Envy the Wind

by Anita Davison

  During an hour-long sermon which Angus MacKinnon would have approved of, Grace studied the Reverend Ewan Macdonald so closely, anyone watching her would have thought she was hanging on his every word. In truth, she was trying to fathom what it was about the man to whom Maud as willing to pledge the rest of her life.

  He was handsome enough in an unremarkable way with wide cheekbones, a square jaw and what a writer might describe as long eyes. His upper lip was thinner than his lower one, the meaning of which Grace had read somewhere denoted a vitality for life; a quality she saw little of in the unsmiling cleric.

  He spoke well, if in an overly theatrical manner to an audience, who without exception appeared entranced.

  When the service ended, the congregation filed out of the little church into the sunshine where they stood around in groups. The matrons hung back to talk to the reverend while the younger women and girls stood a little way off, giggling amongst themselves while throwing him longing looks from beneath their hat brims.

  “Well, Grace,” Maud’s voice made her jump. “What do you think of Ewan?”

  “Goodness,” she brought a hand to her throat. “I didn't see you there. I thought you were still inside the church.”

  “There you see,” Maud laughed. “You were so busy staring at him you didn't notice me. You're enamoured of him already. Admit it.” She looked up and gasped. “Oh, hush, Ewan is coming towards us.”

  He had broken away from his admiring crowd of matrons and glided towards them, an air of calm about him belied by a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  “Reverend Macdonald,” Maud said, her voice slightly breathless. “I would like you to meet my very dear friend, Mrs MacKinnon.”

  “A pleasure, Mrs MacKinnon.” He grasped the end of her fingers briefly in a firm, warm grip. “Have you enjoyed your short holiday in the country?”

  “I have, thank you. Maud is a very entertaining companion. I see things differently when I’m with her.”

  “You do?” He frowned, his puzzled gaze sliding to Maud. “A unique point of view, certainly. I find Miss Montgomery possesses all the qualities of a dutiful, God-fearing young woman. She is to be admired for having devoted her youth to caring for her grandmother. She's also a pillar of the church, not to mention an exemplary organist.”

  “You flatter me, Reverend.” Maud flushed, a delicate hand going to her throat.

  “Is that all you see?” Grace said in an attempt to shake him out of his complacency. “There’s a good deal more to her than that.”

  “Grace is being overly complimentary.” Maud flushed, tucked her arm firmly through Grace's elbow and guided her away. “It’s time we should be going. The buggy will be waiting at the farmhouse to take you back to Hunter River. You don't want to keep it waiting.”

  “Goodbye, Reverend,” Grace called over her shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “He sees me as a perfect example of womanhood,” Maud whispered, although they were out of the reverend's hearing. “I don't wish to disillusion him, or he might change his mind.”

  “Disillusion him? About you?” Grace's steps matched Maud’s, their skirts swishing as they walked along the lane, sending dandelion wings into the air. “Why, are you uncertain of his feelings?”

  “I don't know. But there's no reason to plant doubt in his mind, is there?”

  “If his heart is sincere, nothing I could say would alter it. I promise to mind my tongue from now on.” She hugged Maud's arm into her side unwilling to cast a shadow onto a relationship that meant so much to her friend.

  “You still haven’t told me what you think of Ewan, Grace.”

  “I hardly exchanged five words with the man. But you were right, he is handsome, even if he is too serious.”

  “He's a minister, his life is taken up with grave matters.”

  “Surely even men of the church are allowed to laugh?” Grace said when they set off again. “There's no spark in him, and I'm afraid he might extinguish the one in you. Your writing needs to grow and flourish, not be subsumed by someone else's demands.”

  “I want to be free, which I can be as a married woman. Even at my age I’m still subject to the whims and will of others, particularly those of my male relatives. As Ewan's wife, I shall have a home of my own and if I wish to write, I shall, with no whispers and accusations of it being an unsuitable occupation. My husband will protect me from my critic’s barbs.”

  “Either that or he'll have ones of his own to throw at you,” Grace said. “What does Ewan feel about your novel?”

  A starling burst from a grass verge in front of them, taking to the sky with a frantic flap of wings. Startled, Maud cried out, halting. “The subject hasn't come up,” she said as they watched the bird wheel into the sky and disappear. “I shall tell him, of course. When I'm further along with the story. I'm sure he'll be supportive.”

  “I hope you're right.” Grace conjured up Andrew Jardine's lightness of spirit and capacity for laughter, neither of which she saw in the Reverend Ewan Macdonald.

  “Don't look so solemn, Grace.” Maud laughed. “What other course is open to me? As you mentioned yourself, what happens when Grandmother is no longer with us? Uncle John cannot wait to take over the farmhouse, which is rightfully his according to the terms of my Grandfather's will.”

  Grace was horrified. “Your uncle would throw you out?”

  “I doubt he would do that.” The hesitation in her voice told Grace otherwise. “No doubt I shall be welcome to visit, but he wouldn't want me as a dependent.”

  “You could move to Charlottetown. Then you would have the freedom you crave.”

  “I might be able to earn a living with my writing, it’s true. But I'm lonely, Grace. I want someone of my own to love.”

  “I sympathize.” Grace hugged Maud's arm. “I love the hotel and I have Aoife, Leon and others around me. But when I retire to my room after a long day, there's no one with whom to watch the night sky through my bedroom window.”

  “You see. You do understand. Did you watch the night sky with your Frederick?”

  “No.” Grace wrinkled her nose. “He hated the stars, he said they made him feel insignificant and lost. I would watch them on my own while he snored.”

  “Oh, dear. That would have spoiled Ursa Minor for me forever.”

  “Exactly.”

  Later, when Maud waved her off outside the McNeill farmhouse, Grace couldn't shake away the conviction that Ewan Macdonald was too much like Angus MacKinnon to make any woman truly happy; especially a complicated, tortured soul like Maud.

  * * *

  That evening, Grace arrived back at the hotel, hot, tired, dirty and ready for a bath. She literally ran into Tilly in the hall, resulting in the girl's high-pitched, garbled apology that exacerbated Grace's mild headache.

  “Don't worry, Tilly, it wasn't your fault. Where's Aoife?”

  “Upstairs, Miss Grace, getting the new visitors settled. Shall I send her to you when she comes down?”

  “No, it's all right. I'll talk to her later.” Tilly rushed away, her nervousness making Grace briefly fear for the state of her crockery. She carried her bag through to the kitchen, waved to Leon who was busy preparing the evening meal and headed for her sitting room.

  “Miss Grace,” Leon called, his voice lacking his habitual goofy humour. “Might I have a word with you?” He wiped his hands on a towel and approached her, his brow furrowed in anxiety.

  “Is something wrong, Leon?” She halted in the doorway and turned back.

  “I’m afraid so, Grace. Mr Keogh called while you were away.”

  Grace groaned inwardly, summoning a smile. “Really? And what did the gentleman want?”

  “He's no gentleman.” At Grace's start he added, “Aoife told me to watch out for him, so I was prepared when he turned up.”

  “Quite.” Relieved she did not have to uphold the facade, she nodded. “Thank you, Leon. I hope you showed him the door.”

  “I
did, but he didn't take it well.”

  “What do you mean?” She removed her hat and dropped it on a chair, her stomach knotting. “I don't understand. What did he say?”

  He sighed, snapped the cloth over one shoulder and braced one hand on the back of a chair. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  “Leon, tell me!” Her nerves stretched to breaking point. How bad could it be?

  “Jake came over early this morning to help stack the dry goods in the storeroom,” Leon began. “We heard a noise out in the yard but as it was a Sunday, we weren't expecting any more deliveries. We went out to see what was going on and we found the lock on the outside cellar door broken.”

  “Is anything missing?” Grace asked, her pulse racing. They had never had any break-ins before. Was this the sort of thing she should expect? “Have you notified the police?”

  “I thought it best not to. When we got outside, two fellows were unloading crates from a cart.”

  “What sort of crates?” Grace’s pulse raced as a dreadful thought occurred to her.

  “Twelve cases of rum.”

  “Didn't you try to stop them?” Grace demanded, both furious and frustrated.

  “Jake did, and got a black eye for his trouble.”

  “Oh, no, poor Jake.” She brought a hand to her mouth. “How did you know this is Keogh’s doing?” Not that she doubted for a second it was anyone but him.

  “Because about an hour after the cart left, he turned up. He asked if his product had arrived safely. He didn’t wait for an answer, simply told me to tell you he would be back for his payment tomorrow at midnight.”

  “Midnight? That's a bit melodramatic. And how does he expect-?" She pushed a hand into her hair. "Have you been down into the cellar since he left?”

  “I have, but you'd better take a look for yourself.”

  The cellar door swung silently inwards on oiled hinges as she pushed it open, her heart thumping. She clattered down the short flight of steps into a low-ceilinged room. The only light was from a window at head height which threw a rectangular shaft of evening light onto the concrete floor.

  Stacked all along the back wall were twelve wooden crates, each filled with green bottles, their clumsily inserted corks leaning drunkenly askew.

  “How dare he do this? Who does he think he is?” Grace cried, fighting tears. “Does Aoife know?”

  “That you’d gone into bootlegging?” Aoife appeared beside Leon at the top of the steps, her arms folded across her chest. “Not until this lot arrived.”

  “This is no time for jokes, Aoife!” A sob rose in her throat as terror overcame her fatigue. She turned to mount the stairs, but her foot slipped on the edge of the second tread. She staggered forward, jarring her knee and collapsed onto the step, too dispirited to move. “I cannot believe he expects me to sell this poison through the hotel.”

  “Might not be poison.” Aoife clattered down the steps and slumped next to her. “My uncle made good pochine in a cave back 'o his house. The whole street used to come and-”

  “Yes, all right! Well, it’s not happening here. I’ll hire a cart and have the whole lot shipped back to Keogh at the Queens Hotel. I'll dump it in the street if I have to.”

  “You can't do that.” Leon stood above them, his hand on the rail. “You cannot afford to be caught anywhere near this, Grace.”

  “All right. Then I’ll have every bottle taken out onto a beach somewhere and hurled into the Strait.”

  “Which won’t work either.” She sensed Aoife's firm shake of her head. “You’ll still owe Keogh money, so you have little choice.”

  “What if I pay him for this load, but refuse to handle any more?” Grace looked from Leon's grim expression to Aoife's anguished one.

  “Pay once and he’ll have you,” Leon said. “Then you’ll never get out from under.”

  “Then I’ll refuse to pay him at all.”

  “Grace,” Aoife said on a sigh. “You're such an innocent. This ain’t a parcel o' books delivered to the wrong house. It’s serious business run by dangerous men. You renege on a debt and he’ll send his thugs around. They'll get their money one way or another, either from you or the hotel.”

  “What shall I do, Aoife? I’m not going to allow that man to control me.” Grace inhaled a shuddering breath as she fought for control, determined not to go to pieces in front of them.

  “Tell Mr Jardine,” Aoife whispered. “He'll know what to do.”

  “I can't. He already suspects I have some sort of connection with Mr Keogh, even though it's not true. He'll think I deserve all I get and walk away.”

  “Give the man some credit.” Aoife wrapped an arm around Grace's slumped shoulders. “He ain't stupid. He must have a pretty good idea of what Keogh is. He thinks the world of you, Grace, I’ve seen it in his face. He’ll help.”

  “No. I can't go running for help at the first sign of trouble.” Especially not to Andrew Jardine

  “Mr Cahill then? He’s a man of the world. He’ll sort out the likes of Keogh.”

  “I couldn’t. He’s been so good to me, I’d be too embarrassed to admit I had dealings with a man like Keogh.” She buried her face in her hands. “What should I do?”

  The sound of Tilly’s voice from the kitchen was followed by Leon’s, who moved from the door to intercept her. After a brief, muffled exchange the room fell silent again and Leon reappeared at the top of the steps.

  “I sent her into the dining room, but I think she’s suspicious. She won’t tell the other staff though, she’s a good girl.”

  “That’s a small blessing anyway. I can do without everyone knowing.” Grace took the handkerchief Aoife held out and blew her nose.

  “Jake knows some 'o them rum runners,” Aoife said. “What if he can get the stuff sold elsewhere so's it don't get tracked back to you?”

  “That's no more legal than what Keogh is doing,” Leon gave a derisive snort.

  “What do you suggest?” Aoife scowled up at him.

  “Don’t snap at Leon, this isn’t his fault.” Grace rubbed Aoife’s back gently, her stiff shoulders revealing her own worry despite her chirpy comments. “And Jake's been hurt already. I don't want anything worse to happen to him."

  “What, that little shiner?” Aoife said. “That's nothing. Jake wouldn't run from a good scrap. Did Leon tell you he also broke one of the bloke's teeth?”

  Leon raised a satirical eyebrow, and Grace couldn't help but laugh, which turned into a dismayed sob. “There must be a way out of this.”

  “There isn’t.” Aoife chewed her bottom lip. “Keogh will have a hold over you whatever you do.”

  Chapter 24

  A firm knock at Grace's bedroom door pulled her from a restless sleep. “Who is it?” she groaned as the early morning sun prised her eyelids open.

  “It's me,” Aoife's face appeared round the door. “Are you up yet?”

  “Does it look like it?” Grace yawned. “I had an awful night. What time is it?”

  “Breakfast time. But don't worry, Tilly can handle the tables this morning.” She directed a pointed look to where Grace’s crumpled dress lay on the floor. The previous day's events had so exhausted her, she left it where it fell and crawled beneath the coverlet in her chemise and drawers. Sleep had lasted only a short time before she was wide awake again, terrifying images running through her head. “What is it, Aoife?” As if she did not have enough to think about today.

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “It's not Keogh is it?” Grace slid from beneath the covers, her heart thumping.

  “No, thank goodness. It's that Mr John Cahill. He wants to talk to you.”

  “What, now?” What could make John make an impromptu call so early?

  Aoife nodded. “He's waiting for you in the guest lounge.”

  “Would you ask him to give me a few minutes?” Leaving Aoife to make excuses on her behalf, she fled to her bathroom, her head full of questions.

  Did John Cahill kno
w about Keogh? Or worse, was he aware her cellar was full of illicit rum and had come to tell her he was about to report her to the authorities? Her fingers shook as she stripped off her underwear, leaving another trail of clothes across the floor and fled to her bathroom. Washing quickly, she dressed and brushed out her hair, securing it into a loose bun on the back of her head with a tortoiseshell comb.

  She swept her discarded dress from the floor, inwardly cursing at the film of rust colored dust that clung tenaciously to the fabric and hoping it wouldn't stain.

  Pausing outside the guest lounge door, she smoothed down her skirt and took several deep breaths before entering.

  “John,” she glided towards him, both hands extended in greeting. “How lovely to see you. And what a surprise.”

  “Good morning, Grace.” He took her hands in his. “I'm sorry not to have called before, but I've been in Toronto on business for a few weeks.”

  “There's no need to apologize. I know what a busy man you are.” She studied his face for any signs this visit was more than a social one but could detect nothing but friendliness.

  He had paid a recent visit to a barber; his silver hair and beard were neatly trimmed and shorter than usual. His smile was still the same and made her feel he was genuinely pleased to see her.

  “You've done a wonderful job here, Grace.” He took in the room. “The place looks magnificent.”

  “Thank you. Have you eaten breakfast, or may I offer you some coffee?”

  “I’ve eaten, thank you. Young Aoife has just told me you returned from a trip to the north of the Island a little while ago.”

  “Yes, I came back last night. I have a friend who lives there.”

  The door opened to admit an older lady dressed in maroon accompanied by a much younger one in eau-de-nil organza.

  “Good morning, Mrs Lennox, Miss Lennox,” Grace moved to one side of the door to allow them past.