Being Mary Ro

by Ida Linehan Young

  She filled the tub with steaming water from the tank and added a little cold water from the bucket in the porch so as not to burn her hands. She could make suds with the remaining piece of Sunlight in the strainer without having to add more. Mary quickly swished the instrument around in the water, making enough lather to clean her dresses.

  She fetched the dirty clothes from upstairs and thought how nice it was to have some company no matter the circumstance—the familiar, empty silence gone.

  There were quite a few stains on her four dresses, especially those that she had worn the last couple of days. One at a time, she vigorously rubbed them up and down the rough surface of the washboard. Swishing some more soap, she reached for the cake of Sunlight and rubbed it directly on the tough stains. This would clean them more effectively. She scrubbed and rinsed until the dresses were as clean as she could get them.

  She hand-wrung the dresses over the tub before attaching the wringer and running the dresses through. As she cranked the handle, she watched carefully as the items went between the two white rubber rods to ensure the residual water ran into the tub. She made quick work of the remaining laundry after adding more hot water to the tub.

  Mary and Meg fell into easy conversation, although in hushed tones so as not to wake Danol. They talked about the weather and the townsfolk but avoided mentioning the man on the daybed. It was as if the situation wasn’t even real and they had been doing chores together for years.

  Meg finished mixing the dough about the same time the laundry was ready for the clothesline out back. Mary threw her belongings into a bucket, took a dozen clothespins from the apron that hung behind the stove, and told Meg she’d be back in a few moments.

  She donned her father’s plaid shirt, grabbed the bucket, and went out the porch door. She stopped suddenly when she spied a tall, thin man ahead of her about to enter the woodshed. He had the door opened a little, but it didn’t appear he’d had a chance to go in. “Can I help you?” Mary asked in a too-loud voice.

  Startled, the man turned abruptly and seemed to instinctively reach inside his coat for something.

  “No, ma’am. Sorry to bother you. I was just admiring the scenery. As you can tell, I’m not from these parts. I’m from New York City and was admiring these outbuildings.”

  “Well, the next time you want to have a look around, you should ask.”

  “Pardon me, ma’am, I meant no harm. Are you here by yourself?”

  Meg spoke behind her. “No, she isn’t.”

  The man looked from Mary to Meg, who was a sight with flour on her face and holding the straw broom as if it were a weapon. “Begging your pardon. I didn’t mean to bother you ladies. My name is Harold Bolt, and I’m staying at the store.” There was an expectant pause before he finished. “I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’ll thank you to do that,” Mary said angrily.

  “I’m sorry,” the man muttered as he passed Mary, repeating that he’d meant no harm.

  Both girls watched him walk out the lane.

  Mary hadn’t realized she was shaking. There was something about Mr. Bolt that she instantly didn’t like. It was a gut instinct similar to the one she’d had with Danol, only the opposite feeling. Mary was appreciative, now more than ever, for Meg’s company.

  How had he come up the lane without their noticing? What was he really looking for? Or who might be the better question. She thought of Danol lying in the shed the day before. Had it only been a day? There was still blood on the floor in the shed. Was that what the stranger was looking for? She would have to ask Danol if he knew Mr. Bolt when he woke.

  “Thanks, Meg, everything is fine now. I’ll go on to the clothesline, and you go on back in the house and cover the dough.”

  Without questioning her, Meg went back inside. Mary pinned the dresses and the rest of the items. It was a great day for drying clothes, but Mary’s mind was elsewhere.

  When she returned, Meg stated her suspicions of the man’s intentions. “He looks oily to me, Mary. Mrs. Ange said something about one of the boarders being from New York and never witnessing scenery like we have here. She said he was visiting the barns and stables to see how they were built. That must be him. I tell you he’s up to no good. We’ll have to keep an eye out.”

  “I know, Meg. All these strangers in town! I wish the constables were here and had this mess cleared up.”

  “Mary, do you think he was looking for Danol?”

  “I believe he was.”

  “Then we can’t tell anyone Danol is here until we find out what’s going on.”

  “You’re right. Thanks for keeping this secret. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

  Meg smiled. “I’m glad, too, Mary Ro.”

  Peter was tired. Earlier, he’d walked to North Harbour to tend to survivors who were put ashore there, determining that most had minor injuries. It was a couple of miles across the headland with a steep ridge separating the two communities, and the walk had helped to clear his head.

  The old schoolhouse on the south side was home to about a dozen passengers, the other twenty people having gone to the Dalton, Ryan, Singleton, Walsh, and Whelan homes. The passengers had a few minor cuts and bruises and were well attended to by the locals. He wasn’t concerned that anyone would need further medical attention. North Harbour, like all the other small communities around, had pulled together and taken care of strangers in need and would continue until each one was on his way home.

  When Peter had learned that the fire had been started by someone on the ship, he deduced that at least one of the passengers may not be who they appeared. He had a keen sense about these things. He’d keep his eyes and ears tuned to the talk of the town and hoped to be in a position to assist the constables when they arrived.

  Mary occupied his mind as he walked to and from John’s Pond. He hadn’t seen her, and people were a bit sensitive when it came to her. He’d found out she was still unmarried and that she’d helped save the lives of passengers by going for the doctor in Colinet and pitching in at the church. That was his Mary, brave and strong. His Mary. He had no right to call her that. It was his hope, but not his right.

  Dr. Parker had told him about her parents and the diphtheria epidemic. That had taken the good out of him. Her parents had been very kind to him. Mary, alone with so many dying people, losing her own parents within days of each other. He found it hard to fathom.

  She was a force of nature. She hadn’t lost that quality. He finally made up his mind—he would approach her this evening.

  Peter visited the patients in the church before he went back to Mrs. Ange’s for a little rest. If he was honest, it was also to give himself time to build up the nerve to see Mary.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Ange.”

  “Evening,” she replied rather curtly. She hadn’t warmed to him yet, but that was all right. He would change her mind.

  “Has Mary been around?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, she hasn’t.”

  “I think I’ll pay her a visit.”

  “Don’t you trouble that girl again, Peter,” Mrs. Ange said fiercely. “She hasn’t been the same since you were here last.” Her wrinkled face and piercing eyes pinned him where he stood.

  “I’m just going to say hello, Mrs. Ange.” Mrs. Ange’s words weighed heavily on his heart. He escaped before she had a chance to say anything else, entered the house, and carried on up to his room. Changing quickly, he decided against a nap. He knew he wouldn’t sleep. He left by the front door to avoid the shop and the storekeeper. As he came around the corner of the store, he almost ran into the man he’d seen inside.

  “Good evening.”

  “And to you, sir!” Peter said politely, without inviting conversation.

  He passed him and made his way toward Mary’s house. Peter’s walk portrayed more confidence and courage than he
felt. Although distracted, he became aware that the stranger seemed to be following him. When he turned around, the man was several feet behind but then veered off on a path going out into the meadows. Peter thought it a little odd and decided to keep his eye out for him. He had a gnawing feeling in his gut that the man was up to something.

  His heart started pounding as he neared Mary’s house. What was he going to say to her? What would she look like now? Would she be his same sweet Mary? Had she changed, as Mrs. Ange had intimated?

  It was standard practice in small communities for people to just walk on into a house without announcing themselves or knocking. Not wanting to do that to Mary, he would knock. He hesitated, then rapped a few times. While he waited, he noticed the fading white clapboards. The storm windows seemed to have been recently removed, by the look of the open nail holes on the sash. Poor Mary had to do all this work herself!

  Suddenly, she was standing in front of him. His heart skipped a beat, and he was suddenly speechless.

  “Hello, Peter,” he heard her say. Time stood still.

  He stood dumbfounded, unable to utter a word. She looked beautiful.

  “Can I help you with something? Peter, are you all right?”

  “No,” he heard himself say. “I mean yes.” He finally managed to say, “Mary, how are you?”

  “Good.” She paused expectantly and then softly asked, “Peter, why are you here?”

  “I’m truly sorry to hear about your mom and dad. They were great people,” he said. “Your parents were good to me and Ed.”

  “Thank you.” Mary didn’t want to talk about her parents. She couldn’t expose two raw wounds at the same time. “You still haven’t answered me. Why are you here?”

  “I can’t answer that. I don’t know how,” he murmured. God, she was here with him, right before his eyes, and he couldn’t say what he wanted to say.

  “I think you need to leave, Peter. I don’t want you here,” Mary said, her voice turning hard and cold.

  Then a brown-haired girl came out behind her. “Mary, is everything all right out here?”

  “Yes, Meg. Peter was just leaving.”

  Peter didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to impose, but he didn’t want to go. Finally, after thinking about it and with the two girls barring his entrance, he decided to do the latter.

  “Good evening to you both,” Peter said, as he turned on the doorstep to leave. He looked back for a moment and said matter-of-factly, “I’ll come back tomorrow, Mary.” It was a promise he meant to keep.

  He was still in awe that he had seen her face for the first time since the day he broke her heart. She hadn’t changed. Next time he would be more prepared and know what to say to her. For now he was content having seen her face. She hadn’t been furious with him: at least that hurt had calmed, or so he hoped.

  But how could she ever forgive him when he still struggled with what he had done to her? He owed his brother, but he owed her as well. What justification did he have to make that choice? He hoped she’d understand what he had done and why he did it. It had been the honourable thing to do—his duty—whether it was the right thing or not.

  He slowly made his way back to Mrs. Ange’s, where he hoped to get some rest.

  For the fourth time, Meg asked Mary how she was, and she still didn’t know the answer.

  It was her Peter, just as she thought he would be—tall and handsome. She knew she shouldn’t think of him as her Peter, but she couldn’t help herself. The shock of seeing him on the doorstep had not yet worn off. All the old feelings had rushed in, baring the wounds but also the love. The emotions were unexpected and more powerful than ever. It caught her off guard. She dawdled back into the kitchen and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Danol. She gave her head a slight shake to bring herself back to the present.

  “Hush now, Meg. Yes, I’m the best kind.”

  “Oh, Mary Ro, what do you think? Is he the same as you remembered him? What was he like?”

  “Meg, keep it down. Yes, he is the same Peter I remembered. A little older, but the same.”

  Danol stirred, drawing their attention. He looked around for them.

  “Ah, missus, you’re back. Did I hear somebody?”

  “Just a man from the community. Nothing to worry about. He’s gone now.” Mary closed the distance between them and put her hand on his forehead. “My, you’re finally starting to cool down.”

  “I’m feeling better. Still a little weak, but I think I’ll be fine, thanks to you.” He flexed his arm a little, testing the needlework.

  “Careful now, Danol. You don’t want to set yourself back, do you?”

  “Itching to get out of here, that’s all—not that I’m in bad company,” he said, his big smile stretching from ear to ear.

  Mary grinned. “That charm of yours won’t heal you any faster.”

  She liked this man. He was starting to spend more time awake on the daybed and had sat up a couple of times this evening. She hoped he didn’t wear himself out trying too hard.

  “Can I get you some soup?” Meg asked. “It’s the last of the pot that my mom sent up. We’ll have fresh bread right out of the oven pretty soon.”

  “I surely can’t wait for it. It’s been a long time since I had fresh bread,” Danol said.

  Finishing the chores, Mary fetched and folded the clothes, packing them away in the trunk in her room while Meg produced four fresh loaves. The house was warm and smelled of lemons, fresh air-dried clothes, and newly baked bread as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. They hadn’t told Danol about the stranger in the yard, deciding that news could wait until morning.

  Just after sun-up, Meg lit the stove while Mary brought in a few armloads of wood. Mary was out of sorts; she had tossed and turned most of the night, unable to get Peter off her mind. She needed solace—to think and prepare for Peter’s return. The woods, her siren’s song, beckoned her, as so many times before.

  After breakfast, Mary told Meg she was going for a walk to get out of the house.

  “But Mary, you shouldn’t be out alone. That man might be out there.”

  “He won’t be where I am, Meg. I’m going into the woods.”

  “The woods?”

  “Yes, Meg, the woods. Don’t worry. I go there a lot since the snow melted, and almost daily since the cannery closed.”

  “I’m going with you. Danol is sleeping and will keep.”

  “No, Meg, I want to be by myself. And what will he do if he wakes and neither of us is here?”

  “I don’t care, Mary Ro. You can’t go alone. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Meg, don’t be fussing about nothing. What’s to happen?”

  8

  Lost in thought and preoccupied, Mary suddenly realized the sun was high in the sky and she had been gone longer than planned. And she still didn’t know what to say to Peter. She knew nothing about him anymore, nor why he was here in John’s Pond. Though she knew it was wrong, her heart renewed the ache for him as if she were still seventeen. Where was his wife? Where were his children? Why weren’t they with him? How long was he staying? So many questions, and the only way to get answers was to talk to Peter. That’s what she would do. She smiled tentatively, happy she’d made up her mind—again. If she didn’t change it another time, she’d be fine.

  Approaching Alice’s Garden, she sensed rather than saw that something was different. She hesitantly climbed the fence and surveyed the area from the top rung—nothing seemed out of place. But she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, and the hair rose on the back of her neck for the second time in as many days.

  Maybe Meg is getting to me, making me jittery, she thought. Picking up the pace once again and with her nerves on high alert, she shook off her anxiety. She was spooked by the events of the last few days. As she routed around the shabby, abandoned stable, she
listened for the owl to announce his displeasure at her presence. There was no sound from the old critter; maybe he had fled, aware something was wrong.

  She heard the door creak behind her and abruptly stopped in her tracks. This was new. That door hadn’t made a sound for as long as Mary had passed it. The stable was falling asunder—not fit for man nor beast. One hatch on the stable loft allowed free access to the birds, but the double barn doors had always been barred. Then it dawned on her: the board across those two doors was not sitting in the latches—it was out of place. Someone was either in there right now or had been there and left.

  She knew she should run the other way, but instead, Mary began to creep toward the barn. Her nerves were on edge, though she didn’t know why she thought it important not to be heard. As she neared the door, she noticed the grass was disturbed. She pressed her back to the rough boards, slowly moving toward the opening. With her hands on the rotting wood of what had one time been a fine handle, Mary slowly pulled back the door an inch or so and peeped in. With the early afternoon sun streaming through the hatch above and on through the seams in the loft, it was hard to see beyond distorted black and white in the old building.

  She waited several seconds for her heart to beat somewhat close to normal, counted to three, took a deep breath, pulled back the door, and stepped in.

  The church bells were ringing the alarm for the second time in three days. Meg eyed Danol as he stirred on the daybed. She leaned over him, being careful not to disturb him, and peered through the curtains toward the commotion down the lane.

  Although the constables weren’t expected until late evening, Meg hoped it was a signal they had arrived early. She watched the activity as a crowd gathered in the church.

  Where was Mary? She should’ve been back by now. Meg was worried but felt she couldn’t leave Danol to go find out what was going on. She tried to calm herself, but her imagination had a way of getting the better of common sense. After all, they were in John’s Pond, and nothing exciting beyond a scattered wedding happened in John’s Pond. Then she glanced down at Danol, and her heart began to race. Oh yes it did, she thought. Yes it did.