wants a boy.’ Now that I had his attention, I started all over. ‘Please sir,’ I begged, ‘send us away somewhere safe. If he finds us here, he will kill us all.’

  “‘How long have you been married?’ he asked, like he still couldn’t believe it.

  “I told him, ‘About five years, sir. I don’t know what date it is now, but I arrived in Calgary on April 29, 1903.’

  “Looking me straight in the eye, he said, ‘I wish I had known, Mrs. Ward. This has been going on much too long.’ With that, he got up and left.

  “Peggy came back with the girls all cleaned up, wearing borrowed nighties that were white, real white. I had not seen white for a while. And their hair was carefully braided. They looked so sweet. Peggy seemed anxious. Different. She said that the Reverend thought it was best for us to stay with them for the night. Then she prepared a lovely fresh bath for me and gave us all clean clothes and shoes, which had been sent out from another Presbyterian congregation in Toronto.

  “What a mess I was! Unused to this kindness, I could hardly keep my emotions under control. She told me that her deepest regret was that she had no children of her own, but she made up for it by being charitable. We had a fine meal of stew with meat and vegetables. Freshly harvested and stewed rhubarb with cream. Then she put us to bed in her parlour, which was so warm and cozy. The walls were covered with beautiful paintings, and there were shelves full of books. Oh my, I thought to myself, if we could stay here forever, I would die happy!”

  Doris pours herself another cup of tea. I’ve hardly touched mine; she has me spellbound with her Irish lilt and her harrowing story. The woman at the desk crosses the hall, comes toward us, and asks how long we’re going to be. “We’ve got to set the tables for dinner soon,” she says. Impatiently, Doris shoots back at her, “Not for another bloody hour, Gladys. I know that. Mind your own business.”

  The woman doesn’t know quite what to say. She looks me over, assessing the situation. “Don’t mind her language,” she says to me. “She’s one egg short of a dozen.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind her bloody language one bit,” I retort, and the woman leaves, miffed. Doris and I share a moment of amusement.

  “I think you and I are cut from the same cloth, dear,” she says to me.

  “Yes, I think we are. Go on,” I urge her, “before she comes back and chases us out with a fork.” She giggles.

  “Well, the Reverend left the house in the morning before I could speak to him. I asked Peggy what she thought he would do for us. She simply said, ‘I’ve put a lunch together for you. For the train. I think we should go down there early. Now.’

  “She pulled a cookie jar down from a cupboard and took out ten one-dollar bills. ‘I hope this will help,’ she said. ‘Just take it please, make no fuss.’

  “‘Thank you so much. One day I’ll pay you back. I promise.’

  “We were hurrying down the lane when I could feel a pounding in my he
ad. Something tried to warn me — a shift in the wind, a vibration perhaps, the sound of the trotting horse. Maybe it was the smell of him or some wild instinct. But I knew he was there before I saw him riding up with the Reverend. I froze.

  “There was a fury in his eyes as he jumped off the wagon and came rushing toward me. I picked up Brigitt and tried to run, but it was hopeless. He grabbed me by the arm, and yanked the two of us toward the wagon. I reached out to Peggy. ‘Help me,’ I begged. ‘We can’t go back!’

  “She turned to her husband and addressed him by his first name, ‘Michael — please!’ He put his hand up, commanding her to keep her mouth shut, and with a calm ‘godly’ voice, told her, ‘Go inside, Peggy. Make a pot of tea.’ Without looking at me, she turned and hurried away.

  “Matthew threw Brigitt and me in the wagon, but Maggie took off, knowing he was strong but not fast enough to catch her and she disappeared into the brush. He was fuming. ‘Get back here, you little bugger, or I’ll squeeze your eyes out! You hear me? Afraid of the dark, are you? You’ll never see light again!’ I remember those exact words.

  “The Reverend was visibly shocked by this beastly outburst and finally intervened. ‘Matthew!’ he commanded, as if he were talking to a naughty child. ‘Contain yourself! I know you were worried, but calm down. You have your wife back,’ he said, ‘and your girl will change her mind. She’ll come back. Get a hold of yourself! Be a man.’ He went on like that.

  “I was surprised to see that Matthew was listening, though he was huffing and puffing, struggling to get his temper under control. We all stood there, not knowing what was coming next. It felt like Matthew could blow at any moment, but the Reverend kept talking. ‘You are a lucky man. What more could you ask for? They are safe and sound. You have been blessed by the Lord with a beautiful wife and two healthy children. Be grateful, Matthew. You have a family.’

  “No one dared to speak. Matthew shook his head violently, like he was trying to rid himself of his thoughts. I’d seen it before when he was wrestling with his demons. Then he spoke in a different tone. ‘Yes, Reverend, they are safe. Thanks to you, sir.’

  “‘They were just lost, Matthew, is all. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Ward?’ The Reverend nodded at me to take up his efforts. I knew what he wanted me to say.

  “‘That’s right,’ I answered, gagging on the words, ‘We got lost, is all.’ Of course, that didn’t explain why the animals were gone, why I had locked him in the shack — but it was enough to save face and it worked.

  “The Reverend resumed his ploy, ‘Why don’t you bring your flock to church, Matthew, when you come next Sunday? Everyone would like to meet them.’ Matthew was still struggling, but less vehemently.

  “So now I understood where Matthew went on Saturdays, but, of course they were Sundays, not Saturdays. I had just lost track of the days. It was his chance to come into town, get cleaned up, and visit the people who believed he was an honest God-fearing man. I wondered what had he told the Reverend today on their ride into town.

  “The men started walking toward the house, so Brigitt and I climbed out of the wagon, brushing off our new clothes, wanting to stay clean.

  “Like a good boy, Matthew turned to me, contritely, ‘I know you don’t know better, Doris, and I apologize if I am impatient. But when you run off like that, I’m afraid for your life.’ Then he turned to the Reverend, ‘As I told you, she thinks nonsense sometimes. The life out there has been hard on her. She hasn’t been wanting to meet anyone. She imagines things — hides things.’

  “The Reverend patted him on the back. ‘She needs you to be strong, Matthew. She’s not the first to lose her bearings ... women need to feel safe.’

  “I could see Maggie watching all this from a distance. Brigitt hung onto me, shaking. None of us felt safe.

  “Somehow, we ended up in the parlour, all of us praying for our family to be together forever. Then I helped Peggy make some lunch and tried again to make my situation clear to her. I showed her my scars, my hands that were bent and worn from working, fingers broken from his beatings.

  “Unfortunately, the Reverend came in and possibly heard some of — at any rate, he put his foot down. ‘You must accept your lot in life, Mrs. Ward. You’re only making things worse for yourself and your children. You are a mother and a wife, and your place is at home. Make the best of it.’

  “At lunch, Peggy suggested that Maggie should be starting school soon, and perhaps a member of their congregation could board her in the fall. I grabbed onto the idea. ‘She is a very helpful girl and she’s smart. She deserves to go to school,’ I said.

  “‘Every child deserves to go to school,’ Peggy replied, ‘and please, call me Peggy.’ I felt as though we had a quiet understanding.

  “When we came out, Maggie was waiting in the back of the wagon with her head down, hugging her knees, expecting the worst. But nobody mentioned her absence.

  “The men hopped on board, with Matthew riding up front with the Reverend, who asked him, ‘Do you have an order waiting down at the store, Matthew? Your wife might like to see the town, to get some supplies.’

  “Matthew shook his head with regret and spoke confidentially. ‘No sir. I don’t trust her quite yet. She’s apt to take what isn’t hers.’ That’s what he said. And I guess the Reverend believed him.

  “Peggy had given me a book about homesteading. As we bumped along, I opened it out of curiosity. She had signed her name on the front cover and had pinned some useful notes and recipes between the pages. I immediately recognized the handwriting! It was she who had written the letters I got from Matthew while I was still in Dublin! I had long suspected that he could not write at all — and here was proof of it.

  “But now, the Reverend was convinced that I was a simpleton and a thief, and poor Matthew had been burdened by my lack of skills. Oh, I was angry at the injustice, but I stayed quiet, holding my kiddies, listening to the two men gabbing away. The Reverend suggested that Matthew should be satisfied with two children — for now — that he should get a house built before having more. But Matthew was firm. ‘I want a son. I need a son, Reverend. Nothing sinful about that, is there?’ The pastor had to admit that every man wanted a son.

  “After that, things settled down a little, and I did all that was asked of me. Matthew gained weight and seemed content. On Sundays, we went to church and people were friendly, though we were a strange crew. Matthew had told the girls that he’d cut out their tongues if either of them complained to anyone, so they remained mute. I too kept my eyes down, careful not to draw attention to myself. We all appeared to be idiots, incapable of speaking a full sentence, but I got a sweet nod from Peggy every Sunday, which meant everything to me.

  “And that’s how we lived, for almost a year until, glory be, one of the families in town offered to take Maggie in, so she could go to school. To Matthew, this sounded like a dangerous proposition, but he couldn’t refuse such generosity, knowing that the Ruttledges were involved.

  “So that September, Peggy came to pick Maggie up. I remember seeing her in the distance, driving her buggy up the trail. Matthew marched out, wanting to stop her at the gate, but she drove right past him, giving him a friendly wave as though she had no idea that she was supposed to halt on command. I came out the door with the girls. Maggie had packed up her few things in a sack and was eager to get away.

  “Peggy pulled up in front of the shack, and I watched her take a good look around. No barn. A pile of rocks. A couple of skinny cows and a horse that limped. Then she saw the small shack, worthy of goats perhaps, with a large door that only bolted from the outside. It was as I had described it, and now she knew for sure. I wondered if the Reverend had described it in a different way. Perhaps he didn’t think she’d come out here on her own.

  “I was standing there wearing the dress she gave me, now shredded by work — I had nothing else to wear. I asked her if she’d like some tea but she only shook her head — it was then that I saw that she was quietly weeping. I
thanked her for the book, for her notes, and of course for the opportunity she was giving my Maggie.

  “Matthew was watching us closely, so we kept our conversation sparse and unemotional. She gave me a parcel of cloth, some sugar, flour, and dried fruit. And, bless her soul, she gave me a lilac bush to plant. It’s still alive; I go there and visit it every spring.

  “We gave each other a brief hug and a long look of understanding. ‘Doris, I must be off. The days are so short and I don’t like travelling in the dark, but I’ll see you at church.’ To Matthew, she merely said, ‘Good Day, Mr. Ward. You’re looking well.’ He nodded and said nothing.

  “Maggie climbed into the back of the wagon, and Peggy told her to ‘come up front.’ That pleased my girl very much, and it pleased me too. My daughter was riding out of here, with dignity, not thrown in the back of the wagon like some loose cargo. Maggie knew she had to be careful. If anything she did or said caused Matthew any grief, he would take it out on her sister or me. I would miss my Maggie. She was a big help to me, but I was thrilled to see her escape this harsh life.

  “Things changed after that. The fact that the Reverend’s wife had denied Matthew’s authority and had seen the way we lived in squalor may have had something to do with it, though nobody came to see us. Matthew refused to go to church and rarely went to town. I felt stranded and prayed that Maggie was safe and happy. We didn’t see her until Christmas, when school closed for three weeks. Matthew went in early to fetch her. Peggy sent some parcels back with her, some extra blankets and food. She sent gifts, too, including tobacco for Matthew, which surprised him. I suspected he missed his visits with the Reverend; this was an invitation to resume the friendship, a reassurance perhaps that she had not closed the door on him.

  “I got some garden seeds and some wool and a book by Nellie McClung called Sowing Seeds in Danny. There was a message on page twenty-five, written on the inside margin. ‘Your Maggie is doing well at school. I think of you often. The only thing for certain is change. Do not despair.’