The Daughters' Story

by Cyr, Murielle;

  “Not when we’re under martial law.” He went back to his newspaper.

  She gazed out the window again. This wasn’t a good time to get him talking about the FLQ, nor about the French daring to speak up for their rights. His Irish Catholic ancestors had been treated like dirt by the British back in their own homeland. Yet he wasn’t able to link that to what was happening at home in Quebec. It was almost as if he denied her true identity, ignoring the humiliation her parents, her grandparents, and those that came before them had also suffered at the hands of the British. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

  “I’m managing the breakfast shift starting tomorrow morning.” He swung the newspaper down beside him and stretched out his arms. “The partnership at this restaurant gives me more freedom than when we had our own bakery. You and I only had Monday together. And Nadine and Philip took up all your free time.”

  “Yes.” Janette smiled. “Those were happy days.”

  He hesitated, then his face lit up. “Maybe after—that’s if you feel like it—we can start that new puzzle.”

  She tightened her grip on the arm of the chair. She had scheduled this visit when she knew he’d be out. She needed this time alone to get to know Nadine again. Denis was sure to get huffy about her coming over—we were doing OK without her, he’d say. It’d be better if she told him after the visit was over. “Why not visit your mother? It’s been a while since you’ve seen her and the nurse at the residence says she isn’t doing so well.”

  “Sure, why not? We’ll go together. The visit goes by faster with you there. She never has anything to say to me.”

  “Don’t be silly. She’ll be glad to have you all to herself.” She stood up and leaned sideways to look down the street.

  What if he’s still home when they get here? He’ll be peeved that I hid something from him.

  “What’s so damn interesting out there? You’ve been staring out that window for the last half hour.” He peered at her through his cigarette smoke. “And what’s with the swanky dress?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re expecting someone, aren’t you? Is that why you want me to go out?”

  She turned to face him. “Don’t get yourself into a snit. I should’ve told you before this.” She walked to the sofa, shoved the newspaper aside and sat down beside him. “Papa’s on his way here. He’s—”

  “Your father? Since when do you dress up when he comes over? That’s not it. You’re hiding something from me again.”

  She sat up straight. “Again? What do you mean? When have I ever kept anything secret from you?”

  He blew out his cigarette smoke towards the ceiling and shook his head. “Sorry about that, Janette. Forget I ever said that.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “Sometimes… secrets are better left buried.” He took another drag. “Take my brother John. If he hadn’t found out about Nadine not being his, he and Claire might be alive today. He didn’t have to know.”

  “John and Claire? What do they have to do—” Her thoughts faltered a moment, wondering what he was getting at. She got up and marched back to her chair. Thirty years of marriage and he’d waited till now to admit he knew about Joe. Not once had he questioned being Philip’s father and had been a good parent to him every day of the boy’s life. Why wasn’t he man enough to come out with it? All that time letting it fester inside of him. Confronting the truth might’ve forced him to take a different path in life. His own brother had stabbed his wife to death when he found out her secret. Did Denis fear the same violence within himself? “Is there something bothering you Denis—something we should be talking about?”

  “No… forget what I said. I just thought you were… waiting for someone… and you didn’t want me to know. That’s all it was. And that blue dress you’ve got on… that’d make any man want a closer look. You’re as beautiful as—no, more beautiful—than the day we met. I’d be a goner without you, Janette. I let my imagination take over, that’s all. Sorry about that. If you want me to go out, I’ll go right now.”

  She went to say something, but chewed her bottom lip instead. He was protesting too much. It was time for her to clear the air. Right here and now. Remind him of that day back in 1946. More and more soldiers were coming home, some crippled like Denis, others with vacant eyes, lifelong victims of the horrors of war.

  Joe had pushed the door open to their bakery on a sunny April afternoon. Denis sat at the corner table working on the accounts with baby Philip beside him in the playpen. Joe, tall and strong as a mountain, stood there staring at her with a look of want in his dark eyes. Her knees gave out and she gripped the side of the countertop. A wave of warmth radiated throughout her body. He had survived the war.

  Philip started wailing. Loud enough to get Joe’s attention. Did the baby hear the frantic drumming of her heart? Did Denis? Joe stared, head tilted, at the baby’s thick black hair and smooth olive skin, so like his own. Denis glanced up at him, his prosthetic leg stiff and awkward under the table. The two men studied each other in silence. Denis’ face went ashen, his eyes darting up and down the man’s body, comparing—judging himself. Joe squared his shoulders, muscles tight and straining through his summer shirt, and without even a backward look at her, was out the door.

  Denis hadn’t said a word, looking back down at his accounts book as if no one had entered the shop. She had marched back to the kitchen, glad to have another batch of dough that needed pounding out.

  “Don’t bother yourself about this, Janette.” He pushed himself up and grabbed his jacket from the arm of the sofa. “I’ll walk over to the tavern and have a pint with the guys so you can have some space.”

  “It was you, Denis.” She leaned her head back against the armchair. “It’s you I chose.”

  He stooped to gather the newspaper together and wavered, grabbing on to the arm of the sofa to catch his balance. “We’ve had some good years you and me.”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Maybe he was right. Some things are better left unsaid. “Papa found her.”

  “Who?” He leaned down to place the paper in the magazine rack, knowing she always worked on the Gazette’s crossword puzzle while he watched the news.

  Her voice rose, excited. “Nadine. Can you believe this? He’s bringing her over.”

  “Nadine?” His jaw dropped.

  “That’s why I wanted some alone time. I didn’t want you getting all mad and making me lose her all over again. It hurts bad to know we’ll never see our Philip again. But now I have a chance to be a mother again, Denis. I can feel alive again.”

  “After all the pain she’s caused you. Not a word from her in twenty years and out of the blue, she pops up. Did she find out about the will? Is that it?” He limped to the window and gazed at the cars driving by. “Well, she’s not welcome here. I won’t let her hurt you all over again.”

  “Not that damn will again. Your father left her the money, so you and your brother better accept it. And who said she even knows anything about it? She just wants to see me. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “I’m sure your father told her. If she had wanted to see you that bad, she’s had twenty years to do so.” He turned away from the window and put his jacket on. “You better call him right now and tell him to leave her exactly where he found her.”

  A knock at the door. Their eyes met.

  Janette went to get up but he waved her down. “I’ll get this.”

  “You better not be mean to that girl, Denis Pritchart.” She stood up straight and headed after him. “I mean it. Don’t force me to choose again.”

  He stopped in his tracks and took a long breath before opening the door.

  Paul stood smiling in the doorway, his broad shoulders almost hiding the slim woman behind him. Janette clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking. Her father hadn’t brought back the sixteen-year-old who had disappeared so many
years ago, but a full-grown woman with stories and a life of her own. Had the closeness they had then survived, or had Nadine strayed too far and too long for them to reconnect?

  Paul nodded at Denis, reached back to take Nadine’s arm, and stepped in. “Look who I discovered at the meeting last Friday.” He came to a stop in front of Janette and hugged her. “This isn’t a time for tears. Our little Nadine is back.” He moved sideways to stand beside Denis, leaving the two women to face each other.

  Nadine held Janette’s gaze, her arms limp by her side. Janette wiped her tears on the sleeve of her sweater, and without a word, threw her arms around Nadine. The two clung to each other, their eyes closed, oblivious to the two men watching beside them. Paul held back his own tears, while Denis stood rigid, his face impassive. Paul went out the door, glancing over his shoulder at Denis. “Don’t lock up. I have to move the pickup. I’m parked a block down on the wrong side of the street.”

  Denis continued to stare at the two women.

  Nadine stepped back after a few moments, swallowed hard, and looked at Denis. “Uncle Denis. It’s been a long time.”

  He hesitated a moment, glancing at his wife before facing Nadine. “It sure has. We had given up on you.”

  Janette grabbed Nadine’s arm and guided her towards the sofa. “Don’t you listen to him. I always knew we’d see you again. Now make yourself comfortable. I’ll go make tea and we can catch up.” She paused to stare at Denis before stepping out of the room.

  He lifted his chin up. “Don’t worry, I’m going. I’m waiting for Paul to come back.”

  Janette frowned and stepped out of view into the kitchen area.

  Nadine dug into her handbag for Kleenex to dry her eyes. More tears were sure to flow with all they had to say to each other. Her intention had been to tell Aunt Jan everything that had happened during their long separation. But seeing her after all these years, certain things might be better off left out for now. Twenty years had taken their toll on Aunt Jan. The slow, halting way she had made her way to the kitchen reminded Nadine of what Papi had said about her health problems.

  She owed all to this generous, kind-hearted woman, who had never thought twice about welcoming her—a sad child mourning her parents’ violent deaths—into her home. Aunt Jan had been a loving parent to her longer than her real mother had. She had a right to know why she had stayed away so long. But sharing her whole story with her might leave her with unwarranted feelings of guilt. She didn’t want Aunt Jan to feel responsible for what had happened. The right time to tell her would come, but not today. There were so many other things they had to catch up on. First, the happy news. Her child—her own flesh and blood, had come back to her.

  Denis edged closer to the sofa where Nadine sat. “I assume Paul told you about my father’s will. Why else would you show up out of the blue like this?” He glanced towards the kitchen and continued, his tone lower, harsher. “Had I known, I would’ve made sure this visit never happened. In her condition, Janette can’t handle another heartbreak. I won’t allow you to hurt her all over again.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a business card, and flipped it in her direction. It landed inside her opened handbag. “Call my lawyer. He’ll take care of everything. There’s no need for you to ever come here again.”

  She stared up at him, not sure how to answer him. Her intention had been to let him know she didn’t want to claim the inheritance. She hadn’t anticipated such a hostile confrontation within minutes of her arrival. It was obvious he was doing this without Aunt Jan’s knowledge. That he’d think the money was the sole reason for her visit wasn’t surprising, but she wasn’t prepared for the look of hatred in his eyes.

  “Look, Uncle Denis, I’m sorry for never giving any news. I had a lot of problems to deal with. I came here to try to mend any suffering I caused—not to aggravate Aunt Jan’s heart condition. I didn’t know Grandpa Pritchart died till Papi told me last Friday. I don’t want any part of that inheritance. It’s for you and Uncle Peter. I was going to tell you as soon as Aunt Jan and I got settled.”

  “You expect me to believe that? I don’t know how you got my father to leave you anything, but we’ll see how this stands up in court.” His face and neck burned, his voice shook.

  Nadine’s heart sank. He was too angry to listen to reason. Convincing him how little she cared about the inheritance was next to impossible. No amount of money could make up for past wrongs. It had taken her a long time to realize she wasn’t responsible for what happened. Aunt Jan and Grandma Stella would only blame themselves if she told them everything. She had hurt them enough. Her secret had to remain with her. She had to fix this now, or he’d make it impossible for her to see Aunt Jan again. She fished in her bag, pulled out a pen and small notebook, and scribbled down her address. “Here.” She handed him the note. “Get your lawyer to mail me an agreement stating I’m refusing any inheritance. I’ll sign it and mail it back as soon as I get it.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, scanned the paper and tucked it into his back pocket. Paul strode in from outside and came to a stop when he saw the hard look on Denis’ face. His eyes darted towards Nadine who, face ashen and head lowered, pretended a desperate search of her purse. He was about to ask what was going on when Janette poked her head in the kitchen archway. “Come in here, Nadine. It’ll save me from carrying the tea things all the way there.”

  Denis turned to his wife. “Don’t you go overdoing things again.”

  Janette rolled her eyes at him and smiled at Paul. “Denis was just about to walk to the tavern before you arrived. Looks like you could use a beer too.”

  Paul grinned at Denis. “This must be our cue to leave.”

  Denis pushed his shoulders back and, with a slight limp, marched out the front door.

  Denis sat down at a round table in the ill-lit tavern and signalled to the barman wiping down the large jars of pickled eggs beside the cash register. “Bring us two large Molsons, please.”

  Paul pulled out the worn pine chair across from him and made eye contact with the barman before sitting. “And make that a tablette for me, please.”

  The barman reached on the shelf for the beer glasses. “Right away, Boss.”

  “Tablette?” Denis made a face. “May as well order a bottle of piss. If it’s not ice cold, I won’t touch it.”

  “All you square-heads like your beer cold. Thing is, by the time you get down to the dregs of your 22-ounce bottle, it’ll be as warm as my tablette. So we’ll drink piss together.”

  Denis glanced around the room. Most of the tables were full with the usual crowd of workers stopping in after work for a few quiet beers before going home to the wife and kids. The rowdy crowd—students and the unemployed with their loud politics and social grievances—usually dropped in later in the evening to rant.

  “Better watch who you call a square-head in this place, Paul. This is an English watering hole. We don’t see many Frenchies come in here. When they do, they don’t rock the boat. There’s been quite a few tables and chairs thrown around lately. The guys are pretty antsy about that FLQ thing and the army hanging out around town doesn’t help.”

  Paul laughed. “I’ve got nothing against swinging a few chairs myself. You’re not scared of a bit of action, are you now?”

  Denis tapped his artificial leg. “Not fast enough to avoid the punches with this thing. But I was in plenty of brawls before the war. My brother Peter and I always had to jump in to get John out of scraps. That boy was smart but he never kept his mouth shut. Especially if it had anything to do with Frenchies. No offense, Paul. The Frenchies and the English were always duking it out where I grew up.” He shoved the salt shaker and ashtray aside to make room for the two quart beer bottles and glasses the barman was about to place on the table. “And the bugger went and married one. Figure that one out.”

  “Seems to me you did too. Did you expect Ja
nette to lose her identity when she married you?” Paul raised his glass. “But it proves there’s a bit of sense lurking in that thick square-head of yours. Two out of three brothers marrying Canadiennes. That must’ve made your old man foam at the mouth.”

  Denis made a face and salted his beer. “The old man couldn’t stand Claire—loud and vulgar as a two-bit hooker, he’d say. It got his goat that she spoke only French to John and Nadine when they came for Sunday dinner. That’s how come Nadine came to us after the incident. Peter and his wife wanted to take her but my old man figured the kid was better off with someone who spoke her language.” He gulped down his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “He worked the trains across Canada all his life and he’d brag he never once had to speak a word of French. He had more respect for Janette. She hardly spoke to him, but when she did, her English was pretty good. After all this time with me, you can’t tell she has an accent anymore.”

  Paul leaned back in his chair. “She must’ve learned the language helping my mother do laundry for those rich English ladies back home. She’d climb up the hill to Quebec City three times a week with a rucksack of their clean laundry and come back with more of their shitty clothes. She needed to know a bit of English to get served in the department stores uptown—the sales clerks refused to speak French, even if they knew how. I learned it working for English bosses. Our money was good, but God forbid they serve us in French. And you square-heads wonder what the FLQ is all about. Language, man. It’s what holds us together. If we lose it, we’ll disappear, just like you Irish in the huge English sea.”

  “Let’s change the subject, Paul. People are looking our way.”

  Paul refilled his glass and glanced around with a smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. But Janette will get upset at me if I bring you home on a stretcher. Warmed my heart to see her so happy today. Did her a world of good to have our Nadine back.”