Mercy of St Jude

by Wilhelmina Fitzpatrick

  “But where can she go? She’s too sick to go back home, and there’s—”

  Her hand sliced the air between them. “I wasn’t awake half the night for nothing. I’m hoping she can stay at St. Agatha’s until she’s recovered.”

  “I thought she was only allowed to stay a week after the baby was born?”

  “I’m sure they’ll make an exception. We’ll pay dearly but they’ll agree, especially if it’s for the future of that child. It’s going to be ringing up a lot of bills.”

  Callum deliberately kept his focus on the snow-covered road ahead. “She,” he said.

  “She? She what?” Judith asked impatiently.

  “You said ‘it.’ She’s not an ‘it, ’ she’s a baby girl.”

  He could feel her silent antagonism across the seat.

  “As for Mercedes,” Judith finally said. “We could have her tutored. Some of the best people have their children tutored, and those nuns are more educated than most. Afterwards she could go to university and finally take care of herself.”

  “And where would we get the money for all this?”

  “You know damn well where we’ll get the money.”

  “Dear old Dad keeps on coming through, doesn’t he?” The car sped faster.

  “Slow down!” In one breath, her voice softened. “Does it matter where the money comes from? If I can convince the Sisters, leave that part to me, okay?”

  The temptation to make all of it as right as possible, to take everything he could get for Mercedes, was too great. “She could be a teacher like she always dreamed.”

  “Only if she agrees completely to do as I say.”

  He felt a ripple of excitement. Judith could never understand the magnitude of that dream but she was willing to pay for it to make Mercedes go away. It was an easy concession to make with the weight of the Maclean fortune behind her. Funny, he thought, how little money mattered to one for whom it meant so much.

  They pulled up in front of St. Agatha’s. As he got out of the car he glanced up to the second-floor window where Mercedes lay waiting for whatever fate God, and they, had in store for her. He opened Judith’s door.

  She didn’t move. “Do we have a deal?”

  The icy air felt sharp in his lungs, but it did nothing to deaden the pain of what he had to do to his sister. “Yes, and may God have mercy on our souls.”

  She eyed him coldly, then took his hand and stepped from the car.

  “Can I have some time alone with her first?” he asked once they were inside.

  Judith looked at her watch. “Five minutes.”

  Knowing she’d be keeping time, Callum hurried upstairs. Sister Mary Margaret seemed to sense his urgency and immediately left the room.

  Callum kissed Mercedes’ forehead. Her eyes opened. “Callum, you’re here.”

  “How are you, Mercie? Are you in pain?”

  “How’s my baby? Is she gone yet? Did they take her away already?”

  Callum put his finger to his lips. “I only got a couple of minutes before Judith comes in. Remember what you asked about my adopting the baby. I know I said we couldn’t but I worked out a deal with Judith so I can.”

  Her eyes widened with hope. “Oh, my God, Callum, thank you.”

  “But you have to agree to what she wants.” His voice was rushed.

  “I’ll do anything if we can keep her.”

  “She’s got conditions. I don’t like them and neither will you.

  Just remember, I’ll be the baby’s father. Maybe over time Judith will mellow and I’ll try to change things. But can you accept them for today? Because I don’t know what else to do.”

  “It’s that bad?” The hope in her voice had almost disappeared. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t even meet her eyes.

  “You told her?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Merce, I had to. But she thinks it was me that did him in and we got to keep it that way. She’s got too much to lose if it’s her own husband.”

  They could hear footsteps approaching. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Callum, even if it does feel like a deal with the devil. As long as I know she’s under your roof.”

  Judith walked in. “Hello, Mercedes. How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” she answered timidly.

  “Callum told me what happened - the truth this time. I am sorry for all you’ve gone through.” Judith raised her arm, palm outstretched, towards Callum. Puzzled, he took her hand. She continued in the same cold, formal tone. “Your brother wants to adopt the baby. I’m willing to comply but you must agree to several provisions.”

  Mercedes nodded.

  Judith let go of Callum’s hand. “I’ll come straight to the point.”

  And she did, issuing conditions and ultimatums. There would be no negotiating: it was an all-or-nothing deal.

  “Always remember,” she said finally. “I know the facts now.

  If the truth ever came out, if people ever knew what the two of you did that night, it would destroy your brother.” Judith levelled her gaze on Mercedes. “You wouldn’t want that, would you? Especially after all my husband and I have done for you.”

  She took her leather gloves from her pocket. “One more thing.

  I’ll be leaving a letter with my father’s attorney and one with my sister outlining everything that happened to Paddy Griffin.” She paused. “And to your father.”

  Mercedes shrank down into the blankets.

  “They’ll be instructed what to do should my daughter ever discover who gave birth to her, even after I’m dead. When I say she will never know, I do mean never.”

  Judith leaned in close to Mercedes. Her words, when they came, were spoken slowly, each syllable clearly articulated. “She will never be your daughter. For your brother’s sake, and hers, don’t ever forget that.”

  Callum looked at this woman who was his wife, who would be the mother to Mercedes’ only child. And he looked at Mercedes, who had done nothing wrong in her sixteen years but who was at the mercy of that same woman. They both were, he realized. They could never go back now. Judith knew too much. If she ever thought it necessary, if she ever felt threatened, she would not hesitate to ruin both of them. Then who would take care of Mercedes’ baby?

  That’s when he understood. There was no true justice in the world. There was no fair play and certainly no rewards for the likes of him and his sister. Judith would never mellow. No amount of time would ease her barren bitterness.

  Callum decided then and there that safeguarding his family was the only thing left to him worth doing. No matter the cost, he would protect Mercedes and her baby.

  Mercedes agreed to live by Judith’s conditions. In the end, it was a simple decision. She had no choice.

  16

  Despite everything that had happened to her, Mercedes recovered quickly. And although she would have been happy to stay with the Sisters forever, once she’d completed high school Sister Ignatius told her it was time to go forward with her life. With Callum’s encouragement, she moved to Nova Scotia and became a teacher.

  Mercedes was not looking for a husband. In her mind, she was as happy as she could rightly expect to be, teaching and studying. Louis Cunningham convinced her otherwise. After all, he said, he was willing to forgo his family’s dreams and give up the priesthood. What bigger sacrifice could he make to prove his devotion, his commitment to her? Mercedes, encouraged by Callum yet again, dared to believe him.

  In the doctor’s office, with Louis by her side, Mercedes received the results of her blood test. She had venereal disease.

  It was a shock, of course. At first. But as the doctor continued, his voice bristling with contempt as he discussed causes and symptoms and treatment, Mercedes remembered the recurring rashes, the fatigue, the headaches. She’d ignored them all. Eventually they’d gone away.

  When she managed to find her voice again, she tried to explain. Louis Cunningham would not listen. He could barely stay in the room as she told him about the rape. He wo
uldn’t let her finish before he marched out the door. There was no sympathy, no forgiveness, no absolution.

  Eventually, Louis became the priest his mother had always wanted him to be.

  Mercedes’ sole concern was for her daughter. She immediately contacted Sister Ignatius who tried to reassure her that, because of the Caesarean, there was less likelihood that Lucinda would have been infected. Mercedes insisted that Callum follow up with a trip to the doctor. Lucinda was fine.

  At the end of that school year, Mercedes returned to St.

  Jude. It wasn’t fondness for the town that brought her back.

  St. Jude held little appeal beyond familiarity, but at least she knew the demons that would confront her there.

  She was hired by the local school board and quickly established herself as a dedicated professional. Her no-nonsense approach ensured her a position of respect within the religious-based education system. She became known as the town spinster. The title pleased her. She had no desire to laugh or be silly, no inclination to amuse herself making girlfriends.

  Or boyfriends. She had concluded that neither the pain nor the memories would disappear, that time would not heal some wounds, and that she was stuck with her history and the consequences of it. No decent man would ever want her, and she would need no man.

  Still, there was one obstacle she couldn’t face. It was only when Mona Burke began to question her hesitation that Mercedes knew she had to deal with it.

  She chose a cool fall Saturday morning. Rising before the sun, she set off along the back trail; she did not want to meet anyone along the way. Dressed in warm clothes and sensible shoes, she made her way through the low bush at the edge of the woods, gradually heading into denser growth. She’d travelled this route often as a girl, back in the naiveté of childhood when she’d taken her environment, and her life, for granted.

  Yet somehow it seemed new, the auburn of autumn, the scarlet reds of the falling leaves, the bushes and trees in emerald and jaded greens. Nothing moved except the birds.

  The house appeared alone in the distance. She walked resolutely towards it.

  The back door was missing and most of the windows were smashed. Broken glass littered the ground. Garbage had gathered in tight piles in the windswept corners. Mercedes did not care about the exterior. She stepped over the debris and through the door.

  For years, against her will, she had pictured the freeze-frames that would slap her in the face if she ever walked into that house again. But nothing happened. Harmless memories drifted through her mind; she and Callum and Joe huddled around the stove to stay warm, Callum helping her with homework, Joe stirring porridge on cold winter mornings. It was nothing like she had dreaded for so long.

  The mattress from her father’s daybed lay on the floor. Sticking out from under it she saw a nylon stocking and a pair of soiled underwear. The bed on which Farley had sprawled drunkenly so often had been put to other uses during her absence. At the stairwell she hesitated, unsure if she was ready to take those last steps. She heard a meow. A thin black cat sashayed around her ankles, pressing his raised back into her calves. In fine feline form, the animal started up, his haunches gliding seductively. Each foot forward had a confidence, a certainty of belonging, a grace that only a cat could possess in a stranger’s house. She felt compelled to follow.

  At the top, the cat stretched and yawned, his tiny mouth opening larger than his whole face had ever seemed. He continued towards her bedroom. So did Mercedes.

  Her progress up to that point had been so smooth that she was unprepared for what happened next. She felt an immense pressure pushing against her, as if the walls were caving in, forcing her to the floor, while at the same time, her mind was bombarded with images: the bloody knife, the bloodlust in his eyes, her father’s blood, blood everywhere. She smelt again his stinking breath, felt again his body pressing against her, pushing into her, then the knife, the knife cutting.

  She clawed at the floor, afraid to open her mouth. She struggled to breathe through her nose, but it was as if no oxygen could permeate. She gagged. Nothing rose from her belly but a sour slime that burnt her throat. She stumbled from the room, down the stairs and out into the fresh, crisp air.

  When her vision cleared, she was astounded to be faced with the quiet harmony of before. How could such tranquility exist next to that house? She swung around to face it, stared hard at it, waited for it to show its true self. It stood there, harmless.

  A fresh burst of rage struck her, at once fuelled and dampened by the sheer incongruity of the place. She forced herself to go back inside. She marched upstairs. She crossed the hall, her heart beating the devil inside her chest. Nausea threatened; she shoved it back. She stopped, turned, looked inside.

  Nothing remained except the bed frame. After Callum had left that night, she’d stripped the room. The bloody mattress she’d hauled beneath the house where she hacked at it until it was just a mess of stuffing to blaze in the wood stove. She made similar work of the blankets. She scoured the walls and floors, every inch over which the bodies might have passed, and then she cleaned the rest of the house as well. By the time she was finished, two days had passed, forty-eight hours in which she’d worked her fingers past layers of skin, trying to wipe out all memory of that night.

  If only it were that easy.

  While any physical evidence may have been disposed of seven years before, nothing short of setting the house aflame could match the fire that burned within Mercedes. On her hands and knees on the bedroom floor, she searched each board for signs of blood, a smeared fingerprint, streaks of brown.

  Surely some stain would remain, some proof of her shattered life. She crawled along, her nose almost touching the floor as her fingertips traced the grain.

  Finally, she spotted an irregular darkening in the wood. She analysed this, carefully considering if something else might have caused it, something other than her father’s blood beating an arc to the floor, or Paddy’s blood, or her own.

  Convinced at last, she rose. Raising the window, she stared out at the spot where she imagined he must have spied in on her. Gathering all her saliva in her mouth, she leaned her head out and spat the whole wad in the direction of the woods. Then she shut the window and pulled the shade.

  Descending the stairs, her fury mounted again, transcending all rational impulses. The only thing that saved the house from instant incineration was her lack of a match.

  In the end she was grateful. Paddy Griffin had taken her innocence, her childhood, and any hope for a normal life. All she had left was this house and the good memories it evoked, time spent with Callum and Joe before they went away, before her life changed forever. More importantly, she had the possibility of dignity as a useful member of St. Jude. She could not allow Paddy Griffin to take that from her too.

  Over the next week Mercedes dragged every item in the house either outside to the burn pile or upstairs to her old room. There was nothing worth keeping, in her opinion, but one of her brothers might want something someday. She left that room untouched, except for the padlock she installed. She kept the key on a chain around her neck.

  Mercedes moved back into the house a month later, alone except for a large black dog that rarely left her side. The structure was actually solidly built with a good foundation, and she spent the next few years renovating it. The men she hired knocked down some walls and erected new ones. They painted and sanded, they shingled and gutted, they replaced windows and doors.

  Except the front screen door. They fixed that up as best they could, but it still had that noisy hinge, even on stormy winter nights. Mercedes wanted to know when someone was on her doorstep.

  PART THREE

  1993-1994

  17

  Since their night at Dewey’s, Gerry had left a string of messages. Annie had ignored them all. Far from playing hard to get in some coquettish game, she honestly did not want to see him. She felt she’d compromised her standards, which she might have been able to stom
ach if he hadn’t lied to her, even if it was a lie of omission.

  So when Gerry stopped by the house the next weekend when she was out in St. Jude, Annie was far from pleased, and even less so when she heard her father inviting him in. She threw her book on her bed and marched downstairs to find Gerry sitting at the table across from Dermot. Lucinda was chopping carrots at the counter.

  “And how are you today, Gerry?” Lucinda was saying. She was too polite to ask him what he was doing there but she cast a suspicious glance at Annie standing stiffly in the doorway.

  Gerry smiled. “Fine, thanks, Mrs. Byrne.” He did not look at Annie.

  “Saw your mother down at the church earlier.” Lucinda slashed open a bag of potatoes. “She must have a reservation in heaven, the time she spends in there.”

  “So Gerry,” said Dermot, giving his wife a wary eye, “do you run into many from home at the university? Nice to see a familiar face now and then, what?”

  “Yes, it sure is. Like yesterday, I ran into Cathy Green.”

  “Cathy, lovely girl, she is. And quite the looker. Too bad that Cyril Maher got to her first, eh?” Dermot said with a saucy wink.

  “Cyril’s a lucky one, all right. We had a fine talk, me and Cathy, so good we were both late for class.” He looked straight at Annie. “Some conversations are like that, especially when they’re about people you know. Right Annie?”

  Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the Byrne kitchen was so busy with people coming and going and everyday life that Annie’s discomfort would likely have gone unnoticed. But now she could feel her mother’s eyes studying her.

  “Yeah, right. You must be here for that book you wanted,”

  Annie said with as civil a tone as she could muster. “Come on downstairs.”

  She led them straight to the far corner of the cramped basement room that had served as a high school hangout. Gerry had never been there.

  He flashed a sheet of paper in her face. “Read this before you say another word.”