Prairie Hardball (19 page)

When the knock came at the door ten minutes later, I was surprised to find my mother standing in the hall. She looked nervous, uncertain, not like herself at all.

“Hi Mum,” I said. “Where’s Daddy?”

“He and Jack Wilton are discussing the plans for the service tomorrow.”

“Do you want to come in?”

She walked into the room with a strange, tense, determination. I realized that it was the first time we had been alone together on the whole trip.

“I have something to tell you,” she said.

She sat down in one of the armchairs and took a deep breath.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “A glass of water? You don’t look well.”

“I believe I would like to have a small bit of that whisky,” she said, astonishing me.

I poured it, and one for myself, with some of the ice from Andy’s pre-dinner bucket. My mother took a small sip, then began to speak.

“What I am about to say is not going to be easy for either one of us,” she said. “It may cause you some pain. I ask that you try not to judge me too harshly. I think it may help to explain a number of things. And I ask also for your discretion.”

“Are you all right, Mum?”

“No, I’m not. But I have to do this. I know you well enough to realize that you will find it out anyway, but I want you to hear it from me. Please don’t make it more difficult.”

My mother sat very straight, holding onto her glass with both hands, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the centre of the room. I lit a cigarette.

“I know you’ve always resented my strictness,” she said. “We have had enough arguments over the years about your behaviour to know that.”

“Mum, you don’t have to . . .”

“Please.” She held her hand up, palm out. “Let me say my piece. I was strict, yes, but the only reason I acted that way was so you could avoid the pain I have suffered.”

Another tiny sip of Scotch, and a visible pulling together of her determination.

“When I was young, I made a mistake. It’s a mistake I have lived with every day of my life since then. When I was playing baseball, I met a young man and fell in love with him. He was an American. His name was Carl Johannsen.”

“Mrs. Deneka mentioned him to me,” I said.

“Yes, she was confused.”

“What happened to this man, this Carl?”

“He died in France, during the war. At Normandy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she said, with a small, tight, smile. “If he hadn’t died, you would never have been born. I was going to marry him, you see, after he came back home. I would never have met your father.”

She paused, then looked at me, imploringly.

“Things were different in wartime,” she said. “People did things they never would have, otherwise.”

She looked away again, back to middle distance.

“In my case, before Carl left, I gave myself to him. He was the first man I had ever been with. I loved him very much, and he wanted, we both wanted, to seal our pact, our promise to each other.”

I wasn’t sure which of us was the most uncomfortable. I began to suspect where this was leading.

“He had never been with a woman either. It was the first time for both of us. It happened during spring training before he went overseas. As it turned out, it was the last time. And also, as it turned out, I got pregnant. Ironic, isn’t it?”

She laughed. It was heartbreaking.

“I found out just after the start of the 1944 season. In those days there was a terrible stigma attached to unmarried pregnancy. I felt ashamed, and I didn’t know who to turn to. I couldn’t tell my family. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, have an abortion. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I told Virna, who was my best friend on the team. She figured it all out.”

“Jack,” I said.

“He is my son. Mine and Carl Johannsen’s.”

The room seemed to tilt, suddenly. I wanted to reach out to her, but didn’t know how. I couldn’t even find words to speak.

She wiped tears from her eyes, then took a deep breath.

“The details probably don’t matter, but this is how it happened,” she said, her voice without expression. “Virna took charge, the way she always did. The first thing she did was announce her marriage. Of course, she made the husband up. She used the name of a cousin of hers, who really was in the army, overseas. Then she began a correspondence with him. When his letters arrived, she pretended they were from her husband.”

“But what about you? Did no one realize you were pregnant?”

“No, I never carried any of my children big. And the baby wasn’t born until late November. November 27th. 1944·”

She took a deep breath, fighting for control.

“I was in good shape, remember, from playing baseball. I got teased about getting fat, but that was all.”

“What about Virna? Did she say she was pregnant?”

“No. The next spring she showed up with the baby and told them she had played pregnant and didn’t want the league to know.”

I wanted her to stop, just stop talking, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t until she was done.

“I didn’t go home after the season, of course. I told my parents that I had a job in the States for the winter, which made them very unhappy. Virna and I went to Chicago and rented a room. I had the child, using Virna’s name, and the name of her cousin as the father.”

“She knew she couldn’t have children,” I said.

My mother nodded.

“She knew, but she wanted one desperately. This way, we could both go on. She was willing to raise the child on her own. I was never brave enough for that.”

We sat in silence for a few moments.

“Now you understand why I didn’t want you digging into the past. Why I wanted the secret to go with Virna to her grave. But you wouldn’t let go of it. You always were a stubborn child.”

She smiled weakly. I waited to see if she had anything more to say, but she just sat, looking into the glass she still held in both hands.

“Daddy doesn’t know, I take it,” I said, finally.

She shook her head.

“Are you going to tell him? And Jack? Will you tell him?”

“It’s best to leave well enough alone. Jack is Virna’s son. He always has been.”

“But now he has no family. You could give him that.”

“I’ve thought of that. But I don’t know if I am willing to hurt your father to do it.”

“It’s your decision,” I said. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

“I don’t think I made a mistake giving him to Virna,” she said, almost to herself. “She did a good job with him, didn’t she?”

“Yes, he’s a nice man. Does he look like his father?”

“Exactly,” she said, with a slight shudder. “He’s older than Carl was when I knew him, of course. Carl was just a boy when he died, really. But I see it in his eyes and his chin. The set of his mouth. Just like Carl.”

“He was a very handsome man, then,” I said, inanely. I wanted her to go, just go away.

She put down her glass and stood up.

“I’d better be getting back to your father,” she said. “He’ll be wondering.”

All I could do was watch as she crossed the room to the bathroom. I lit another cigarette, my hands trembling. I could hear the water running. When she came back into the room, her tears were gone. She was back in control.

“Will you keep the secret?” she asked, briskly.

“It’s not mine to share.”

“Thank you.”

She opened the door.

“Don’t think too badly of me,” she said, not turning around. Then she was gone, and I was the one in tears.

I cried until I couldn’t any more, until all the emotion of the day had drained away. I cried for my mother and for Morley and for Elwy, tears of sadness, anger, and confusion.

How had she lived with this all these years, raising her daughters, knowing that she had a son growing up too? Virna wrote letters to her from time to time. They must have included news about Jack. Had she sent photos, too? My poor mother, carrying this secret, and her own shame, for more than fifty years.

My father is a forgiving man, but I understood why she hadn’t shared the burden with him. She wouldn’t want to hurt him. It would undermine everything they had built together.

And I wished that she had never shared her secret with me.

Finally, like my mother, I went and washed my face with cold water and sucked in all the pain. When Andy came back, I was in control again. He called from the lobby.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Never better.”

“Yeah, sure. Are you up to meeting us in Jack Wilton’s room? I think you should be there. It’s 428. We’re in the lobby, on our way there now.”

“Why?”

“I guess to let him know who killed his mother.”

“Morley?”

“He confessed in the note.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Room 428.”

“I’ll be there.”

I took the stairs up a flight, and got there at the same time as the elevator delivered Andy and Donald Deutsch. Jack’s door was open. He was inside, clearing piles of clothes off various surfaces, making room for us to sit down.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said. I found myself unable to look at him.

Deutsch sat in one chair, I sat in the other, Jack was on the edge of the bed, and Andy leaned against the desk, arms crossed.

“We’ve brought copies of the letter that Morley Timms wrote before he shot himself,” Deutsch said. “It indicates that he suicided out of remorse for killing your mother.”

He handed one to me and one to Jack.

“Just have a read, and we’ll answer any questions you might have afterwards.”

I looked at the note, which was written in the same cramped hand as the warning letters.

To: Miss Kate Henry

I’m glad you made me tell the truth. Honesty is the Best Policy. That is why I am writing this letter. I’m sorry for everything I did. Please tell your Mother and the other ladies. I shouldn’t have done it.

Wilma Elshaw was the LOVE OF MY LIFE until she was STOLEN AWAY by that unnatural woman, that ABOMINATION whose name I will not write down. It was the girls baseball and the LOW MORAL CLIMATE that turned my beloved Wilma from me. When I saw that Old Woman prancing around in her baseball dress like a harlot, it got my goat. She is in the Hall of Fame like she wanted, but her soul is ROASTING IN HELL.

But I shouldn’t have tried to frighten the other ladies. That was wrong.

Yours sincerely,
Morley Timms

I finished reading it, and looked at Jack.

“There’s a lot of hatred in this letter,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady. “He sure hid it well.”

“He did,” Deutsch said. “He hid it for all these years.”

“What an unhappy life he must have had,” I said.

“I imagine the rage was buried pretty deep,” Andy said. “It took seeing Virna to trigger it off.”

“Who found Morley?” I asked.

“Garth Elshaw,” Deutsch said. “Morley had phoned him, he said. He was evidently very agitated, so Garth went to his house to settle him down. When he knocked, Morley didn’t answer. The door was locked. Garth kept knocking, then heard a shot. He broke down the door. A neighbour heard the commotion and called 911.”

“Did he do it with the shotgun I saw?”

“No, an old revolver,” Deutsch said. “Probably a wartime souvenir. He’s lucky it still worked. If lucky’s the right word.”

Jack closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

“So it’s over.”

“There are still a few things to clear up,” Don said. “There will be an autopsy, and we’ll send samples to the lab for comparisons, but, yes, it’s over.”

He stood up, and the rest of us followed suit. Deutsch shook Jack’s hand and offered his condolences again.

“I hope you’ll come to the service for my mother tomorrow,”

“Of course.”

Then Andy shook his hand and we went into the hall.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.” Deutsch said. “Want to join me?”

“Kate, what do you want to do?” Andy asked.

“You go ahead. I should go tell my parents.”

“You deserve it,” Don said. “You were the one who figured it out.”

“I was the one that got the guy dead.”

“You saved the people of Canada some money. That’s worth drinking to.”

“I’ll see, after I tell my parents. By the way, has anyone told Ruth Fernie’s nephew he’s off the hook?”

“Hugh Grenfell’s over there right now. He hasn’t got anything to worry about.”

They headed down the stairs and I went and knocked on my parents’ door. My mother answered. We had a hard time meeting each other’s eyes. I told them what had happened.

“I just wish I knew why,” I said.

“We’ll never know, now,” Daddy said.

I said good night to them and went and found Andy and Don at a table in a relatively quiet corner. I was sick of the bar, with its cracked Formica tables, annoying gambling machines and non-stop rock and country videos. I was also sick of the clientele, a depressing bunch of characters. I lit up what was probably my tenth cigarette since my mother’s visit. So much for cutting back.

After our drinks came, I brought up Morley Timms.

“Do you think he would have been convicted?” I asked.

“He would have ended up locked up somewhere,” Don said. “Either maximum security psychiatric or in the jug.”

“The poor man’s better off dead,” I said.

“Probably,” Andy agreed. “I wonder if he meant to kill Virna. Would you have gone for first degree on this one, Don?”

“Depends on his statement, depends on the crown attorney. You know how these things go. A man Morley’s age, it isn’t going to matter whether it’s first degree, second degree, or manslaughter, because he’s going to die in jail however it turns out.”

“Do you ever feel badly about putting someone in jail?” I asked. “Someone like Morley, who was kind of pathetic and unlikely to ever do it again?”

“You do the crime, you got to do the time,” Don shrugged.

“Everything is so cut and dried with you guys,” I said. “Everything that isn’t white is black.”

“No, I see greys, too,” Don said. “I also see all the pretty colours. But my job is to uphold the law.”

“It’s no use, Don,” Andy said. “She’s a stubborn one.”

“Only when I’m right,” I said.

“Which you always are,” Andy answered.

I wasn’t in the mood to play. I butted my cigarette and drained my drink.

“No hard feelings, but it’s been a tough day. I’m for bed.”

I packed my cigarettes into my purse and stood up.

“And even though we disagree, as a sign of conciliation, I will allow you law-abiding chaps to pay for my drink.”

“Glad to do it,” Don said. “I’ve enjoyed sparring with you.”

“Maybe we’ll go a few rounds another time when I’m not so tired,” I said.

“I won’t be long,” Andy said.

“No rush. I’ll be asleep anyway.”

Which I was, the moment my head hit the pillow.