by Linda Abbott
“Don’t touch her,” the doctor ordered. He checked her back with practised precision. “Nothing broken,” he said.
“I was getting dishes down from the cupboard and didn’t see the water on the floor,” Alice said.
“What’s going on ?” Tom called.
Henry helped his mother to a chair. “Don’t make a fuss over nothing at all,” she said.
Tom crawled into the kitchen and gaped at the mess on the floor. “Alice, are you hurt ?”
“Embarrassed is more like it. I was a bit clumsy.”
Dr. Kennedy took her pulse. “You’ve had a hard time lately, with Dot’s passing and your husband’s accident.” He gave Tom a severe look. “It’s a wonder your wife is not huddling in bed under the covers with all the stress she’s under.”
ALICE LOOKED AT THE CLOCK on the night table. Three in the morning. She had slept for an hour. Thirty minutes more than the night before. The house was colder than Dot’s homemade ice cream. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the hallway. Henry’s door was open. He flung his arm over the side of the bed, throwing the covers down to his waist. About to move on, she heard him utter a name : “Mary.” Alice walked quietly to her son and pulled the blankets over his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Henry. Life isn’t always fair.”
Henry moaned softly. Alice moved back into the hall, making for her mother’s room at the front of the house. The scent of lilacs, Dot’s favourite perfume, washed over her as she sat in the rocking chair her father had made when she was a little girl. “How do I live without you, Mom ?” The creak, creak of the chair disturbed the silence. “I was depending on you to help with Mike and Tom.”
A car chugged to a stop outside the window. Alice looked to see who was about so early in the morning. Flora Norris and Dougie hurried from their house into a taxi. “Please, God, not Mary, too,” Alice cried into the quiet, sleeping house.
Chapter 12
ALICE SHOOK HER SON, ALMOST hauling him from the bed. “Henry, wake up. You have to go to St. Clare’s right away.”
Henry bolted upright. “What’s wrong ?” he said, his voice groggy. His mother’s face was a blur among shadows in the dim light.
Alice tugged on his arm. “Get out of bed.”
“Is Dad all right ?”
Alice pulled the quilts down. “Your father’s asleep. Hurry up and get dressed.”
Henry’s heart pounded against his ribs. “I don’t understand,” he said, shivering, his toes bunched up on the cold floor. “Are you sick ?”
Alice pushed him toward the closet. “Flora and Dougie are on their way to the hospital. I saw them from the window. There’s nowhere else they’d be going this hour in the morning.”
Henry faltered a step and reached out for the wall to support him, a dazed expression on his face.
“Get a move on,” Alice said. “I’ll call you a taxi.”
Henry hauled on his trousers. “No. I’d walk there before the taxi got here.” He pulled a sweater over his head and shot past his mother down the stairs.
Henry shoved his foot into a boot, hopping on the other one until he lost his balance and teetered. He sat on the hall chair to put on the other one.
“Don’t forget to let me know as soon as you hear anything,” Alice said.
Henry’s coat, wide open, flapped in the wind. The tails whipped behind him as he raced down the road like a starved wolf on the scent of food. He wore neither hat nor gloves. His thoughts centred on Mary. What if she was dead ? No, he shouldn’t waste good energy on what-if. Gran wouldn’t approve of that. To keep his mind vacant, he counted the crunch of his footsteps.
One, two, three, four. His heart pumped at the same pace. Five, six, seven, eight. Longer strides. Nine, ten, eleven. Running. His heart galloped even faster. The moon kept pace with Henry, the orb’s face animated. Laughing ? Crying ? The answer depended on the person who gazed up.
Henry started for the hospital’s main entrance and travelled several yards, when he stopped abruptly. “Damn it,” he grumbled, remembering the emergency entrance was the only door open after hours. He retraced his steps back to LeMarchant Road. Five people sat in the waiting room. A boy about seventeen with a handkerchief to a gash over his eye was called into an examination room as Henry hurried down the hall to the stairs.
Stop, the moon seemed to say when Henry reached the door to Mary’s floor. He stared out the side window at the white ball. What if she’s dead ? it taunted. You don’t deserve to see her.
Henry gripped the door handle. Why didn’t he have the strength to pull the door open ?
“Are you all right ?”
Henry gawked at a nurse.
“You’re the young man I let see Miss Morris before visiting hours began.”
“H... how is she ? I know Mrs. Norris was called here a little while ago.”
“I can only give out that information to family,” Nurse Franklin said. She opened the door. “Wait at the nurses’ station and I’ll tell Mrs. Norris you’d like to see her.” She walked down the hall, her white shoes squishing softly on the newly waxed floor.
Henry stared after her. A pulse pounded in his ears, his palms so sweaty that water dripped down his fingers. The young nurse behind the desk looked up from her paperwork to give him a reassuring smile. Henry looked down the hall once more. Nurse Franklin reached Mary’s door and disappeared inside.
Flora turned to the nurse. The heavy circles under her eyes blended in with the dark shadows, giving her face a mask-like appearance. She held Mary’s hand. Dougie sat opposite his mother, his arms flung over the side of the bed, his head nestled between them. The candy he had bought for his sister sat unopened in a red box on the nightstand. “I don’t want to leave her yet,” Flora said.
“That’s not a problem,” Nurse Franklin said. “There’s a young man here asking about your daughter. What would you like me to tell him ?”
“Please tell him I’ll be out in a second,” Flora said. She gently released her daughter’s hand.
“Mom.” Mary’s eyelids flickered open, her eyes heavy and unfocused. She stared through the haze of a long, deep sleep. “Where are you going ?”
Flora leaned in close to the bed. “Don’t worry, love. Henry’s here. I’ll just have a quick word with him and be right back.”
Mary coughed. A sound like the scraping of a rusty barrel. She grabbed at her chest, her face contorted in pain.
Dougie looked at his mother with big round eyes.
“I’m all right,” Mary said. “I ache a smidgen, that’s all.”
“Dougie,” Flora said. “Go tell Henry I’ll be a minute or so. You wait with him.”
Dougie hesitated. “Mary, are you really all right ?”
She smiled as best she could. “Would I lie to you ?”
A broad smile lit up his face. “Henry will be some happy you’re awake,” he said, and hurried away.
Mary rubbed the side of her head.
“I can have the nurse give you something for the pain,” Flora said.
“Nothing works.” Tears spilled down the sides of Mary’s face to the pillow. “Mom, I’m sorry to put you through this.”
Flora smoothed hair away from her daughter’s bruised cheek. “My sweet girl,” she said softly. “This isn’t your fault. Does Henry know ?”
Mary turned her head to the wall. “I don’t want him to.”
“You should tell him.”
“Oh, Mom. Don’t you see ? That’s the last thing I want. Especially now he’s going away.”
“Don’t cry, love. We’ll figure out something.”
Mary sniffed. “It’s too late for that.”
Flora sighed. It sounded more like a shudder.
“Mom, I want to tell Dougie in my own time. He’s had enough to deal with.”
“I’ll tell Henry you’re awake and send him away.”
“No. I want to see him.”
Flora kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re up to it ?�
��
“Yes.”
MARY FORCED HER EYES OPEN when Henry called her name. He stood over the bed. The stubble on his face made him look older, tired, defeated. “Why are you here ?” she asked.
“Mom saw your mother and Dougie leave the house. We thought...” He gulped, not able to finish the sentence.
“Mom asked the hospital to call as soon as I woke up.”
Henry sat in Dougie’s chair. The urge to take Mary in his arms and simply hold her made him tremble. “Mom and Dad will be beside themselves when they hear you’re awake and on the mend.”
“Henry, I’m real sorry about your grandmother. She wouldn’t leave until all the residents were out.” Mary shuddered. “Honest to God, she didn’t suffer. The smoke got to her before the roof fell in on us.”
“The doctor in charge of autopsies told us.” Henry moved his chair closer to the bed. “Mary, when you’re well enough, we have to talk.”
She coughed, a soft throat tickle at first, then it grew into a steady hacking that tensed every muscle in her body and choked off her breath. Sweat drenched her face as she struggled to take in air, her face redder than a fresh sunburn.
Henry jumped to his feet. “I’ll get the nurse.”
Mary stilled him with the touch of her hand on his arm. “No,” she whispered. “I have something to say to you.”
“It can wait until you’re home.”
“We aren’t going out together anymore, Henry. There’s nothing left to talk about.”
“Mary, please.”
“My life will go on just fine without you. Be a doctor with my blessing.” The words were laced with an edge Henry couldn’t define. “I really do wish you all the best.” She closed her eyes. “I’m tired. Please ask Mom and Dougie to come back in.”
ALICE SAT IN THE LIVING room wrapped in a blue-and-red checkered quilt. Four in the morning and still no word from Henry. Her mind invoked the worst images, so she threw off the quilt and lit the hall and kitchen stoves. She returned to the armchair and looked out the window at the empty street. A scattering of snowflakes floated down. Her eyes fastened on a large one and she watched its descent to the sidewalk. She looked up to see Henry walk toward the house. His head low, his collar turned up, his face was a hidden mystery.
Alice said a silent prayer.
“Mary’s awake,” Henry said as soon as he came through the door. “I was going to telephone but didn’t want to wake Dad.”
Alice took his coat, shook off the snow, and hung it up. “I’ll put the kettle on,” she said, and set about making toast for both of them.
Henry drank the steaming liquid, savouring the warmth as it slid down his throat. “Mary’s coming along, considering all her injuries,” he said. “She’ll be in hospital for at least another week.”
“I was in a state the whole time you were gone,” Alice said. “It’s like a gift from heaven to hear a piece of happy news.” She put extra Carnation milk into her tea. “Did you get a chance to see Mary ?”
“She gave me her blessing to go away.”
“That bothers you ?”
The wind howled, rattling in the chimney, slamming into the house. Henry banged his cup down on the table. Tea slopped onto his hand, scalding the skin. “Will this goddamned winter ever end ?”
“Your grandmother would have a witty reply to that,” Alice said softly.
The thump of crutches on the floor heralded Tom’s entrance into the kitchen. He wore rumpled long johns and his hair was in disarray. “There you are,” he said. “When I woke up and found the two of you gone, I had the fright of my life. What are you doing up this early anyway ?”
Alice related the circumstances. “It’s going on five,” she said at the conclusion of the story. “I might as well get dressed and start breakfast.”
“Henry,” Tom said when his wife left, “what’s on your mind ?”
Henry looked at his father but said nothing.
Tom pulled his chair closer to the table, making it hop like a jackrabbit. “I’m well aware that things have been strained between us lately. A fool could see you’re twisting in the wind about something which has nothing to do with that issue between us.” He looked at Henry with kind eyes. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re still my son.”
“Mary believes my applying for medical school proves I never really cared for her.” He shook his head as if the words ate at his very core. “She says I used her.”
“Only you know the truth on that score, son.”
Henry glanced out the window to conceal his surprise to his father’s response. The light snow had become a steady downfall. “I’ve given it a lot of thought the last few days, Dad. Maybe Mary has a point.”
“Which is ?” Tom said softly.
“I didn’t realize how much she meant to me until the fire. She deserves better than I gave her.”
“The way I see it,” Tom said, “words are about as cheap as horseshit lying about on the street when feelings are involved.” He sat back. “Show Mary what you think of her. That way she’ll see right into your heart.”
“That sounds like the kind of advice Gran would give,” Henry said. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
Tom smiled. “Who do you think taught me how to be so wise ?” The sparkle left his eyes. “Dot was one fine lady who should still be with us.” Static replaced the music on the radio.
Tom glared at the brown box. “Turn that damn nuisance off.”
Henry obliged without hesitation. “Mary said Gran tried to save as many residents as possible.”
Tom balled his hands into fists. “It’s Hull’s fault your grandmother’s dead.” He breathed deeply to calm down. “I heard the stove caused the fire. How often did Mary tell us Hull tried to fix it himself instead of getting a proper mechanic in ?”
“Mr. Freeman did warn him often enough about that,” Henry said.
“If there’s any justice in this world, he should be charged with manslaughter.”
Alice put the Daily News on the kitchen counter. “Dougie’s a lot more chipper this morning,” she said with a smile, glancing at the front-page headline. Her smile vanished.
“What’s the matter, Mom ?” Henry said.
“The hearing for the fire begins the twenty-first. I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”
“The hearing will be tough,” Tom said. “We’ll get through it as a family.”
Alice sat in Dot’s place at the table. She smoothed down the cloth placemat her mother had made a few months earlier. “It’s difficult to imagine that I’ll never see my mother again.”
Chapter 13
THE TEMPERATURE HAD REMAINED AT fifteen below zero during the day, dipping another ten degrees by suppertime. The wind swirled around the house, groping, searching for a way inside. Icicles hung like shark’s teeth, sharp and uneven from every window. They peered in at Tom, boasting their prowess, taunting him. He looked toward his crutches and felt a spasm of helplessness. His efforts to get rid of them had only made them more aggressive, intent on returning stronger and bigger than before.
Tom tore his eyes from the window and buried his head in the Evening Telegram. Bright yellow-orange flames popped and hissed in the grate. Thanks to the hall stove and the fireplace, the living room was warm, inviting. Alice darned the heel of her husband’s woollen work sock. Three more pairs lay on the couch beside her waiting their turn. Every now and again she would pause and stare into the fire.
Henry’s head hung over a Sherlock Holmes novel. He had read the same paragraph three times and couldn’t recall a word. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed eight times. Henry glanced at his mother. She sat tall, her hands still, looking at the clock as if counting the chimes. He felt her anxiety, thick in the air, seep into him. It’ll be all right, he wished he could tell her, and went back to the book and the same paragraph.
“Ow !” Alice yelped. A drop of blood landed on her dress. Henry and Tom looked at her. “I pricked my fing
er,” she said, sucking the tip of her thumb.
“That’s a first,” Tom said. “You can darn socks in the dark without a hitch. Love, time will lessen the heartache of Dot’s loss.”
Henry caught his mother’s eyes. If Dad only knew the real reason for her nerves, he thought. Her expression seemed to question why Mike was not here. She turned to her husband, who had gone back to the paper.
“Smallwood’s made the headlines again,” Tom said. “He’s like a spider after a fly when it comes to Confederation.”
“What does he have to say this time ?” Alice asked. Henry sensed a hint of anxiety which he knew had little to do with Confederation.
“The man’s still flapping his gums about all the wonderful benefits we’ll receive as Canadians.” Tom bunched up the Telegram and threw it into the fire. “Makes you wonder what he’s getting out of it.”
He wants the best for Newfoundland, Henry nearly said out loud.
All three watched the paper shrivel and crumble into ashes.
Tom pointed to the black soot. “That’s what will happen to Newfoundland if Smallwood gets his way.”
“Dad, change can be good.”
Tom continued to gaze into the fire. “None that I’ve lived through,” he said so quietly Henry wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. The crackle in the grate competed with the rumble of the wind in the chimney.
Three raps sounded on the door. Alice dropped the darning on her lap. The needle slid down her leg, dangling close to the floor like a hanged man. “Oh, my,” she cried out.
Tom roused himself from his reverie. “Goodness, love, it’s only someone at the front door.”
Alice gathered up her work. “I reckon Dr. Kennedy’s right,” she said. “My nerves are stretched to the breaking point.”
A second round of louder knocks blasted into the room. “I’ll get that,” Henry said, forcing his voice to sound calm. Through the glass at the top of the door he saw the shape of a man. Mike. The spectre of many long-ago Christmases. Would his father allow himself to face this ghost ?
