Amazing Grace (18 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THEN

Oliver makes sure that I can't attend Aaron's funeral. There are security guards standing at the entrance of the cemetery. That's for my benefit. I'm hoping for a glimpse of Jonathan as I stand outside the gates, but I don't see him. Imagine not letting a child say goodbye to his dad. It's only about Oliver's loss. Jonathan and I are not even considered.

When I try to see Lydia, they won't let me in, saying if I show up on the property again they will call the police. Oliver obviously got to them first. The idea of never seeing Lydia fills me with longing. Pretending she was my mom on my visits made me feel needed. Will she miss me, or even remember me?

The only information I get is from the papers. Aaron's death is plastered all over the front pages. Oliver Willingdon Suffers Tragic Loss.

The time comes when I know I have to go. The thought of killing myself in the house is a temptation, but I don't want Jonathan to have to endure another loss—that is, if his grandfather would even tell him.

I drive straight through from New York City to Marble Mountain, stopping only at the border and for gas. It takes me roughly twenty hours. When I pull into the yard and see my poor neglected farmhouse, something inside me breaks. There is literally a wrenching of my heart and my first instinct is to run out of the yard, down through the field, and out onto the shore. It's October; the leaves are turning and the lake is quiet in its welcome. I throw myself into the water and don't even feel the frigid cold. To lie with my head under and drift feels like the only relief I've had since I looked in that rear-view mirror.

Eventually I have to take a breath and my body protests the cold, but for that moment I was elsewhere.

It's a long slow climb back through the field, with my sodden clothes hanging off me. When I turn the key and take my belongings into the dusty, forlorn rooms, I strip off my clothes and wrap myself up in the quilts that I left in the cedar chest. My old bed beckons and I sleep for hours. When I wake I have no idea where I am, or even who I am. For one brief second I think that Aunt Pearl is downstairs and my heart leaps, but reality rushes in and I'm in the dark once more.

Eventually I have to attend to practical matters, and I hang my soggy clothes out on the line. Then it's the cleaning of the fireplace and stove and rinsing a few dishes. Once the water heater fills up I take a bath in my beloved tub, remembering that Aunt Mae would yell up the stairs to say supper was on the table about ten minutes after I had dipped my toes into a bubble bath. It annoyed me then, but I would give anything to hear it now. The junk food I grabbed at gas stations feeds me that first night, and I make my bed with sheets so I can sink back into oblivion and not have to remember. But for now the fire is ablaze in the hearth and the flames mesmerize me, to the point where I don't hear the pounding on the door at first. When I do, I'm startled and grab the fire poker before creeping into the front hall.

“Who's there?”

“It's Bruce Samuels, from up the road.”

Not that I want him to see me, but at least he's not a murderer. I let him in.

“Well now, how's she goin'? I didn't know you were coming home for a visit. Nice time of year to come though. The colours are vivid on the trees this year. The house is just fine. When I smelled the smoke from your chimney, I said to Patricia, I better make sure that no one's broken in. You're not paying me to look after the house and me not do my duty. No sirree. I've kept a good eye on the place.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

For the first time he really looks at me and I see concern in his eyes. “Are you all right, Grace? Anything I can do to help?”

My face crumbles. “My husband was killed and my father-in-law won't let me have my son.”

Now this he wasn't expecting. I bawl. He's about as comfortable as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as Aunt Mae used to say. He has no choice but to pat my back because I'm clinging to his flannel jacket, but he's over his head and we both know it.

“Let me go get the wife. I'll be right back.”

And when he and the wife do get back, I'm right where he left me, still sobbing. Patricia Samuels is a bit standoffish in general, but faced with my breakdown she becomes Mother Teresa. “Bruce, go up and get Erna and bring her back here. This is a two-woman job.”

So off poor Bruce goes and comes back fifteen minutes later with Erna, who has sweets in one hand and a hot water bottle in the other.

Now that there are two women taking care of the situation, Bruce says he'll walk home and leave Patricia the car. She shoos him out the door.

They're on a mission. They put thick socks on my feet and make tea and feed me the squares Erna brought. The hot water bottle is against my chest, and I somehow have on my pyjamas and robe, though I don't remember changing. They prop me up in front of the fire again and sit on either side of me, and gently ask me what happened.

I must be spilling my guts, given the gasps and declarations of mercy coming from the two of them. I have to turn my head to look at them one at a time. It's like a tennis match.

“You can't tell anyone about this. If my father-in-law finds out you know, he'll have you killed.”

“Oh my land!” Erna makes a sign of the cross. “You can't be serious!”

“I'd like to see him try!” Patricia yells. “Blasted foreigners. They have no business up in this neck of the woods. If you see him coming, you call me and Bruce will be down here with his rifle. Let your father-in-law put that in his pipe and smoke it!”

Eventually I drift off and they bundle me up so I can snore by the fire. They leave a note saying they'll be down for breakfast. When I find it in the morning, I'm horrified. I refuse to be the village's charity case, and I know these two. They'll have told every female from here to Whycocomagh by now, so I call Erna and tell her to tell Patricia that I'm very grateful for their help, but I need to be alone today and I hope they understand.

“Oh, certainly, child. Just call if you need anything.”

I find two casseroles in my front porch, but no one bothers me.

I spend my time alone. People know I'm here and Bruce comes down and plows the snow from the driveway when we have a storm. I talk to people in town, just chit-chat while I buy groceries or go to the drug store. By now my story is old news and people are back to being preoccupied with their own lives.

Patricia and Erna suggest I join their rug hooking guild but I decline. My days are monotonous and I fill them writing letters to Jonathan so that one day he might read them and know that I think about him every day. I still write to agencies in my search for my sister, but nothing ever comes of my inquiries. It's lonely work.

When spring arrives it's clear I need to get a job if I want to continue to eat. The bulk of Aunt Pearl's money is still safe, but I don't want to use it, because if I do, then she's really gone. I'm qualified for nothing with my high school education, but I manage to get a job as a waitress at Wong's, the only Chinese food restaurant in Baddeck. They are kind and the locals have a habit of giving me hefty tips. They feel badly for me, and I accept their generosity because I need the money. The owners also let me take leftover food home for my meals, but after a year I'm heartily sick of chowmein and chicken balls.

The only downside to working there is seeing the families with kids come in and enjoy their dinner. Normal moms and dads who get to be with their children. Do they know how lucky they are? A young man comes in one night with his family and he reminds me so much of Jonathan, it's all I can do not to stare at him. I go home that night and cry until dawn. No mother should suffer the loss of her child. Sometimes I dream of killing Oliver Willingdon.

That fall on my way to work, my car makes a strange noise and sputters to a stop by the side of the highway. This is the first time it's acted up; I've been lucky so far with this car. If I have to buy a new one, I'll be in financial straits.

It's not too long before someone comes by and sees me standing by the side of the road. A guy with a ball cap on swerves over and shouts out his window. “Need help?”

“My car won't start.”

“Do you want a lift?”

“Sure.” I scramble into the cab of the truck. “I'm going to be late for work.”

As we drive to the restaurant, he says, “You should ask Fletcher Parsons what's up with your engine. If anyone knows, it'll be him.”

That's right. I wonder if he still has my car. I give him a call.

“Not sure if you remember me. I'm the one who parked my Pontiac in your barn and forgot to come and get it.”

“Amazing Grace Fairchild. Your car is fine, so no worries.”

“My new car is a Toyota Camry and it's on the side of the road near the Red Barn. It died on me. Do you know if there's a towing company around that can take it to your place? Maybe you'll be able to figure it out.”

“No problem. I'll see to it.”

A co-worker drops me off at Fletcher's place after work. He's under the hood when I arrive.

“Hello again.”

He straightens up when he sees me. “Hi, Grace. The bearing went in the idler pulley on the serpentine belt.”

“Good grief, that sounds serious. I can't afford a new car.”

“It's not serious. I'll have it ready for you tomorrow.”

“What a relief. Thank you. How much do I owe you for the tow?”

“Nothing. I got it myself.”

“Then what do I owe you?”

“It's on the house.”

“How do you make a living if you keep offering things for free?”

“Don't you worry about that.”

He drives me home and says he'll bring me the car when it's ready. He looks around at the house. “I remember my grandmother coming here. She was friends with Pearl.”

“I miss Aunt Pearl.”

“I thought she was sort of scary.”

“Only if you didn't know her. Would you like some tea?”

“Don't mind if I do.”

We sit at the kitchen table and drink our tea.

“I only have store-bought cookies.” I pass him over a plate of digestives.

He takes a couple. “Thanks. My grandmother told me the Fairchild sisters were known for their beauty, back in the day. Strange that only one of them got married.”

“Do only beautiful people get married?”

“Must be. I'm single.” He has a great belly-laugh.

“Is your grandmother still alive?”

“Yes, she lives in Baddeck. Still spry and bossy. Everyone calls her Nan.”

“You mean the small lady with blue hair who walks with a cane? That Nan?”

“Yeah, you know her?”

“She used to visit my aunts. She seemed like quite the character. You're very lucky.”

“I am. She raised me. Where were you brought up?”

“Guelph, Ontario. I pretty much raised myself until my aunts found me.”

“Your parents?”

“Don't know where they are. Listen, do you think your grandmother would talk to me about Aunt Pearl?”

“She loves company and she'll talk your ear off. I'll ask her.”

Fletcher arrives the next day with the car as promised and I drive him back to work. Once again I try to give him money, but he declines. “I make lots of money. Don't need yours. My Nan says to come by today at two. She'll have the kettle on. Her trailer is on the right, halfway up Buchanan St.

“Trailers seem to run in your family.”

“I bought it for her when her place became too rundown. She loves it. It's surprisingly cozy.”

Once again this gentle giant has come to my rescue.

“I don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you.”

“No worries.”

I knock on her door at two. This tiny woman, who Fletcher could pick up with one hand, comes shuffling to the door. “Oh dearie, come in, come in. You must be Grace, all grown up.”

“Yes, and you're Nan.”

“My word, you Fairchilds all have the same nose.”

She motions me to an old plaid couch, but takes the tabloids off it first and shoves the television tray with her half-done puzzle to the side. The radio is blaring from the kitchen.

“I'll go turn that off. Milk in your tea?”

“Yes, please.”

While she's gone I look around. This place is surprisingly cozy. Mind you, I'd never have three cuckoo clocks in a row or a hundred thimbles on a shelf, but I can see it suits Nan just fine.

She's back with our mugs and sits on the rocking chair by the couch. “Fletcher tells me that you want to know about your Aunt Pearl.”

“Yes, I wondered—”

“She and I were good friends, and she didn't have many of those. Pearl never could tolerate nonsense and she wasn't shy about telling you. Oh my, the boys loved her, always trying to get her attention, but when her mother died she sacrificed herself and became the woman of the house. I was so mad at her. She deserved her own family, but she never complained. Her father wasn't the same after his wife died. Started drinking, although Pearl always denied it.”

Nan leans forward. “I saw him drinking when I was over there once, but I never said anything to Pearl. She had enough to contend with, what with her two batty sisters.”

“Her sisters were a handful?”

Nan rocks a little harder. “Handful? Does a bear shit in the woods? I mean, they were lovely girls, but not a brain between them. Rose was swept away by a handsome stranger. A year later she was dumped back on her own doorstep with a baby in her arms. Now I ask you!”

“Trixie was my mother.”

She nods. “Yes, a sweet little thing when she was small. Rose always dressed her like a china doll, but oh my, was she stubborn. I remember the day Rose and Pearl were in the grocery store and Trixie wanted a treat. She had a tantrum right in the aisle, crying and kicking her feet. Poor Rose tried everything she could think of to get her to stop. Pearl heard the ruckus in the next aisle and came marching over. She took one look at Trixie, reached down and hauled her to her feet. ‘You behave yourself. You're acting like a spoiled brat!' And Trixie spit on her! Pearl put her over her knee and gave her two good swats on the bum, which is what her mama should have done in the first place but some people are weak. And Trixie played on that when she got older.”