Where Old Ghosts Meet (17 page)

“Thank you, but no, I had tea with Father O'Reilly.”

“How was your visit?” Peg gave Nora a cautionary look and ever so slightly inclined her head in Treese's direction.

Nora caught Peg's warning. “Very good. He's a remarkable man for his age.”

There was a lull in the conversation. At her side the ticket man was still, his banter shut down. Mustering a bright smile, Nora decided to change the subject. “It's quite the event out there,” she said, looking from one to the other. “It's just like home.”

“Is that right?” Peg came to life and moved in closer to Nora, partly blocking her view of Treese.

“Yes, there were always events like this when we were children,” she continued, speaking directly to Peg. “There were all kinds of prizes to be won, not toys like here, but practical things mostly. I remember one time coming home from the fair with a set of white dishes with blue flowers painted on the cups. I forget now how I won them.” She rushed on. “We also had a game that I loved called Roll Away. I don't see it here. It was a huge round table like a checkerboard caged in all around with heavymesh. The squares were just big enough to hold one of our big brown pennies.” She drew the outline of the old brown penny on the palm of her hand. “All around the cage were little openings, with a wooden chute at each one. You literally rolled your pennies away down the chute. However, if the penny landed right smack in the middle of a square without touching any lines then you won whatever amount of money was marked on the square.”

“We had the very same years ago. Didn't we, Treese?”

Nora knew without looking that Treese had not taken her eyes off her from the moment she sat down. Nora glanced in her direction. Still no eyes and no reply!

“I remember that was the most exciting game of all,” Peg continued, ignoring the silence. “To win money, that's what we all wanted. Yes, girl, I can remember fixing the chute right at the big money square and then how it would roll away straight into buddy's pocket.”

“That's right.” Nora was grateful for Peg's participation. She knew she was talking too much, but still she barrelled on, unable to stop herself, still speaking directly to Peg and ignoring Gerry and Treese. “One day, didn't I win the big money, a pound note! That was a lot of money then.”

Peg laughed, a slightly strained, exaggerated laugh. “I suppose it was.”

Nora could see the bright pink plate of her false teeth with its even row of cream dentures. Peg was trying to help her out.

Suddenly Treese's voice cut the space between them. “What I'd like to know is this. What drove him out of Ireland?”

The question hit Nora like a sharp slap. A crackling silence followed. Nora now scrutinized the face in front of her. “Did you know him?” The calm assurance in her own voice surprised her.

Treese sat back in her chair, pulled the two sides of her knitted cardigan across her chest and held them in place with folded arms. “No,” she said, dragging out the word. “Not exactly, but I knew about him.”

Nora examined her fingernails for a moment, taking time to pick her words carefully. She looked up. “Then, I don't imagine you would want to be bothered with all the ins and outs of my grandfather's life. It's a long story,” she added, sweetening her tone but leaving no doubt that she didn't intend to continue the conversation.

They regarded each other across the table, both impassive. Two hot spots of indignation burned on Treese's cheeks. The frown had lifted like a fog from the wrinkled face and two rather nice hazel eyes appeared in its place. Nora noticed for the first time her fine head of thick white hair. It was a shame that Treese hadn't discovered the worth of a smile, Nora mused.

Treese made a move and got to her feet. She turned to Peg. “I've got things to be doin', so I'm off. I imagine I'll be seein' you by and by.” She nodded in Gerry's direction and left.

The music had stopped playing outside and suddenly it seemed very quiet in the tent.

“I'm sorry,” Nora began. “I hope–”

“No, my dear, don't you say a word. Treese was just fishin' around, lookin' for a bit of gossip. She's been sittin' here waitin' all afternoon, knowin' you were bound to show up. That's the way with her. It's none of her business. Now, how did you get along with Father O'Reilly? I didn't want you to say in front of Treese, but the question was out before I realized.”

“Oh, he was very welcoming, brought me in, gave me tea, and chatted about Matt, but I think there was more he could have told me but for whatever reason, chose not to. He certainly didn't want to answer any questions. You can only go so far with these things …” She was about to add “without causing offence” but decided to leave it alone.

“Gerry here, he was a star pupil of your grandfather's. Maybe you should have a chat with him.”

The music started up again outside.

Gerry came to life and began to beat out the rhythm on his knee as he hummed the tune. “‘Up the Pond,' great tune,” he said and continued to beat out the rhythm. “I don't know about a star, but a pupil, yes.”

“You did well for yourself, Gerry. Better than most.”

“Are you ready for home yet, Aunt Peg?” Pat had appeared at the tent opening.

Peg got to her feet. “Yes, Pat, I'm ready. You two can stay on and talk about old times. Gerry here's a grand man to talk when he gets goin'. I'll go on now and see you later.”

Gerry stood as she left and planted a kiss on top of her head. “She's some wonderful woman,” he said, watching her leave.

“Yes, she is. I've become quite attached to her in the short time I've known her,” Nora said.

He sat down again, placing his arms on the table. “It's a pity that you've come now, now he's gone, I mean. I could never understand why a man the like of him was so alone in the world, alone except for Peg, of course.”

“You're not surprised to know that he had a family in Ireland?”

“No, we all thought there had to be some kind of a problem, some reason he didn't have Peg. She was willing, for sure. You could tell the two of them were close. In her day, Peg was a fine lookin' woman, with a fine house, and he was presentable too but a bit of an oddball. It was only natural that there was talk around. I used to love to listen in on the old fellas below in the shed, sittin' around talkin' about the pair of them. They were worse than a bunch of old women. One of them would start up the conversation with a comment like, ‘Buddy now, the boarder, what's stayin' above to Peggy Barry's place, now, he's somethin' else. Walkin' about the year like a gentleman without his swallowtail. They say he puts in his day sittin' about readin' his books and the like. Now that's a queer way to be goin' on, wouldn't ye say? Don't put no bread on the table, that's for sure.'” Gerry grinned, flashing his set of magnificent white teeth, and inclined his head to one side as if to say, “Now, what do you think of that?”

Nora began to giggle and leaned in closer. “Shh. Keep your voice down or the whole place will hear you.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder.

But the devil seemed to have taken hold of Gerry as he continued to mimic the men in the shed. “‘No, and it's not bread I'd be after either if I had me feet under Peggy Barry's table. Guaranteed! It's under her skirts I'd be. Yes, by the Jesus; I wouldn't be at no books.'”

“Gerry!” Her eyebrows arched.

In an instant, the grin was gone and a new persona emerged. He looked at her with mock earnestness. He seemed to be enjoying himself, feeding shamelessly on Nora's anxiety as he continued his rant. “‘There's no call now to be talkin' like that about the poor woman. It's her business. There'd be no yap the like of that out of you fellas, if the skipper was still above. Buddy'd be out the door on his arse.'” Gerry thumped the table with his fist and paused, feigning mock consideration of the situation. “‘Still an' all now, I wish I had his head. I never seen the like of him. I've had occasion to be down to the priest's place doin' a bit of work and I've heard the two of them talkin' about stuff and I can tell ye, b'ys, the words'd be comin' out of him like farts from a goat. Never heared the like in me life.'”

Nora burst out laughing, loving how he straddled the very core of the gossiping men. Covering her mouth, she said, “Gerry, I think we'd better go.”

“It's you they're interested in, not me. Pay no heed.” He sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. “That's how they'd go on, Nora, they'd have a few laughs and usually end up speculating as to what it was had a hold on him. The general consensus was that it had to be either God, the law, or another woman. The latter was the most popular belief. They were a hard crowd when they got goin'. But now, I have to say, the gossip didn't seem to bother Peg. She just went her own way.”

The crowd had begun to drift into the tent in search of refreshment. The tension that had gripped Nora since leaving the priest's house had begun to dissipate. She was surprised also to find that she felt quite at ease with Gerry. Perhaps it had to do with Peg's liking for him and his obvious respect for Peg, or maybe it was just his easy, humorous way, but, whatever the reason, when he asked her if she'd care to have a beer with him, she accepted.

“I didn't get your last name, Gerry,” she said as though assigning him a final stamp of approval.

“Quinlan. My family came to Newfoundland from Ireland in 1838. I'm glad to meet you, Nora Molloy. It's like meeting a long lost cousin.”

15

He
drove a big, swanky black car with sleek tail fins and an abundance of chrome. With one arm resting on the edge of the open window and the other gripping the smooth rim of the steering wheel, Gerry Quinlan looked suave and confident.

“There's only one place around here to have a beer. It's a few miles up the shore in Angels Cove.” He looked at her sideways, his right eyebrow cocked, waiting for her reaction.

“That's fine, I'm in no hurry.”

“It's a bit rough now. Not too many women go there. It's a tavern really.” He glanced her way again.

She caught that now familiar look of amusement in his eyes. “I've been in a tavern or two.”

But she had never quite seen the like of this place. It was a small dark room with a low ceiling, not much more than a shed, attached by an adjoining door to an equally small and rundown house. The room served also as a kind of shop with a few shelves behind the bar that were strewn with an assortment of boxes, aspirin, matches, nails. There were a few loaves of bread, odd bottles with various liquids, and a number of cheap plastic toys in dusty wrappers. The air was sluggish with the smell of stale beer, tobacco and smoke. Behind the door and set back in a corner was a small wood-burning stove, which, despite the warm weather, was alight and throwing a fair amount of heat into the tiny room. A solitary figure sat slumped over the fire, his head heavy in his hands.

“Paddy.” Gerry nodded in the direction of the figure by the stove. There was no reply. He turned and closed the door, shutting out most of the light to the little room. In the gloom, Gerry put his hand under Nora's elbow and guided her to one of the small tables set along the back wall.

“I'll get us a beer.”

Nora looked around her. The lights of a shiny juke box appeared like a mirage out of the shadows. It winked silently, inviting her to play. The loud clang of a bell startled her. Gerry was tugging at a dangling rope attached to a thin wire in the ceiling. He gave it another tug. The adjoining door opened and closed and a short stout man stood behind the bar. In the dim light Nora guessed him to be in his seventies.

“Gerry. Marvelous bloody day,” he boomed, jolting the room into life. “Too goddamn hot for my likin' but all right just the same, I suppose.” He had reached under the counter, produced two bottles of beer, and had them uncapped and set on the counter before Gerry had time to draw breath.

“Grand day.” He poked his head around Gerry's bulk and raised a hand in Nora's direction.

She nodded.

“Nora Molloy, from Ireland.” Gerry pointed to where Nora sat. “Dave Broderick.”

“Bloody fine women over that way, I'll allow.” He slapped his hand on the counter, set his head to one side, and smiled admiringly at Nora. Language aside, his round balding head with its fringe of white hair and his plump fresh cheeks put her in mind of Friar Tuck.

“Welcome to Newfoundland, my dear.” Raising his voice even more, he roared across the room, “Paddy, don't forget the goddamn fire.” With that he turned and disappeared back to where he'd come from, leaving behind a stunned silence.

The man by the stove never moved.

Gerry shrugged, picked up the two bottles of beer, and brought them to the table. “I'm afraid there are no glasses.” He sat down. “What do you think?”

“Different, I have to admit. Who's he?” She inclined her head towards the man by the stove.

“Paddy Broderick.” He dropped his voice. “A kind of relative. Comes in here every day, first thing in the morning, stays all day. Just tends the stove.”

“Does he speak?”

Gerry shrugged his shoulders. “Not to me.” He raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long draft. “You handled Treese well this afternoon.”

Nora shrugged but made no comment.

“It's been forty-odd years now and she's still sniffin' about like the crackie dog after a bone, unwillin' to let go. She was all set to tear into you this afternoon, couldn't wait. But you kept her right at bay. More power to you. I liked that.”

“I thought she was a friend. The way you were dishing out the compliments, I thought maybe you were related.”

“Well, you know how it is. In a place like this you want to stay on the good side of all.” He winked.