by Linda Abbott
“Confederation,” Mike said. “I heard a radio interview with a Mr. Joseph Smallwood about that a week ago.”
The housekeeper’s expression became sullen. “He wants Newfoundland to become a Canadian province.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I never heard the like before.”
“There are many benefits to being Canadian,” Mike said.
Mrs. Simms planted hands firmly on her wide hips. “And here I was thinking you were a fine fellow.” A knock on the front door prevented further comment.
Dr. Kennedy helped himself to an extra serving of apple crumble. “I hope that’s not an emergency call.”
“I’m leaving now, so I’ll send in whoever it is on my way out.” Mrs. Simms left the room to get her coat and boots in the foyer.
Henry came into the dining room. His eyes went directly to Mike. “You look like Dad,” he said.
Dr. Kennedy threw down his napkin. “Is your mother all right ?” he said, rising from his chair.
“That’s not why I’m here,” Henry said. “With Dad’s accident and Gran’s death, Mom’s forgotten about Uncle Mike. I had to see if he came.”
“I didn’t want to intrude on your grief just yet,” Mike said. “And make matters worse.”
“I agreed,” Dr. Kennedy added. “It’s better for your mother to wait until after Dot’s funeral.”
Henry nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“Sit down,” Dr. Kennedy said. “You’re whiter than flour.” He sweetened tea for Henry and made him drink at least half. “I didn’t get to the hospital today. How’s Mary ?”
Henry held the cup between his hands. “She’s still unconscious and hooked up to machines.”
The doctor passed him a piece of apple crumble. “Mary’s a strong girl. She’ll pull through.”
Henry stared into his cup. The tea shivered like water when a rock is skimmed along the surface.
Dr. Kennedy clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t give up on her.”
Henry turned to Mike. “Why didn’t you come home for your parents’ funerals ?” A nerve ticked in his jaw.
“You don’t waste time in getting to the point.” Mike smiled. “You father did the same even as a boy.”
“Answer the question.”
“When my father died,” Mike said quietly, “I wrote my mother explaining why I couldn’t get home.”
“It goes without saying the excuse didn’t satisfy Dad,” Henry said.
“I send Tom a telegram when Mom died,” Mike continued. “And tried for years to contact your father by letters, telegrams, phone calls.”
Henry dragged a hand over his face. “What possible reason could justify not returning home for your parents’ funerals ?”
Mike pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Sweet Jesus !” Henry gasped.
Chapter 11
FIVE DAYS AFTER THE FIRE, many of the deceased residents from Hull Home were buried on a sunny morning in cemeteries all over the city, the choice of resting place dictated by the person’s religion. Church bells tolled — a message to the living to reflect upon what had been taken away. The procession for Dot moved up Patrick Street to begin the final journey. The coffin rested on a sled drawn by a big, black horse. Its nostrils flared, the breath escaping like smoke out of a chimney. The animal climbed the hill and whinnied when it slid back a few paces on an ice patch. The driver calmed the horse and it began the task once again. Near the top the clap-clap of hooves was cushioned by layers of packed snow. Alice rode behind her mother, silent, dry-eyed, gloved hands on her lap. Cars along the route stopped in respect and waited for the hearse to pass, as did people in the street. The aftertaste of death permeated the city.
The horse turned in to the gate of Mount Carmel Cemetery, the graveyard for Roman Catholics, which overlooked Quidi Vidi Lake. Dot was laid to rest alongside her husband, who had passed nearly three decades earlier, a casualty of the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918. Tom had insisted on attending and had released himself from the hospital. He sat between Alice and Henry, their heads bowed for Dot’s last blessing.
The priest made the sign of the Cross over the coffin. “Rest in peace, dear friend,” he murmured, blinking away a tear from the corner of his eye. “We’ll see each other again, God willing.”
“Thank you, Father Whitten,” Alice said. “Mom would be some delighted if she knew her oldest friend in the world presided over her funeral.”
“Dot wouldn’t stand for anything less,” he said, a quiver in his voice. “Nothing will ever be the same without her.” He glanced at the coffin. “My last conversation with her was the night before the fire at the Home. She told me how excited she was about the vote on Confederation.”
“If I knew Dot,” Tom said, “I’d say she was all for it.”
“Indeed she was. And determined to win you over.”
Tom nodded. “If anyone could, it was her.”
“I must say my farewell,” Father Whitten said. “Mr. Duggan asked me to do his wife’s service.”
“His dog, Rusty, is the only thing keeping him going,” Alice said. “It’s sad they weren’t blessed with children.”
The priest smiled at Henry. “Dot spoke often of you. The doctor-to-be, she’d say. Needless to say your grandmother was delighted beyond words about that.”
“I miss her,” Henry said. “She was easy to talk to.”
“And gave her opinion whether you liked it or not.” The priest smiled to himself. “A great lady. Before I go, Alice, promise me you’ll keep in touch.”
“Well, now, Father, you married my parents and me, you baptized me and Henry, and you’ve attended every special occasion in my life.” She hugged the retired priest. “Mom would never forgive me if I didn’t.”
“Here’s my ride,” Father Whitten said as a young priest from St. Patrick’s Church drove toward them. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Alice watched him walk away, his step less lively than the last time she saw him.
Bill made his way through the crowd. “I’m some sorry, missus,” he said. “Mrs. Gatherall was a lovely lady.”
Alice smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, Bill.”
Well-wishers and mourners expressed their condolences one by one as they filed past.
The cemetery all but deserted, Alice kissed the brass-rimmed coffin. “Dad’s waited a long time for you, Mom. Be happy.”
Henry and Bill helped Tom to the car. “You haven’t missed much work,” Bill said. “What with icebergs and packed ice, everything is slowed to a standstill.”
“I’m going to walk home,” Henry said.
“That’ll take at least an hour,” Alice said. “You’ll freeze.”
Tom snuggled close to his wife. “Alice, love,” he said softly, putting an arm around her. “Our son isn’t a baby anymore.” He turned to Henry. “We’ll have piping hot tea waiting when you get home.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Henry shut the door and moved down the footpath between the long rows of headstones which lead to the rear entrance, a shortcut to the boulevard. Dr. Kennedy’s car honked at him on the way down Kennas Hill. He pulled a hand from his pocket to wave to his parents. Something dropped to the ground.
He picked up the ticket stub from Silver’s Jewellery Store. The snow caked his fingertips and stung like needle pricks. “Oh, Gran, I forgot all about the locket.” He turned left toward downtown, keeping to one side of the street to avoid contact with the charred remains of Hull Home, and hopped on the streetcar. Someone touched his shoulder from the seat behind. He turned, sneaking a quick glance at the skeleton that had been his place of work and his grandmother’s home. “Hello, Dougie.”
The boy sat with one hand in his pocket, his head to the side, his face grey. “I’m on my way to buy Mary a box of candy for Valentine’s Day,” he said. “Mom says they’ll help her come back to us when she feels how much we care.” Dougie’s eyes glossed over. “Henry, do you believe that’s true ?”
“
Yes, I do.”
Dougie opened his hand to reveal a hard candy made from boiled molasses and brown sugar. “You know how much Mary loves Bullseyes.”
“She sure does,” Henry said.
The streetcar jolted to a stop. “I get off here,” Dougie said. “See ya.” His arms dangled like rubber tubes.
Henry disembarked at the next stop. The clerk looked up from paperwork when the bell over the door jangled. Wire-rimmed glasses hovered off the end of his nose. “I see your grandmother isn’t with you today,” he said.
“Gran died in the fire.”
The clerk readjusted his glasses. “I am terribly sorry. Please forgive my insensitivity.”
“You had no way of knowing.”
The clerk took the ticket stub and pulled out a drawer from a side cabinet. He withdrew a small box wrapped in white tissue with a red ribbon. “Here you are,” he said. “I hope it brings some small comfort to your mother.”
“Me, too,” Henry said. He wondered if the locket would be a bitter reminder that Dot was gone forever.
The temperature seemed to be stuck well below zero since the beginning of winter. Yet Henry was oblivious to the weather, to the passersby, even to the smell from the bakery that, without fail, used to conjure up images of Mary and laughter and happy times spent with his grandmother. Henry felt weary and knew it had nothing to do with physical exertion. He neared his house. The walls would suffocate him. Before he realized it, St. Clare’s Hospital rose up before him, big, grey, sterile.
Henry scaled the stairs to the third floor.
“Miss Norris’s condition hasn’t changed,” the nurse at the station said to his inquiry.
His weariness intensified. “Can I see her ?”
“Visiting hours are not till this afternoon.”
Henry ran a hand over his eyes.
The nurse smiled. “Seeing as she’s in a private room, you won’t disturb any other patients. Go ahead.”
Henry opened the door, hesitant to go in. This was the first time he had seen her since the day of the fire. Rather, the first time he’d had the nerve to face her. The splotches of blood and soot cleaned away, she looked beautiful, peaceful.
He moved a chair closer to the bed. “Mary, you probably don’t want me to be here. Who can blame you ?” He touched her cheek. She felt warm, soft. “Please give me the chance to explain, to apologize.”
Henry leaned on the bed rail and stared down at Mary. He watched her chest rise and fall in a steady, even pattern. The sun travelled around the room, shifting, changing shadows. He didn’t stir. Neither did Mary. His heart ached. The clatter of meal trays in the corridor broke his concentration. “I have to go, Mary. Goodbye for now.”
Henry passed acquaintances on the way home. All took the time to extend their sincere sorrow. Thank you became ingrained in his brain, uttered without thought like a child reciting a memorized poem in front of his classmates. Snow began to fall, light at first, then maddened into a whipping assault. Henry bent his head into his chest and ran. He reached his house and barrelled inside to rid himself of the clinging snow and the... if only he could verbalize the array of emotions tearing at him, each one in a battle to overthrow the other.
“Where were you ?” Alice asked. “I was worried.”
Henry stood by the stove to thaw out. His numb cheeks prickled when the heat frolicked around his face. “I went to see Mary.” He pulled the gift box out of his pocket. “First I picked this up at Silver’s Jewellery.”
“I’d forgotten tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” Alice said. “Mary will love whatever you bought for her.”
“It’s not for Mary. This is the reason Gran asked me to take her shopping last week.”
“Dear Mom. She wanted to surprise me.”
“She said that fifty is a milestone and had to be celebrated with a special present.”
Henry held out the box to his mother. “Even though your birthday’s not till tomorrow, Gran wouldn’t mind you having it a day early.”
Alice untied the ribbon and unwrapped the paper like they were precious, delicate items made by Dot herself. The silver heart shone on white satin. “It’s lovely.”
“Gran had it engraved,” Henry said.
Alice clicked the locket cover open. “‘Alice, my joy, ’” she read. “‘You make me proud.’” She clasped the silver heart to her chest. “Oh, Henry. You’ll never know what this message means to me.”
“I was afraid it might make you sadder.”
Alice threw her arms around Henry. “The locket is a perfect keepsake from Mom. I’ll keep it always.”
Tom, concealed from sight, turned away from the side of the kitchen door and took a deep breath to quash the rising lump in his throat. “Thank you, Dot,” he whispered. “Alice needed that. So did I.” He hobbled down the hall to the living room using his crutches and fell into an armchair. He dragged each foot onto a small, cushioned stool. His heels hung over the edge.
A light rap on the front door was followed by a blast of cold air with Dr. Kennedy in its wake. “I came by to see how you’re doing,” he said. “Since you left the hospital without specific instructions about your care.”
Tom rubbed the crease between his brows. “How long before I can go back to work is all I need to know.”
“Several months.”
Tom almost came out of the chair. “Tell me that’s a joke.”
“Tom, the bones in your heels weren’t just broken, they were crushed. Do as I say to make sure they heal properly. Or would you prefer to walk with canes for the rest of your life ?” The doctor moved the crutches out of Tom’s reach. “You only use these to come downstairs in the morning, go to the toilet, and back upstairs at night.”
“For how long ?”
“Until I say otherwise.” Dr. Kennedy glared at Tom. “You understand me ?”
“All right. I don’t have to like it, though.”
“You don’t have to sook like a youngster either.”
Tom looked toward the window next to the fireplace. “The damn icicles are back,” he said to himself.
“What was that ?”
“Nothing important,” Tom said.
There was a knock on the door.
Alice entered the room with Henry and Fred Russell. She held three bags of crinkles. “A little something for you and the missus,” Fred said. “I know how much you all love our crinkles.”
“How about a nice cup of tea and a crinkle for everyone ?” Alice said.
“Lovely, Mrs. Gibbs,” Fred said. “At a time like this it must’ve been some good to meet your brother-in-law after all these years.”
“What ?” Tom said, his body rigid.
Alice and Henry exchanged a look.
Tom sat up straight. “What’s he talking about ?”
“I was in the back when he came into the bakery. He hasn’t changed much. The scattered grey hair and wrinkle is all.”
Tom looked at his wife. “Did you know about this ?” An icicle dropped and plunked onto the window ledge.
Alice stared at him like a child stranded among strangers, hoping to see a familiar face. “Tom, you... you know I never go to the bakery.”
Tom’s eyes slithered to his son. “What about you ?”
Fred flushed. “I’m real sorry, folks. Didn’t mean to start a ruckus.” He slapped on his hat. “I’d best get back to work,” he said, and scurried out of the living room.
“Take it easy, Tom,” Dr. Kennedy said. “I mentioned Mike to them on the phone before I came over. He’s here as a favour to me. A medical consultation concerning one of my patients.”
Alice knelt beside her husband. “Tom, this is a good opportunity for you to talk to him, to have all your questions answered.”
“I don’t have any questions where he’s concerned.”
“Tom, please.”
“Alice, normally I’d do anything for you.”
She got up and moved a few feet from Tom. “I see. This is the one thi
ng you can’t... or should I say, the one thing you won’t do for me.”
“I’m sorry, love. If Mike has the gall to come to the house, don’t let him in. I have nothing to say to my brother.” A second icicle cracked off. Dr. Kennedy picked up his medical bag from the coffee table. “Tom, I never thought you were this selfish.” He gave Henry a glance and, with a tilt of his head, signalled him to go down the hall. Henry followed him into the porch.
“Thanks for the help in there,” Henry said. “That was a close call.”
Dr. Kennedy picked up his coat from the bannister. “You’re well aware Mike’s determined to have it out with Tom. Maybe you should warn your mother that he’s decided to do it tomorrow night.”
Alice came out from the living room. “You think on your feet, Doctor,” she said, “which I really do appreciate.”
“Anytime, Alice,” he said, buttoning his coat.
“I don’t know what to make of Tom. He becomes a stranger at the mere mention of Mike.”
“Not a stranger,” the doctor said. “A spoiled brat who demands his own way is more like it.” He half grinned. “If you don’t mind me saying so, that is.”
“Like my father used to be fond of saying,” Alice said. “The truth at all costs.”
“Mom.” Henry lowered his voice. “Mike’s coming by tomorrow night.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” Alice said. “I want to get it over with.”
“I can come over for moral support,” Dr. Kennedy said.
Alice brightened somewhat. “The coward in me is happy to accept your offer,” she said, and went to the kitchen.
The doctor put on his gloves. “Henry, make sure Tom stays off his feet as much as possible.”
A LOUD CRASH AND A squeal from the kitchen devoured the doctor’s last words.
“Mom,” Henry cried out, and flew down the hall.
Tom attempted to stand and toppled over. “Alice, are you all right ?” he yelled, pulling himself into a sitting position.
“Stay where you are, Tom,” Dr. Kennedy said before hurrying after Henry.
Alice lay sprawled on her back, fragments of broken plates scattered around her. Henry bent down to help her up.
