Being Mary Ro

by Ida Linehan Young

  “I’m quite serious,” he continued. “I’ve had my fill of the big city and will be content to come back here and make a home for myself. Maybe I’ll find a woman who can compare to you, and raise a family.”

  “Danol, you must have a fever.”

  “But I don’t, thanks to you.” It was time, he told her, for her to become a doctor.

  “How do you know I would get accepted to college? Women doctors! Is there even such a thing?”

  “Yes, there are a few. A special few. And you’re special, Mary. You’re wasting your time and talent here waiting for the next shipwreck. Please, Mary! Consider what I’m saying. I’ve well-appointed friends in Boston, and I’m sure they can pull strings to get you into the college. I can pay for it with the reward money, which should be partly yours anyway. You were the one who actually captured Pearce. You stopped him, Mary.”

  Torn, yet intrigued by what he was asking, she said, “Oh my God, Danol. This is so fast, yet so tempting. Do I have time to go talk to Meg?” She didn’t know what had come over her, but she was actually considering this—maybe because it could lead to Peter in the end.

  “You have until that boat leaves,” he said, pointing at the wharf. “Just so you know, I’ll be back in the spring, regardless of what you decide.”

  Grabbing her coat, she sprinted to Meg’s house to tell her friend about Peter and Danol’s proposals. Meg was so excited she nearly burst her wound, and Mary had to quieten her.

  “Mary Ro, you’re a heroine, and you need to be a hero for more than just the few people here in this little place. Go be a hero for the world.”

  Mary hugged her tightly, “I’ll miss you, my friend.”

  “You must be sure to write to me about your adventures.”

  “I will,” Mary said.

  Then, as an afterthought, Meg asked, “Can you send Danol to see me before you go?”

  Mary had very little time to pack her bags and leave her home. She had to tell Brian. She hoped he’d be understanding, but Mary was her own woman and decided she was going to do this no matter what he said. Afire with prospects for the future, she refused to put obstacles before her. She was Mary Ro.

  Brian was upset, but Carla appreciated the situation and urged her to be careful. With so little time left, Mary stopped in to see Mrs. Ange, telling her she was going to Boston to be with her sisters and about Danol’s idea.

  They both cried and embraced. Mrs. Ange gave her money from the till and told her she would expect it back when Mary became a doctor. Mary didn’t feel right about taking it, but Mrs. Ange insisted. Mary hugged the old woman again, promised she’d write, and rushed home to pack her meagre belongings. She had asked Mrs. Ange to send Danol to see Meg and tell him to then wait for her. She was going to Boston. Mrs. Ange sent a message to Bridie, letting her know Mary was on her way.

  As she glanced around every room in her house, she remembered times spent there as a young girl. She thought of her parents and lovingly caressed a Blue Willow plate—her mother’s pride. Suddenly, the words to the poem her mother so often recited popped into her head. She took this as a sign she was doing the right thing. Recounting the words aloud, she pictured her dear mother’s beautiful smile and nod of approval.

  Two birds in the air are flying high

  A boat in the bay is sailing by

  Boys on the bridge number three or four

  A weeping willow hanging o’er

  A lovely castle, there it stands

  Built upon the river sands

  An apple tree, with apples on

  And a pretty fence strung right along

  Brian told her he would harvest the vegetables and move the cow and the hens to his stable for the winter. He said he would bar up the house and not to worry about anything. She suddenly remembered the tin under her bed that kept her United States money. Once she packed, she simply closed the door and walked out, making the sign of the Cross on the house like her mother used to do on the stove. “I’ll be back,” she whispered. “I’ll be back.”

  Danol watched her approach with her weathered carpet bag in hand. She was both scared and excited. As he helped her from the wharf to the boat, he was happy for her and could only guess at her fears and hopes. Neighbours came out to see her off. Richard bellowed from Meg’s doorstep. She smiled and waved, knowing her friend was watching as she began her voyage. Danol put a hand on her shoulder.

  Except for her school years in Mount Carmel, this was the first time she had physically been farther than the three connected communities of North Harbour, Colinet, and John’s Pond. The step between the dock and the ship was a canyon, a precipice, a portal. Untethered and free, she looked forward to the future, praying she was strong enough to face what it held.

  She wiped away the tears that began to flow. She wouldn’t be scared—she wouldn’t allow it. She was doing what she wanted and then could be with Peter, where her heart belonged.

  Waves lapped against the boat, the sails were full, and Mary stared back at John’s Pond until it was out of sight beyond North Harbour Point. Her past was behind her, and the fresh and new were before her. Having always believed she would live and die in John’s Pond—much like the trout she had set free from the wellhouse when she released the dam only moments before—she was now free to flow and explore wherever the tides would lead. Mary dared to believe there was more!

  The seas roughened as they neared Cape St. Mary’s, but Mary didn’t mind the larger swells—they didn’t scare her. She had heard many tales of shipwrecks off the cape. However, the day was clear in this part of the bay. The captain had made this trip many times, which gave her confidence. She hunkered down behind the wheelhouse, Danol sheltering her. She felt the wind change when the boat turned into Placentia Bay and toward the town for which the bay was named.

  The captain, Bob Follett, pointed out some of the communities in the distance—Lears Cove and Distress—which quickly faded into the distance as the fog began to roll. For most of the rest of the journey, the air was completely white and seemed to swallow them whole. The captain and crew were at ease with the blank slate until they heard the foghorn in Point Verde signalling the turn toward Placentia Gut. Close by, the waves thundered on the shore as the crew hastily readied the ship for a tack. Serenity came on the water as the captain steered to the wharf. The fog suddenly lifted, and the town of Placentia came into view in the setting sun.

  Mary watched as Danol fetched Pearce topside. She had almost forgotten about him. His destination was the courthouse, which also housed the jail. The building was marked by a tower and located nearby on the beach. The captain volunteered to keep Mary company until Danol returned.

  At first Pearce wasn’t going willingly, but Danol practically pitched him onto the wharf. Sighting Mary, Pearce pitted obscenities in her direction, threatening to kill her. Danol rose menacingly above him, promising to clamp a muzzle over his mouth. Mary cringed but wouldn’t dare let Pearce see that she was uncomfortable. Danol smacked Pearce on the head for good measure and half dragged him across the beaten path to jail.

  “Good man you got there,” Captain Follett said to Mary. “He threatened all our hides if we so much as looked sideways at you.”

  Mary smiled at the thought of it. “Yes, a fine man indeed.”

  “I’m sure you’re a real respectable woman, Miss Rourke. It would be wise to keep him around as you travel,” the captain said. He went on to tell her his crew were fairly decent men—some married, some not—but the next crew might not be so easily swayed by intimidation. He said he ran a tight ship and had no tolerance for bad behaviour but strongly encouraged her to keep away from the men so as not to have any trouble. He reckoned since it was her first time away from home, she might not understand that all people were not good like the fine folks she was reared up with. “You should heed my advice.”

  “Thanks, Captain, I’
ll remember,” Mary replied. She was no fool and could take care of herself but realized that there were many men like Pearce out there.

  The captain went about the work of ensuring the ship was properly docked—the sails were lowered and wrapped and the lines securely fastened to the wharf to safely off-load the supplies.

  Mary watched the crew at work from her position near the wheelhouse. She marvelled at the ease with which they could ready the boat so quickly with just five men. There was a certain fluidity to the motion of taking the crates and barrels from below the deck and hoisting them up on the dock. Every hand had a job, and each one was important.

  Lost in the busyness, she failed to notice Danol until he boarded the boat again. He spoke to the captain and shook his hand before coming to get Mary. He grabbed their luggage, which had been stowed in the wheelhouse to keep it dry. That tactic had worked, despite the rough seas on the cape.

  “Mary, are you ready to disembark? We’ve been offered a place to stay in Magistrate William O’Rielly’s residence near the courthouse. His wife wouldn’t hear of us trying to get another place, especially at this late hour, so the magistrate said.”

  “That was very kind of them,” Mary said. Reality hit her square in the face—she wouldn’t be in her own home tonight. This travelling business would take some getting accustomed to.

  “Pearce is settled and will have a hearing tomorrow afternoon. Most likely he’ll be deported and we’ll leave the next day.”

  “That’s very fast, Danol. Are you sure?”

  “Yes. The magistrate himself confirmed it. They had gotten word of the happenings in John’s Pond a week prior, and he was not willing to delay for any reason.”

  “So we could be leaving here very soon?”

  “As early as a second night,” Danol replied.

  “Any word on the fire in St. John’s yet?”

  “No, they’ve just had a bulletin by telegraph. They will likely receive a few more before we leave. Peter will be fine, Mary. Don’t worry.”

  “It’s hard not to when it sounded so bad.”

  “I know,” Danol replied, leading her along the gunwale to the wooden ladder and up onto the wharf. Danol leaped the distance and caught Mary’s hand so she could step over the rail to the wooden surface from the last rung.

  By the looks of it, the wharf was constructed of timber from the nearby trees, and she could see the water between the sticks. Mary lifted the edge of her skirt for fear of tripping on the uneven platform while Danol held her arm to keep her steady. After a dozen steps, they trod onto the beach, where she had to be careful not to turn over her ankle on the loose rounded rock.

  This was the first time Mary had set foot on any land outside the tiny world she lived in. The significance was not lost on her as she looked around. Heat rose within her. She must not panic! She had vowed to herself that she would have no regrets, and that was how she planned to go forward.

  Houses in Placentia were much like the saltboxes in John’s Pond. However, the few that she could see had more outcrops than the square ones at home. A lot of them had fancy designs over the windows and in the eaves. They were built on the enormous flat, rocky beach that formed a triangle between the ocean and two ponds and stretched from the sea, connecting in one corner to the cliffs on the mountain behind it. The houses were clumped together with little room between them, most unlike the ones at home. Farther up the beach, the courthouse towered on its own. She was amazed and in awe of this place that seemed to float on the ocean.

  The light was fading. Danol, sure-footed and strong, hurried her along the unfamiliar terrain.

  “You can get a look around tomorrow,” he said. “For this evening we have to make haste.”

  “Yes,” was all she could manage to say.

  13

  Danol smiled when they made it to the magistrate’s family home. Its clapboards, shiny yellow, practically glowed as the last rays of the sun polished the two-storey house.

  Bidding a good evening, Mrs. O’Rielly beckoned them both inside, taking Mary’s coat and offering a chair. As soon as she sat, Mary realized she was tired. The magistrate, who was smoking a pipe in an elegant chair by an unlit stone fireplace, rose to shake Danol’s hand. Danol introduced Mary, and he nodded, welcoming her to their home. The magistrate, an older man with little hair atop his head, had heavy grey eyebrows and sideburns.

  Mary was silent. She took in the elegant surroundings, not unlike the sophistication she’d read about in her books. She’d thought it a fantasy in the drawings, but now she could see it was real. She was astonished to be surrounded by so many beautiful things.

  Thick colourful rugs on gleaming wooden floors, long bright blue velvet curtains covering the windows, sparkly glass and plates on a massive oaken table. Mary had dreamed of such luxury in faraway lands, yet it was less than half a day by boat to here. She could only imagine what St. John’s, the capital, must have looked like, but there was one thing for sure—John’s Pond was never like this.

  “Mary, Mrs. O’Rielly is asking you a question,” Danol said.

  “I’m sorry, I was marvelling at the surroundings.” Mary blushed as she spoke.

  “That’s all right, dear. I was overwhelmed here at first, but now I have gotten used to it. I’ll have Susan fix some food for you and Danol before you settle in for the night.”

  They were led to the giant oak table where a tiny girl, not much older than Meg, with the blondest hair Mary had ever seen, came out of a five-panelled door at the far side of the fireplace bearing a large white tray. Two covered plates were set before them, and when the girl grabbed the knobs and removed the shimmering metal lids, Mary was met with the most elaborate meal she’d sat before in her life: sliced pork in applesauce with vegetables. The aroma made her stomach growl.

  The girl, Susan, wiped her hand in her long white apron and curtsied before turning to leave.

  “Thank you,” Mary and Danol said simultaneously.

  Mrs. O’Rielly answered with a “You’re very welcome” and asked Susan to bring some dessert, tea, and coffee once the meal was done.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Susan responded as she closed the door behind her.

  After savouring the meal and cleaning their plates, they thanked the O’Riellys for the hospitality. They joined the magistrate in the chairs by the fire where the coffee, tea, and cake was served.

  She’d had fruitcake only once: the Christmas before her mother died. She thought it was delicious then and couldn’t wait to take a bite of the slice before her.

  “Danol tells me you have a notion of becoming a doctor,” the magistrate said.

  “Yes,” Mary answered.

  “Yes, Your Honour,” Danol quickly interjected.

  The judge held up his hand. “No need for the formalities here in the house.”

  “I suggested she follow that path after saving my life and the lives of two girls in John’s Pond,” Danol continued. “Mary has a gift.”

  “Is there anything I can do to assist in the endeavour? Danol tells me you have plans to doctor in the bays. That would be most welcome around these outports. The doctor at the small cottage hospital here in Placentia can’t accommodate the sick in the outlying communities, even though he is sometimes called.”

  “I don’t know if there is anything you can do,” Danol said. “Perhaps a letter to help Mary get entrance to the college.”

  “Millie would have my head if I didn’t support you.” He smiled and winked at his wife. “A letter will be here for you in the morning with my support.”

  Magistrate O’Rielly commenced to tell them the history of Placentia and how it was the French capital of Newfoundland for many years, as early as the 1600s. They talked well into the evening before Mary yawned, and Mrs. O’Rielly asked Susan to show her to the room she had prepared.

  Mary bid them good night, once mor
e thanking the O’Riellys for their hospitality. Upstairs, the bedroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the house. A large bed with narrow, brass arches at the foot and at the head was prepared for her. The white eyelet lace cover had been folded back, and four pillows covered with pure white cases were fluffed and waiting for her head.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am, the lady of the house had me draw you a bath. It’s in the room right there,” Susan said, pointing to a door in the corner.

  Still euphoric over her surroundings, Mary made her way to the door. A long white tub filled the room. The water showed a slight steam rising around the cloud-like bubbles. Mary took in the scent of something unfamiliar.

  “For me?” Mary asked. She nearly cried as she ran to the tub and dipped her hand tentatively into the water. Where were her manners? She stood immediately.

  “Yes, ma’am, stay in it as long as you want. Once you go to bed, we’ll empty the tub using this entrance.” Susan pointed toward the second door in the room.

  “You’re so kind. In the morning I can take out the water for you,” Mary said. “There’s no need for you to trouble.”

  “No, ma’am, Mrs. O’Rielly would tan my hide if I let you do that. You’re a guest, and that’s my job.”

  “I haven’t seen a tub like this before. I’ve never had a bath in one of these. I always use the washtub at home.”

  “Well, m’lady, you enjoy your bath and stay in as long as you want,” Susan said. She bent to straighten the brilliantly coloured hooked rug beside the tub. She showed Mary the towels, and then she left.

  Once alone, Mary turned the key beneath the glass doorknob in both rooms. She left the keys in the locks. She quickly undressed by the bed, tiptoed to the bath, and tested the water again. With great care she got in and sank beneath the surface. If there is heaven, then this is it, she thought.