The Liars

by Ida Linehan Young

  The ocean, pulsating, mesmerizing, and soothing, summoned her as its frothed lips salivated and drummed on the rocky shore. Its voice was deep and turbulent and welcoming. She stopped fighting him.

  Sensing the change in her, without care, he slung her over the edge. She didn’t look back. The fish hawk shrieked once more as its steep dive matched her own. The rocks welcomed her into their granite bosom. The sea devoured her.

  Once the ocean was finished with her, the waves spat her ashore near Nain four days later. The community was riled and demanded action for the murder of the young woman. A few of the brothers from the Mission confronted Ezra, but there were no consequences for his actions. The good Christians of the settlement all gathered for a service. She was buried in the community graveyard. A scrap of wood carved with the name Ruth Taktos served to mark her final resting place.

  Ezra watched from the trees on the hillside. There was a sombre yet harmonious chorus of voices in the chapel. When the people left, he did, too. He grinned—a man’s business.

  2

  Holyrood, Conception Bay

  Present day, late spring, 1895

  John MacDonald, his tall frame straight and stiff, gazed around Carroll’s crowded store in Holyrood. He could not shake the uneasiness he felt whenever he was amongst people. A consequence of hiding, he supposed. Always watchful, always waiting, expecting a mortal outcome that didn’t favour his own longevity.

  He tended not to say much. Folks said he wasn’t a friendly sort. But when Beatrice was around, he was a different man. She was a salve on an open wound. She let him forget. Maybe she would be the distraction that would lead to his downfall, but because of her, he didn’t care. Without Beatrice, there would be too much remembering. That wasn’t always good for the soul, he allowed. Especially one like his.

  His time with Beatrice was precious to him. He didn’t want her remembering “bad” things about the man she called her father. He was not entirely sure why, but for some reason, that mattered, especially if something were to change. He wanted her to be able to look back on her childhood as a pleasant one.

  He knew what it was like to be somebody else’s rubbish—thrown out in the gutter to make his way in filth and squalor. Beatrice had been, too. But she wouldn’t know. She wouldn’t feel that shame, not as long as he could help it.

  His eyes followed the young girl, Caddy, as she paraded from the mail desk to the store counter. He liked her. She couldn’t be any more than fourteen or fifteen, he reckoned. She had a way about her, a boldness for living, that didn’t sit too well with people.

  She made a great fuss of opening the Harbour Grace Standard, cleared her throat, and waited for the chatter to cease. There was still one conversation going on, so she ahemed once again. Despite the gravity of the situation, he lowered his head and smiled into the collar of his jacket.

  Then she started to read out the article titled “Prisoner Escapes.”

  “About a quarter to eight o’clock last night, Police Inspector CARTY received a telegram from Brigus stating that the Eskimo charged with the murder of his son at Nain, Labrador, and who escaped at Scrammy, from custody, on board the SS Panther, had arrived at Harbour Main from HANNON, and that while being conveyed by the said HANNON from Harbour Main to Brigus, to be handed over to the police authorities there, he made his escape at Gasters, Salmon Cove. On receipt of this information, the Inspector immediately sent dispatches to the police in Holyrood, Brigus, Bay Roberts, and Harbour Grace, instructing them to leave nothing undone that would be likely to lead up to his apprehension. At eight o’clock, some of the horse police were sent from St. John’s in search of the fugitive, followed shortly after by a detachment on foot. Up to the time of our ongoing press, his recapture had not been effected.”

  When she finished, she carefully folded the paper and laid it on the grey oilcloth covering the counter.

  “I’ll be locking my door tonight,” said Mrs. Fewer. “Jim, I don’t know that you should go fishing till he’s caught.”

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Crawley. “A dangerous fellow like that, you don’t know what he could do.”

  “The murderer could be watching us right now,” said Mrs. Hickey. “Good thing Charl is here to bring me home.”

  “Seen the police go through today on the train,” said Mr. Quinlan.

  “The ones on the horses will be about soon enough,” said Mr. Healey.

  John made his way to the counter as the chatter continued and folks moved toward the door.

  Caddy smiled. “What can I do for you, Mr. MacDonald?”

  “You’re sure that’s yesterday’s paper, Caddy?” he asked. “Never heard anything today, did you?”

  “A couple of officers are staying up to Veitch’s,” she said. “They were in here just before supper, and I heard them talking. He’s not been caught yet.” Caddy regarded him for a moment, searching his face. “You see anything?”

  “No, no,” said John. “The missus is scared, that’s all. We’re out on that lane by ourselves.”

  Caddy nodded, his explanation acceptable, at least so it seemed. “I’m glad we live across the way. Lots of people around. I didn’t tell Ma about it.”

  “Good thing not to worry her,” John said. He tipped his hat and wished her a good night. Out in the fresh air, he kept his head down, eyes hooded beneath his cap, and made quick steps. He passed the train station and the hotel before heading up the hill toward home.

  Alice would be anxiously waiting for news, and Beatrice would be ready for bed by the time he got there. He didn’t like to see Alice fretting about the situation. So much had changed between them. Yet somehow so much had stayed the same.

  John had a job to get Alice to lie down that night. She was on the verge of hysteria before the sun rose and calmed her some.

  John brought Beatrice to school and made a quick trip to Carroll’s for the mail. Though they had only recently begun to receive one letter at the end of each month, it was an excuse to find news. The trips made him vulnerable, but he wouldn’t see Alice suffering.

  Back at the house, John had no different news for Alice. Her voice quivered and a shadow passed over her eyes as the situation sank in. Red-faced, she reached for the chair and crumpled there. He went to her side and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “You’re sure it was Ezra?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She inhaled sharply. “What are we going to do now?” She hung her head and wept into her hands. John knelt in front of her and pushed some long black strands of hair behind her ears. The misery of worry had settled on her features.

  Awkwardly, she eased into his embrace. Reflex made him stiffen before he could stop himself. He forced himself to relax. Her arms encircled him, and she cried into his shoulder. He slowly put his arms around her and held her.

  “We do nothing. Nobody knows where we are. We left all that far away.”

  “But he’s so close,” Alice said. “Harbour Main, it’s hardly a day’s walk.”

  “He’ll get caught,” John said, his voice surer than his thoughts.

  “What if he doesn’t? I’m scared, John. It’s not just us anymore. We have Beatrice to think of now.”

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s time.” He gently eased her away. “I’ll go get her from the schoolhouse. Will you be all right?”

  “Beatrice will always come first. I’ll be fine,” Alice said. She wiped her eyes with the tail of her skirt, then straightened her back. He admired her strength. She didn’t know it, but she kept him strong. She held him in the present as much as Beatrice did.

  John felt her eyes on him. His tall, stout frame was hunched just a bit. His dark hair was thinning around the temples. He turned at the gate when he heard her voice.

  “We must be watchful and ready.”

&nb
sp; “I know,” he said. He turned once more toward the coast. John walked this two-mile route twice a day. He wasn’t as sure in his thinking about being found out since Beatrice started school. He was taking more and more chances of being recognized. He was almost daring somebody to recognize him. Maybe then it would be over. But the thought of something happening to her, especially because of him, was worse than the thought of being exposed. Today his step was quicker than most others, though, because of the threat to Alice.

  If it weren’t for Beatrice, they would have stared at changing seasons through the window of the house. Even if staying hidden was probably best, both he and Alice wanted more for Beatrice. They wanted her to be schooled. She was their miracle in all this. Something John was sure that he didn’t deserve. The little girl had given them so much happiness despite their circumstances. In truth, it was the child who probably kept them both sane. It was the child who stopped the running. It was Beatrice who kept them together. She made them believe they were a family. Those were dangerous thoughts for a man like him.

  School would soon be out for the summer, and they could stay in the isolation of their farm until the vegetables were ready for sale. It was one of the things they had to do to survive. That meant something different now. Living here, though self-exiled, seemed normal. That’s what he told himself when he remembered he had to do things he hadn’t imagined he would ever do—things that were wrong, according to the law—things that could turn Alice against him. But he would do them now if there was a threat to his family. He just didn’t want to have to do them again. He walked out of the tree-lined lane a short time later, high above the schoolhouse in the distance on the point of land jutting out into Holyrood harbour. The white church steeple glistened in the sun behind the small one-room school. Its bell tolled the beginning and end of the school day as well as the call to prayer on Sundays when the priest was visiting.

  There was a lot of activity in the area in the last few months. The train brought people, people brought prosperity, and prosperity brought trouble. That was the part that worried him. He was uneasy about remaining here.

  They hadn’t been thinking straight when they’d arrived here on the train. That was when Beatrice came into their lives. That was when they went from running to hiding.

  “Good day, Mr. MacDonald.”

  His thoughts were broken by a short, round woman. “Oh, Mrs. Byrne, I didn’t see you.”

  “On your way to the school, I see.”

  “Yes, it’s almost that time.”

  “Indeed. I’m on my way to the church with the linens for Sunday. I’ll keep you company, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. But I’d be happy to drop them off if you have something better to do. After all, I’m going that way.”

  Mrs. Byrne hesitated before agreeing to hand him the basket. She gave him instructions, then turned and went back the way she came. John was glad not to have to listen to her ramblings while he was so distracted. He made fast work of the extra chore and returned to the lime-washed wooden fence post near the gate leading to the schoolyard. This was where Beatrice would meet him.

  He scanned the harbour, his daily musing. There was a multitude of small fishing boats along the shores and around the wharves. There were plenty of two- and three-masted schooners anchored off or coming and going. He wouldn’t be part of any of that commerce ever again.

  In the distance, a crowd of people waited for the train on the wooden platform. They would be heading to the capital, St. John’s, or to some of the communities in between. He wouldn’t be part of any of that travel, either.

  Most days, he and Beatrice were halfway back to their turnoff when the train passed. Beatrice sometimes tried to outrun it or asked him to stop and wave at the people, depending on her mood. She wouldn’t notice his bowed head as she was waving and giggling. She was a jolly child, for sure.

  Construction had already begun on wharves and cribbing directly below him on the beach. Big logs came in on the train, and men pulled rocks from a nearby quarry in order to keep them in place. Holyrood would be a large port soon enough. Easy access to the train and deep waters were all the freight boats needed, and it was all here.

  John put his foot on the rail of the fence, his elbow on his bent knee and his hand under his jaw as he watched the activity. He looked out at the boats once more. Sometimes he missed being part of that world, but some things were more important than company. When the church bell rang, the most important one ran toward him shouting “Daddy.” That was all he needed to sustain him—that and Alice.

  John walked hand in hand with the blonde-haired child who put a touch of contentment in his world. He couldn’t believe she was seven. They guessed her age and had made up a birthday a few days after they got her. The name Beatrice had been sewn into some of her clothing. They didn’t change that. She gave them life just as sure as her mother had given birth to her and etched the words “This is Beatrice, she was loved” into the blanket that enwrapped her. Alice kept it until Christmas past, when she returned it to the mother who bore her.

  In the beginning, he told himself that Beatrice and Alice were a means to an end. A hiding place of sorts. But over time, his cold heart had warmed to the little blonde-haired beauty who called him Daddy and the raven-haired woman she called Mommy. The three had become a family, at least in the eyes of the few who made their acquaintance.

  Only he and Alice knew the truth. At least about Beatrice. He sometimes wondered if he really knew everything about Alice. Alice didn’t know about him. She hadn’t asked. His truth was a twisted mess. But somehow the child had made it okay. John couldn’t admit it, but he had grown to love Alice. He wouldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t forgive him for his sins, and he wondered if he would ever care to forgive himself.

  Beatrice chattered away as they listened to the sound of the train whistle in the distance. She skipped along the beach. This little child had changed him. He sometimes worried that she’d broken him, that he wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done because of her. But because of her, he might be able to do it more easily. He might find out sooner than he’d thought because of the prison break in Salmon Cove. He would do what he had to do for Alice.

  Just last summer, a man, Danol Cooper, had come. John remembered being surprised in the barn. He thought he’d finally been found out and was almost relieved. The uneasiness of always looking over his shoulder, always waiting, was a heavy burden and made him suspicious of things that weren’t always real. But when the man had stared at Beatrice, he knew it was about her and not him. Then he felt guilty for feeling relieved. He and Alice were going to run again. But Cooper had found where they were hiding and would probably have found them again if they had done so. That could have led to other truths being unearthed, and he couldn’t risk disclosure.

  In the end, though the child had been left with them instead of being returned to her mother, John had ultimately chosen his own welfare over hers. Though the child was fixed in his heart and he wouldn’t change anything about that, he now carried another guilt. He had chosen himself over Beatrice. What kind of man did that make him?

  He didn’t force himself to remember his past acts like he used to do. His new family eased the bitterness that had consumed him for so long, and Beatrice kept it from festering. Maybe he was satisfied that Lavinia’s justice had been served. The courts had failed, leaving him responsible for that judgment. There was no fairness in the consequences to himself. He was running ever since. Well, until Beatrice. Though in many ways he was still running, he was staying put in a situation that he was more than happy to live with. The one before this had been bleak and lonesome.

  His mind wandered back to Alice’s predicament. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him that Ezra was so close. Maybe Alice was right. It couldn’t be a coincidence—he didn’t believe in them.
Perhaps it was time to make a decision about Beatrice. Maybe he, too, was too easy to be found. He shook his head. This was about Alice and not about him.

  But after having the opportunity to do the right thing for Beatrice and choosing his own well-being instead, he wondered if he’d really changed at all. Maybe he was a coward. Perhaps the selfish, lawless, street-living, good-for-nothing boy, and the bitter, murdering young man couldn’t be changed despite his efforts to believe otherwise. Just because he didn’t think about it like he used to didn’t make it untrue.

  3

  Beatrice smiled up at him as she skipped along. “What do you think, Daddy?”

  “About what?”

  “I just asked you. Do you think we can ever go on the train?”

  “We’ll talk to your mother about that when we get home,” John replied.

  “Really?” Beatrice’s voice rose in surprise. “Really, Daddy?”

  “We’ll talk to your mother,” he repeated, attempting to sound stern. “Now, let’s beat that train to the road.” He quickened his step, in preparation of racing her. Beatrice squealed and ran ahead of him.

  All the way back to the house she questioned him about where she could go. John warned her not to mention the train to her mother until he had a chance to talk to her about it.

  Alice was waiting at the door when they returned. Beatrice hugged her and went in ahead of him. He brought her books and lunch pail and laid them on the table.

  “Go change your clothes,” he said to Beatrice.

  “Are you going to talk to Mommy?”

  “Go and change out of your good clothes,” Alice said as she stared at John.

  When Beatrice disappeared through the door on the opposite side of the kitchen, Alice grabbed John’s arm. “What is it?” Terror swam in her eyes.

  “Sit down, Alice,” he said as he guided her to the chair. “I’ve been thinking on what you said about Ezra being so close. I don’t like it.”