The bolt to the front door clicked. Timothy was home. She pushed herself up and smoothed her hair back. He’d want his breakfast before taking a nap. A quick glance at her dresser and her eyes paused on the Minnie Mouse design on the sweater she had knitted. The last row of stitches was finished in time for Nadine’s fifth birthday. She imagined the child jumping for joy when she brought out the Minnie Mouse cake she had taken such pains to decorate. She had asked Timothy to look for a black food-colouring and liquorice extract for the icing on the mouse ears. He had grumbled about it at first, but Stella knew he’d go out of his way to please their only grandchild. Timothy doted on her, often insisting she stay with them on the weekends he was off. Their two eldest, Peter and Denis, were both sailing to England with the 1st Canadian Infantry Division in October. Any grandchildren from them would have to wait until they were back from the war.
Timothy stepped into the bedroom and unbuttoned his work shirt. “Don’t bother with breakfast. I ate something at the station. Will all the boys be coming over?” He threw his shirt on the chair and started undoing his belt.
She noticed how thin his hair was when he leaned down to pull off his trousers. He had come back from the Great War with a full head of white hair. That dark curly mat that had made him look so debonair as a younger man had disappeared. This didn’t make him any less attractive; women still looked back over their shoulders at him on the street, even at church.
His enthusiasm for his job on the railway hadn’t faltered. His return from the war as a decorated veteran, as well as the protective arm of the union, had cemented his position with the CPR. The many layoffs over the years had never affected him. Stella wasn’t forced to find work in factories and restaurants to make ends meet like a lot of women in the neighbourhood. His diminishing eyesight now required him to squint when he filled out his train log. He found no reason to retire despite the occasional tremors he had while punching his customers’ tickets. His dark eyes still had that stern, piercing look that made Stella hesitate before contradicting him.
“I’m not sure when Denis and Janette will get here, but the others will be here around eleven. I have time to finish icing the cake and prepare the vegetables before they get here.” She leaned down to pick up the work pants he had just dumped on the floor. “That leaves you plenty of time to rest before they get here.”
He slid under the blankets. “Claire told you they were coming... or was it John?”
“She called me yesterday to say John wanted to stop at the recruitment office before going to work, but they should be here on time. Does it matter who said it?”
“Humph... well if she said it, I can sleep longer. She’s too dizzy to remember.”
Stella folded his trousers and placed them on the dresser. “Try to be a bit more patient with her, Timothy. She’s a little excitable about things, but she does have a good heart. It’s Nadine’s fifth birthday... no arguments... please, for the sake of that poor child.”
Timothy had taken an instant dislike to the flamboyant blond girl their youngest son had married five years ago. John had been in awe of her easy laughter, her French accent, her thick red lipstick, and the sharp way men swerved to look at her when she passed by. He was shorter than she was and had always been prone to depression, but her smile made him feel ten feet tall. They became inseparable. After two months of cabarets and wild parties, they used Timothy’s family train pass and eloped to Niagara Falls.
“That girl is holding him back.” He glared at her. “That promotion to chief engineer was supposed to go to him. He’s got the brains for it. I warned him to keep her away from the office. She waltzes in there any old time she feels like it. I met up with John’s secretary at the station last week. She says Claire sprawls herself on his desk with her cheap perfume, her plastic bracelets, and whips out her powder compact every five minutes to look at herself. What do you think that does to his image? They’re not going to want him heading their engineering firm with a wife like that. But he won’t listen. None of them do.”
Stella walked to the window and pulled the drapes closed. “Claire makes him laugh. They might argue a lot, but at least she can still get a smile out of him. You forget how depressed he was before he started with her—even as a boy.” She pulled her housecoat closer. “It always warms a mother’s heart to see her child smile.”
“Humph... you’ve always kept that boy hidden under your skirt.”
“He was a sickly child.”
Timothy turned on his side. “Didn’t stop him from getting his engineering degree at nineteen. Showed all those dumb friends of his.”
“Friends?” She headed towards the door. “John never had any friends. Unless you count those bums who kicked him around in the schoolyard. You were never here when he came home from school bruised and bleeding almost every week.”
“Someone had to put food on the table. You snitching to the teacher never helped him either. He’s always been your favourite.”
She paused beside the door and stared at him. “Not that again. I’ve told you. I have no favourites. I love them all. Get some sleep and try to wake up in a better—”
“Did you say recruitment office?” He lifted his head from the pillow. “He’s finally decided to enlist, has he? I suppose he doesn’t want to be outdone by his two brothers sailing off next month. The air force will grab him right away, you know. They don’t take just anybody off the street.”
Stella took a long breath, a faraway look in her eyes. “I wish to God none of my boys were going. Not one of them has the heart to kill anyone. It’s not as if they had to enlist—three of them married with a wife to support. I just hope John doesn’t pass that recruitment test. Besides Claire, he has a young daughter to think of.”
“Momma’s boys, all three of them. Let them have a go at crawling in muddy trenches with bullets whizzing past their ears for weeks on end. They’ll soon toughen up and shoot at anything that moves. Mackenzie King better stop tiptoeing around and have parliament bring in conscription. A prime minister is supposed to bring out the big guns when it comes to the safety of his people. No damn reason why married men can’t go out and fight for their country like everybody else.”
She shook her head at him before stepping out, clenching the doorknob a moment after closing the door.
The wall clock had just struck two when Stella checked it again. She tucked the half-completed wool scarf in her knitting basket by the rocking chair. Not one of them had called to cancel. She reached for the Minnie Mouse cake on the table and put it away in the pantry. Timothy was about to wake up and was sure to rant about all the trouble she had gone to baking that cake for nothing. The angry words she’d be forced to listen to would only confirm her fear that something was wrong.
She had so looked forward to seeing Nadine’s eyes light up when she saw the cake. John and Claire’s no-show had spoiled all the joy she had preparing for their visit. A feeling of dread had taken over her, making her hands tremble and her pulse quicken. Claire had planned to buy Nadine a Minnie Mouse doll when Stella told her about the sweater she had knitted. The woman wasn’t going to forget her own daughter’s birthday surprise. She might be a little flighty at times, but she always jumped through hoops for the girl. John was another story—he had never taken well to being a father. Something was definitely wrong.
John had always been the sensitive one of the three boys. Short and frail, he preferred to stay home and read while his older brothers went out gallivanting with the local boys. Any insult or rejection John experienced stirred up long periods of melancholy. Stella spent days trying to boost him up. His brilliance had allowed him to skip three grades in primary school. Yet he had neither the physical nor the mental maturity to fit in with the bigger boys.
He’d won a scholarship to McGill University when he was fifteen and Stella had let out a sigh of relief. He’d at last get the encouragement and approval he nee
ded to feel better about himself. When he landed a job as executive assistant for a major engineering firm after graduation, Timothy crowed about him. But John’s depressed moods resurfaced soon after. The employees working under him resented having to take orders from him, a short upstart fresh off the benches of Sunday school. Then he started seeing Claire. He became his normal self again. Claire was loud and fun-loving. She kept him moving and smiling—until Nadine was born.
John resented all the attention Claire gave the baby and became moody again. She’d often leave the baby with Stella to have more time alone with her husband. They quarrelled often and Nadine grew more and more withdrawn.
The bedroom door opened. Stella hurried to put the extra place settings away. She’d tell him that Claire had phoned—no, better to say John had called. Timothy was right about Claire being absent-minded about these things. The long years working with trains had made him unbending about being on time and following schedules. The boys had missed many a meal for being a minute late at the dinner table. Or had had the back of their heads slapped for not running to him the exact moment he called them.
She knew without a doubt that John’s absence had nothing to do with Claire’s forgetfulness. Stella had lived with fear all her life. The terror that had compelled her to hide Nadine’s cake was surging through her now, leaving her sluggish and bewildered.
“Didn’t show up? I knew it.” He stood rigid in the kitchen archway squinting up at the clock. “I told you she’d forget. Marrying a Frenchie was the worst move he ever made—and from a hick town too. Does she even know how to use a phone?”
Stella jumped at the sound of his voice. The plates slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor. Ceramic shards scattered in a wide circle around her feet. He glared at her while she stood frozen, unsure of where to step.
“That’s what happens when you go out of your way for them. Two days preparing John’s favourite meal and slaving on that stupid cake, and for what? You’ve got yourself all worked up for nothing. Now don’t move till I clean this up... my mother’s best china, no less. Don’t go trying to pick this up and cut yourself. That’s all I need.” He reached inside the hall closet for the broom and started sweeping. “Now sit down, woman. Let’s have a normal meal and I don’t want to hear nothing about John and that ditsy wife of his.”
The front door swung open. Footsteps clacked on the wooden floor of the hallway towards the kitchen. Timothy looked up from his broom, ready to give anybody walking in a piece of his mind. Stella held her breath. She hadn’t heard the patter of Nadine’s little shoes.
Their eldest son Peter and his wife Helen appeared, both looking serious. Peter glanced at Timothy and waved him towards a chair. “Leave that broom, Father. There’s something I need to tell you.” He turned to Stella. “I think you’d better sit down too, Mother. Something terrible has happened.”
Chapter 8
Lisette paused to study the fragile, handsome woman with blond streaks poking through her thick white hair. She sat clutching her hands in her lap, staring out the window. Her shoulders relaxed as her eyes followed a cardinal fly by and land in the cedars beside the building. Lisette waited, not sure whether Stella had finished her story or was just taking a break.
She had sensed the woman’s desperate quest for love from her father, her husband, and then her boys. There had been no mention of interaction with friends or other family members. Lisette understood this—whatever friends she had made growing up never went further than the schoolyard. She never brought them home to meet her foster parents—that was only for normal kids who had an actual family. Her home had been an address, a place to stay until she had to move again.
Stella had somehow managed to keep her fears at bay with her padlocked basement door, her crucifixes and her refusal to sleep after dark. But Lisette didn’t have such protection. There had been no locks on the bedroom doors of her foster homes. While Stella’s footfalls might have been in her head, Lisette’s had been real. The footfalls in her life hadn’t halted at a locked door but had advanced without hesitation to where she cowered under her blankets. Screaming had made the touching stop, but it had also triggered a move to another foster home after Social Services got involved. Not all the homes had been the same. When the father figure hadn’t been a threat, her own attitude had been the problem—too moody or bad-tempered to be a good fit. She’d stay awake long after all the lights went off, listening for any creaking on the stairs or footfalls heading her way. When she got older and stronger, she took to pushing her dresser against her bedroom door at nights—in case.
“Grandma Stella. Are you alright?” She felt a slight twinge in her chest when she said that name, like she somehow belonged. This visit had given her a slew of family members. Still no closer to her own parents, but a breakthrough was sure to happen soon. “If this is too much for you, we don’t have to continue. I work weekends, but I can come back Monday before classes.”
Stella came to with a weak smile. “Sorry, dear. Even after all this time, it still hurts to think about it. That poor girl didn’t deserve to—”
“Supper time.” Mrs. White stood in front of them. “Better get you to the table while it’s still hot.”
Lisette shoved her notebook into her bag and got up. “I better be off too. I have someone waiting outside.”
“Hope I haven’t chased you away with all this talk.” Stella reached for Mrs. White’s arm to pull herself up. “I think I’ll pass on supper… if you don’t mind. I’m too exhausted to even lift a fork. Maybe after a short rest.”
Mrs. White glanced at Lisette. “Talking about upsetting things, were we?” She smiled at Stella. “Come along, dear. We can warm your plate up when you’re ready to eat.” She led her away. “Now let’s get you settled in your room.”
Lisette followed them out and stopped at the reception. Stella hadn’t mentioned whether her husband was still alive. Her staying in this senior’s home didn’t imply he wasn’t living on his own. She had wanted to ask for her sons’ telephone numbers, but Mrs. White had whisked her off.
The receptionist behind the desk dropped her pen and looked up at Lisette. “May I help you?”
“I’m hoping you can. I need you to please check something for me in Mrs. Pritchart’s file.”
The woman cocked her head. “And you are?”
Lisette pushed her shoulders back. “I’m her granddaughter—her great granddaughter, that is.”
“I see.” She checked her watch. “Do you have legal access to her file?”
“Legal access? No. Listen, I don’t want to see her file. I only want my uncle’s phone number. I was going to ask her myself but Mrs. White walked her back to her room before I had a chance to.”
“Mrs. Pritchart?” The receptionist pulled her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She wouldn’t remember anybody’s phone numbers. She’d have to go up to her room to search for them. And she never makes a call. She picks up the odd call when she’s in her room, but that’s about it. Giving her a phone message is useless—she forgets to call back. Her son insisted on having a line put in her room so she doesn’t feel so isolated. A lot of them do that. Calling saves them a visit.” She gave Lisette a quick smirk. “But we all know their isolation starts way before they end up here.”
“I guess I lucked out today.” Lisette recalled how difficult it had been for Stella to figure out who she was speaking to. “She answered on the third ring.”
“Must’ve been right after lunch, during nap time. Any later, she would’ve been out of her room.” She straightened in her chair and pulled her shoulders back. “Unless they need to nap, we don’t encourage our residents to stay all alone in their rooms during the day. They need to mingle or they’ll disconnect with the outside world—although most do after a while. We make sure everyone gets the proper sleep aid to get them through the night. Nothing worse than having them roam the
building at all hours.” She checked her watch again. “I’ll be closing up now. My lunch break started five minutes ago.”
“What about the phone number?”
She let out a long breath. “Listen, this can get me into big trouble. I’m not supposed to give out information about the residents without their permission.” She wheeled her chair around, slid open the drawer of the cabinet behind her and pulled out a file.
“I’m just asking for a simple phone number, not to see her medical file. Although I wouldn’t mind taking a look at that.”
The woman scanned the file and then slapped it closed. “Sorry, can’t help you.” She slammed the drawer shut. “I’ve got two phone numbers on file and both of them are private.” She reached for her purse and walked towards Lisette. “Please step back. I have to lock the office during lunch hour.”
Lisette marched towards the exit. Another dead end. Social Services hadn’t helped her much. Serge might come up with something on his uncle’s database, but it didn’t look promising. Grandma Stella hadn’t seen Nadine in twenty years, so she wasn’t much help either. The conversation with the receptionist had made her blood boil. Not because she had refused to give her the phone numbers—she was only doing her job. It was all these stupid roadblocks stopping her from meeting up with her own mother. Having that phone number might’ve made her search a little easier. Her uncles had more information than Grandma Stella had to offer.
Her best bet was to forget about the whole situation and get on with her life. She had managed to survive without a mother all these years and would be able to continue her journey without one. But meeting with her own great-grandmother had awakened a burning need to attach herself to some clan—to be part of a cluster in the universe. She might end up not liking any of them, but at least now she knew she was attached to some family link, and not floating debris nobody wanted to associate with.
The Daughters' Story Page 8
