The Daughters' Story

by Cyr, Murielle;

  “You’ve done us proud, Nadine.” He smiled at her. “Nice apartment, good job.”

  She knew he meant to lighten the tension between them. Life had altered them both, making them almost strangers. So many unknowns separated them. She tried to force a smile and come out with some small talk to help him out. But the tears were too close to spilling. A barrier of pain and heartache had kept them apart too long for this reunion to be easy.

  “How about you, Papi?” Her words tumbled out, gasping for air.

  “My home base is still back in Saint-Roch. Rose is buried there and the union office is within walking distance. Janette wants me to move closer to Montreal. Maybe when I retire full-time. I put in two days a week at the office and I go check up on the bush camps every couple of weeks. I got the call to come here and replace one of our guys early this morning. The cops must’ve started their raids the minute Ottawa hauled out the War Measures Act. They sure didn’t waste any time.”

  She placed the kettle on the burner and leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to boil. “You didn’t find the soldiers downtown too... disruptive?” The words she forced out managed not to sound too awkward. Keeping the conversation away from what was causing the upheaval in her chest might help pull off this reunion without too many tears.

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’ve seen all this before. It’s not the first time Ottawa has sent its army to bully the Quebec people. When the war started in 1914, a lot of us refused to join up. After treating us like dirt for over 150 years, they expected us to die for them too. It wasn’t our fight. During the Easter holiday of 1918 trains full of soldiers came to Quebec City to force us to enlist.” He fell silent a moment, his eyes far away. “I guess the soldiers downtown make me feel more threatened than anything else. It’s like I have no right to be walking down my own streets.”

  She reached in the cupboard for two mugs. “Those bombings make people scared of going out. These days all we hear about are the kidnappings. And then there’s all those manifestos being broadcast.” She braced herself and brought down the sugar bowl. Politics wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, but it was stopping her from coming apart. She’d have to face him across the table any second now. “Things will go back to normal soon. The army might not stay too long.”

  “I agree it’s been pretty tense here for a while.” He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and relaxed his shoulders. “But sending the Canadian army to stop a small group of Quebec radicals is just putting more wood on the fire. It’s only going to back what the terrorists are shouting loud and clear—that Quebecers are living under the thumb of the English. The FLQ are only expressing the frustration of every French worker slaving for the English bosses. The thing is, violence might get them the attention they need, but Quebecers will end up wanting a more peaceful way.”

  The kettle started to boil. She bit her lip and stared at the bursts of steam escaping. Talking about politics only went so far in containing the emotions whirling inside her.

  “Enough of all that—” He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “It’s been so long… you were just a girl of sixteen last we saw each other. Life has been good to you, I hope.”

  She switched the burner off and let out a long breath. “It hasn’t always been smooth.” She placed the tea bags in the teapot and turned to face him. “I’ve made mistakes, some of them I never figured out how to fix. Time can sometimes bury these for a while, but they find a way to surface when you’re not looking.”

  “Everyone has the right to mess things up once in a while. It’s the only way to grow.” He looked down at the floor a moment and lifted his gaze with a smile. “Believe me when I say this. I’ve always taken full advantage of that right. I have to confess I had to repeat some mistakes over and over again before I got it right.”

  “You, Papi?” She didn’t imagine him ever doing anything wrong.

  “Well, I don’t deny it. ” He frowned. “After Rose died, I left baby Janette with my mother in Saint-Roch and only came back to visit on holidays and special occasions. Working in the bush was my escape from the loss of my wife. I became that faraway father who paid the bills and appeared at the kitchen table at Christmas and Easter. I only realized how distant my daughter and I had become when she announced her intention to marry Denis. She didn’t ask my permission and didn’t care what I thought. I guess when I lost Rose, I also lost my daughter.”

  “But I remember how happy she always was to see you. It wasn’t Christmas and Easter until you arrived—for me too.”

  He shook his head. “I wanted to make up for lost time. The closeness I had lost with Janette, I thought I had found with you. You were such a sad little girl.”

  She slumped back against the counter, one arm holding the other at the elbow. “I can’t begin, Papi… to say how sorry I am. Aunt Jan was always a good mother to me. I just... wanted to put everything behind me when I left... build myself up again. But while I was doing that... I hurt people along the way—people that were kind to me. The longer I stayed away, the more I convinced myself I wasn’t welcome back, and that Aunt Jan was better off without me.”

  “Please... don’t apologize. Not to me. You were still a child when you left. That was the worst part of it for Janette. She waited on you hand and foot from the moment she brought you into her home. She felt responsible for what happened to you. She figured she hadn’t prepared you enough for what was out there. But you did what you had to do. Our decisions always come from what we happen to know at a certain point in our life. But people hardly ever get to the same place at the same time and end up disagreeing with each other’s choices. Whatever decision you took in the past was the best one for you at the time. I’m just glad to find you alive and well.”

  She turned to stare out the window over the sink. “If you only knew how much I longed to see Aunt Jan and Grandma Stella when I was first on my own. But that meant also seeing Uncle Denis. I didn’t want him or the other Pritcharts knowing anything about me. I was just an embarrassment to them. They were glad to see the back of me and I wanted no part of them. If they thought I was dead that was OK with me—just like they were dead in my mind.”

  “Love them or hate them, they’re still part of who you are. Ignoring them is sticking your head in the sand. You’ve got to deal with what you hate about them before you can make them disappear. Hating them gives them more space in your life.” He paused to glance around her orderly kitchen, taking in the ample oak cupboards, the ceramic flooring, and the modern fridge and stove. “Let’s put them aside now and talk about you. You’ve done OK from the looks of things.”

  She took her time before turning to face him. “I moved around a lot the first few years. My first place was in an old rooming house in the east end. I got a job as a baster in a garment factory near there. I’d stitch the different parts of the garment by hand and the sewers assembled them on the machines. Long hours with slave wages. After my day’s work, I had blisters on my fingers, and my back ached from bending over the cloth. Coming up with the rent money was tough and there wasn’t always enough food in my cupboard.”

  “I would’ve been more than happy to—”

  “Yes, Papi… I know that. I almost called you a few times.” She tucked her hair back behind her ears and gave him a weak smile. “I’d stand inside the telephone booth with my eyes closed trying to find the courage. But work got better after a while. The women at the factory looked out for me. They took turns sharing their lunch with me. A few of them took work home to make a bit of extra cash. A kind Italian woman invited me to her home and showed me how to do piecework on her sewing machine. That meant I was allowed on the machines at work and able get a pay raise. I owe those women a lot. It’s because of their help I was able to survive.”

  “Janette had so wanted to go see you while you were at the home. But Denis told us visitors weren’t allowed. We knew y
ou had to stay and work there six months after the birth to pay off your debt to the nuns. She crossed the days off on the calendar waiting for you to come back. It took her awhile to move on with her life.” He looked down, his eyes pained. “And all this time you were living on the opposite side of town.”

  “I wasn’t worried about running into anyone in the family. Especially not in the area where I was living.”

  “The police were no help, and Denis’ family didn’t insist on the search.”

  She pressed her lips together. “The cops searched for Nadine Pritchart, so they weren’t able to find me. I used my mother’s maiden name on my first job application. All the other paperwork followed suit. We didn’t need supporting documents then—not for my type of work. The name stuck with me. Dropping the Pritchart name helped me make a clean break.”

  “The pieces are starting to fall into place.” He paused. “If only we had known.”

  “Black, right?” She placed the teapot and cups on the table and sat down across from him. She had so loved pouring his tea as a little girl.

  He reached over to pat her hand. “This will be the best cup of tea in the world.”

  “You always said that to me no matter how weak it was.” She poured his tea, an empty feeling compressing the walls of her chest. “I wanted to keep her, you know.” She swallowed hard. “I was going to find a way no matter what. The government gave a five dollar monthly baby bonus. Not much, but it was better than nothing. A few women’s groups were helping girls like me. I was ready to face anything to keep my baby. I lay awake at night trying to figure out how it was going to work. But when I woke up after the birth... she was gone. It was like I had just woken up from a bad dream. The nuns used to guilt us girls to sign that adoption consent form, but I always refused.”

  She sipped her tea, trying to come up with the right words before placing her cup down. “After I learned that the nuns had a signed consent form on file, I demanded to see it. That’s when I saw Uncle Denis’ signature. I cried for days. I hated him so much for giving my baby away. He had only ever agreed to adopt me because Aunt Jan wanted him too. He never once referred to me as his own—I was always his brother’s daughter. I never wanted to see him or anybody from that family ever again.”

  Papi leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. “You were underage. They needed his signature no matter what.” He straightened back up. “I’m sure Janette didn’t know about Denis signing that form. She had fixed up a corner in your room with a crib. She continued knitting baby outfits till Denis told her you had given the baby up. I visited her often in those days. She needed someone to confide in. The rest of the family refused to even mention your name.”

  “There’s lots Aunt Jan didn’t know.”

  Papi drank his tea in silence. She fiddled with the sugar bowl and the milk jug, adjusting their positions beside the teapot and switching them again a few seconds later.

  After a short silence, he put his cup down. “Sometimes, things are better left unsaid until you’re free of them. It took me years before I even mentioned Rose’s death. I didn’t think my heart was capable of ever breaking again. But it shattered into a million pieces when Janette’s little Philip died. Then… you disappeared. I wondered if I was being punished.”

  She averted her eyes, willing her hot tea to wash down the burning sensation in her throat.

  “Having a child taken away from you attacks your very soul.” His voice wavered. “Janette lived through it twice. First with young Philip’s death and again when you didn’t come back. There’s nothing I’d like more than to see a bit of light in my daughter’s eyes. I’d hate to keep this visit hidden from her, but... if you don’t want me to, I won’t say a thing about it. I’m just so happy to have this moment with you.”

  She turned to him, tears in her eyes. “Papi, I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. I never saw myself as anybody’s child. I needed time to put my pieces back together. All I did was work. And eat and rest. And work again. No time to feel the pain and loneliness. One day I woke up and a large period of my life had flown by.”

  “Stop blaming yourself—it will eat up all that’s good inside of you. What’s done is done. Beating yourself over the head won’t erase the past.”

  She swallowed hard and straightened in her chair. “If she ever finds out you kept this visit secret, it’ll hurt her even more. Tell her you’ve seen me, but don’t tell her what we talked about. I owe it to her to tell her myself one day. I don’t want the Pritcharts to know. I can’t go back right now. I don’t have the courage to face Uncle Denis. Not now... maybe never.”

  He pressed his palm to his chest. “What you’re giving me is going straight to my heart. To know you’re well will make my Janette very happy. Don’t worry. She doesn’t visit much with his family. She won’t say anything, but—” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose you knew. About a year after you left, your grandfather Pritchart died. They found him dead beside the railway tracks near his home.”

  Her eyes widened and her shoulders dropped. “Grandpa Pritchart? I thought he’d always be around to rule over everybody.” She had imagined his death a thousand times when he was alive. He was the raging monster in her nightmares as a child. The evil one staring at her from her dark closet at night. Grandma Stella would always be there when she woke, sitting beside her on the bed, waiting for her screams to stop.

  “I’m sorry to bring you such sad news. He’d lost his hearing bit by bit over the years, and his eyesight had deteriorated quite a lot at the end, leaving him almost deaf and blind. The CPR forced him to retire ten years early—before he caused an accident, that is. He never got over losing his job. He spent his days walking along the tracks with the help of a cane. Stella lived in fear that he’d get hit by a train one day.”

  “He always bragged about never taking a sick day off work. What did he die of?” Her vision clouded thinking about Grandma Stella. She must’ve felt so disoriented without him. Grandpa Pritchard had been in her life since she was a young girl of thirteen. “I remember the pink stains he left in the snow when he went to pee beside his back porch. In my kid’s mind, I thought he had dragon’s blood.”

  “It’s a good thing he only had sons. He had a rare kidney disorder and never told anyone. Stella only found out at the very end. It’s a disease that’s only passed on to female children.” He paused when he saw the look of shock on her face. “Don’t worry, male children can only get it if the mother is a carrier. So no danger of your father having it. The sad part is there’s no cure. He was lucky to have lived as long as he did.”

  Papi had assumed the news of the death had shocked her, but nothing was further from the truth. It was her daughter she was thinking of. She’d be old enough to start a family by now. Knowing the danger, she might not be willing to risk having children. Didn’t she have the right to know her family’s medical background? A pain throbbed in the back of her throat. She pushed herself up and leaned against the counter, facing away from Papi. Not only had she given her child away to perfect strangers, but she had also passed on a crippling disease.

  “Nadine?” He slid his chair back and went to get up, but she waved him down.

  “I’m alright, Papi. This was just so... unexpected. I might’ve... for Grandma’s sake... gone to the funeral. She was always so good to me.” She walked back to the table and sat down.

  He stared at her a moment. “That’s all water under the bridge. It might not have been a good time for you to show up then, at least not with his sons being so upset about the will. You see, your grandfather left Stella the house and enough to live on, but he also left you a nice sum of money, and—”

  “Me. Why me?” She sat back in her chair, her stomach rock hard. “I don’t want his money.”

  “Maybe not.” He smiled. “But Peter and Denis sure do. When you disappeared without a word, they went to court to contest the will. After se
ven years they tried to have you declared legally dead. But Janette blocked it by claiming she received a postcard from you about a year after you left. She keeps it in her safe deposit box. As long as there’s a possibility you might still be alive—and Janette refuses to back down—the courts won’t grant them what they want.”

  She recalled how desperate she had felt when she scribbled those quick words—Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. Love, Nadine—on a postcard of New York City she had found on a park bench. There had been nothing fine about her life at the time. She had even cut back on her milk budget for the week to afford a postage stamp. She had hoped to help reassure Aunt Jan, but also to get closure on her struggle to go back. If they thought she was doing well, nobody would insist on trying to locate her. Her heart rose to her throat at the thought of Aunt Jan holding on to that card after all that time.

  She raised both palms up in front of her. “I don’t want Aunt Jan to fight over this. Tell her they can keep it all. I don’t want any of it.” Any connection to Timothy Pritchart left her with a knot in her gut. It was his way of keeping a hold on her even after death. She wouldn’t be able to spend a penny of it without thinking of him. She had managed well enough without help for this long and didn’t need his money to carry on. Accepting the money also meant having to deal with Uncle Denis again, and that was out of the question.

  “You won’t have to worry about any of this after December of this year. Your grandfather didn’t want his money rotting in trust for a hundred years in case you never showed up. He added a condition in his will that your inheritance go to his two sons if it wasn’t claimed by twenty years after his death.”