A bucket of ashes (20 page)

Instead, Nell had closed her eyes and watched her thoughts coalesce into lazily shifting images, as often happened when she was drowsy. Sunlight flashing between the passing trees flickered red through her eyelids, casting those images into a luminous if leisurely kaleidoscope: glass bursting sharp and pink... the Sacred Heart of Jesus pouring blood as flames crackled all around it... headless chickens thrashing and screaming... Frederick Cunningham swimming into violet-stained oblivion... and Jamie grinning carelessly as he waved to her from the deck of a forty-foot sloop with
Oh, Susannah
painted across the bow.
What do you think, Nelly?
he called out as he sailed off toward the horizon.
I traded my Sacred Heart for it. I didn’t need it no more, and Freddie don’t need the boat.
She’d awakened with a start to Will stroking her cheek and telling her they’d arrived at the Gilmartins’.

Will nodded toward the house, drawing Nell’s attention to the kitchen window, through which Hannah Gilmartin was openly peering. She abruptly averted her gaze when she saw them looking in her direction.

“Your mother doesn’t seem to like the idea of us talking to you,” Nell told Claire.

Lowering her voice, although Mrs. Gilmartin was much too far away to hear them, Claire said, “I reckon she don’t want me telling you about... you know. What I told you the other day. Me knowing about Jim being in the cranberry shed.”

Nell said, “I’ve been thinking about the Sacred Heart medal he gave you. You realize it had to be his most treasured possession.”

Will glanced at her as if wondering where she was headed with this.

Claire touched her chest over the medal that lay beneath her damp plaid shirtwaist. “You want it back?” There was a plaintiff note in her voice.

“Oh, no,” Nell said. “I just want to know when he gave it to you.”

Looking a bit mystified by the question, Claire said, “It was the night Ma lit into him and told him he had to leave.”

“He told her he
would
leave, didn’t he?” Nell asked.

“Yeah, and then Ma went away, and that’s when he gave me the medal, for bein’ so nice to him.”

“Yet he was still there three days later, when the cranberry shed burned down,” Nell said.

Returning to her stirring, Claire said, “Like I said, he didn’t leave.”

Will took the wash stick from her, saying, “Allow me.”

Claire gaped at him, as if astounded that a gentleman such as he would take on such a task.

“Did your mother know that Jamie remained in the shed after he told her he would leave?” Will asked.

“What? No. It was like I said before, I told her he did leave.”

“She didn’t go there later that night to check and make sure?” Will asked. “Or perhaps the next morning?”

“No,” Claire said, shaking her head. “Uh-Uh. No. She didn’t have no more to do with him, I swear. Why are you asking me this?”

Nell said, “Claire, we know Jamie didn’t die during that fire.”

Eyes wide, she stammered, “I—I don’t know what—”

Will said, “I’m a physician, Claire. I autopsied him this morning.”

“What’s that? Au—autop...” Claire asked

“An autopsy? It’s an operation a surgeon performs on someone who’s died to sort out the cause of death.”

“You couldn’t have done that to Jamie,” Claire said in a tone of someone who was accusing someone else of lying. “He’s buried in the churchyard at St. Cat’s.”

“We had him dug up,” Nell said gently.

Claire’s jaw dropped; she took a step back. “
You dug him up?
That’s—that’s sacrilege. It’s got to be.”

“God wouldn’t object to us trying to find out the truth,” Nell said. “We’re going to rebury him tomorrow.”

“Where he was before? With Father Donnelly speaking over him, all proper?”

“I can ask Father Donnelly to say a few words,” Nell said.

Claire seemed to relax. “He had a Christian burial, and that means he’s with Jesus. I just... I just don’t want it undone, cause I don’t know what’ll happen to him then.”

“To his immortal soul you mean? Claire, a person doesn’t go to Hell just because he’s not buried in a churchyard by a priest.”

“But he does. Or Purgatory. The Bible says so.”

Trying to word this in a way that Claire could understand, Nell said, “The Bible doesn’t actually say anything about it, but the church fathers say that people who’ve committed certain sins and haven’t repented, or who’ve died unbaptized, can’t be buried in consecrated ground. But that’s no prediction of their eternal destiny—where their souls will go after they die. A Christian burial is an honor, a mark of respect. It has no power in of itself to send a soul to Heaven. God is merciful. He understands human weakness. He’s forgiving, especially if we recognize our sins and seek forgiveness. He mostly wants us to be good at heart. If Jamie deserves to go to Heaven, he’ll go to Heaven no matter where he’s buried.”

“Are you sure?” Claire asked.

“Absolutely.”

“I thought... I... I was so worried about him, about his immortal soul. But if all you need is to be good inside, I know he’ll go to Heaven. He was sorry for what he done, breaking into that house and all.”

“Because Susannah Cunningham ended up dead?” Nell asked. That would confirm what David Quinn had told them about Jamie “boo-hooing” over her murder.

Shoving her hands in her apron pockets, as she did when she was nervous, Claire said, “It... it wasn’t really true what I said the other day about him not caring. He didn’t kill her—that Davey Quinn did—but Jim said it was his fault ‘cause he brought Davey along. He said he hadn’t pulled any jobs—that’s how he put it, ‘pullin’ jobs’—since he got out of jail in January. Said he was tryin’ to fly straight, like when he was in the Army, but it was hard to live on what he was makin’ doing gardening and cutting fish and the like. He said he got greedy and decided to do to one last job, and his greed cost that Susannah lady her life.”

Will stop stirring. “You lied about something else, didn’t you, Claire?”

“I... I don’t know what you—”

He said, “We know for a fact that Jamie had been dead for three days before that shed burned down.

“How... how...?”

“Claire, where was your mother when the shed caught fire?” Will asked.

“It was like she told you. She’d set out in her gig to bring them chicken fritters to Father Donnelly.”

“Do you think she might have had time to set the fire before she left?” Will asked.

“What?” Claire shook her head frantically. “No. no. It wasn’t like that.”

Will said, “You knew Jamie was dead all that time, you had to have. You would have gone to the shed the next day to see if he’d left. You would have found his body, with a knife wound in the chest. Your mother had told him she’d turn him in if he stayed, but she knew that if she did that, it would become general knowledge that you’d sheltered a notorious criminal. Claire, I know your mother must have warned you to keep quiet about what happened, but—”

“Her mother didn’t kill Jamie, Will,” Nell said.

Will stared at her.

“He took his own life,” she said. “Didn’t he, Claire?”

The girl’s eyes glazed over with tears.

“But you didn’t want anyone to find that out,” Nell continued, “because you knew about the Church denying Christian burial to suicides, and you thought people who weren’t buried in the church couldn’t go to Heaven. That’s why you told us he didn’t feel guilty about Mrs. Cunningham, so we wouldn’t suspect the truth.”

Claire nodded, scrubbing at the tears spilling from her eyes.

“When did you... find him?” Will asked.

“The next morning,” she said in a halting voice. “You know—after Ma kicked him out. He told her he’d be leavin’ that night, and I reckon he meant it, but not how she thought he did—or how
I
thought he did. I shoulda known somethin’ was up when gave me the Sacred Heart. He told me it was for bein’ a friend to him, but I knew what it meant to him. I reckon he figured he didn’t need it where he was goin’.”

“I reckon not,” Nell said.

“I didn’t sleep a wink that night,” Claire said. “I missed him already, somethin’ awful. First thing next mornin’ I went back to the cranberry shed, kinda half-hopin’ he’d still be there, and I found him...” She drew in a tremulous breath. “He was layin’ there facedown, but not on the quilt. He was on top of one of them pallets we store the crates and barrels on when they’re full of cranberries, to keep ‘em off the ground. There was blood all over the pallet, but that’s not how I knew he was dead. I knew by the smell—and the flies.”

Touching Nell’s arm, Will said softly, “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“I ran outside and fell to the ground and started screamin’ and cryin’,” Claire said. “I cried so long, my throat was sore and I could hardly see through my eyes, they was so puffed up. Anyways, I went back inside the shed to get him off that pallet and lay him down on his quilt. It was hard to lift him, ‘cause he’d gone all... stiff like. But when I did, I seen the knife handle stickin’ outa his chest. What he did was, he jammed it in between two strips of lath on the pallet so the blade was stickin’ straight up. And then I figure he fell down on it.”

No drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Will curled an arm around her waist.

“I got him on his back and pulled the knife out, and then I started draggin’ him over to the quilt to lay him out all nice. That’s when I saw the letters on the pillow, next to a stack of bank notes with some coins on top.”

“Letters?” Nell asked.

“Yeah.” Claire dug into a pocket of her skirt, sniffling. “There’s a notebook and pencil in the cranberry shed, or was. It was for keepin’ track of the different barrels and how long they been curin’, and like that. He tore a couple sheets out and wrote a letter to me, and one to you. The one to you, I already mailed to Boston like he asked me.”

She handed Nell a sheet of yellowish, lined paper folded into a badly rumpled little rectangle, saying, in a lowered voice and with a glance toward the house, “I keep it on me so Ma don’t find it in my room.” Nell unfolded it and found it to be neatly printed except for the signature.

Clare I am so sorry to make you find me like this. I know it is a sin to do what I am fixing to do but the good Lord knows how I runed my life. And
he
He knows about Susannah. I got my army tag round my neck so their will be no dout who I am. Claire would you please make sure I get a grave stone with my name and when I was born (Feb. 12
^th
1844) and when I died and a heart with a sword in it for repentence. And if you can please get this other letter to my sister Cornelia
Mur
Sweeney. She lives at 148 Tremont St. in Boston. This money is all I got. Take 3¢ for a stamp and would you please take a penny and go to St. Cats and ligt a candle for me. The rest is for the grave stone and if there is any left over it is yours to keep. Thank you for being a friend to me.

May God Bless You Always

James K. Murphy

“I still got the money,” Claire said, “all but four cents for the candle and the stamp. It should go to you. I’ll go fetch it and—”

“Keep it, please. I’ll have the heart and sword added to his gravestone.” Re-reading the letter, Nell said, “He knew the Hewitts’ address. He knew where I lived, but he never... He...”

“He was ashamed,” Claire said. “He didn’t want you to see him again till he had a real job and could hold his head up. He said he wanted you to be as proud of him as he was of you.”

Tears pricked Nell’s eyes as she returned the letter to Claire. She swallowed down the tightness in her throat, saying, “You
were
a friend to him. Thank you for that.”

“So you got him laid out on the quilt?” Will said.

Clear nodded. “I covered him with the blanket and tucked it all around him to keep the flies off, but I reckon it was too late for that. Then I started thinkin’ about what would happen if I told Ma he killed himself. If she told the constables or if she didn’t, it would of ended up the same. He would of been buried in the South Street Cemetery. That’s where they put the paupers and them that don’t have any family. And like you said, I thought if they buried him there, he couldn’t go to Heaven. So I told Ma I’d been to the shed and he was gone. Which wasn’t really a lie, ‘cause he
was
gone, just not the way she thought.”

“And she believed you?” Nell asked. “She didn’t go there herself to make sure you were telling the truth?”

“I was bawlin’ when I told her, and she could see from my face I’d been bawlin’ all day, so she figured it was true.”

“What did you do then?” Nell asked, wondering why she’d let Jamie’s body lie there for three days.

“I went and made confession to Father Donnelly. He already knew about Jim bein’ in the cranberry shed, but he couldn’t tell no one, ‘cause he learned about it in confession. So I went back to him and I confessed about Jim killin’ himself and me tellin’ Ma he was gone, which Father made me say Hail Mary’s over even though it wasn’t a real lie, but he said it was. And he said self-murder was the kind of sin that meant you couldn’t be buried in the churchyard, so I showed him Jim’s letter, where he says he wants the heart and sword for repentance, but Father said that don’t mean he repented the
suicide
. He said you can’t repent somethin’ you ain’t done yet, else you wouldn’t do it, and I said sure you could, but he said the Church don’t see it that way. But priests can be wrong sometimes, ‘cause they’re just men, right? They talk to God, but they
ain’t
God.”