Mercy of St Jude (24 page)

“Paddy,” he mumbled.

She leaned forward as if she hadn't heard.

“His name is Paddy Griffin,” he repeated, forcing himself to be patient.

“Paddy. Of course, Paddy Griffin. Has anybody talked to Paddy's family?”

“I don't know, Judith.” Why did she keep saying that name, as if it was a name like any other, like Joe or Frank, benign and harmless? “I'm just glad she's here.”

“She seems a bit off to me.”

Callum crossed his arms. “How the hell would you know? You just met her.”

“Callum! Don't use that tone with me.”

“Sorry,” he said, and he was.

“I can sense there's something wrong. A woman knows these things.”

“Can't we just leave it till morning?”

“Fine.” Her nails tapped the counter. “But if there's anything to discuss, we'd best do it before she wakes up.”

He really did not want to talk. All he wanted was to go to bed and go to sleep and forget about it all for a few unconscious hours. But he realized that Judith had a point. He sat down. “You're right, Judith. Merce needs our help.”

She stopped tapping. “What exactly is going on?”

There was something antagonistic in the timbre of her voice, the haughty way she held her head, but he ignored it. He had a story to invent.

“Well, you see, there was this boy in the next town to ours,” he began.

“A boy?” Her mouth curled in a knowing smirk. “Of course, yes, a boy.”

“Anyway,” Callum continued, “they fell in love - at least Merce did - and he said he wanted to marry her. Then his parents got wind of it and shipped him off to the Brothers to finish high school. I don't think he even knows about Merce's condition.”

“Aha! So! Mercedes has a condition.”

“Yes, Judith. She's pregnant. That's why she's here.”

She threw her hands out. “And what are we supposed to do with her?”

“I'm not sure. But she's my sister and I have to help her.

There's no one else.”

“Can't we do something with it? You know what I mean, don't you?”

He caught on faster than Mercedes had. “She said that would be the most sinful thing she could do in this whole mess.”

Judith rolled her eyes. “Well, she'll have to put it up for adoption. Then she can go home and no one will ever know.”

She thought a moment. “I might have an idea.”

Callum felt an instant relief. Here, finally, was someone who could take charge, who would know what to do. Judith had a mind designed for the intricacies of life. She knew what someone meant even when they said differently, or when something insignificant mattered and when it didn't. He, on the other hand, was not good at figuring out such complexities and preferred to accept life at face value or, since he'd met Judith, take her word on it.

“Up near my uncle's hotel there's a convent, St. Agatha's, that takes in girls in this situation.” She waved her hand disdainfully. “One of the Barry girls went there.”

“That sounds like a good idea. We'll talk to Merce in the morning.” He would save the idea of adopting the baby until then, as if it had occurred to him overnight.

“I'll make some inquiries first thing.”

Callum felt suddenly drained, incapable of coherent thought. “How about we sleep on it for tonight?” He took her hand. “Thank you, Judith.”

For the first time since the nightmare began, he thought he might actually get a decent sleep.

13

“I know about the boyfriend you made up,” Mercedes whispered the next morning when Callum came to her room. “It's really easy to hear what anyone says down in the kitchen.” She paused. “But what you said earlier, about adopting?”

Judith hustled in, heels clicking on the wood floor. “Good morning.”

Callum gave a discreet shake of his head to Mercedes. “Judith, I was just telling Merce how I filled you in on everything. So now we can figure out what to do.”

Judith reached over and lifted Mercedes' chin, her freshly manicured nails pressing into the soft flesh. “I am very disappointed in you.” She dropped her hand abruptly. “Come down and we'll discuss what on earth we're going to do with you.”

Mercedes' eyes flashed for the briefest moment, then she nodded meekly and followed Judith down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Dinah Shore's “Shoo Fly Pie” filled the silence.

“Well, I don't know about pie, but breakfast sounds good.” Callum's voice was louder than he intended.

“I'm not very hungry,” Mercedes mumbled, watching Judith slice a loaf of bread.

“There's someone other than yourself to think about now,” Judith lectured.

Callum saw the tears in his sister's eyes. “You'll be good and hungry when you sees what Judith can do to a couple of eggs.” Breakfast was the one meal she could cook reasonably well. “You like scrambled, right?”

Mercedes went almost impossibly paler. She bolted from the table.

Callum started to follow but the rap of a spoon on the counter, accompanied by a curt shake of Judith's head, stopped him. He cranked up the volume on the radio.

“Go easy on her, would you, Judith?”

She slapped another slice onto a stack of toast. “There's no sense coddling her.”

“I know, but she's hardly more than a child.”

“A child! A child does not do what she did with that boy.”

A jolt of anger shot through him, but just then he heard his sister's heavy footsteps on the stairs. He switched off the radio.

Judith placed a dish of fried eggs and bacon in front of Callum and passed Mercedes some dry toast. “I thought you'd prefer something plainer.”

“Thank you,” said Mercedes gratefully.

“I suppose we'll have to go see your brother.” Judith sounded reluctant.

“Yes,” said Callum, “but we won't tell him what's going on.

He'll tell Betty and she'll tell her sister and then everyone back in Green Harbour will find out. Besides, they got enough to worry about.” He smiled at Mercedes. “It'll do Joe a world of good to see you, though.”

Judith put down her fork. “We have work to do first. And the sooner we start the easier this will be on everyone.” Her distinctive New York accent barrelled across the breakfast table to where Mercedes sat unmoving, eyes glued to a crust of toast that had fallen beside her plate. “I made some inquiries this morning, discreetly of course, about St. Agatha's. Sister Ignatius is the Mother Superior, and a nosy, bossy woman by the sound of her.” Judith's tone was contemptuous. “Full of questions about the girl and the father and the family. I made it clear that was none of her concern.”

“We don't want them angry at Merce before she even gets there,” said Callum.

“Don't worry. They're quite familiar with this sordid sort of thing. Heaven knows this has happened to better girls than you, Mercedes.”

Callum's mouth opened but one look at his wife's face and his anger died. The disturbing truth, he realized, was that Judith had meant no offence.

Judith glanced up from her notes. “Callum? Something wrong?”

There was no point arguing; she had it all figured out. And really, wasn't that what he'd hoped for? “No, nothing. Go on.”

“Anyway Mercedes, Sister Ignatius will take you in when your time is closer. Till then you can work in Uncle Harold's hotel as a chambermaid or a cook or something. The people there won't know we're related, of course. You'll be an out-of-towner who came to us through the church…”

As Judith filled in the details, Callum had the unsettling thought that he'd given power over his sister's life to someone Mercedes didn't even know, someone who, really, he didn't know all that well, either. Yes, he'd wanted Judith to take over, and, yes, he was relieved that decisions were being made, but he was beginning to wonder how they had all come to this place in time. How had he and his sister ended up sitting at this table in this house with this woman determining both their futures?

“… and you can go home and start over,” Judith finished with a self-satisfied air.

Callum looked at Mercedes. “Mercie, is this what you want?” he asked gently.

“What she wants?” Judith said incredulously. “Want has little to do with it. The bottom line is this is what she gets, and it's as good as it gets.”

“Callum, it's fine. I mean, there's no other choice, is there?” Mercedes tried to smile. “I think I'll lie down for a while.” She rose unsteadily and left the room.

“Well!” Judith crossed her arms. “A little gratitude might be nice.”

“Judith, please. Give her a break.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” She stood up. “I have work to do.”

Early in the afternoon Callum went to check on Mercedes.

She was asleep, her face like pale wax. Except for the rise and fall of her chest, her body never stirred.

Supper was a quiet affair. Judith made several stabs at conversation but eventually even she gave up. They picked at their food, the meat tough and overcooked, the potatoes crunchy in the centre.

“Should we go to your brother's tomorrow?” Judith asked when they were done with the pretence of eating. “It's too late to go now, don't you think?”

For once, Mercedes looked Judith in the eye. “Yes, it's far too late now.”

The next morning after Mass they drove to the Bronx. As they turned onto Joe's street, they saw an old car raised up on blocks. It had no windshield, no tires. Three shabbily dressed children played on the road, unsupervised. A foul odour, of sewer maybe, wafted into the car. Judith rolled up the window. Joe's apartment was at the back of a small house, past the garbage bins. Two half-rotted steps led to his door. Judith's gloved hand barely touched the rusted railing for balance.

“Joe? Joe, you home?” Callum called through the open door. Inside, he could see dirty dishes and empty beer bottles on a makeshift table.

Seconds later, Joe appeared. A smile instantly brightened his face, softening the effects of his unshaven chin and the cigarette hanging from his lips. “Cal! What a nice surprise.” The cigarette fell from his mouth. “Mercie? Is that you?” he yelled, brushing past Judith to lift a squealing Mercedes off the floor and whirl her into the house.

Callum stepped on the cigarette and followed them in. “Surprised you, didn't we? Merce said you always loved surprises.”

“Huh?” Joe looked puzzled as he set Mercedes back on her feet. “No odds. It's some good to see you, girl. Betty,” he shouted down the hall. “Bring Sheilagh here.”

In all the commotion, Judith hung back, her eyes on the open door.

When Betty came in, she carried a small child whose fine, silky hair was as black as her face was white. She looked to be about six months old, but in fact was about to celebrate her first birthday.

With extraordinary delicacy, Joe took her and snuggled her to his chest. “Sheilagh, this is your Auntie Mercie,” he said. “Can you smile for her?”

The child stared listlessly up at him. Even when he held her out for all to see, her gaze didn't shift. Soon, Betty reclaimed her and went back down the hall.

Joe sat next to Mercedes on the sofa. “I think she's better these days. Them doctors don't know everything, no matter what they thinks,” he muttered.

“God is keeping an eye out for her, Joey. You just keep saying them prayers.” Callum turned to his sister, his voice breaking. “Isn't she beautiful?”

Mercedes nodded and leaned her head against Joe's shoulder. Callum watched the tears slide down her face. She swallowed silently.

It was an awkward visit, filled with erratic bursts of conversation. Joe kept asking about Mercedes' trip, but his questions were half-hearted. He kept coming and going from the room whenever there was the slightest peep from Sheilagh. Betty rejoined them a couple of times but, like Joe, she was constantly alert. When she did sit with them, her nervous fingers fidgeted non-stop.

“So poor old Dad is home on his own,” Joe remarked at one point.

Judith, who had been quiet throughout, spoke up. “You didn't know? He's gone to Toronto with Paddy Griffin.”

“Paddy Griffin?” Joe looked taken aback. “That son of a bitch. Remember Cal? That time I caught him behind the house?”

“It was nothing, forget it.” Callum did not look at Mercedes.

“Anyway—”

“Nothing!” cried Joe. “Watching Merce through the window was nothing?”

“That's so long ago.” Callum tried to wave him off. “How about a cup of tea?”

“You were fit to be tied. I never seen you so mad.” He started to rise. “I'll go put the kettle on.”

Mercedes' hand gripped his arm. “What do you mean, ‘watching Merce'?”

Callum reached out to her. “Mercie, it was a long time ago—”

She pushed his arm away. “No. Tell me what he's talking about.”