Mother Lode (4 page)

It was possible he’d gone up in the hills,
to his old haunts, but Earl had another thought.

The two-seater privy was built behind the
house where the land rose sharply forming the base of the hill
behind the house.

He knocked. “You in there, Jorie?”

The shuffle of feet was his answer.

“Mind if I join you?”

He heard the occupant fumble with the
latch.

With a deep sigh, Earl lowered himself onto
the second hole. “I’ve been waiting to do this all day.”

Jorie was silent, elbows on his knees, his
head in his hands. A dozen flies, still clinging to life, crawled
around them.

Earl swatted at a horse fly landing on his
thigh. “Someday they’ll invent something to cover up the stink in
these places.”

When he got no response, he said the
obvious. “Didn’t see you inside.”

“No, sir.”

“Any special reason for that?”

“Have to mourn her in my own way, not in
front of a lot of long nosers, with their own ideas about why she
died.”

Earl nodded. “I have to think about that
too, Jorie.”

“Yeah.” The young man lifted his tear
stained face.

“Anything more you want to tell me,
lad?”

“No, sir.”

“Where will you be staying?”

“We’ll be at the O’Laertys. Helena offered
to take care of Eliza for awhile.”

“Then I’ll expect to find you there, if I
need you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gave the sheriff the address.

Earl couldn’t get it out of his mind that
Jorie must have had some terrible falling out with his mother.
Still, he didn’t have to resort to murder; he could have just left
town. If it was murder, it didn’t appear to be a crime of passion.
It was well thought out, pre-meditated.

And that would be the worse for Jorie.

Chapter 3

He was awakened at the O’Laerty’s by the
sound of his sister crying in the next room. He wanted to go to
her, but he could already hear Helena’s soothing voice comforting
the child, singing some Irish ditty. The song seemed to comfort
him, too; as long as he could hear the gentle voice of his
childhood nanny the world seemed right-side-up.

He’d offered to sleep on the sofa, so Eliza
could have the spare room, but Helena had insisted he take it.

“Oh, I couldn’t put the wee one in a room by
herself. Wakes up cryin’, she does, askin’ for her ma. And isn’t it
the deevil’s work that such a thing could happen.” She wiped her
eye with the edge of her apron. “Ours is a big room. We moved the
little cot in there, so she could be near us.”

Each time Jorie awoke, for the first tiny
moment there was peace. Then the awful realization of his mother’s
death would pervade his senses anew, along with a terrible
self-loathing. Accident or not, he was responsible.

He’d been dreaming that he’d broken some
kind of chalice. He’d found most, but not all, of the pieces. A
thick fog would descend, and he couldn’t remember what happened
that day. Bits and pieces would play at the edge of his mind, but
trying to grasp them was like trying to catch a handful of that
fog.

Yes, he’d hurried home from work. It was a
beautiful day. He’d asked Mother to go for a ride in the
country—“probably the last chance we’ll have before weather sets
in.” Eliza was at a friend’s, so it was just the two of them.

And then, in the woods the snow had
come—more and more of it, until they were lost in a total
whiteness. He remembered the Cornishman with the lantern who’d
tried to help him. The lantern, illuminating one tiny speck of this
huge and frightening world . It was like trying to find your way
out of the blackness of a mine with only the light of one
match.

Poor Eliza. So young to lose her mama. It
was all too horrible.

He helped Helena clear the dishes. But she
wouldn’t let him do more.

“I’m sure you’ve your studies to tend
to.”

“I need to talk to you, Helena.”

“Your face is long as a red melon. What is
it, lad?”

“It’s very kind of you to keep Eliza. And me
as well. But I—I don’t want you to think I take it for
granted.”

“Aw, g’wan with you. I love her like my own.
You’d have a tough time getting’ her away from me.”

He gave her a thin smile. “All right. But
perhaps I should move back to the hill—”

“And rattle up there by yerself?”

“It’s too much to expect you to keep us
both.”

“Now will you let me be decidin’ how much
bother it is? And what about yer poor sister? It’s bad enough her
losin’ her ma. Would you deny her settin’ eyes on her beloved
bruther, to boot?”

She had a point.

“I could pay you something.”

“Oh, go away. You’ll save your earnings for
going to the college next year.”

Eliza wanted her rocking horse.

“Where is it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“All right. I’ll get it for you,” he said
with a resolve he didn’t feel. He had no desire to enter the house
on the hill, but he would do it for Izzy. Besides there was another
task he had to accomplish there—an unsavory one.

After work the next morning he set out with
a determined step across Frontage Road by the lake and up the
incline. Already the house looked forsaken, echoing his own
desolation. Sheltered by the grove of pines, the snow still lay
about, shrunken and crystallized. Soot from the giant smokestack of
the Portage Mine above dotted the surface. It was not the picture
of his childhood—sliding down freshly fallen snow, so clean
sometimes he’d eat it.

As Jorie let himself in,
he was immediately
greeted with the
raucous strains of A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight. He stepped
cautiously into the parlor. He saw no one, but the pianola was
playing by itself. The ghoulish sounds followed him as he walked
through the rooms. Finding no one on the first floor, he ascended
the stairs slowly. He wanted to call out, “Who’s here?” but could
not sound the words.

He glanced in the other rooms, then
proceeded lastly to his mother’s. The door was closed, but he could
hear footsteps inside. Standing in the hall, he tried to banish the
nightmarish thoughts that filled his head.

Finally, he rubbed his sweaty hands against
his trousers, grasped the handle and pushed the door open.

Standing at her dresser was his
step-brother. What an appalling violation to find him in his
mother’s room!

The man was fingering the round blue jar
with the silver ballerina on top. “Perty little thing,” he
said.

Jorie wanted to shout, “Put that down!” but
feared Walter would smash it if he knew what love the little
Venetian glass evoked.

“
What are you doing here?”
He watched Walter toss the jar from hand to hand.

“
You forget, brother, this
is my father’s house.”

“
My mother—”

“
Not no more. They’re both
gone.”

Jorie could feel the sweat run down his
back. “You’ve got your inheritance; you’ve no business here
now.”

“
Is that right?” The
toothpick turned against his lips as he appraised his step-brother.
“Just came for the tack and the horses.”

“
We don’t keep them in the
house.”

Walter nodded, appraising his adversary.
“That’s a sweet player piana you got down there. A shame to let it
go to waste.”

“
Take what you like from
the stable, and leave the house alone.”

“
Hey, I ain’t doin’ no
harm.” Walter lobbed the blue globe in the air, caught it behind
his back with the other hand.

“
How did you get in
here?”

“
I got my ways. Don’t
forget I lived here six long years. I know it like I know what
happened out in the woods last week.”

“
Get out.”

Walter tossed the jar on the bed. “I’ll
follow you down, little brother.”

“
No, after
you.”

Walter shrugged, sauntered out of the room
and descended the steps two at a time. “Don’t ‘spect you’ll be
getting’ much chance to enjoy this place.” With an ugly grin he
turned to the door. “I’ll be takin’ the horses now.”

When Walter was gone, Jorie thought his
heart would explode. He strode to the back parlor, pulled the lace
curtain back a bit, and wiped enough lamp smoke from the window to
see out. Watching his step-brother head toward the stable, he
wondered where he’d found the courage to confront his old
nemesis.

He had planned to go straight to Eliza’s
room, but turning, found himself ensnared by the dying remains of
the memorial service. He hadn’t escaped it after all; it closed in
on him now like a ghoulish prank. The sight of all the dead flowers
caused him to catch his breath. A wilted rose, collapsed across the
frame, half concealed the small picture of his mother. He held the
silver frame, staring first at the wedding dress, with its ribbon
rosettes and lace, her tiny waist. Only gradually were his hands
still enough to allow his eyes to travel upward to her face, to
see, through the scratched glass, the tin-type still showing her
features clearly—bright, expectant eyes, so ready for life.

Shoving the picture in his
pocket, he ascended the stairs again. In the almost barren room he
found Eliza’s rocking horse upended in her closet, but no other
toys. Three pale rectangles on the wall replaced the pictures that
had been there. He felt a stab of pain, but no surprise. He racked
his brain wondering why he was not astonished:
What had he known before that was escaping him
now?

Returning to his mother’s room, he stood in
the doorway remembering the many times as a child he’d crawled into
bed with her. And the many times in later years he’d hurried past
this door.

The things on her dresser were neatly
arranged—the ivory comb and brush set her father had given her
years ago, including a small receptacle for loose hair. He opened
its lid and touched the contents. The auburn strands still gave off
the fragrance of lilac. He could see her pulling the hairs from her
brush, winding them around her fingers, and placing them in the
receptacle.

The small blue jar lay on the bed where
Walter had tossed it. Round as an apple with a silver lid, the
ballerina still stood on her toes, one arm reaching to the sky. He
picked it up gently and brought it to his face. A flood of memories
coursed through him of the times she’d soothed him with its balm.
And the best part—the stories from the old country that
followed.

“
I’m drowning, I’m drowning! Will no one
come tae save me?”

“
I’ll save ye, Lassie. Just hang on tae
my neck and I’ll ta’e you to shore.” He fishtailed across the
bed.

“
Oh thank ye Seal, ye’ve saved my life.
What can I dae fer ye?”

“
You can bide with me, and be me
wife!”

“
Och I canna marry a seal!” She turned
away.

“
It’s a man ye’ll be marryin’, not a
seal. Look at me now!”

He assumed a strong man pose, and she turned
back to him in great surprise.

“
Ah, and a bonnie one too. It’s a silkie,
you are!”

“
That I am. Now marry me.”

“
I cannae marry ye. For I know ye can
change back tae a seal as quick as ye changed in tae a man. I’ve
heard ‘nuf stories aboot that!”

“
I wonna go back tae the sea if ye will
marry me. I’ll stay wit ye, Lassie, and never leave.”

“
And what will ye do fer me?”

“
I’ll build ye a manse finer than ye've
ever known where just the two of us will live. It’s there I’ll take
care of ye, ever and ever.”

Queasiness came over him.

He carried the rocking horse downstairs. The
cab he’d hired was due in a few minutes; was there time to
accomplish his other mission?

The clip-clop of the driver’s horses told
him the other task would have to wait.

Delighted to have the rocking horse back
that Jorie had given her for her fourth birthday, Eliza craved
more.

When they’d been there about a week, she
said, “Jawie, will you talk French with me?”

Her question caused him to wince, though he
didn’t remember why. “I don’t know French, Izzy.”

“Mummy and I do. I could teach you.” She
crawled up on his lap.

“I’ll read to you.”

Half way through the story Eliza asked for
the hundredth time, “When’s Mummy coming back?”

He closed the book. “I don’t know,
Izzy.”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the
truth. Not yet.

He had trouble keeping his mind on his work.
A sealed envelope had been sent up to him; the unsigned note had a
single word— “Murderer!” He asked downstairs who’d delivered it,
but no one knew: “It was just lying there by the mail.”

Jorie’d made more mistakes in the past two
weeks than he’d made altogether before. His boss called him in.

“I know this is a hard time for you, lad,
but we can’t have this. Sloppy. Makes the paper look bad.”

Jorie nodded. He barely heard him.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to watch
your
Ps
and
Qs
, if
you want to set type for the
Copper
Country Evening News
.”

Wherever he went suspicion
followed. An ill wind of whispers had escalated to full-blown
confrontations. “How come you took your ma way out there that day?
Didn’t you
know
the storm was coming in?”

Did he know?

Two lads he knew from school jumped out from
behind a bush one evening and yelled, “Mother killer!”