The Liars

by Ida Linehan Young

  Alice put her face in her palms and then massaged her scalp with her fingertips. When she finally looked up at him, she asked, “What do we do?”

  “Hear me out, Alice.” John sat next to her and took her hand. “What if we sent Beatrice back to her mother?”

  With a sharp intake of breath, Alice shook her head and pushed his hand away. “No. No. No.”

  “Hear me out, Alice,” he repeated. He took her hand once more and squeezed it. “I don’t mean forever.”

  She stared at the door through which her daughter had gone. Slowly, she squeezed his hand in return.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That Cooper fellow. He said that if he could do anything for us to let him know. The mother said the same thing in her letter. We just need to contact that lawyer in St. John’s.”

  “But we could lose her, John. We can’t. At least I can’t lose her.”

  “Now, Alice, that’s not fair.” John didn’t want to raise his voice to her, but he felt gut-punched from her words. Alice was hurting. “I love that little girl as much as you do. What do you think will happen if Ezra finds you here? If he finds Beatrice here?”

  “Oh, John, I didn’t think of that. Oh God, John. You’re right, we have to get her out of here. Ezra could kill her.” Alice jumped from the chair, and he stopped her before she reached Beatrice’s door. Beatrice was singing some sort of children’s rhyme, her voice carrying through the thin walls.

  Alice pulled from his grip, and he grabbed her again. “Alice, stop it. You’ll frighten her.” He held her in place until he saw calmness in her eyes. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  Alice nodded. “We have a lot to do.”

  “We do,” said John.

  They both turned when the door opened. “Did you ask her, Daddy?”

  “He did,” Alice said.

  “We are going on the train tomorrow,” John said.

  Beatrice jumped up and down and squealed. “Where are we going?”

  “Do you remember when there was a man here last year? He stayed for toutons?”

  “Yes, he talked funny.”

  “Don’t say that,” Alice said.

  Beatrice looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  Alice looked at John.

  “Let’s get some supper and then talk about it,” he said.

  “Do you have lessons?” Alice asked.

  Beatrice nodded and shuffled through her books. “What about Penny?”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s my best friend,” Beatrice said. “Can I tell her tomorrow?”

  Alice and John looked at each other. John shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said.

  4

  North Harbour

  The wedding of Danol Cooper and Erith Lock

  Erith Lock stared at her reflection in the tiny mirror. She couldn’t see the white dress even from her tippytoes. She had to take her friend Maggie’s word that she looked just fine. Maggie, a proxy for the mother she hadn’t known, had fussed between her and the stove the whole morning. Arguably, she would have spent more time with her, but her daughter-in-law and Erith’s dear friend, Agnes, had shown up at dawn to help ready the feast and to dress the bride.

  Her heart did a somersault, her belly heaved, and her hand shook as she focused on the image before her. Agnes had pulled her hair back from her face in a loose knot. She wouldn’t allow her to tie it too tight because it brought back unpleasant memories of not so happy times.

  Little Annie had picked purple asters from the meadow, while Tommy and George had plucked some ferns to add to her bouquet. How she loved those little ones—well, not so little now. Her heart gave another thump to remind her of Beatrice. Not that she could ever forget her. She’d grab some white daisies from the laneway to add to the purple bouquet. That would be for her baby, whom she hadn’t seen since she was a few months old. Erith had something to be thankful for, though. Beatrice was alive, when for so long she’d thought her to be dead!

  Danol’s voice and the merriment of the children as they greeted him wafted through the walls. Danol Cooper, her husband-to-be. What was he doing here? She was supposed to meet him shortly at the church.

  Maggie’s raised voice penetrated the wooden door. “Danol. Danol! I can’t let you go in there.”

  “It’s important, Maggie. I have to speak to Erith.”

  Erith heard the urgency in his voice. Her stomach rolled once more, and she staggered toward the sound of the man she would soon marry. Clothing whooshed against the wood, and the door rattled as somebody—she’d bet Maggie—put her body against it.

  “I don’t care. It will have to wait,” Maggie said.

  “What’s going on?” Erith called.

  “Erith, honey, I need to speak to you.”

  “You’ll have to do it through the door,” Maggie said. The woman’s clothing sighed on the wood as her plump body moved against the door. Knowing Maggie, she probably had the rolling pin.

  “Okay, that’s fine.” Danol’s voice rose as if in acceptance. “It’s important, Maggie. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.”

  “Where’s Father Desmond?”

  “He’s outside in the wagon. He said he fancied a walk to the church,” Danol said.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t he come in?”

  “We don’t have time, Maggie. I have to speak with Erith.”

  “Danol Cooper, if you take one peek at that woman, I swear, I’ll—”

  “Maggie, please! It’s very important,” Danol interrupted. “Please move aside.”

  Erith smiled as she listened to the sparring outside her door, until she picked up on the impatience in his voice. That was not his custom. Something was wrong. What could Danol want that was so important? He’d been underfoot for the last month since she’d agreed to marry him. He hadn’t even bothered to go on a freight run and instead chose to send his crew. It was the crew who’d fetched the priest from St. John’s. Danol said he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be late for their wedding.

  Her palms began to sweat, and she took a gulp of air. “Danol, what’s wrong?” Erith couldn’t stop the tremble in her voice. She reached to turn the key in the lock, but then she hesitated. This could be Danol’s way of sneaking a kiss. He and the children had been pretty foxy, especially this last week. It could be a ruse of some sort. But he wouldn’t intentionally worry her.

  “Danol, you’re frightening me,” she said. Maggie’s footfalls went out the hall.

  “I don’t mean to, Erith. But I do have news.”

  She turned the key and opened the door a crack, remaining out of sight. There was a soft thud as he rested his forehead on the jamb.

  “What is it, Danol?”

  “It’s about Beatrice.”

  Erith yanked on the door and it flew back, striking the wall with some force. Danol straightened his tall frame, and his brilliant blue eyes met hers. “It’s not bad news. At least I don’t think so. I received a letter from your solicitor about the MacDonalds. They want me—well, us, if that’s what you want—to come pick up Beatrice. It says they have to deal with urgent business and need a place for Beatrice to stay for a month or two. They would only entrust her to us.”

  Erith gasped and reached for Danol to steady herself. He gathered her in his arms. “Want to go? Of course I want to go—more than anything! We’ll leave right now. Let me pack a bag. What about the children? How soon can we leave? My God, Danol—what could be wrong?” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she buried her face in his coat to quell the frantic feeling rising inside.

  A small, firm hand rested on her back before she heard a calming voice. “It doesn’t sound like Beatrice is in any kind of danger. Don’t worry about anything, Erith. Peter and I will take care of things
here.” Her friend and confidante, Dr. Mary Nolan, spoke behind her. Mary Ro looked beautiful. Her red hair was bundled beneath a small, light blue hat edged with creamy lace pinned off-centre on her head. Her blue dress with a pale trim flowed to the floor on her slender body.

  “I told Mary Ro and Peter on the way here,” Danol said. Erith glanced from one to the other. Quickly, Maggie and Peter rushed down the hall toward them. Peter, a striking picture with his dark, perfectly trimmed hair contrasting with his light grey suit, reached for his wife. Mary instantly nestled in the crook of his arm.

  “There’s no reason not to go ahead with the wedding,” Mary said. “The men need time to provision the boat. They must get water and supplies.” She looked at Erith as if waiting for her to agree. Mary’s green eyes were wide and expectant while Erith absorbed what she and Danol had said. After a long pause, Mary added, “Father Desmond is ready whenever you are.”

  “How can we get married? What of the guests? The food? The children?”

  “That’s why you are going ahead with the wedding,” Mary replied. “The children have been so excited. You can’t disappoint them. Having the wedding won’t delay you from seeing Beatrice.”

  Mary turned Erith to face her. Her tone was soft as she spoke. “I know you are confused. But I also know how much you were looking forward to today. It is not selfish to get married. You deserve to be happy, Erith. There is nothing wrong with that.”

  Danol gently pulled her back to him. “Erith, I will do as you wish. However, I won’t pretend that I won’t be greatly disappointed if we don’t get married today. I love you. But there can’t be a wedding if your heart is not in it with mine. I won’t force you to marry me. I want you to be happy. I’ll respect your wishes.” His eyes locked with hers. He bent and softly kissed her lips. The earth seemed to shift beneath Erith. “I will wait for you forever, Erith Lock. I hope you know how happy you have made me and how much I love you,” he whispered in her ear as he squeezed her tighter.

  Erith hugged him fiercely. “I know that.” She slowly let her arms fall from around his neck. Her palms grazed his cheeks, and their eyes met and held. How easy this had become—how love and kindness had changed her. Her heart seemed to leap in her chest, and she drew in a deep breath to calm herself.

  “We can take a wagon as far as Whitbourne and catch the train tomorrow morning,” Danol said. “The crew of the Angel Endeavours should be able to meet us in St. John’s in a day or two, and we can bring Beatrice back here by sea.”

  “I’ll keep the three children here until you return,” Maggie piped in too cheerily, her toothless grin strained, and her troubled eyes betrayed the sweetness of the sentiment.

  “With Agnes and Patrick’s help, we’ll take care of the food and the wedding guests,” Mary said matter-of-factly. “There is not one person here in North Harbour who wouldn’t do anything for you or to protect you. You’ve already seen that. I’ll explain the situation. It won’t be a problem. The children will be cared for, whatever you decide to do.”

  Erith had so much to be thankful for: three beautiful children who, though they were no blood relation, were as much her own as was Beatrice; a loving partner who wanted to marry her and help raise the children; wonderful friends who were worried about her; and a community she could count on. “I need a little time,” she said. “I’ll be ready in a few moments.” Danol’s heavy sigh of relief would have been funny in other circumstances. She reached for his hand. “I’ll be right along. I promise.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be waiting at the altar.” His face grew more serious. “Are you sure? We can wait. I can go myself. This should be a happy day.”

  “I’m sure, Danol. I’m sure. It is a happy day. We’ll have the rest of our lives to celebrate.”

  Erith rested her back on the door, and the crowd shuffled out the hall. The murmur of voices disappeared to the kitchen. “I will not cry,” she whispered to the walls. “Today is a happy day.” And in fact, it was. Danol had been like a wondrous child since she’d agreed to marry him. He talked of him staying around instead of spending a life at sea. He wanted to have a larger family. He wanted to bring her to England to meet her mother’s people. So many plans and so many reasons to be happy. He was a good man.

  And now she would see her Beatrice. The picture Danol had given her only a few months ago was nestled in a hidden pocket in her dress. She took it out and rubbed her thumb over the beautiful face of her baby. Well, not a baby any longer. She was eight now. Erith would see her as early as tomorrow. Tomorrow! A whirlwind of images popped into Erith’s mind. She crossed the room to the mirror and then peered at the picture once again. Slowly, she reached to untie the ribbon and pins that were holding her wild and wiry hair. She glanced from the mirror to the picture and back again.

  Beatrice would know. She might not know tomorrow, but she would know sometime. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Everything she had done, every decision she’d made, had been for Beatrice.

  The windowpane rattled and the tiny branch of a lilac tree swayed in the breeze, intruding on her reverie. A knife on the sill drew her attention. She remembered Danol had brought it to help Annie cut the ribbon for a wedding gift she was wrapping. He must have forgotten to take it back to the kitchen. It would do the trick.

  She returned to the mirror. Maggie called to her from the kitchen. “Erith, will you be ready soon?”

  “Yes,” she said in a low voice.

  Erith stared at her reflection, and at once her eyes filled with tears. She grabbed a fistful of hair before she could stop herself and laid the back of the blade on her neck just below her ear. She shuddered. Beatrice would know. Without thinking, she pulled the hair and began to cut it away. A handful came free, and she tossed it aside on the floor. She seized onto more. She could hardly see with tears.

  Maggie gasped behind her. “Erith, what have you done?”

  Almost blinded by the stream of tears running down her face, Erith traced Maggie’s approaching form in the mirror without turning around. Maggie’s rough hand covered hers on the handle. “Help me, Maggie.”

  “Oh, Erith, my child. Your beautiful hair.”

  “It’s like Beatrice’s.”

  “I know. I know.” Maggie’s voice wavered. “Danol Cooper doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.” She chuckled through her tears, and Erith burst out laughing. Maggie hugged her from behind. “I’ll get the scissors and a sheet to cover your dress. We must hurry. They’ll be waiting.”

  Within a few moments, Erith was sheared. She patted her head several times. Her short hair felt odd through the tips of her fingers. Maggie handed her a handkerchief to dry her eyes. She took one last glimpse. Today was about Beatrice before it could be about herself. That would not change.

  Erith grabbed her bouquet from the table while Maggie put the veil under her arm, and they rushed out the door, heading toward the church. Thoughts of Beatrice, her family, and the man she would soon marry flowed and churned inside her until she was almost giddy.

  “One thing at a time, Erith. One thing at a time,” she whispered to herself as she stooped to pick a bunch of daisies. She paused for a moment and turned toward the gravestones of her mother and father. They would want her to be happy. She smiled.

  Just beyond them was the grave of her stepmother, Kathleen Lock. Erith guessed she would not be resting quietly today, nor would she be keen to see Erith married. A draft of wind blew through her short tresses, cooled her scalp, and caused her to shiver. The cruel woman who’d raised her had no say in anything to do with her now. With Maggie urging her onward, she straightened her back and continued along the lane to the white church above her on the hill.

  She felt safe and strong with Danol. The echoes of resonating waves of blackness and loneliness had quieted. Erith hoped they would disappear as she looked forward to life with him by her side. She trus
ted that Danol would help her face whatever was to come. As his wife, she wouldn’t have to be alone any longer.

  And she would see Beatrice again.

  5

  Somewhere between Nain and Zoar, Labrador

  Spring, 1887

  Her husband was dead. Ezra had shot him. There was no doubt it was with intention. He’d murdered her spouse.

  Philip fell before she heard the report. He almost dragged her to the ground with him. She staggered, but her legs kept her upright when she let him go. She followed the sound, thinking her father-in-law had somehow stumbled and the gun had gone off. Her gaze fell on the man, his stance that of a hunter, his grin that of somebody who had felled a great pointed bull.

  She shook her head, thinking it was a mistake. But there was no mistaking the gaping hole in her husband’s back, nor the sticky, warm droplets that had hit the side of her face and the blood that had spattered all over her sealskin coat and moccasins.

  Terror held her fast. The breath went out of her, and her legs gave out beneath her. She dropped beside Philip and waited for her turn to die.

  He startled her when he closed his bear-paw hand over her mouth.

  “Nobody will hear you,” Ezra said in a quiet whisper. She stopped screaming. She hadn’t realized she’d made a sound. He pulled her away onto a rocky embankment. Her legs refused to work, and she collapsed onto the bedrock.

  He sat cross-legged beside her. His black, piercing eyes stared at her while she caught her breath.

  “You shot my husband,” she stammered as she gulped for air. Fear inside her was calming as anger took over. “You killed my husband,” she said, mustering a little more strength.

  “Yes, now we can be together.”

  “What?”

  “We can be together.”

  “Together?”

  “Yes. You wanted me to shoot him so we could be together.”

  “What?” she asked again.

  “You accepted my courting.”

  “Ezra, I don’t understand.”