More Than Sorrow

by Vicki Delany

  Her hand was damp and clammy. “Do I know you?” I didn’t bother being polite. Obviously a reporter with her photographer in tow.

  “Catherine Green. I’m so excited about meeting you. You’ve always been a hero of mine, you know.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. Catherine Green looked to be in her early forties, a bit old for the hero thing. “I don’t give interviews.” I began to close the door.

  In true journalistic fashion she stuck her foot into it. “I know, otherwise I would have been here long before. I’m looking into the Hila…uh, someone…murder. Your name came up.”

  “It did?”

  “My contacts tell me you’re the one who found the body.”

  “Your contacts are wrong.” If indeed she had any contacts. Probably fishing for an angle. “You didn’t tell me what news-service you’re with.”

  “Oh, didn’t I?”

  No you did not. I waited. She mumbled the name of a blog I’d never heard of. No matter. As I said, I don’t give interviews. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the photographer lift his camera. I stuck out my tongue. “I have no comment.” I shoved at the door. She shifted but didn’t completely move her foot.

  “The dead woman was from Afghanistan. You reported from Afghanistan. You were seriously injured in Afghanistan. Though you’re looking great now,” she added quickly. She lowered her voice. “Coincidence?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I sought Hila out precisely because she was Afghan so we had something in common.”

  “Have you had much contact with any other people from Afghanistan since you’ve been back home?”

  “No.”

  “The dead woman’s father was President Karzai’s right-hand man. He was executed by the Taliban on his way to the U.N. to negotiate a billion-dollar deal for increased aid for development projects, right?”

  I shrugged. Not my place to enlighten her.

  “His daughter was wounded in the attack and came to Canada to recover. I know all that. I also know she was to go to the U.N. in her father’s place next month. The question is, did the Taliban follow her here? Did they bring their blood feud to our shores, and if so, who else might be in danger?”

  “Better not let my brother-in-law find you poking around the farm. It’s private property. And no pictures either. ” I pushed at the door and she barely got her foot out in time. I stood at the living room window, watching them. Green spoke to her photographer for a moment. He replied, and then they got into their car and drove away.

  CSIS.

  Is that why CSIS was involved in what was otherwise nothing but a local murder? Did they think the Taliban were here? In Prince Edward County, Ontario?

  Total nonsense. The Taliban, the true Taliban, care about nothing but their own patch of territory. They don’t dress up like Westerners and try to infiltrate Western society. Most of them were so uneducated and provincial they couldn’t even if they wanted to.

  Home-grown terrorists? Perhaps. Canadian-born Muslims or recent immigrants have been suspected of having sympathy with the extremists. Could it be possible they came after Hila, not to stop her from going to the U.N., which she wasn’t about to do, but in revenge against her father, who was a friend to the West? To finish what their compatriots back home had failed to finish?

  My skin crawled.

  Had the war followed me here?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  We had returned from the Harrisons’ in plenty of time for me to prepare lunch. When I called Lily to come down, she asked if she could take her food up to her room, and I agreed. She ran down the stairs, put the smallest of the books Maude had lent her on the table, saying, “You can read this one, Aunt Hannah,” and dashed back to her room with a plate. Charlie had gone to the beach with friends for the day. I called Joanne on her cellphone and rang the big iron triangle hanging over the door to the side porch. The workers trooped in, today only Jake, Joanne, and Connor. Liz and Allison had Sunday off, but the plants didn’t take a break for the weekend, so neither could the farmers. Jake and Connor had been laying long strips of black hose among the tomato plants. They needed water and there was no rain in the forecast.

  “I’ve had an idea,” Connor said, pulling a chair up to the table. He’d kicked off his rubber boots on the porch and was in stocking feet. “I’m staying at my cousin’s. We’re not getting on so well. He’s a nice guy and all, but he likes to have people over, play music, and drink at night, and I have to get up early for work. We had a major blow up last night, and he’s pretty much kicking me out.”

  “That’s too bad,” Joanne said. “Do you have someplace else to go?”

  He grinned at her. “As a matter of fact, I might. How about the trailer?”

  “The trailer?”

  “Sure. That bunch of hippies aren’t coming right? So the trailer’s empty. I’ll pay you for the use of it, same as I’m paying my cousin. I’ll stay out of your way when it’s not working hours, but I’ll really enjoy the commute.” He turned the full wattage of his smile onto me. “And the neighbors.”

  “I don’t…” Joanne began, but Jake spoke over her. “That’s a good idea. No point in that trailer standing empty. You’ll be responsible for your own meals, other than lunch which is part of your wages.”

  “Great,” Connor reached for a sandwich. “I’ll get my stuff after work, I don’t have much, and move in tonight. Now that’s settled, I guess I should tell you that you folks are the talk of the town. No one was talking about anything else last night at the Acoustic Grill in Picton.”

  Joanne groaned. “That can’t be good.”

  “Might be good for business,” I said, passing around the salad bowl. “There’s been a steady stream of cars pulling up outside and going into the shop. We’re almost out of the lettuce mix.”

  “Connor, pick more after lunch and restock the shop.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “When you’ve done that, there are some bags of potatoes in the greenhouse. The first of the fingerlings. Take them down to the root cellar.”

  “What are they saying in town?” I asked.

  “A lot of wild speculation. Some people figure the terrorists are among us, and some are saying it comes of so many idle city people being here for the summer. Whatever your prejudice is, there’s a theory to match it.”

  “A reporter was snooping around earlier.”

  “Oh, god. That’s all we need,” Joanne said. Jake growled around a mouthful of ham sandwich.

  “She’s with some online outfit. I sent her packing, but you might want to warn Charlie and Lily not to be talking to strangers. Liz and Allison too.” I looked at Connor.

  He lifted his hands. “For a million bucks I’ll sell you guys down the river in a heartbeat. But I’ll accept nothing less than that.”

  I laughed, but Jake did not. “I don’t want those people on my property. And I’d better not find anyone talking to any reporters. You’re not going to make a story out of this, are you, Hannah?”

  “Give me some credit, will you, Jake.” I pushed my chair back and got to my feet. “You might not like me much, and you might not want me here, but if you think that’d I’d betray my family as well as my professional reputation, then you’re seriously lacking in judgment.”

  The thick cloud that had filled my head these days began to shift and suddenly I was angry. It felt strange, and I studied myself, wondering at the unfamiliar emotion. Despite all that had happened in the previous three months, I had not once thought to be angry.

  “Jake didn’t mean…” Joanne began.

  “Helloooo.”

  “Not now,” Joanne mumbled, as Jake said, “Mom, Dad. Hi.” I dropped back into my chair.

  Marlene and Ralph didn’t bother with greetings. “What’s this I hear? Barb from next door phoned m
e and said that murdered foreign girl was found on your property. You didn’t think to call me and let me know?”

  “It’s nothing to do with us, Mom,” Jake said. Joanne rolled her eyes, and Connor buried his curly head in his salad bowl. “She wasn’t on our property. In that swamp land behind that’s owned by the County. “

  “Well my granddaughter found her, is what Nancy said, and I’ve come to take Lily and Charlie to my house until they’ve caught whoever did it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Joanne said.

  Marlene whirled on her. “It’s obviously not safe here.”

  “It’s as safe as it was last week or last year. And Lily did not find the body. The police dog found it.”

  “Barb said…”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you and your gossipy friends say.” Joanne was on her feet now. Her face clenched and her eyes narrowed. “I won’t have you putting fear into Lily’s head.”

  “She has to know what’s going on. That’s what happens when that kind come here. They can’t leave their problems back in the old country, oh no. Have to bring the fight to our shores.”

  “What kind is that?” I asked, politely.

  “Foreigners. Those Muslims. “

  “Well, if Hila was killed by someone from back home, then Lily, and the rest of us, have nothing to fear, now do we?”

  That took the wind out of Marlene’s sails for a moment. She took a deep breath prior to regrouping her forces. “We don’t know what that sort of people are capable of. Now, they’re here, in the county, who knows who they’ll be after next. There’s a base here, you know.” She meant Mountain View, the air force training base which we passed going to the train station in Belleville. When I’d first seen it, I’d laughed out loud to see a military installation so minimally defended.

  “No one’s going to be attacking Mountain View,” Jake said.

  “That’s my point.” Marlene shrieked in triumph. “They can’t attack us head on so they’ll go for the weakest point. And that’s our children.”

  “You’re delusional,” Joanne said.

  “Don’t go there, Mom,” Jake said with a sigh. “Lily’s perfectly safe here with us, and that’s the end of it.” Jake’s dad, Ralph, shifted from one foot to another. Lunch finished, Connor looked about for something, anything, to take his attention.

  “We’ll let the police do their jobs,” Joanne said. “There’s no point in speculating.”

  “I said it before,” Marlene muttered, “We don’t need those people here. Let them stay in their own countries. It’s none of our business.”

  “I thought you were all for us going to Afghanistan,” Joanne said, sweetly.

  “To help them,” Marlene replied. “So girls can go to school and get an education. Not so they could come here and take over our country. Refugees, ha. If they weren’t so lazy, they could build something out of their own country. They’re just here for a handout, most of them.”

  I’d heard it all before. How poor Hila being murdered meant that her countrymen were taking over Canada, I couldn’t figure out. I stood up and began gathering dishes. Connor leapt to his feet, about as eager to get away from the conversation as I was.

  “The tractor’s got a rattle. Would you mind having a look at it, Dad,” Jake said.

  Ralph grunted in acknowledgement. They left.

  “Back to work everyone,” Joanne said. “While you’re here, Marlene, I’ve been saving some seconds of the potatoes for you. Come and get them. And we’ll have no more of this sort of talk around the children.” She stalked out of the kitchen.

  Marlene gave me an innocent shrug. “Really, I’m only trying to help. How are you, anyway, dear? You’re looking well today.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” she said. “Is Lily in her room?”

  “Isn’t Joanne wanting to give you potatoes?”

  “Mustn’t keep her waiting. Give Lily a kiss for me. Tell her I’ll have her around for a sleep-over soon.” Marlene followed the rest of them out of the house.

  Only Connor and I remained. He rinsed and stacked the dishes while I put the leftovers away.

  I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Connor was flipping through the book Lily had tossed on the table. “Nice stuff.”

  “It certainly is.” If he’d been in the army, chances were he’d been to Afghanistan. I’d never asked, and he’d never mentioned hearing anything about me. He put the book down and turned to face me. He looked at me for a long time, and something flipped in my stomach.

  “I hope you’re okay with me moving into the trailer.”

  “It has nothing to do with me.”

  “I should have asked you first. But the opportunity came up and I took it.” His blue Irish eyes were the color of the lake on a sunny day. He looked at me without smiling.

  “Why would you ask me?”

  “It’s true what I said about my cousin. You’d think that after being in the army I’d be used to bunking with men, but we weren’t getting on. But my main reason for liking the idea of the trailer is that I’d be able to see you more often.”

  Color rose into my face. I grabbed a cloth and wiped at invisible stains in the sink. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Great. I’m going out to pick lettuce. Why don’t you meet me in the greenhouse in half an hour and help me bag them, Hannah.”

  It might have been my imagination, but I thought his tongue lingered a bit too long over my name.

  Nevertheless, I went out to the greenhouse in half an hour. The air was thick with the scent of stored compost, moist earth, fresh vegetables, and heat. We chatted as we bagged greens in sizes suitable for selling. Connor told me about his hopes for starting up his own farm. He had his eye on a piece of land near Lake Erie, not far from the cottage where he’d spent summers as a child. Formerly used to grow tobacco, the land had lain abandoned for several years, and he hoped it would still be available when he was ready to buy it. Joanne had told me Jake thought Connor wasn’t a good worker. Hadn’t she said he’d been ready to sack him at one point? Connor was strong, nice looking, full of casual charm. He seemed to be trying to charm me. Had he tried to charm Joanne? Had a jealous Jake simply thought he had?

  We took the bags of greens out to the shop. In the paddock, one of the horses blew out a breath and the other stomped its feet. A car drove by, kicking up clouds of dust. The morning had been busy and not much was left in the store. While Connor arranged the goods, I emptied out the cash box.

  “Hannah,” he said.

  I turned.

  He was standing in the center of the shop, a lopsided grin on his face. “I know you’re…well, ill. Perhaps one day, when you’re feeling better, you’d like to go for a drink at the Grill, or maybe a latte at the cafe in the bookstore. Or dinner. Or something. With me, I mean. You don’t have to answer right now. It’s going to be a long summer. Give it some thought, will you?”

  He turned and walked out of the room.

  Had Connor just asked me out on a date? I do believe he had.

  As he said, it was going to be a long summer. And a long time indeed before I was ready to think about dating.

  Still, nice to be asked.

  A minute later he was back. “Oh, Joanne told me to put the potatoes in the root cellar. Where is it anyway?”

  “At the back of this building. There’s a gap in the bushes and you’ll see a door, then a ramp going down. The door’s never locked.”

  “Thanks. Catch you later.” He winked, and was gone.

  I looked around the shop. Light filled every nook and cranny; the fridge that contained frozen pies and soups gurgled softly; the floor was swept clean. It was so small. I thought about the people that had called it home, and had no doubt been pleased to have it.


  Refugees. Like Hila. People for whom happiness was a concept long forgotten. For whom safety was the only thing that mattered.

  What with the visit to the Harrisons’ and learning the tragic tale of Hila’s family, and the interruption by Marlene and Ralph, and then Connor’s rather startling question, I hadn’t thought much about what had happened to me yesterday.

  Now I did.

  Two missing hours.

  Three hours missed on Thursday. The day Hila disappeared.

  I felt nothing in the shop. I never had. No icy cold air, no foul smell. No dark-haired woman in a long, dirty dress. It was only the cellar beneath that seemed to affect me. But now that I was standing here, thinking about those long ago settlers, here in what had been their house, I wanted to know more.

  I had no interest in Jake’s ancestors’ news about buying new coats or the cost of fixing the truck, and so I hadn’t bothered to venture back up to the attic room for some time. Perhaps if I dug deeper into the boxes I could find something from the 18th century.

  Not that I thought I’d actually seen one of the house’s original inhabitants.

  ***

  August 4, 1780

  “Someone’s at the door, asking for you, my dear.”

  Maggie jumped from her bed. “A man? Is it a man?” Her heart pounded.

  “Yes, but not a young man, my dear. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  Maggie ran. Hope was all she had.

  She had been taken in by Mr. and Mrs. Van Alen, the elderly couple who had prayed over sweet Flora’s grave. Not that they had much to spare, but the man’s brother owned a small house in the city and they all squeezed in somehow.

  New York City was full to bursting and still they came. Refugees. Loyalists. From all over America, streams of men and women and children poured into to the city, many with nothing but what they could carry. It seemed as if the entire Continent was in flames, and everywhere anyone suspected of having tory sympathies, or of not having enough patriotic fervor, were being chased from their homes, their farms, their businesses. Their property—often their lives—confiscated.