The Nesting Dolls

by Gail Bowen

  “He is content,” Noah said. “I guess there’s always hope.” He wiped the washcloth around the whorl of Jacob’s ear. “Look at that ear,” he said. “Perfection.”

  “You’re going to have to carve another bear for the front lawn,” I said.

  He nuzzled Jacob. “I already have the wood.”

  The news was on as I was loading the car. Noah had been right. The judge had taken Jeremy Sawchuk’s exemplary record into account and been lenient. He had sentenced the teenager to two years less a day in the provincial jail.

  I was relieved. One less burden for Zack.

  I texted Zack telling him I was on my way, and when I pulled up in front of the courthouse, he and Delia came out immediately. Zack slid into the passenger seat, folded his wheelchair, and put it next to Delia in the back.

  They were both in high spirits. “Zack won,” Delia said. “A good day for the firm.”

  “Congratulations,” I said.

  Zack snapped his seat belt and turned to me. “How was your morning?”

  “Eventful,” I said. “I was there when Jacob was introduced to strained peas.”

  Delia leaned forward. “So how did he do?”

  “He cleaned his plate,” I said.

  “Well, I’m going to be there when he graduates to squash,” Delia said. “I sent a memo to the other partners this morning saying I’m cutting back on my caseload.”

  “Dee’s given notice that she’s only going to work twelve hours a day instead of sixteen,” Zack said.

  “Ignore him,” Delia said. “I’ve missed out on too much.”

  The stab of fear I felt had nothing to do with the fact that within an hour I’d be 35,000 feet in the air. The Wainbergs were operating on the assumption that Jacob was now a permanent member of their family. I had a nagging sense that the matter of his custody was far from settled.

  It was a little after six when Delia, Zack, and I arrived at the Lantern Inn & Suites. We’d arranged for a car and driver to meet us at Toronto Pearson International Airport and take us to Port Hope. Spending an hour inside a limo jammed between speeding semis on Highway 401 would normally have made me anxious, but I was preoccupied with my relief at being back on solid ground. That said, when we turned onto the exit that led into town, I think I exhaled for the first time since we left Regina.

  It had been many years since I’d spent a Christmas in Port Hope but the town was much as I’d remembered. Now as then, the historic brick buildings that housed the shops on Walton Street were trimmed with evergreen boughs, fairy lights, and fresh holly, but there was something noteworthy about this particular December. I nudged my husband. “Look,” I said. “No snow. We’re meeting Alwyn in the hotel dining room at seven. After we eat, we’ll be able to walk her home.”

  “She lives that close?”

  “Everything’s that close in Port Hope,” I said.

  As the hotel’s Web site had promised, our room on the third floor was spacious and high-ceilinged, with a fireplace, large windows, a terrace overlooking the Ganaraska River, and, best of all, a queen-sized bed with a canopy.

  While Zack checked out the new digs, I called the Wainbergs’. Noah reported that Taylor and Isobel had bundled up Jacob, tucked him into his ergonomically correct sled, and taken him to the park to watch the big kids toboggan. He promised to have Taylor call us when she got back. The news from our house was mixed. According to Pete, Willie was fine. However, Pantera was already pining for Zack, and in his grief he had eaten a dozen bran muffins Pete had left on the counter to cool.

  “You are keeping Pantera outside?” I said.

  Pete sounded exasperated, “You know, Mum, you’d be amazed the stuff they teach at the School of Vet Med.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Do you want Zack to talk to his dog?”

  “Not much point,” Pete said. “Pantera would just eat the phone.”

  “Are you finding this too much?” I said.

  “Nope. You forget I live in a hovel. The big TV here is nice. So is the indoor pool. Hey, Pantera did laps with me this afternoon.”

  “There must be some sort of health regulation about that,” I said.

  “I’m sure there is,” Pete said. “Say hi to Zack. See you Sunday night.”

  When I hung up, Zack was looking at me quizzically. “There must be some sort of health regulation about what?” he said.

  “Pantera doing laps in the pool with Peter.”

  Zack made a gesture of dismissal. “When you’re not around, Pantera does laps in the pool with me all the time. He and I believe in the buddy system.”

  As I hung up our clothes, Zack picked up the leather-bound folder explaining the Lantern Inn’s services and history. He was gloomy as he read aloud from the insert describing the town’s Olde Tyme Christmas. “We’ve already missed the Festival of Trees, the Jack and the Beanstalk Pantomime, the Candlelight Walk and Carol Singing, the Christmas Tree Lighting, the Santa Claus Parade, and the Kinette Christmas General Store.” He dropped the insert in the wastepaper basket, then glanced at the folder and brightened. “But listen to this. ‘The Great Farini, famous high-wire walker, world circus impresario, and native of Port Hope, made an exciting walk across the Ganaraska River from the roof of the Lantern Inn on May 16, 1861. He wore peach baskets on his feet in the day, and in the evening, he tossed fireworks high in the sky while crossing the river.’ We’re part of history, Ms. Shreve. Let’s go out on our balcony and look at the river.”

  It was chilly outside, but it was also very lovely. Alwyn was right. Port Hope would have a green Christmas. The Ganaraska hadn’t frozen, and listening to the rush of the water and looking at the lights across the river was a quiet thrill.

  “Just think,” Zack said, “the Great Farini walked across that river.”

  “With peach baskets on his feet,” I said.

  “I can’t do the peach basket thing,” Zack said. “But say the word and I’ll toss fireworks into the sky for you, Jo. I’m very glad you’re here.”

  I put my arms around him. “So am I.”

  We met Alwyn and Delia in the Lantern Inn’s dining room at seven that evening. With its wood-burning fireplace, period art and decor, and cherry furniture, the room couldn’t have been more welcoming, but five minutes into the evening, I knew it had been a mistake to invite both Alwyn and Delia for dinner. Zack often starts cases by asking clients the outcome for which they are hoping. Had Alwyn and Delia been asked that question, their answers would have signalled trouble ahead. Alwyn wanted to share a convivial dinner with an old friend and the old friend’s new husband; Delia wanted to unearth anything that would make her custody case invulnerable.

  We ordered our food and a bottle of Ontario VQA Cabernet Sauvignon that Alwyn recommended. It was a pleasant choice to ease us into the evening, but as Zack and Alwyn and I chatted, Delia sizzled with impatience, drumming her fingers on the table, and answering every question with a monosyllabic response. Finally, Zack had enough. He glared at his law partner. “Dee, if you don’t smarten up, you’re paying for dinner.”

  “I thought I was paying for dinner,” Delia said. “I apologize, Alwyn. I’m not good at small talk.”

  “Abby wasn’t good at small talk either,” Alwyn said quietly.

  The words were clearly intended to comfort her, but their effect on Delia was devastating. She flinched as if from a blow, and when she spoke her voice was tentative. “Tell me about her,” she said.

  Alwyn’s brow creased in concentration. “It’s difficult to distil twenty-seven years of impressions into a few sentences. At the moment, what strikes me most is simply how much she was like you. Physically, the resemblance is startling. And something else… unless I’m mistaken, Abby wore the same perfume you’re wearing tonight.”

  Delia bit her lip. “Chanel No. 5,” she said. “It’s the only perfume I’ve ever worn.”

  “That’s remarkable, isn’t it? That without ever knowing one another, you’d choose the same scent.” Alwyn sh
ook her head as if to regain her focus. “Let’s see. Even as a child, Abby set goals for herself, and like you, she was impatient with anything that stood in the way of realizing them. Her parents – Peggy and Hugh – adored her, and they were wise enough to smooth her path, so Abby could achieve what she believed she had to achieve.”

  Delia leaned closer to Alwyn. “They spoiled her?”

  Alwyn shook her head. “No. It was impossible to spoil that child. She never wanted things - she wanted to know things. Of course, that made her a perfect fit for Peggy and Hugh. She was the centre of their lives.”

  Delia leaned forward. “Yet they never told her she was adopted.” Delia reached for her wineglass with trembling fingers. “Why would they do that?”

  “I’m sure they thought they were protecting her, just as they’d protected her all her life. Abby was home-schooled until she was in Grade Five – that’s when students begin at Trinity. Of course, her father taught there and Abby knew all the other teachers, so she was protected there, too. The faculty was like an extended family for her.”

  “And she did well?” The mother’s inevitable question.

  “Brilliantly. She had extraordinarily high standards, and she drove herself hard.”

  Delia placed her wine, untasted, back on the table. “Did she have friends?”

  “Not many, but the friendships she had were intense. The year she started at TCS, she linked up with a group – both boys and girls – who were as bright as she was. Nadine Perrault was among them. The students in that group were inseparable till they graduated.”

  It was the Winners’ Circle all over again. Zack’s eyes moved to Delia, but her attention was still on Alwyn. “Was Abby’s sexual orientation a problem?” Delia asked.

  “It never appeared to be,” Alwyn said. “Everybody, including Hugh and Peggy, seemed to know, but nobody ever made a big deal about it.”

  “Nadine was the only partner?” I said.

  Alwyn shrugged. “She and Abby were seldom apart. The world isn’t always hospitable to same-sex couples, but perhaps because they’d always been inseparable, Abby and Nadine were lucky. One of the memories I’ve been cherishing lately is of Hugh and Peggy walking down Walton Street with their daughter and Nadine last Thanksgiving. Jacob was in Abby’s old pram. Hugh and Peggy had ordered it from Britain. They always made certain their daughter had the best.”

  Delia lowered her head and stared at her lap at the reference to Abby as the Michaelses’ daughter; Alwyn noticed and hurried through the rest of her narrative. “My point,” she said, “is that they were happy – all of them. It was one of those scarlet and gold early October days, and seeing Hugh and Margaret with Abby, Nadine, and the child they all loved seemed to affirm that the world can be a fine place.” Alwyn’s voice broke. “The next day Margaret and Hugh were killed on the 401, and you know the rest.”

  Delia stared at Alwyn wide-eyed. “But we don’t know ‘the rest.’ We don’t really know anything.” She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can take this tonight. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “Of course,” Alwyn said. She touched Delia’s arm. “One of Abby’s friends recorded the memorial service this morning. She’ll burn it to a DVD. I’ll get a copy to you before you go back to Regina.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Nadine thought you might like to spend the morning quietly and come out to the country after lunch and see where Abby grew up and the home they shared.”

  “She wants me to know Abby better,” Delia said bleakly.

  Alwyn was clearly taken aback. “Don’t you want to?”

  “I don’t know. Sitting here tonight, listening to you talk about Abby, made me realize how much I’ve missed out on.” Then, her face pinched with misery, Delia turned and walked out of the dining room.

  When our trout arrived, Zack ordered another bottle of wine, and the three of us tried to salvage the evening. By the time we were weighing the options on the dessert menu, we had covered all the conversational topics that mattered: books, movies, holiday plans, Pantera’s exploits, and the exceptional intelligence of Alwyn’s three-legged tuxedo cat, Wilson. Given the circumstances, the evening had been pleasant, and I welcomed Zack’s suggestion that we walk Alwyn home.

  The night was mild and starry – perfect for sky-gazing or river-watching. Zack stopped in the middle of the walkway on the bridge over the Ganaraska, and I thought he was giving himself over to the pleasures of the evening, but his mind was on his case. “What’s Nadine Perrault like?” he said.

  Alwyn moved closer to the railing and looked down at the inky, swirling water. “If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I could have given you an answer, but Nadine has been broken by this. I can’t predict anything about the woman you’re going to meet tomorrow.”

  “What was she like before?”

  “Complex,” Alwyn said. “As most interesting people are. She was a boarder at TCS from the time she was in Grade Five, and after university she came back and taught with us. I’ve been acquainted with her for much of her life, but Nadine doesn’t encourage intimacy.”

  “Her attachment to the school must have been powerful to bring her back to teach,” I said.

  “It was – it is for a lot of our students. Our Web site trots out the usual stirring phrases about developing hearts and minds, offering academic challenges, and building leadership skills. That’s for the parents; a lot of our students just want to find a place where they belong, and that’s what Nadine found with us. When she first arrived, she was like a skittish colt that would bolt if you extended a hand to it. The school calmed her. Whatever had happened in the past, being part of the school taught her to trust. Then when Peggy and Hugh realized how close she and Abby were, they welcomed her into their family.”

  “And they were aware that the girls’ relationship went beyond friendship?” I said.

  “The girls were discreet, but they made no secret of their feelings for one another,” Alwyn said. “Hugh and Peggy accepted the situation. They loved Nadine because Abby loved her and that seemed to ease any problems the town might have had about the relationship.”

  “Their deaths must have been terrible for Nadine,” I said.

  “They were, but she and Abby were both practising Roman Catholics, and they seemed to find consolation in their faith.”

  “So Hugh and Peggy were Catholic, then,” I said.

  Alwyn hooted. “God no! Hugh was a staunch Darwinist. Every February 12th, he hosted a luncheon to commemorate Darwin’s birth and celebrate science, reason, and humanity. Peggy had her own religion.” Alwyn’s lips twitched. “I believe it had something to do with wood nymphs. The Catholicism came from Nadine. Abby was a convert.”

  “If the conversion got them through the loss of Hugh and Peggy Michaels, it must have taken,” I said.

  “It did,” Alwyn said. “Nadine and Abby were both devastated, but they seemed to feel they could survive, because they had their faith, one another, and Jacob.” Alwyn gazed at the water. “I wonder what Nadine’s position on God is now?” she said.

  It had been a long day, and Zack and I slept well under our canopy. We awoke at eight – which for both of us was very late.

  “Let’s get room service,” I said. “It’s too cold to sit on the balcony, but we can pull back the curtains and watch Port Hope spring into action.”

  Zack sneezed. “Fair enough,” he said. “But this is a holiday – no steel-cut oatmeal and 600-grain toast. I want a manly breakfast: bacon, sausage, eggs, and home fries.”

  “The defibrillator special.” I picked up the phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Zack and Delia were meeting the Michaelses’ family lawyer at nine-thirty to discuss the will; after that, they were meeting Nadine Perrault’s lawyer. Alwyn and I had both finished our Christmas shopping, but the town’s antique and specialty stores were seductive, and we were willing to be seduced.

  When I found a leaf-shaped mercury-glass relish dish that
I knew my friend Ed Mariani would treasure, I pulled out my credit card. “I hate shopping,” I said. “But shopping here with you is actually fun.”

  “The stores are open year-round,” Alwyn said. “And you appear to have conquered your fear of flying.”

  “Appearance is not reality,” I said. “I’m already starting to count down the hours till we’re in the air again.”

  “Does Zack mind that you don’t fly?”

  “No. Travel’s not easy for him either.”

  “Because of the wheelchair?”

  “That’s an indignity – there’s other stuff that’s harder to manage.”

  “I like him,” Alwyn said.

  “So do I,” I said.

  The drive from Port Hope to the house in which Abby had grown up took fifteen minutes. The Michaels property was situated in a valley among gentle hills with ponds and ditches that filled with wildflowers in summer. The soil was rich and the water supply so abundant that legend had it a toddler with a stick could stumble and find water. For years, most of the houses in the area had been century homes – over a hundred years old, solid brick, built to last, quiet and unprepossessing, close to the road. But Toronto money had moved to the country. Now the hills were crested with new homes that boasted spectacular views, triple garages, winding driveways, and million-dollar price tags.

  The Michaels’ house had been built on thirty acres of land that was now considered prime real estate. One hour’s commute from the city, the property was treed and private with a tributary of the Ganaraska running through it. The house was a solid red-brick Georgian with shuttered windows and an oak front door with a transom and sidelights. Mercifully, there was only one step, so Zack managed to manoeuvre his chair onto the porch area without help before Nadine Perrault opened the door to greet us.

  She was a slender, fine-featured natural blonde with deep-set hazel eyes that were red from weeping. When she came face to face with Delia, her intake of breath was audible. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just… the physical resemblance is overwhelming.” She recovered quickly, inviting us in although she had trouble taking her eyes from Delia’s face. “You probably should leave your coats on,” she said. Her voice was low and commanding – a teacher’s voice. “I don’t live here,” she said, “so I’m keeping the thermostat low. I should have thought about it this morning, but the memorial service yesterday was very difficult for me. I apologize.” She threw her hands up in a gesture of impotence.