by Linda Abbott
“He is determined,” Mike said. “I hear a referendum is a few months away.”
The driver scowled. “A proper waste of time that’ll cost a pretty penny no one can afford in these hard times.”
Mike spied a beautiful black horse trotting toward them. “Is that a funeral horse ?”
“That it is,” the driver said. He stopped, took off his hat, and waited for the funeral procession to pass by.
“It’s been years since I’ve witnessed such a sign of respect for a deceased person.”
The taxi man plopped his hat back on and headed toward LeMarchant Road. “I’ve seen enough funeral processions this week and a half to last me five lifetimes.”
The car had warmed up again by the time they arrived at Tom’s house. Mike paid the fare along with a sizable tip. “Thanks for your patience,” he said, and stayed on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, until the taxi drove out of sight. He turned to the sound of a door opening.
Alice came out, dressed in her coat and boots. She wore no hat or gloves. “I wondered when you’d be back,” she said.
“Tom needed a few days to cool down,” Mike said. “Is this a bad time ?”
“The mood he’s in, there’ll never be a good time.”
“Has something happened ?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Alice looked toward Mary’s house. “I was going to drop in on a neighbour. I can do that later and come in with you.”
“Would you mind if I spoke to Tom alone ?”
“The door’s unlocked. Go on in.”
Mike turned the handle, hesitated a second, then went inside. The warm air hugged him like a playful child. He sat down on the hall chair to remove his boots.
Tom knelt in front of the fireplace stoking the flames to a roaring fire. “Is that you, Henry ?” he said, reaching for a log from the heap in the steel container. Tom crawled back to the armchair and the tea he had left to cool on the side table.
Mike walked into the room without making a sound. “Hello, Tom. How are you ?”
Tom’s hand shook when he laid the delicate china mug down. Tea slopped over the side. “What the hell are you doing here ?” he demanded.
Mike sat down on the couch. “I told you I wouldn’t give up.”
Tom soaked up the tea with his white handkerchief. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Tell me, little brother. Why are you afraid to hear me out ? What harm could it do if it turns out you’re right about me ?”
Tom turned to him. “You’re still a master at spinning a situation to your benefit. You haven’t changed.”
“Exactly.”
“So you admit it.” Tom glared at Mike. “Now get out and leave me and my family alone.”
“You misunderstand. I haven’t changed in any way. I still like to read mystery books, listen to ghost stories on the radio, skate on frozen ponds, be near those I love. “
Tom laughed. “Be near those you love. You’re quite the joker, aren’t you ?”
Mike crossed his legs at the ankles. “From what I’ve seen, you’re the one who’s changed. And not for the better.”
“Ah. I see the plan now. Turn the tables on me. Make it appear as if you’re the mistreated soul while I’m the louse who doesn’t give a damn.” Tom sat up straight. His feet slipped off the stool with a clunk that sent spasms of pain up his calves. “You broke our mother’s heart twice.” He fell back into the chair as if worn out. “She was devastated by our father’s death and again when you stayed away.”
“I realize how hurt you are.”
“Don’t talk to me about hurt.”
“Tom, forty years is a long time to hold tight to a grudge I don’t deserve. You’ve treated me like I don’t exist. Well, I do.” Mike uncrossed his legs. “And I’m here to tell you that I’ve had enough.”
“No one’s forcing you to stay. My life has been fine without you.”
“I wrote letter after letter to you explaining why I didn’t come home for the funerals. I wanted you to come live with me in Toronto after Mom died.”
Tom snatched Alice’s secret letters from the coffee table and threw them at Mike. “You persuaded Alice to go behind my back.”
Mike stared at the letters splayed across the floor. “You haven’t confronted her yet ?”
“Yes I did.”
“And ?”
“And nothing. Alice has a mind of her own. She defended her reason for going against my wishes.”
The hint of a smile crept across Mike’s face. “So you can be reasonable when you want to be. Tom, I love you. My professional life and family life have been blessed, yet there’s an emptiness that only you can fill.”
Tom looked deep into his brother’s eyes. “I can never forgive you for staying away from our parents’ funerals.” He turned his head away. “Believe it or not, I have tried.”
“Is there nothing I can say to change your mind ?”
“Nothing.” Tom kept his head turned away.
Flames sputtered in the grate when Alice entered the house. “It’s enough to blow you away,” she called. Her voice was barely heard over the noise of wind as she held fast to the door to keep it from slamming shut. “Tom,” she said quietly, “I’m home.”
“I’m still here,” Mike said.
“Yes,” Tom added, “you’re in time to see him leave for good.”
Alice took off her coat, hung it up, and placed her boots on the rubber mat. She smoothed down her tousled hair and joined the two men. “Dear God,” she cried out, hands to her mouth. Her face grey, she stared at Mike.
“Tom,” Mike said, “this is the reason I couldn’t get home.” He stood on one leg. The right leg was amputated just below the knee. A prosthesis lay against the couch. “I didn’t want to shock either of you like this.”
Tom half rose out of his chair, then dropped back. He looked from his brother to Alice, then back to his brother. Mike sat down and reattached the prosthesis. Not a sound was heard. Even the fire seemed to quiet down in respect for the scene unfolding before it. Alice moved to her husband’s side. Tom gaped up at her. She smiled.
Tom finally found his voice. “W... what do you mean that’s the reason you didn’t come home ?”
Mike’s hand trembled as he ran it through his hair. “The accident occurred on my way to the train station to come home.” He closed his eyes briefly before looking at Tom once more. “The roads were slippery from a storm the night before. The taxicab skid down a hill and rolled onto its side. I was trapped. The driver died on the way to the hospital.”
Mike stood up and paced in front of the couch. The slight limp was pronounced. “I was unconscious for two days. It took six hours of surgery to save my leg.”
“To save your leg,” Alice said. “But...”
“An infection set in almost immediately,” Mike said without looking at anyone. “Two weeks following the first surgery, I had another operation to amputate the lower leg, by now gangrenous. A full week went by after the accident before I was coherent enough to even think properly.” He looked at Tom. “I wrote as soon as I was able. Mom never answered my letter. I couldn’t understand why not.”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said.
“It wasn’t your fault. When Mom died I wasn’t well enough to travel and wrote asking you to come live with me in Toronto.” Mike sat down. “It killed me thinking that she died believing I didn’t care about her or Dad.” He took a deep breath. “I wrote over and over. Even sent telegrams. Then I began to think that Mom didn’t receive my letter. Or maybe she was so upset with me for leaving she wouldn’t read it.”
“Mom wasn’t angry with you,” Tom said, his voice almost a whisper. “She was broken-hearted that you had thrown us aside.”
“Then my letter didn’t arrive.”
Mike looked at his brother intently. The fire crackled behind the grate.
Tom swallowed, sick to his stomach.
“I tore it up,” he said.
Mike s
ighed. “I thought it might be something like that.”
Alice gasped. “Tom, why did you do such a horrible thing ?”
Tom winced, her words stronger than a physical blow. “Because I was a goddamned idiot,” he said, and turned to his brother. “Mom was devastated over Dad’s sudden death. When the letter came I was convinced it would contain phony excuses why you weren’t here.”
Mike listened, his head lowered into his hands.
“Oh, Tom,” Alice said softly, “your mother deserved better than that from you.”
“Mike,” Tom said, “I don’t know what to say.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head over and over. “If I had given the letter to Mom, we would’ve gone to Toronto. Instead she died of a broken heart and you went through the worst time of your life alone.”
Henry came into the room and looked from his father’s face to the top of Mike’s head. “Mom,” he said. “What’s going on ?”
THE FIRE HAD DIED. THE wind raged outside and the sun was trapped behind a mass of clouds. Henry and Alice had left the two brothers alone. A strangled silence soaked the air.
“Mike,” Tom said quietly. “Can you ever forgive me ?”
Mike looked up. “I already did forgive you, years ago.”
Tom pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
Mike walked over to him. “I came here to get my little brother back. That hasn’t changed.”
Chapter 17
HENRY WALKED DOWN THE STREET and went around the corner, past the bakery and the tobacconist. He retraced his steps to the bakery. His mother would appreciate a bag of crinkles, a break from making a homemade dessert. About to pull open the door, he turned and headed home. The Norris house seemed to stand out larger than the others as he tried to gather up courage to speak to Mary. He knocked on the front door, his mouth dry, his heart bouncing around in his chest like a Ping-Pong ball. Snow fell around him. Large flakes covered his shoulders and bare head. He tapped once on the door. If Mary answered, he would be turned away without even a hello. Footsteps sounded behind the door, strong, steady. Henry held his breath and waited.
Flora opened the door. “Henry, I thought you might stop off here.”
“How did you know ?”
“I saw you parade up and down the street.”
“Is Mary home ? I must talk to her.”
“Come in.” Flora moved aside for Henry to enter. “She’s in the kitchen having a cup of tea.”
The snow in Henry’s hair melted into his eyes. He wiped it away with his coat sleeve.
“Mary’s coming along quite good,” Flora said as Henry untied his bootlaces. “The migraines are all but gone.”
Henry looked up. “And the baby ?”
“No problems so far.”
Henry followed Flora through to the kitchen. Mary sat with her back to the door and was looking out the window. “Hello,” he said, surprised his voice didn’t quaver.
Mary turned her head. “Mom shouldn’t have let you in.”
Flora gave Henry an encouraging smile and left.
Mary watched her mother go down the hall. “There’s nothing left to say.”
Henry sat down. “What about the child ?” he said.
Mary glared at him. “Don’t get comfortable. You’re not staying.”
“Your mother did the right thing in telling me about the baby.”
Mary laughed. “The right thing. That, my son, is a matter of opinion.”
“What do you mean ?”
“Come on. Henry, look at you. The ‘right thing’ has you squirming like a trapped rat.”
Henry picked at a piece of the torn plastic tablecloth. “Don’t you care anymore about what’s right and decent ?”
Mary stared into her cup. Tea leaves formed a maple-leaf pattern. “Right and decent,” she repeated without looking up. “That’s simply another way of saying you’re willing to do your duty, take responsibility for a mistake.”
“I want to be a part of our child’s life. I deserve that. He or she deserves that.”
Mary didn’t reply.
Henry pressed on. “I want to marry you, be a family.”
“All you can think about is what is right, what you want,” Mary said, her hands clenched like claws. “What about what I want, what I need ? I told you I will never be an obligation to you or anyone else.”
“Our marriage wouldn’t be an obligation. I love you, Mary. I know now that I always have.”
Mary flinched. “Lies won’t change my mind.”
“What can I say or do to convince you I’m telling the truth ?”
She lowered her eyes to the cup again. “Nothing. It’s too late.”
“I won’t give up. I can’t. You and the baby are too important to me.”
Mary peered at him. “Don’t you dare tell anyone else. This is my business. I’ll deal with it.”
Henry glanced over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen. Mary had turned back to the window.
Flora saw him to the door. “Give Mary a little more time.”
“More time. She rejects me every chance she gets, and it hurts more every time.”
“She’ll come to realize that you’re nothing like her father.”
“What if she doesn’t ?”
“Then we’ll have to find another way to break her resolve.”
ALICE WALKED TO HENRY’S BEDROOM and stood in the doorway. He had come home an hour ago and gone upstairs without so much as a hello. “There you are. I wasn’t sure you were home,” she lied.
Henry sat in a chair, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The book he had been reading lay on the floor, cast aside. He gave no indication he was aware of his mother’s presence.
“What are you doing up here in the middle of the day ?” she said. “Your father’s been asking for you.”
“I wanted to be alone to think,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“About medical school ?”
“No.”
“About Mary ?”
Henry looked at his mother, his expression blank. “Why would you think that ?”
“I’ve been so preoccupied with Mom’s death and Mike’s visit these few weeks, I failed to notice that Mary hasn’t been around much.”
“Her injuries kept her away.”
“That was true in the beginning. She’s been well enough to go out shopping with her mother.”
“I guess.”
“Henry, you haven’t mentioned Mary since the fire. Actually, it’s been longer than that.” When he didn’t speak, Alice continued. “She must be upset about your plans for Canada.”
“She was.”
“You’re saying she’s not anymore ? Is that what’s bothering you ?”
“Partly.”
“I can see that you don’t want to talk right now,” Alice said softly. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”
“Mom,” Henry said when she reached the door. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”
“I won’t pester you for answers. A question for you, however. How has keeping things inside worked for this family so far ?” Alice sighed. “Dinner will be ready in an hour. Uncle Mike and Dr. Kennedy are coming over.”
“I’ll be down in a little while.”
TOM PUT THE TELEGRAM DOWN when Alice came downstairs. “Well,” he said, “did you find out what’s on his mind ?”
“He didn’t want to discuss it. But I was able to drag out of him that Mary’s involved.”
“How ?” Tom said. “Were they all that serious about each other ?” He traced a finger back and forth along one side of his jawline. “Henry started moping around a week ago.”
“It has to be something awful,” Alice said. “I’ve never seen him brood like this before.”
“Dot would have gotten him to open up,” Tom said.
“I know.” Alice felt for the locket tucked under her sweater. “She had that way about her, especially with our son. Maybe he’ll be in a better moo
d when Mike gets here.”
“Yes,” Tom said. “He’ll have a ton of questions about Canada.”
“It’s a good thing Henry will have your brother to look out after him,” Alice said. “He’ll be lonely enough as it is. Tom, are you really all right with Henry going away to be a doctor ?”
“I know what I thought before. But it’s all right now. It’s more than all right.”
“It’s good that our son wants to be like Mike and Dr. Kennedy,” Alice said. “Two excellent doctors.”
“Yes,” Tom said. “Dr. Kennedy told me the other night that Mike is considered one of the top orthopaedic surgeons in Canada. He’s even been offered loads of money to work in the United States but refuses to go.”
Alice flashed her own smile of approval. “Very impressive,” she said.
“He’s still down-to-earth. Our Henry will follow in his footsteps.”
Alice hummed softly, flattening pastry with a rolling pin until it was paper-thin, the way Tom and Mike both liked. Having cut up apples and sugar and added a teaspoon of cinnamon, she put the finished product in the oven. The aroma of apple pie cooking sailed through the house by the time the two supper guests arrived.
Already on his way down the stairs, Henry answered the door on the first knock.
“My boy,” Dr. Kennedy said, “a drink of screech will knock the chill right out of my arthritic bones.”
Mike blew on his hands to restart circulation. “Good idea.”
Henry poured the drinks and sat with the men while they chatted about the Confederation campaign.
Tom drank half the glass in one shot. “No offence, Mike, but Newfoundland is better off staying a separate country with our own laws. There’s no telling what sort of strange rules Canada might impose.”
“There would be many changes,” Mike agreed. “Whether bad or good would depend on if you’re open to change.”
Alice called them to supper. “Mike,” she said when they were all seated, “Tom told me you used to love fish and brewis with scruncheons.”
Mike sucked on a squared piece of fried pork fat. “There is no food on earth than can compare with it,” he said. “My wife cringes every time I fry up a batch. She won’t give it a try.”
