She smiled at me in an “aren’t I a good girl” way that made my blood run cold.
“Did you use the pillow?”
“That’s right.”
Even trying to suffocate somebody as weak as Tormod probably was a needed determination and strength of conviction that no soft words of it didn’t hurt could justify. She was a frightening woman.
She brushed at her coat in a matter-of-fact manner, then suddenly stood up and raised her arms sideward. “If God wants me, He will take me.”
A fierce gust of wind caught her. She staggered, lost her balance, and with a shriek, she fell over backwards. There was nothing I could do. I dropped on my belly and scrabbled to the edge of the cliff, holding onto the sides as best I could. I was in time to see her hit the sea. Her coat billowed around her but, after a momentary thrashing with her arms, she didn’t struggle. Either she was stunned by the impact or she was intent on death. A wave came and slammed her into the rocks, then pulled her out on the ebb, and then slammed her again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It was more than four hours later before I could leave the scene. The cliff was too steep for the lighthouse attendants to climb down safely, and they had to send for a boat to come around the headland and collect the body, which was drifting out to sea. There was nothing we could do. Andy was distraught, and I sat with him while he sobbed and went over and over what had happened between them. He was consumed with guilt for going along with the deceptions of Friday night. I didn’t tell him about Coral-Lyn confessing to the murder of his grandfather. That would have to come from the officer who would be in charge of the case. The local constable arrived, then reinforcements from Stornoway, because there started to be a buildup of onlookers. Gillies came with them and good old Dr. MacBeth, who immediately shot Andy full of tranquillizers and took him off somewhere. I was very glad to see Gill. The local constable was tense and inexperienced, and he seemed to be blaming me for precipitating the suicide.
“You chased her?” he’d asked in an incredulous tone of voice. I didn’t need that. Would it have made a difference if I hadn’t run after her? Rationally, I knew it wouldn’t, but in the same way as Andy, I kept playing the last scene over and over again in my mind. What if I’d said something else? If I’d steered her away from talking about the murder? I poured all this out to Gill, who just let me talk it through, including my feeling that Coral-Lyn had created her own primitive justice and, in a weird way, I admired her for it. Together we checked the trunk of the Nissan and found, unwrapped, a green tweed cushion, heavily stained. There was a small possibility that Coral-Lyn was delusional and that Tormod had coughed blood into the pillow, but from what I’d seen in the bedroom, I accepted her version. She must have cleaned everything up in an attempt to erase all traces of her presence. An interesting mix of sanity and insanity. Gill impounded the car and said he’d have Tormod’s body exhumed immediately. The forensic evidence would show conclusively what had happened.
Finally, it was all over. Coral-Lyn’s body was recovered and the boat disappeared. The sea was rough, and they had a hard time getting out of the cove. The lighthouse attendants and the few tourists who had come to see the scenery started to move away, all of them subdued by the tragedy.
“What are you going to do now?” Gill asked me.
“I’m going to Duncan MacKenzie’s.” I thought I owed it to Joan to tell her what had transpired. She didn’t know that a whisper of suspicion about her had fluttered across my mind, but I knew. And to tell the truth, I wanted to be with her.
The wind was pulling at my face. I was cold and dead tired — an aftermath of adrenaline outpouring. Gill pulled me close to him, and for a moment I was warm in his arms.
“I already know better than to tell you not to drive by yourself, but you’ve got my mobile number. Ring me later, will you?”
“Of course.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“Tapadh leat,” I answered in my best Gaelic.
He let go.
The drive back to Carloway was at a much saner speed. I had the windows wide open for a long time. I tuned the radio to a Gaelic station and distracted myself by trying to see if I understood what the announcer was saying. I didn’t.
Finally, I turned into Duncan’s farm and the dogs came racing over, barking. As soon as they recognized me, they each gave me a perfunctory tail wag, then ran off again to take care of business, which seemed to be hanging out in front of the barn. I pulled over into a parking space just as Duncan came out of the shop.
“Hi. Is Joan in the house?”
“She is not. She’s gone for a walk over to the cove.”
“How long will she be gone do you think?”
“She only just left. We heard about the American girl. What a terrible thing. Was it true you were there? Dorinda MacLeod rang us, but she’d heard it from Will MacIver, who helps out at the lighthouse, so we didn’t know what was true and what was made up.”
“I was there.”
Something must have showed on my face, because his tone became less brusque.
“Aye. That must have been a terrible thing then, no mind ye’re with the polis.”
“It was.” I got out of the car. “I’ll take a walk myself. Which way to the cove?”
He pointed. “Take that footpath.” He checked his wristwatch. “I’d come with you meself, but I’ve got to get my stock unpacked.”
Thank God for that.
“You’ll be after needing proper shoes. It’s a decent hike.”
I thrust out my foot. “Good, sturdy walking shoes, made to order.”
“Aye. Your mother’s still not quite herself. Take mind.”
I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so I just nodded and set off across the yard towards the gate. Nic, no longer limping, started after me.
“Can she come?”
“Aye. Just don’t let her talk you into throwing sticks. I don’t want her coming down lame again.”
The rain had stopped, and even though the air was damp and on the chilly side, it was so fresh I was forced to take some deep breaths. With the border collie bounding ahead, I set off along the path, aware that Duncan was watching me — and aware of his disapproval.
The footpath wound up and around a hill that was dotted with clumps of dainty pink wildflowers. The ubiquitous sheep looked up warily at the sight of the dog, but Nic, knowing she was off-duty, ignored them and trotted ahead of me, like a normal dog, not a halfling. At the top of the hill, I paused. To the left, several low, humpbacked islands rose out of the slate-grey sea, and all along the curving headland to both right and left the waves crashed against the rocks in white spumes. The narrow footpath divided here, and I wouldn’t have known which direction to go in, but Nic had bounded on ahead and was waiting for me. Left it was then.
Duncan had described it as “a decent walk,” and that was one way to put it. After a good twenty minutes of clambering over rocky outcrops and dipping down and then up hills, I would have called it an “indecent” walk. Suddenly Nic halted and peered down over the cliff edge, wagging her tail enthusiastically. Then she jumped down and disappeared. We’d found Joan.
She was sitting on a rock at the bottom of a deep cleft. The sea surged in, then quieted down, splashed against the rocks, then withdrew. Joan was petting the dog and she looked up and saw me standing there. There was joy in her face that touched me straight in the heart.
I climbed down to join her, having to jump from rock to rock like an arthritic elk. When I got close to her, she called out.
“Are you all right, Chris? We heard what happened.”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
I didn’t sit down, and she remained on the outcrop, hugging her knees.
“We heard Coral-Lyn Pitchers threw herself over the cliffs and that you’d tried to stop her.”
“I guess that’s it in a nutshell.”
“You’ve always been a brave girl.”
I’d never heard tha
t from her before, and it was sweet to hear, even though I wasn’t entirely sure it was true. She picked up a piece of driftwood and tossed it into the sea for Nic who gave an excited yelp and dived after it.
“Duncan said he doesn’t want her chasing sticks.”
She shrugged. “She’s all right.”
The dog climbed out, shook herself, showering me with cold water, and dropped the piece of wood at my feet, staring at it until the second it moved. I threw it out for her.
I squatted down on the rock. The thick moss was amazingly soft, and down here we were sheltered from the wind. Joan waved her hand in the direction of the sea.
“I used to come here all the time. You’ve never lived on an island, and Lake Ontario doesn’t cut it.” She was searching for words. “Here, the sea is always around you, so you never stop feeling its presence, and it’s got moods, same as people have moods. Sometimes it acts all mad, as if doesn’t give a shit whether you live or die; other times it’s as gentle as a loving mother. Out there, past the cove, it’s wild, but when I sat here on this selfsame rock, I used to believe I’d tamed it like you tame a wild creature. No matter how much it bucked and chafed against the walls of the cliffs, by the time it got to me, it was quiet and it couldn’t hurt me. So we’d talk, the sea and me.”
Beyond where we were, the sea stretched, restless and powerful out to the horizon. White caps topped the waves. Here in the cove, the edges of the rocks were worn smooth and round by the winds and as the sea surged through the opening, it was forced to quiet down, until near our feet it was splashing softly on the submerged rocks.
Joan took a quick glance at me to see how I was reacting. Seeing my expression reassured her and she visibly relaxed.
“When my stepmother ruled the roost, whenever I could, I’d run off and come here. I’d fix on one of the waves that was coming in and imagine that was my mammy out there, sitting on the foam like a mermaid. I’d watch while she rolled in, and then she’d come through the gap and eventually that wave would splash against my rock. I’d lean down so the spray would hit my face, and I’d pretend it was Mammy, licking me the way a bitch licks her pup. The salty taste was because she was crying for me.”
She was silent and I waited for those memories to subside a little.
“Things must have rough for you. I don’t know anything about it. You just gave me all those stories about having no family and your parents being dead.” I reached over and touched her shoulder. “Joan, I’m not reproaching you or blaming you at the moment, but you can imagine I was taken aback when I saw that photo and Mrs. MacNeil told me the story. An entire family exists that I had no knowledge of. Sarah MacDonald isn’t just a traffic-accident fatality, she is related to me by blood, one way or another.”
Joan sighed. “I suppose you’ve figured it out, knowing you.”
“She was your child, not your stepmother’s?”
“She was.” Her eyes teared up and she wiped at them with the end of the scarf.
“And Pappy was Tormod MacAulay?”
“You’re a clever clogs, aren’t you.”
“That’s why you came back here, wasn’t it? To let both him and Sarah know about their relationship?”
“Clever again.” She sat for a moment staring out at the sea swaying and surging along the foot of the cliffs outside the perimeter of the cove. I could hear sea birds crying overhead.
“So, after all these years, you decided to put things right... ”
“Charlene calls it getting closure,” she said primly.
“Right, closure. So you came home and you went out to see Tormod?”
Her sigh was heart-wrenching. “I did.”
“What I don’t understand though, is where you were in all of this? You were confronting the man who in many ways ruined your life. He’d taken advantage of you. He was a close relative, older, not to mention a married man. You must have hated him for what he did to you.”
She swivelled her head and stared at me. Her eyes were shadowed with misery.
“Oh, Chris, you couldn’t be more wrong. Tormod MacAulay was the love of my life.”
CHAPTER FORTY
It was my turn to be shocked. I don’t know what I’d expected, but there was no doubt that this time she was speaking the truth.
“That’s not what you said before.” A lame remark, I must admit.
She actually gave me a little grin, almost mischievous. “I said I didn’t like him. You made an assumption.”
“Oh cut it out, Joan. You were deliberately misleading me.”
She flashed me a contrite look. “You’re right, I was. I was too upset. I just didn’t want you to know how I felt.”
I realized how much she had learned to protect herself from me. That was not a good feeling.
“So what do you mean when you say he was the love of your life? I thought that role was ascribed to Duncan.”
She didn’t miss the edge in my voice that I’m ashamed to say slipped through. Hey, old grievances don’t disappear overnight. We’d gone through at least three major enthusiasms in my lifetime.
“Duncan and I were teenagers. You always think you’re Romeo and Juliet at that age.”
Nic came back from stick-fetching and drenched me again. Joan was about to throw another stick and I caught her hand.
“Will you stop that for a minute. I’m getting soaked, she looks like she’s limping again, and I want to talk seriously to you.”
She actually looked afraid, and I tried to temper my irritation.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get snippy with you, but it’s maddening when you give me half-answers like this.”
“All right, but let me tell it in my own way, will you? Don’t correct my grammar every five minutes.”
An exaggeration, but I winced.
“Okay. Go ahead. I’ll listen. But I don’t understand. You just said Tormod was the love of your life, but you had a child by him when you were, what? Fourteen?”
“Sarah was born two weeks before my fifteenth birthday.” She sighed. “I never really knew her the way a mother knows a child, but I am so very sad that she is dead. I was hoping that we could at least become friends.”
Nic had been waiting patiently, and she jumped up, came over to Joan, and started to nuzzle her hand. Joan buried her face in the dog’s fur for a moment.
“I was one of those girls who blossom early into adolescence. Not like you. You were late. You might not think so now, but I was considered a pretty girl. Suddenly, it seemed to me, when I was hardly thirteen, all sorts of boys — and men for that matter — were looking at me differently.” Joan smoothed the baggy raincoat over her knees. “Annie watched me like a hawk as soon as I started to bud and the lads were coming around. She soon twigged that I’d got preggies. ‘Who did this to you? Who’s the father?’ I’ll never forget that afternoon. She’d come into my room and she was quiet, almost sympathetic. I was scared to death. I knew what was happening to me and I was just a kid. So I told her... and did she sing a different tune. ‘You wicked, wicked girl.’ Slap, slap. ‘How could you try to drag this good man into your own disgrace.’ She was related to Tormod by marriage, you see, and she couldn’t bear to think of the shame this would bring on her family. I never mentioned his name again. I lied and said it was really some German lad who was working on the trawlers. Then she told my Pappy — not about Tormod, though — and he beat me with his belt until I was screaming so loud Annie had to stop him. I prayed I would miscarry after that, but no such luck. Remember, the attitude towards abortions was different from what it is nowadays. No local doctor would have performed one. So... I was locked in my room for two days —I’ll tell you about that another time.
“They came up with a scheme. I was to be sent off to the mainland to one of the church-run homes for unwed mothers.... Oh Lord, defend me forever again against the righteous.... Annie would put it out that she was pregnant and then claim the child was hers. She’d been desperate for a bairn ever since they
married. So that’s what happened.” Joan stuffed her fists under her raincoat, making it swell out. “She even took to padding her clothes so she would look pregnant... The baby was born and she came and got her, making up some story about going into labour while she was visiting me. The islanders aren’t stupid. I don’t know how many people she really fooled. Anyway, surprise, surprise, she took to Sarah as if she really was her own child, and I was pushed out even more.
“I came home one more time only. Nobody would talk to me — not my brothers, not my Pappy. And I couldn’t stand watching that mean cow make such a fuss over the baby. My baby that I wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with. I never went back, and when I could legally leave school, I did. I got a job in a hair-dressing salon, sweeping the floor. Then I met the Cohens, accepted the position of a nanny, and the rest, as they say, is history.
“Did Tormod know you’d had his child?”
She hesitated. “I didn’t tell him and he didn’t ask.”
“Naturally, then he wouldn’t have to take responsibility.”
I could feel myself getting all judgemental again, so I picked up the stick and threw it for Nic
“I didn’t really want to tell him, anyway,” she continued. “If the truth had come out, it would have ruined his life. He wouldn’t have been able to stay on the island. Especially in those days, people wouldn’t have tolerated him.” She stroked the scarf so tenderly, I guessed it must have belonged to Tormod. Lisa had missed that one.
“So I was your second pregnancy without benefit of clergy. That must have really sent them off the deep end. I assume they did know, which was why you got disinherited and declared missing in Canada.”
Does Your Mother Know? Page 27
