Would I Lie to You

by Mary Lou Dickinson

  “Don’t scare me like that, Jenny,” Sue said. “Next thing you know I’ll think this spirit is in the car.”

  “Well, she is. She can’t lick your ear, but she’s here just as surely as Jenny is.”

  Suppose he also got a message from her mother? But both her parents had been dead too long to have messages for her. Anyway, their lives had been lived on a less spiritual plane even though they had insisted on a religious upbringing for their children. The Bishop of Moosonee had baptized Maggie. The local minister had baptized Sue because by that time there had been one.

  There were photos of her mother holding Sue in a long white baptismal gown taken outside a wood frame church. Two women, dressed in hats and suits with nylon stockings and high heels, had stood together with their babies in this barren place of rock and trees. You could not see the stockings in the photos, but Sue could imagine them with dark lines up the back, perfectly aligned for the occasion. Likely, they had been ordered from the Eaton’s catalogue. Everything had come from Mister Eaton in those days or else from the general store on the main street called Mulholland’s. When Sue and the other baby, Bonnie Wilson, were older, Bonnie had stolen from Mulholland’s. She had been able to get out of that store with almost anything, but at some stage Sue had stopped being her sentry. She had not wanted to be a part of it. Not because she was being particularly honest, but because her mother had successfully instilled the fear of God in her. Or more to the point, the fear of being spanked and grounded and of losing her allowance. So although she was no angel, Sue had no desire to be caught stealing.

  “Florence is saying she wants to remind you that she left her will in a bank in Chatham. Thomas has the key to the safety deposit box. And she wants to be cremated.”

  “Please, Hans. Stop.”

  Hans began to slow down and to move over to the paved shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You said stop.”

  “I meant not to tell me any more about Florence.”

  “Look, love, she isn’t going to go away and be able to rest unless you listen.”

  “If you weren’t here, she wouldn’t have a way to talk to me.”

  “Well, we don’t know that, do we? And anyway I am here.”

  Sue was quiet. He was at the point where almost everything in her life intersected now. She looked across at him, his eyes firmly on the road ahead. His hair had been cut shorter in the last weeks and his beard was gone. She could only see part of his right eye, but she could imagine both of them. He glanced at her quickly and then back to the road.

  “You’re wearing the earrings,” he said softly.

  “Yes.”

  “She says she’s glad you’re with me. She wants you to be happy. And she wants you to remember to meet Gwen’s mother as soon as you get back to Toronto, and not to stay in Stratford so long that you won’t be able to.”

  “Oh my goodness, I almost forgot. But how did you know? I didn’t tell you.” She did not say that most of what he had told her he could have come up with himself rather than attributing it to Florence. But she had not told him about meeting Gwen’s mother. And she could not remember if she had mentioned Florence’s will and where the key was.

  “I’m just telling you what she’s saying.”

  By then, they were at the turnoff for Kitchener and would soon be heading for Stratford. If the weather were not any worse along that stretch of highway, they would reach their destination within the next half-hour.

  *

  Thomas was at the window when he saw a car drive up and park along the curb. A man helped Sue out onto the sidewalk. Lights on a tree beside the front walk flickered through the soft snow cover. He went to open the front door before Sue could knock.

  “Come in,” he said.

  A holly wreath with red berries he had hung quivered as they all swished by it.

  A shiver ran through Thomas’s body as Sue hugged him. He took their coats, then hung them in the front hall closet. Sue hugged Kate, too, as soon as she turned around. Hans came in behind them, shaking snow off his boots.

  “I don’t think you’ve met,” Sue said, introducing Hans.

  Thomas nodded in Hans’s direction and the two men shook hands. “The doctor just left,” he said, looking at Sue. “Do you want to see Florence?”

  Sue followed him to the back of the house where he pushed open a door. Florence was still lying on her bed.

  “She’s passed on,” Thomas said. “The doctor said so.”

  Sue stood still, her gaze resting on Florence.

  “Someone from the funeral home is coming soon,” Thomas said. “Do you want to be alone?”

  “Yes, thanks. For a little while.”

  Thomas backed out of the room and walked toward the sound of voices in the kitchen. When Hans and Kate heard him, they both turned.

  “Kate’s showing me around. You have a lot of nifty gadgets,” Hans said. “Just tell me what you want me to do, you two.”

  Thomas did not know Hans, but he was prepared to let him do whatever he wanted. Cook the dinner. Make phone calls. Any older person who seemed able to take over would do at that moment. The gifts beneath the tree, like the new blouse and sheer nightgown he had bought for Kate, and the tiny outfit for the baby with a reindeer on it, would sit there unopened. Maybe some day they would unwrap presents. He did not know when. He turned to Hans.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Kate looked at him with a worried frown.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Would he ever be all right again? First his mother, then Jerry. Now this wise and loving older woman who had become so much a part of his life. He sat down and cupped his forehead in his hands.

  “This is tough,” Hans said. “You may even need to cry.”

  Thomas looked up at him, a surprised frown crossing his face. He was not used to anyone making this kind of comment, least of all a man. Before anyone could say more, the tears began to stream down his cheeks. Kate put her arms around him and Hans opened the refrigerator.

  “I’ll make grilled cheese sandwiches,” he said, but no one heard him.

  *

  Florence’s head was turned slightly toward the wall and her eyes were closed. Sue took her hand and was shocked by how cold it felt. Not like ice or something from the refrigerator. It struck her then that the name of the chill in the room was death. Even so, the older woman looked peaceful. Perhaps Florence had known. Like Hans, she had often seemed prescient.

  “Oh Florence,” she murmured. “I had so much to tell you.”

  She had the distinct impression that Florence heard her. It suddenly occurred to her that all the people she was surrounded by she had known only since Jerry’s death or shortly before it. It was reassuring to remember that Maggie, Angus, and their children were also in her life. With Maggie, history stretched back to a time even before her birth. Wally, remote though he usually remained, was part of that history also. Now, so was Gwen.

  “Oh, Florence, I so wanted you to meet her.” Tears flowed freely. After a while, she became aware of a cool breeze and went over to the window. She thought Thomas or Kate must have opened it. She glanced back at Florence.

  “Goodbye, dear one,” she murmured, going over and pulling the sheet up so that only the older woman’s head was left showing. A small woman in life, she seemed even smaller now in death.

  “Peace,” Sue whispered, touching Florence’s forehead gently.

  She found the others in the kitchen. Hans was putting cheese on slices of whole wheat bread and heating a frying pan.

  ‘We were going to go to my parents for dinner,” Kate said. “I just remembered. Florence made stuffing.”

  “We’ll never make it,” Thomas said. “Maybe we could just drop in on them later.”

  The sound of footsteps cam
e from the front of the house and then the bell rang. Thomas looked at Sue.

  “I think we’d all feel all right if you answered the door,” Hans said.

  There were two men waiting on the steps. A dark vehicle was parked at the curb behind Hans’s car.

  “We’re here for…”

  “Yes,” Sue said.

  They followed her to Florence’s room. She gestured to them to go in. Sue could hear the murmur of their voices from where she stood just outside in the hall. A few minutes later, the men appeared again. As she watched them go through the front door and down to the hearse, Sue was thrust back to the day Jerry’s body was taken away. Grateful to feel Hans beside her, she watched the door of the hearse being opened and the covered body placed gently inside it. She continued to watch as the dark vehicle moved slowly out onto the street and toward the corner.

  Thomas closed the door and turned to her. “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “Someone will have to go to the funeral home,” Hans said.

  “Maybe you’d come with me,” Thomas said to Sue.

  “If you want that,” she said. “Of course.”

  Both Hans and Kate nodded.

  “Kate and I can figure out what to do for the rest of the day. We’ll tell you what we’ve decided when you come back.”

  Sue reached for her coat in the closet, knowing Florence would have wanted her there.

  They drove in silence toward the river and over a bridge into the part of town where the stores, municipal offices, and archives were. The Avon River was frozen and there was snow on the ice. Sue remembered her visit to the house in Blenheim, and how she had waited for Florence to have a nap before they had a discussion about Jerry. And when she had been in the hospital in London, so close to death, she had been aware enough to tell Sue she ought to search for her daughter. Now, Sue was only beginning to grasp that there would be no opportunity to tell Florence about Gwen, about what this young woman meant to her. How unlocking her secret seemed to have made room for living life quite differently. She was sad she would never get to thank her.

  The funeral home was quiet. There was a woman at the front who guided them to the room where Florence’s body was resting. The man with whom they spoke about arrangements was dressed in a dark suit with a tie that matched. He seemed alarmed that they did not want a traditional funeral service, betrayed by his startled eyes and brows that came forward like a mastodon’s, but he smoothed out his features with one hand and inhaled audibly. He kept on nodding his greying head as they described their wishes. Cremation. A memorial service for the family. No visitation.

  “All right,” he nodded. If that was what they wanted.

  When they arrived back at the house, Kate greeted them at the door. She said her parents and her sister were going to bring their turkey over so they could have dinner together. In the meantime, a casserole had arrived from a neighbour across the street. This was the beginning of a stream of offerings from people who already knew there had been a death in the family.

  “I’ll put some in the freezer,” Kate said.

  “I wonder if they do this when babies are born,” Sue mused.

  “Probably,” Kate murmured.

  “The town where I grew up was like that.”

  At that point, Sue was not thinking of her own pregnancy, but of when she and Hans could return to Toronto. Once Thomas and Kate were with her family, she would have done what she had come to do. Her place was elsewhere now. Seeing Gwen in two days and meeting the mother who had raised her baby were what she was thinking about. She did like the general atmosphere of this town and knew people would now take over and do whatever Kate and Thomas needed. She had not thought southern Ontario, so long established, unlike the frontier mining town of her northern childhood, would have the same sense of community spirit. But even Toronto, after so many years of living there, often seemed like a small town to her. Rarely did she go out without encountering someone she knew, her neighbourhood stretching east and west on the Bloor subway line four or five stops in each direction. It was her city, her neighbourhood. She especially claimed the strip of Bloor Street a block from her house and was aware of small changes there on an ongoing basis. She noticed what man claimed sitting rights in what doorway. Occasionally, it was a woman. She noticed which one put out a hand in search of change and who was doing poorly. Sometimes, she stopped to talk. The smiles she received from the regulars when they chatted warmed her. When she was away for a day, they seemed worried about her.

  “Have you been sick?” they would ask.

  “I hope everything’s all right,” they would say.

  Everything might not be all right, of course, but other than to mention some detail, like a hacking cough, she had spared them the minutiae of her life. It dawned on her that in the quick exodus she and Hans had made that morning that she had not taken Christmas treats to any of them.

  *

  On the drive back to Toronto the next day, Hans turned on music. “Easy listening,” he said, thinking that after spending their last hour in Stratford at the funeral home for a brief time with Thomas and Kate, something that did not challenge the mood of quiet reflection was appropriate. And for the moment, Sue seemed glad to have as background something that was soothing. He figured Jerry would have hated it, would have wanted something with far more distinct rhythm. Maybe the songs of Pete Seeger. Jerry had been political, after all. He was glad to be distracted by Sue’s occasional comments.

  “It’s hard to believe that we could have such a lovely dinner with death lingering over the feast,” she said.

  “Um,” he agreed. “Kate’s family made that happen.”

  “So did you.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I tried.”

  “I forgot about the men on Bloor Street,” she said. “They would have been expecting me. Especially Al. He’s always there.”

  “You fill a void in their lives,” Hans said. “Not many could be that generous.” He glanced at her briefly, noticing that this comment seemed for a moment to upset her.

  He was not surprised that when they arrived back at the house in downtown Toronto, she went in only briefly and picked up some small packages and then went quickly out again and down the walk toward Bloor. He made no move to follow her; instead, he headed in the opposite direction with the dog, thinking there must be somewhere he could buy flowers. Bright colours. Not a poinsettia. Just something that would brighten the day and make it slightly festive. He wondered what Heather was doing at the farm. A wave of nostalgia swept over him. Soon, she would be gone and he felt sad that whatever they had shared was now finished, that love could gradually change and even evaporate. While he felt some warmth for her, he also felt angry at the thought that the oasis in the country they had created together would soon disappear. He wanted to pat the nose of a horse and see its nostrils flare. He wanted to hear goats and chickens around him. He had no idea what his life would become without being able to experience the animal noises and smells, to watch them in the fields, to feed and care for them. He wondered if he would be able to stand living in a city again.

  Jenny ran ahead and a woman coming toward him stepped aside.

  “Supposed to be on a leash,” she muttered.

  “Dog’s harmless,” he said with a big smile.

  “There’s a law.”

  No sense of humour, he thought. Going to have an ulcer. Oh, turn it off. This was not more than anyone might think under the same circumstances, but he felt he ought to tell her to watch out for an ice patch. Otherwise, she was about to slip and break something. An ankle? A wrist? Something.

  “Be careful,” he said. “There’s some ice up ahead.”

  “Oh, get lost,” she said.

  “Well, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you, too,” he muttered. As he continued on toward Bloor Street, he heard a loud shriek and turned to see
the woman lying on the ground.

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” he said, bending over her.

  “Oh, no.”

  But he dialled 911 as a small crowd started to gather. A car stopped on the road. Soon after, a siren sounded and an ambulance careened around the corner. People came down from their front doors to the street. Hans slipped away when the paramedics took over and continued his walk, looking for flowers.

  When he returned to the house, he found Sue plunked down on the couch. She seemed to be staring at nothing.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’ve brought you something.”

  She smiled, but he had the sense she did not see him. He took the paper wrapping off the bouquet and went to find a vase.

  “There’s something under the sink,” she said.

  So she did see the parcel, he thought. He reached down to find two vases near the bottle of dish soap. He took out the smaller one and ran water into it, then emptied a small packet of fertilizer that accompanied the flowers into the water. As he arranged some dark ferns to frame the white, pink, and red blooms, he started to hum.

  “Something for you,” he sang as he went back to the living room.

  She was not there.

  “Where are you?” he called.

  She opened the bathroom door across the hall and came out into the room.

  “Oh my,” she said. “Those are beautiful.” She watched him set them down on the mantel among Christmas cards strung out on a thin red ribbon. “Thank you.”

  Jenny started to squeal.

  “C’mon, dog,” he said. “You had your walk.”

  “Maybe she’s hungry.”

  He did not want to say that the dog would prefer to be in the country.

  The next day, Sue went to the nearby strip on Bloor Street where she knew she would find her homeless friends who had not been at their usual haunts the previous night. Perhaps they had slept in a hostel or rented a cheap room if they had the money. One of them often stayed in one of the few bank entrances or in all-night coffee shops or on grates in the sidewalk. She used to be able to have a conversation with him, but he seemed to have deteriorated. Known best to her was Al, the man with a regular place right at the bottom of her street. He had fallen on hard times and there seemed to be some element of addiction or mental illness that he struggled with. Whatever it was, he sat in the same spot day after day with his pale shawl around his shoulders and a tin cup held out to passersby.