Being Mary Ro

by Ida Linehan Young

  Mary left by way of the pantry, searching for Danol. She opened the shed and looked inside. Empty. She noticed the short hay was disturbed behind the shed. Danol was lying on his side in the long hay near the fence!

  “Oh my God, Danol, what happened to you? Why are you out here?” Mary shook him to see if he’d respond. Danol groaned, but it was clear that he wouldn’t get very far. And he was so cold.

  “Come on, Danol, get up. You have to get back to the house to get warm.”

  “Find Mary . . . protect Mary . . .” he murmured.

  “Danol, this is Mary. I’m safe. You have to try and get up.”

  She struggled to get him to his feet. He was such a tall man and, right now, a dead weight.

  “Danol, you have to help me to help you. Please try and walk with me.”

  With her assistance, and whatever strength he could muster, Danol moved slowly toward the back door.

  “My God, Danol, what were you thinking?” she asked, settling him on the daybed as she grabbed her mother’s quilt from upstairs. Danol was really cold and damp, and so was the room. She laid the quilt across him and went to light the fire. She heard somebody running in the lane and knew from the sound that it couldn’t be Meg. As quickly as she could, she moved to the porch, but she wasn’t fast enough to stop Peter from launching himself through the door, ready for a fight.

  “Who on earth is that, Mary?” Peter asked, taking her by the shoulders and putting himself between her and Danol.

  “This is Danol,” she said calmly. She looked up at him. “What are you doing here, Peter?”

  “Dear God, Mary. I saw a man with his arm around your shoulder as you passed into view between the shed and the back of the house. I thought somebody had nabbed you. I was coming to save you. You scared me half to death,” he blurted out. His heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

  When he realized he was holding her shoulders, he dropped his hands as if she had scalded him. He took a step back and looked from her to the man on the daybed. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood and had a bad fever for a few days. I think he was fixing to rescue me just now,” she replied.

  “Let me have a look at him. What did you say his name was?”

  “Danol, Danol Cooper.”

  Peter pulled a chair over to the daybed and sat next to Danol. He eyed her handiwork on his arm.

  “Did you do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s great work. Some surgical twine would have been better suited for the stitches, but the thread does the trick.”

  Peter found a nasty lump on Danol’s forehead as he continued his inspection.

  “He must have struck his head when he fell.”

  “He was pretty close to the corner of the shed. How is he?” Mary asked. Peter could hear the concern in her voice.

  “He needs some rest and lots of liquids.”

  “We’ve been feeding him soup and juniper tea,” Mary replied proudly.

  “That’s good, Mary. It surely kept him alive.” He stood up and faced her with a forced composure and control that was betrayed only by the muscles clenched along his jawline. “I’m assuming by the ‘we’ you mean that dark-haired girl, Meg. But how did he come here?”

  Mary explained how she had found and nursed Danol. “From what I can tell, he is no threat to us.” She dared not tell him about the gun in her waistband.

  “Why wasn’t he with the sick and injured from the boat?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Peter. He only said that we wouldn’t be safe if somebody knew he was alive. I guess he was right, when you look at what happened to the Davis girls.”

  “Yes, you might be right, but we don’t know that. You don’t know him.”

  “I thought I knew you, Peter, and look what happened to us,” she retorted, suddenly feeling defensive.

  Her words struck the target—she could see that. He paused for a minute and was about to speak when the door opened and Meg and Richard walked in.

  “Meg, why did you bring Richard here?” Mary asked.

  “He wouldn’t let me walk alone.”

  “Who is that?” Richard asked, pointing at Danol on the daybed.

  “Somebody we’re helping,” Meg replied.

  “Everybody, please be quiet,” Mary said impatiently, pacing the kitchen. “For years I’ve lived here by myself, and now the house is as full as if we’re having a wedding.” No one dared say a word.

  Mary looked toward Peter. “Peter, can I talk to you on the step, please?”

  Peter left ahead of her and stood on the ground while she remained on the step. Both were almost at eye level when they faced each other.

  There was a long and drawn-out tension-filled silence before Mary spoke. “Why are you here, Peter? Please tell me the truth.”

  “I told you, I was worried,” he replied.

  “No, I mean why are you here in John’s Pond?”

  “In time, Mary! In time! For now, all you need to know is that I’m going to be around for a long time.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I plan to make my home here.”

  Mary’s heart sank at the thought of his living here with his wife and family. How could she bear to have him this close?

  In all the commotion, nobody heard nor saw Bolt slip in through the back door. It wasn’t hard to remain undetected in the pantry with so much going on. He pulled back the door just enough to see through the crack. He would wait for the right moment to strike.

  Danol kept his eyes closed and listened to all the talk around him. He was weak, and his head hurt, but he’d heard the man he assumed to be a doctor say that he would be all right. Mary had saved him; there was no doubt about it.

  He couldn’t rightly remember why he had left the house in the first place. He was confused. It had something to do with Mary being missing, but she was here now, so that couldn’t have been it. He tried to remain attentive, but darkness was beckoning. He heard Meg and another man come in and was tempted to take a peek. He tried to stay as still as possible and see if he could figure out what had happened.

  The church bells chimed again. Peter turned and saw two men in uniform go into the church. He spotted a new schooner tied up at the wharf. The law was early.

  “That’s the constables,” he said. “They’ll want everyone at the church.”

  “I know,” Mary said. “I’ll tell Meg and Richard.”

  “This is not over, Mary. We’ll finish this discussion when I see you at the church,” he said with certainty, before turning and going swiftly out the lane. He had to tell the constables what he thought he knew about Bolt. They could check Bolt’s hands—however, Peter didn’t know where he’d gone after he left the store. He was troubled by the fact that Bolt had been out around the meadow north of Mary’s. What was he up to? He’d leave the investigating to the constables, and he’d concentrate on Mary.

  “Meg, Richard, the constables are here. The bells are ringing for us to go to the church,” Mary said as she entered the kitchen. “Meg, before you go, can you help me with my hair? Even just a quick brush to get the tangles out,” Mary said, suddenly conscious that she was still in a mess.

  “Sure I can. You get the brush, and I’ll get to work,” Meg said. “It shouldn’t take too long. Richard has made the fire for us, too.”

  “Thanks for your help, Richard.”

  “Think nothing of it, Mary Ro,” he said, blushing as he spoke. “Happy to help any way I can.”

  He wanted to wait for them, but Mary was adamant that he go; they would be along shortly. It was still early enough—no worries about it being dark.

  After Richard left, Meg began giving the kitchen a quick sweep, and Mary went to the front room, where she had left bathing supplies earlier that mornin
g. She had had every intention of having a bath today and still hoped she would have one later in the evening. With her hairbrush in hand, she was cleaning the bristles, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Danol and Peter, as she entered the kitchen.

  A strange voice stopped her cold. “Well, now that we’ve gotten rid of the company, let’s get down to business.” It was the man who had been out near the shed the day before. “I see you’ve found Cooper.”

  Meg jumped as the man grabbed her from behind, grasped her hair, and pulled her back toward his chest with a knife at her throat before she could scream.

  “If either of you make a sound, you’ll all be dead,” the man said, sneering. He pulled Meg’s hair to make her nod, while he glared at Danol on the daybed.

  A sense of dread came over her like a fog. Mary feared they were all going to die. She dropped the brush. The noise momentarily distracted the man, slightly loosening his hold on Meg, who whacked at his face with the broom handle, swinging it over her shoulder and hitting him squarely on the nose. He released Meg and grabbed his face, cursing.

  Meg leaped across the kitchen to where Mary stood. She still held the broom. The man recovered quickly and came toward them with the knife. Meg screamed as loud as she could as the man hauled back his hand, aiming the knife at her head.

  Danol pushed himself off the bench and threw himself at Bolt, knocking him off stride. The man let his knife go in mid-swing, and with a sickening thump, it found its mark in Meg’s stomach. Meg froze as her eyes registered what had happened. She screamed again, even louder, as blood began to pump around the blade. She grabbed at the knife, but Mary gripped her hand.

  “Don’t take it out, Meg. Whatever you do, don’t take it out.” Meg swayed backwards, and Mary caught the girl, easing her to the floor.

  “I got you. Don’t worry, Meg, I got you,” Mary said, tears welling in her eyes. She gulped for air but managed to keep her wits about her as the two men fought. Her first thought was to hit the stranger in the head with the broom and hopefully defuse the situation.

  But Danol was so weak that Bolt recovered and overpowered him before she could make a move. The man got to his feet, reached to a pocket inside his coat, and pulled out a gun. He pointed it at Danol, who was prone on the floor.

  “This time I’ll finish the job,” the man snarled.

  Danol made a kick at him and shifted his body between Mary and Meg and the gun. Bolt momentarily lost his balance but quickly righted himself. In a last-ditch effort, Danol made another weak kick at the man, nearly knocking him off his feet. But the man staggered sideways, dodging Danol’s foot, and laughed as he raised the gun toward Danol.

  The man smiled like he was the devil himself. Danol stared up into the man’s face. The man’s smile widened as he squeezed the trigger.

  The shot rang out in the small room, and the stench of sulphur surrounded Mary. She heard screams, not realizing it was she who made the sound. Her hand, holding the gun she’d kept tucked in her waistband, was pointed at Bolt. She watched as the man slumped and fell between Danol and the stove, his gun skittering off toward the woodbox.

  Suddenly, the doors in the house burst open as neighbours and the constables surrounded them from all sides. Peter made it to her first. As if in slow motion, he reached for the gun, which she still held steady.

  Mary realized she was screaming and abruptly stopped.

  “You have to save Meg, Peter. You have to save her,” she said, her voice unusually high as tears began to flow down her cheeks. On the verge of hysteria, she forced herself to breathe. Peter helped her stand as he bent to look at the girl on the floor.

  One of the constables pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, checking for a pulse. “He’s alive. He needs a doctor.”

  “Peter, don’t you leave Meg,” she commanded fiercely.

  “Don’t worry, love, I won’t leave her,” Peter replied, still focused on Meg. “Bolt will have to wait.”

  Everyone crowded around, and a couple of men picked up Danol and returned him to the daybed. Richard pushed his way in and saw Mary standing as if frozen in time, and then he noticed Meg on the floor. Pushing through to her side, he took in the scene. He looked pleadingly at Peter. “Can you save her?”

  “The knife is still in the wound, so that is a good start.”

  Peter stood and shouted commands to the room. “I need four men to carry this girl to the front room. You and you, bring in the table and make a place to set her.”

  Two men grabbed the table and moved into the hall. She heard them shuffle the tub out of the room—was it only minutes ago that a bath had been uppermost in her mind? “You go get Dr. Parker.” A man pushed his way toward the porch and was gone. “You go get my medical bag from my room at Mrs. Ange’s.” Another man pushed his way through the crowd and was gone. “You, you, you, and you, help me pick her up gently. Be careful not to move the knife.”

  Richard moved to hold Meg’s head while four men stood around where Meg lay motionless on the floor.

  Peter put his arm around Mary’s waist and gently prodded her away from Meg and closer to Danol and the man on the floor. He whispered to her that Meg would be fine. Then he quickly turned his attention to the girl who lay near death in a pool of blood on the green canvassed floorboards.

  “Careful, now! Careful!” Peter held the knife steady while he guided the men who were lifting Meg. They carried her to the front room and laid her on the makeshift operating table. Richard gently positioned her head, using his jacket as a pillow. He left the room with his head down and his eyes full.

  Peter called for hot water. The kettle was rattling on the stove, but the water wasn’t hot. Another man left and, within moments, came back with a steaming black iron kettle.

  Mary stood dazed in the middle of the kitchen as she heard and watched it all play out before her. If questioned, she couldn’t tell who was there nor who had gone for required supplies. She knew nearly all of these people but somehow couldn’t call them by name.

  Danol stirred on the daybed and moaned aloud. Mary tried to clear the cobwebs in her own head and turned to sit on a chair somebody had placed next to Danol. These people didn’t know him. She would see that he was treated with kindness and not blamed for what had happened here.

  Dr. Parker rushed in and was ushered to the front room just before Meg’s parents entered. Mrs. Dalton was being consoled by her husband, who was trying to be stronger than he felt. He had been in this house before and near death but had lived. He prayed the same fate for his daughter.

  Mary stared off into space toward the front room door and instinctively reached for Danol’s hand. Brian and Carla were suddenly standing by her, one behind the chair and the other at her side, as if they could shield her from everything going on in the house. She reached for Brian’s hand, and neither of them said a word. Carla laid her hands on Mary’s shoulders to let her know she was there.

  The man on the floor began to stir. The constables, in their belted black tunics and chin-strapped hats, took charge. A group of men carried him away. One of the constables retrieved the gun that had been kicked under the stove.

  Faceless figures tended the fire and boiled more water as neighbours gathered in the kitchen and consoled Meg’s parents. Mary was offered tea but looked past the cup, still staring blankly at the door to the front room. She remained rooted to the chair and continued to hold on to Danol and Brian. She willed for something good to happen in the room for the dead.

  The hush in the kitchen was broken by the scrape of the damper on the stove, the whispered Hail Marys, and the quiet sobs of Meg’s mother and the soothing murmurs from her husband. Everyone else was listening to the faint drone of consultation in the other room. Mary was concentrating on that, too, and sent silent prayers for a miracle, as she had done the year before.

  Danol stirred next to her occasionally and tightened his
grasp on her hand. Sometimes it slackened again, and she intuitively knew he’d drifted off. Time stood still, yet the sun continued in its path across the sky. The lamps were lit on the walls and on the tables. Food appeared, but Mary refused to eat.

  Then Peter was standing in front of her. There was blood on his shirt—Meg’s. She let go of Brian, and she reached up to trace the spattered imprints that had come from her friend. She noticed his hands were clean as he took one of hers. She still clung tightly to Danol’s firm grip with the other. Brian cradled her shoulder in his palm as Peter urged her to stand before him.

  “She’s going to live. We’ll keep her quiet for the night, but she’ll be just fine.” His eyes were fixated on Mary, but he heard Meg’s parents breathe heavy sighs of relief. Meg’s mother renewed her crying. Dr. Parker came from behind him to speak to Meg’s parents. Peter heard him tell Mr. and Mrs. Dalton that Meg was going to recover thanks to the skills of Dr. Peter. He told them that Peter possessed new surgical skills, and that knowledge had surely saved Meg. Dr. Parker wouldn’t have been able to do it by himself.

  Mary and Peter continued to stare at one another. “Mary, did you hear him? Meg will be fine,” Carla said. Mary nodded but didn’t say a word.

  “We have to get some sugary tea into her. She appears to be in shock,” Peter said. “The sugar should help bring her back.”

  In an instant, Carla had a cup and saucer ready. Peter continued to hold her hand, hoping she would feel his strength. Danol moaned beside them, and Peter helped sit Mary on the chair and quickly looked Danol over. “He needs some tea or soup or whatever you can get into him. He has to make new blood.”

  “I’ll tend to them, Peter. You go to Meg,” Carla said. Peter lingered for a few seconds with his eyes on Mary. Then he released her hand, grabbed a chair, and headed back to the front room.

  He had turned to tell Carla to call him if Mary didn’t perk up when he noticed that Mary had placed her other hand on Danol’s.