Irish Chain

by Barbara Haworth-Attard

  Aunt Ida nodded, and we climbed into the milk wagon and made our way slowly through the ruins.

  Chapter 15

  As Duncan had said, his house still stood, though one wall on the second storey had a jagged hole in it.

  “A large chunk of metal from the ship tore right through that,” Duncan’s father exclaimed. High on a ladder, he hammered a final nail into a board over a window, then climbed down. “Imagine, a piece of the ship being blown over half a mile into my upstairs bedroom.”

  Duncan’s mother was in the back porch. She fed wood into an old stove. A new gas range stood proudly in the kitchen, but as the gas was cut off, the range didn’t work. “It’s a good thing I kept this old stove back here,” she said. She heated water to wash our faces and warmed bricks to place in our beds.

  Two mattresses were dragged into the corner of the kitchen nearest the porch. Patrick took one, and Catherine and I the other. She instantly fell asleep. I watched her for a few minutes, the way she clutched the doll even in her exhaustion. Where was the sharp-tongued Catherine? She had followed me meekly all day, her words kept for the doll. Despite all that had happened, Catherine’s behaviour unsettled me the most.

  I lay back, but my brain wouldn’t stop. It wanted to go over every wrecked building, every ruined body, every wretched detail, again and again. Bertie. Had I really seen him in the hospital? I was so sure, but Mary and Aunt Ida both said they hadn’t come across him when they’d searched for us.

  A piece of wood cracked loudly in the stove, and I jumped, my heart thudding.

  “It’s nothing, Rose,” Aunt Ida said. “Get some rest.”

  I lay back down and stretched my feet toward the warm brick, but couldn’t relax. I listened to Aunt Ida, Duncan and his parents talking.

  “It was the Germans who did it,” Mr. MacDonald said. “Sabotage. They set that fire on board the ship.”

  The secret pushed insistently at me.

  “I think it was an accident,” Aunt Ida said. “The ships collided. I heard the Mont Blanc had munitions on board, TNT, explosives. That’s what caused it.”

  “I heard they both had a clear lane in the harbour. How could they run into each other?” Mrs. MacDonald exclaimed.

  “I guess someone made a mistake,” Aunt Ida said.

  “I heard the police are rounding up all the Germans,” Duncan added. “People want them arrested until they know who did it.”

  “That’s not right,” Aunt Ida protested.

  “Maybe not, but that’s what they’re doing.”

  Until they know who did it.

  Abruptly, I fell into a darkness that, mercifully, carried no dreams.

  For the next two days I only opened my eyes to have a little tea and bread and use the chamber pot, before I fell asleep again. I was aware of people about me—Catherine sharing the mattress, food cooked, the stove stoked, voices—but I didn’t want to be part of that world anymore, so I kept my eyes closed.

  “She’s exhausted,” I heard Aunt Ida say. “Let her sleep. It’ll help her arm to heal faster.”

  The morning of the third day, Aunt Ida shook my shoulder and wouldn’t stop until I pried open my eyes.

  “Rose, you have to get up now. You’ve slept enough.”

  I shook my head. With the windows all boarded up, the kitchen was sunk in permanent gloom. I could pretend it was still night.

  “Yes, Rose,” she insisted.

  It was safe here, inside sleep where there were no thoughts, no pain, no heartache and no secret.

  “Rose,” Aunt Ida said firmly, “you have to wake up.”

  I opened my eyes, and the secret exploded into my brain. I knew who had caused the explosion. Please, God, make it so I don’t have to go to school. I had asked and He had answered. But I couldn’t let anyone else know. I couldn’t stand it if no one loved me anymore. I’d lost so much already.

  I choked down a glass of milk, while Catherine toasted me a slice of bread. I picked at it, but my throat closed.

  “I can’t eat it,” I told Aunt Ida.

  “Never mind. Perhaps later,” she said.

  Patrick brought in an armful of wood for Mrs. MacDonald. He appeared thinner, his cheeks hollow. Aunt Ida shooed him from the kitchen and filled a tin tub with warm water. She helped me into it. I felt shaky, like I’d been ill for a long time.

  Aunt Ida peeled back the bandage from my arm and examined the cut. “It’s looking quite good,” she announced with satisfaction. “I’ll take you to a nursing station in a few days to get those stitches taken out.”

  “Where’s Mary?” I asked. I made my sentences short, afraid the secret would fly from my tongue.

  “She’s gone to the relief office to see about a place for us to stay for a while. I’m not sure how she will do.”

  “Now, there’s no hurry,” Mrs. McDonald protested.

  “You’ve been so good to us, but we can’t stay indefinitely,” Aunt Ida said. She lathered my hair gently with soap, then exclaimed over a piece of glass she had to pull from my head. “Duncan is still helping with the rescue. He’s not had a moment’s rest.”

  “He’s ferrying around the big American doctors,” Mrs. MacDonald put in proudly.

  “Yes, Rose. The city of Boston sent us trainloads of medical supplies and doctors and nurses. They’ve truly been wonderful to us. Shipments of window glass are on their way. Everyone in Canada and the United States is helping. An American eye doctor is examining Ernest later today. Eventually they’ll fit him for a glass eye.” Her voice broke momentarily.

  “At least there’s no shortage of food or clothing now that things are organized,” Duncan’s mother said. “I’ll send Patrick and Catherine down to get us some groceries, though she isn’t much use that one. Doesn’t know her way around a kitchen. I doubt she has ever boiled a pot of water!”

  I climbed from the tub and dried myself in front of the stove. It didn’t seem possible, but my legs and arms looked skinnier than ever.

  “Her grandmother had a maid,” I said. Just like I was going to be, a million years ago.

  Aunt Ida gently pulled a comb through my tangles, stopping now and then to work a piece of glass from my scalp. “Your hair dries quickly,” she said. “I envy you. It takes me all day to dry mine.” She turned me around and looked me over. “Now, there’s the girl I know.” She tried to smile but her lips quivered. Such haunted eyes, filled with the loss of Uncle James and the others. Ashamed, I lowered my own. I knew who had done this to her. Suddenly, she pulled me to her, and I felt her shoulders heave. After a moment, she let me go and dabbed at her eyes with the towel.

  “Look at me, now, going all to pieces. Sorry, Rose. Lately, it just takes me unawares.

  “I’m going to see Ernest this morning, if you’d like to come with me,” she went on. “I took the train to Truro to see Winnie yesterday. The doctor says she’s doing well, though she does look very peaky. She asked if you could come next time and tell her stories. About the Irish Chain quilt, she said.

  “I also saw Sister Therese, who said you must be sure to stop by and visit her when you go to see Ernest. She’s lending a hand at the hospital. She also said that you were quite a heroine. She says you saved a lot of girls’ lives. I told her it was only what we would expect you to do.”

  “I’m still a bit tired,” I lied. “I think I’ll stay here. Or I could help Patrick get the groceries, and get some fresh air. That would be good for me, the fresh air,” I added desperately. I couldn’t face Ernest and his wrecked eye. And how could I tell Winnie stories about the Irish Chain quilt? No doubt it had burned in the fire, and besides, I no longer had the right to tell stories of brave Great-grandmother Rose. I had destroyed our house, killed Da, Fred, Mam, Uncle James, Granny and Grandpa, and Patrick’s parents, and put Ernest and Winnie in the hospital. And lost Bertie. And I didn’t have the gumption to tell anyone. My legs and arms trembled violently. Aunt Ida made a move toward me, but I quickly bent to tidy the bed, and she held back.<
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  “Perhaps it’s for the best. You need time to recover,” she said after a moment.

  Duncan’s mother handed me a list of what to ask for at the food depot. “If you look in the back porch, you’ll find an old sled of Duncan’s to use to bring the parcels home, though I understand it’s more ice than snow out there today. First a blizzard, then an ice storm, though it’s hard to tell what is going on with the windows all boarded up. I’ll be glad to get glass and get things back to normal.”

  Normal. I no longer knew what normal was, but I nodded, draping the nurse’s cape over my shoulders and fastening the clasp. As I did, I realized I would have to go back to the hospital to return it. Maybe I could sneak in and out without anyone noticing me.

  “Rose, see if you can find a coat to fit you at the depot,” Aunt Ida said, echoing my thoughts. “A black or dark coat,” she added.

  For mourning, I knew.

  “And, I guess, anything else you can find to fit yourself, Winnie and the boys, or rather, Ernest . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t know what to tell you to get,” she suddenly cried. “There’s nothing left, and I don’t know what you need.” She buried her face in her hands. A tremor of unease went through me. What would happen to us if Aunt Ida got sick? What if she couldn’t take care of us? We’d have to go to an orphanage.

  Mrs. MacDonald put an arm around Aunt Ida’s shoulders. “There, there, dear. Hard times, but it’ll get better.”

  “It couldn’t get much worse, could it?” Aunt Ida said. She fought to steady her voice. “Get some underclothes for yourself and Catherine. Stockings. A couple of nightgowns. If you give me the list, I’ll write what to get.”

  I handed the list to her and went to the back porch to find the sled. I wiped cobwebs from the runners, then went back in to get the list. Paper in hand, I dragged the sled down the porch steps to where Catherine and Patrick waited.

  “Why don’t you leave the doll here,” I said to Catherine. For some reason, seeing her cradle the toy so tenderly made me mad.

  Catherine’s eyes widened in surprise at my sharp tone. “I have to take care of her,” she said. She tucked the doll into the crook of her arm.

  Patrick snatched the paper out of my hand. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s a list Mrs. MacDonald gave to me of things to get.” I tried to grab it back, but he held it out of reach.

  “Why did she give it to you?” he asked scornfully. “You can’t read it. You’re simple.”

  He was right back to being hateful Patrick. I lunged at him and wrapped my arms around his legs, and we fell over in a heap. I began to hit him with my fists. He protected his head with upraised arms and started yelling. Catherine stood in one spot and shrieked loudly, but I kept pounding away. My arm hurt fiercely, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Stop! Stop it, Rose.” Aunt Ida ran down the porch steps. “You’ll open that cut again.”

  Strong arms lifted me off Patrick and held me tight. I began to scream—

  “Stop that racket right now,” a man’s voice ordered.

  Every muscle in my body froze solid as if I’d been dipped in water and left out in the cold. I couldn’t move. Neither could anyone else: Aunt Ida stared with wide eyes, Patrick lay motionless on the ground where I’d toppled him, Catherine’s last shriek echoed in the crisp air, then died away.

  “That’s better.” The arms let me go.

  I turned to see Uncle James.

  Aunt Ida melted first. She moaned, then put a hand to her mouth. “What are you doing here?” Tears spilled over her cheeks.

  Uncle James swept her into a big hug. Patrick scrambled to his feet and ran over to him, but I took a step backward. A ghost?

  Uncle James turned to me. “Rose? Don’t I get a hug?”

  I shook my head. If I touched him, he’d disappear again, like smoke or mist—like Da or Fred.

  Aunt Ida’s hand clasped in his, Uncle James knelt in front of me. “I’m real,” he assured me.

  I threw my arms around his neck. He was real.

  “Tell me why you were beating up Patrick. Your Mam wouldn’t be pleased to see you fighting a boy.”

  “Mam’s dead,” I said shortly.

  “Dead?” Uncle James repeated. He picked me up like I was Bertie.

  “Come in where it’s warm,” Aunt Ida said. She clutched his coat. I doubted she’d ever let go of him again. We all crowded into the kitchen. Uncle James set me on a chair at the table.

  “Bless me. Bless me.” Mrs. MacDonald bustled to the stove and put on the kettle. “Bless me. Bless me.”

  “I looked for you everywhere,” Aunt Ida said. Her eyes never left his face. I knew she was afraid he’d vanish.

  “The force of the explosion carried me away,” he said. “I got a terrific whack on the head, almost split it open, but I have a strong skull.” He rapped his head.

  I knew he was trying to make light of his injury to save Aunt Ida any distress.

  “I lost my memory for a while. I was told I was found wandering around near Rockhead Prison. I still don’t remember that part at all. They’d made a sort of hospital there at the prison, and they kept me in bed for a couple of days. Finally, this morning, I remembered who I was. I went home looking for you, Ida. Not much left of it, is there. Nothing left at all of Michael’s or the old folks’ places. I was setting out to search the hospitals, when I met Mr. Neeson. He told me he heard you were staying here with the MacDonalds.” He reached out and gripped Aunt Ida’s hand. “I was awful glad to hear you were safe,” he said gruffly. “I’ve been sick with worry.”

  My mind had been working the whole time he talked. “But you were on the docks like Da and Fred . . .” I began excitedly.

  “No. Fred and Michael and Lyle—they were all at the waterfront loading ships. I was on the night shift, so I was finished work and on my way home. I stopped to watch the ships burn with the others, then decided I needed my bed more. I was a good piece away from the docks when the explosion happened. Probably the only thing that saved me. No one at the waterfront could have survived. No one. They wouldn’t have felt a thing, Rose, it happened so fast.” His shoulders slumped and I saw how tired his face was. Aunt Ida saw it, too.

  “I’ll get you a cup of tea. Warm you up,” she said.

  “Who’s left, then?” Uncle James asked quietly.

  “Well, these two you can see in front of you. Bruises and bumps, but they’ll do,” Aunt Ida said. “Ernest is in the hospital; he lost an eye. Winnie was badly hurt; she had an operation, but she’s coming along fine. She’s in hospital in Truro. Mary’s at the relief office seeing about a place for us to stay.”

  “That’s all?” said Uncle James after a moment.

  Aunt Ida bit her lip and nodded. “Your folks are at the Chebucto Road School. They’ve made it into a mortuary. We found them there. Alice and Helen, also.”

  “And I saw Bertie at the hospital,” I announced.

  “Oh, Rose,” Aunt Ida said.

  “I did,” I said stubbornly. “I saw him in a bed halfway down the ward.”

  “You were fainting,” Patrick jeered. “You couldn’t see anything.”

  “I saw him.”

  “What were you two fighting about when I came up?” Uncle James asked in an attempt to stave off a new argument.

  “He grabbed a list of supplies Mrs. MacDonald gave to me to take to the relief depot!” I said heatedly.

  “You can’t even read, so what’s the point of you having the list?” Patrick argued.

  “Because it was given to me!”

  “Give her back the list,” Uncle James ordered. “And you both go and get the supplies.”

  “She’s slow, Uncle James. She can’t even read it. It’ll take forever to get everything,” Patrick whined.

  “That’s why I hit him. Because he said I’m slow.”

  I was slow. Simple. Retarded. All those words Sister Frances, Patrick and Catherine threw out at me. And because I was slow, I ha
d caused the explosion. I hated Patrick, but mostly I hated myself.

  Chapter 16

  We bunched in a small group around the open grave, its black soil piled high against the white snow. In the pine box next to the hole was Mam. There was no laying out of the body in a parlour, no church in which to have a funeral Mass; there were no songs, no stories told. When Mam’s mother died the house had been full of people. Stories were told about Grandma. Mam said stories were memories, a way to hold on to lost ones.

  There were so many dead to be buried, Father McManus spent his days at the cemetery. While he intoned the solemn words, the sound of shovels rang on frozen ground, the soldiers hard-pressed to dig the many graves needed.

  Wind swirled about my legs, but I didn’t feel the cold. The undertakers’ helpers did, though. They shifted from foot to foot, anxious to get the service over so they could snatch a moment of warmth before the next burial. Undertakers had come from as far as Toronto to help bury our dead. Two soldiers stood quietly nearby, hats in hands, shovels at their feet. They would cover Mam up after we left. I noticed all this because I didn’t want to look at the pine box.

  An extra hard gust of wind threatened to wrench away Aunt Ida’s hat, and we crowded closer together. Yet another blizzard had swept down on Halifax, further hampering the rescue efforts. Except there wasn’t anyone left to rescue. Only the dead to find.

  Father McManus rushed the last words of the service. The box was lowered into the hole by the undertakers and soldiers. Mary threw a handful of dirt on top, then I did, too. Father shook Uncle James’s hand, murmured a few words to Aunt Ida and left.

  I stared down at the pine box, the frozen clumps of dirt on top. I felt lost. Utterly lost. Aunt Ida beside me; Uncle James, Patrick, Catherine, Mary and Duncan nearby—yet I was alone. Things can change in a minute, Mam had told me. I didn’t know she meant an entire life.

  There was only Mam in the grave, but the marker would say Mam, Da and Fred’s names. Aunt Ida and Uncle James had wanted to put Bertie’s name there, too, but I had argued so heatedly against it, they’d said they would wait a while. With so many markers to be carved, it would be a long time before this one was ready, anyway.