Mercy of St Jude

by Wilhelmina Fitzpatrick

  The spoon clattered to the table, but it was Mercedes who stood. “Stay,” she said in a shaky voice. “This is my fault. Please, I have to leave.” Blind to Callum’s hand, she stumbled from the room.

  He turned to his daughter. “How could you...?” He stopped, alarmed at the fever in her eyes and the fear and confusion on her small face. “Lucinda? Are you all right?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I…I was afraid you…you wouldn’t come back.”

  Callum knelt down and hugged her until she stopped trembling, then he carried her to the chair by the fire and held her until she fell asleep. Praying only that he was doing the best he could at that single moment in time, and that somehow he would find a way to fix what had happened, Callum eventually drifted off, momentarily at peace within the rhythm of his daughter’s constant breathing.

  A voice stirred him from sleep. Night had settled over the house, and he looked at Lucinda’s face in the near-darkness.

  Her lips moved but her eyes were closed. “Please no Mama…sorry Mama…. sorry.” For the umpteenth time, he wondered at the control that Judith had insisted upon having over Lucinda, and her equal insistence that he mind his own business. “If you know what’s good for you,” she’d often added.

  Holding Lucinda closer, he tried to reassure her sleeping body but the increased pressure broke her slumber. Sleep-filled eyes peered up at Callum. Within seconds, he watched the fear take over once again.

  “I’m here. Shh,” he murmured, brushing his hand down her long brown hair.

  “Daddy, I’m sorry about Aunt Mercedes. But she frightens me.”

  “I know. It’s okay.” He kept smoothing her hair until he sensed that she’d begun to relax. “There’s one thing I can tell you. Your aunt wants only the best for you.”

  “But why does she act that way?”

  Callum paused, trying to find the right answer. “I think it’s because she’ll never have a child to call her own.”

  Lucinda looked puzzled. “How do you know she won’t have any children?”

  “I just do, Lucinda. I just do.”

  Lucinda fingered a lock of hair, pulling the same strands over and over. “Mother used to say your sister was jealous and mean, and that she was an old spinster who hurt little children.” She added quickly, “But that I should never tell you she said that.”

  “Judith said that about Merce?”

  “Yes...and other stuff too.” The words rushed forth as if she needed to purge them from her conscience. “She said Aunt Mercedes was crazy and selfish. When she got really sick, she told me if it wasn’t for Aunt Mercedes, she would have had a different life and this wouldn’t have happened to her. What did she mean by that, Daddy?”

  Again Callum waited, but this time it was to prevent himself from starting his own tirade against his dead wife. “Lucinda, do you trust me?” he asked.

  He could see that this was a tough question for her; he hadn’t always been there when she needed him. Judith had been an authoritarian parent. She was not a mother to be trifled with, nor a wife, either. Both Callum and Lucinda had tried to do what was demanded of them for fear of her volatile temper. When Lucinda started to turn more often to Callum, Judith responded by busying the child with social engagements and the charitable causes of her society friends, excluding him wherever possible. As much as he loved Lucinda, it was often a relief to be out of his wife’s way, a situation made unavoidable by the increasing demands made upon him at work by Judith’s father. Whether the two were in cahoots to keep him occupied was a question he frequently asked himself.

  “I think I do, Daddy,” she said finally. “More than anybody else, that’s for sure.”

  Callum felt as though his heart would break, so sad was he that his daughter could not believe in him completely.

  She must have seen it on his face. Her thin arms clasped him around his neck. “Yes, I trust you. I do, honest.”

  He hugged her tight, praying for the strength to make things right. “Then there’s something I want to tell you, and I need for you to accept it and believe it even though I can’t prove it. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I can do that,” she rushed to reassure him.

  “There are two things. The first is that Judith was a very sick woman, and I don’t just mean the headaches and the cancer. She was sick inside her mind too, and sometimes it made her do and say things that were wrong. Those things she said about Merce, they’re not true, Lucinda. She hated Mercedes, but she hated lots of other things, too. That was part of her sickness.”

  Lucinda sat very still. “What was the other thing?”

  “Your aunt loves you and wants to help take care of you. She’s not used to having a little girl in the house. We got to give her some time. All right?”

  Lucinda’s forehead creased in concentration. “I’ll try, Daddy.”

  Knowing he couldn’t ask for more, Callum carried her to bed and tucked her in for the night. Shortly after, Mercedes came downstairs, her face drawn, her normally perfect bun dishevelled. She was barely twenty-six and already going grey.

  “Ah, Mercie. How are you, girl?”

  She waved away his concern. “Never mind me. How’s our Lucinda?”

  “She’s so sorry for everything she said. It’s been a rough year.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” Mercedes sat next to him. “Something she said keeps coming back to me, about how Judith warned her that I’d try to take her away.”

  “She was crazy at the end, Merce. It’s just us and Lucinda now. We can forget about Judith.”

  She looked at him pityingly. “Callum, you know we can never do that. Judith meant every word, every threat. My God, she wouldn’t even let me come to Sheilagh or Betty’s funeral. I begged and I cried and it made no difference.” Mercedes stared out the window for several moments, then reached into her pocket. She placed a letter on the table and pushed it towards him. “It’s from Judith’s sister.”

  Callum didn’t pick it up. “Ruth? What did she want?”

  “To warn us that she knows everything, and to watch what we said to Lucinda. She said if we ever cast a shadow on her sister’s memory, she’ll personally seek vengeance upon us all.” Mercedes opened the letter and read from it. “‘I’ve got the time and the money, and we both know who would suffer most if that were to happen.’”

  “But she’s all the way in New York, she can’t really hurt us.”

  “Of course she can. Think about it. She’s a spinster with nothing better to do than harbour her dead sister’s grudges.”

  “She’s bluffing.”

  “Read the letter. She’s couldn’t be more serious. If Ruth ever made public what she knows it could be the last straw for that little girl, and she’s the only one who matters now. Imagine if she ever found out. What would that do to her after all she’s been through?”

  “But it’s all so long ago, no one cares anymore.”

  “Don’t be naïve. The biddies are already circling - just try buying groceries.” She pushed back the stray hairs. “No, I won’t take chances. I’m just grateful to have you both here with me. We’ll let the child get used to us, to the three of us together, and pray to the Lord above that it will all work out. You have to agree with me if this is going to work.”

  Callum hesitated.

  “I mean it. One wrong word and this could all fall apart. For Lucinda’s sake, we have to make sure what happened never sees the light of day.” Mercedes laid her hands flat on the table. “We say nothing. We do nothing. We leave the past in New York. This is the way it has to be.”

  Callum knew then that it was useless to argue. The woman who confronted him across the table was one he’d seen often since his return to St. Jude, but this was the first time the strength of her will was directed at him. This woman went about her business of teaching and living in a grim, determined fashion, with no desire or patience for frivolity in any form.

  And so, although it was not how he’d pictured t
heir life together, he agreed. And even though they lived in the same house, Lucinda received similar treatment to the rest of her cousins, which was to say she was accorded respect and rewards in direct proportion to the degree in which she earned them. As promised, Mercedes provided a strict Catholic upbringing, and although she may have longed to give Lucinda more, she held herself in check, “for the good of the child,” she told Callum.

  But Callum knew better. He knew that each night as Lucinda lay sleeping, his sister tiptoed across the wood floor of her bedroom. Mercedes would draw the covers up over the exposed neck, under the vulnerable chin. With silent intensity she would watch a minute longer. And then, if she felt absolutely certain that Lucinda was fully asleep, Mercedes would lean in and tenderly, carefully, kiss her good night.

  The 1950’s were good years for the citizens of St. Jude. They gained a High School and a Trade School, a fish plant, a motel and a boat builder. The town was booming. New people moved in. More people had more money. Some could even afford household help. Sadie Griffin had never liked school but she’d always been good with a broom. It didn’t take her long to figure out that after cleaning someone’s house, she came away with a lot more than a few dollars and a bit of dirt under her nails. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks. But a good secret? That was priceless.

  Fat-arse Mabel. Don’t know how she ever squeezed into this.

  Sadie caressed the soft fabric of the yellow silk blouse, enjoying the way it slid so smoothly over her skin. At eighteen years of age, she’d never owned a new blouse, even though she’d been working since she’d left school at thirteen. Her mother’s arthritis got worse every year and Sadie was the only one left to look after her. Sadie didn’t mind working, especially for the priests. She’d been glad when they got rid of old Father Riley, though. She never did like the way he stood so close to her. His breath smelled bad, too, like rotten cod guts.

  “This fish is some salty.” Edna Duffie, her mouth scrunched into a wrinkled pout of distaste, sniffed at the food on her plate. “How long did you soak it, girl?”

  “Long enough. Cook it yourself next time.”

  “I don’t know how many times I got to tell you. You got to soak…” Edna prattled on, unaware that her daughter had stopped listening.

  That new priest now, he’s a good one all right. I don’t mind if he looks, no, not at all. He can look all he wants. Wouldn’t mind a look myself. Have a gander behind that black frock of his—

  “I said,” her mother’s voice was raised, “that Callum got his-self a strange one.”

  “What? Who?” Sadie chose an extra fine needle from the pincushion.

  “Get your head out of the clouds, girl. I said Callum Hann, your cousin.”

  Sadie glanced up. “What are you talking about, Ma? He got a strange what?”

  Edna Duffie crossed her arms over her bony chest, causing the rounded hump on her back to protrude even further. “His girl, that Lucanda.”

  “Oh, her. Yeah, strange all right. And her name’s Lucinda.” The blouse had been part of a care package they’d gotten from relatives in St. John’s. Mabel had worn it a few times even though it was far too small. It needed only a tuck in the back to hug Sadie’s tiny waist. The bustline fit perfectly.

  “That’s what I said.” Edna picked at the fish and brewis in front of her.

  “No, Ma, you said Lucanda, with an ‘a’. It’s Lucinda, with an ‘i’.”

  Mabel be some jealous she sees me in this. Lucky she didn’t burst the seams out of it.

  “Anyway, she’s right queer, that one.”

  “Not much to her.” Sadie pushed the needle carefully into the thin material.

  “And she’s some quiet, never says boo. Like she’s scared of her own shadow. Although they says she’s really just scared of Mercedes.”

  “Can’t blame her.”

  Dermot’ll be at the dance tonight. Maybe he’ll walk me behind the church again.

  “This hard tack’s still hard,” her mother complained. “How long you say you soaked it? I don’t think…”

  Sadie imagined Dermot’s hands going around her waist, sliding up her back. She pictured him leaning in towards her, his body large and strong against hers, smelling of soap, his lips kissing hers, pressing hard—

  “Sadie!” Edna hit the plate with her fork.

  Sadie’s hand jerked. “Ow!” she yelled as the needle pricked her finger.

  “Quit your dreaming, girl.” Edna put down her fork and rubbed one gnarled hand with the other. “Hard one to figure out, that Mercedes. Hear much about her?”

  “Not a thing. Teaches school, goes to church, walks her dog.”

  “You keep an ear out at Burke’s. Not much gets past that Mona.”

  Sadie looked doubtful. “I was there the other day and Mrs. Burke was trying to talk to her, saying how she must be glad to have Callum home, and did she like Nova Scotia when she was there, even asking about her father, you know, stuff like that, just trying to be nice to her. Mercedes was having none of it. Just got her groceries and left. Some closed up, I tell you.”

  “Word is she had a boyfriend once.” Edna sounded quite pleased with herself.

  “Get on! Her? Where’d you hear that?”

  Can’t imagine anyone kissing that crooked-arse.

  “Aunt Agnes up in Green Harbour. Joe’s dead wife, Betty I think her name was, she used to live next door to them before her and her sister run off to New York. Only the sister ever made it back, of course.”

  Sadie stops sewing. “So the sister would have known the Hanns.”

  Edna looks confused. “Up in Green Harbour?”

  “No, when they were all in New York. If one sister was married to Joe the other one must’ve been around them all. She’d know what went on, what they got up to.”

  “Probably did but we’ll never know. Poor thing didn’t last the winter when she got back.” Edna poked around on her plate until she came up with a small scrunchion. She popped the crispy pork rind into her mouth and sat back to enjoy it. “Tuberculosis they said it was.”

  Another dead end. Some odd, no one knows nothing. I never saw the like.

  “Anyway, this boyfriend. He from New York?”

  “No, no,” said Edna. “That was up in Nova Scotia.”

  “What happened?” Sadie rubbed the fine silk gently between her fingers.

  “Don’t know. Something about a doctor.” Edna scooped up a forkful of fish and bread all mushed together. “Yeah, that’s it, I think they said a doctor.”

  Sadie pulled the needle through. Her eyes narrowed. “Or she needed a doctor?”

  Edna’s hand stopped above the plate. “You think?”

  “Sure, why not? That one’s hiding something, I just knows it.”

  “Too bad that young Lucanda got to live with her, though.”

  “Lucinda, Ma. I told you, her name is Lucinda.”

  No wonder Mabel’s a dunce.

  “No odds to me.” Edna picked a tiny bone from between her teeth.

  “Or me. Don’t plan on having nothing to do with Lucinda Hann.” Sadie paused from her sewing to check out the goings-on outside the window. From where she sat she had a clear view of the whole street.

  “Never did like that crowd,” said her mother.

  “Too stuck up, they are. Swear they were from the King of England.”

  “That’s a good one, what?” Edna chuckled. “Us or the king. Hah!”

  “Nothing wrong with the Duffies, Ma. We’re good as the Hanns any day.”

  “Right you are, Sadie. Mary be alive today wasn’t for that crackpot Farley.”

  Sadie’s eyes narrowed again. She stuck the needle back in.

  1999

  Gerry yawns so widely it feels his lips might tear away from each other. Sadie’s eyes have begun to droop as well. She doesn’t resist when he suggests it’s time for bed. Her steps are clumsy as he walks her to her room. Her little nips affect her faster and harder than when he’d first caught
her sneaking them twenty years earlier. He’s never said anything to her about it. He feels it would be an invasion of her privacy, of which she has so little, and also that perhaps she deserves some comfort, some form of escape, some small measure of a life outside St. Jude, even if it is only in her mind.

  He kisses her goodnight and she hugs him tight. She holds him there longer than he would like, but he doesn’t try to extricate himself. Finally she looks up into his eyes, smiles a little drunken smile and goes into her room. He shuts the door.

  Grateful to be alone at last, Gerry crawls into the single bed he slept in as a boy. He cannot remember when he was ever so exhausted. Every limb and muscle feels weary right down to his fingers and toes. He waits for sleep, craving that blessed blackness to wash over him and sweep away his thoughts, his memories, his regrets. But his mind refuses to give up his ghosts. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, its white backdrop the perfect canvas.

  The image slips into place. Annie, her body outlined in the picture window. Annie, staring out into the night, into the black void. Annie. He closes his eyes.

  9

  1999

  Annie leans back against the kitchen counter, the hard edge digging into the curve of her spine. She is thinking about her mother and what Joe, in his anger, has accidentally revealed. Annie hadn’t known that Lucinda was pregnant before she was married but, to her surprise, she finds that it doesn’t really matter. In the past, she might have held such information close, saving it for a time when she needed something to harbour against her mother. She no longer feels that way and cannot remember why she did. At present, she feels only tenderness for Lucinda, a woman whom she loves without question, yet who remains a mystery.

  Still, something doesn’t sit right. “Hang on, you two,” she says. “Do you mean to tell me that Beth is illegitimate and that Mom and Dad have been celebrating their anniversary from the wrong year to cover it up?”

  Callum and Joe, looking guilty, sit up straighter.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” Joe pushes his chair back, as if trying to escape the confines of the cold metal table legs along with Annie’s questions.