Where Old Ghosts Meet (19 page)

Nora hated country music and wished she could get away, but her driver had settled down with another beer and showed no inclination to leave.

“Patsy Cline,” he said with a jaunty air. “I love Patsy Cline. How about you?”

Nora cleared her throat. “She's got a great voice,” she replied, mustering up a smile. Until a short time ago she had been delighted, even fascinated, with this strange little tavern in the wilds of Newfoundland, with its blustering landlord who handed his customers their first beer and then conveniently disappeared, leaving them to fend for themselves. Her companion, too, was lively and talkative and seemed happy to take the time to tell her what he knew about her missing grandfather, which was why she was here after all. So what did she have to complain about?

“Ever been to Nashville, Nora?”

“No.”

“You should. It's a great spot. I've been there twice.”

She watched his body take on the rhythm of the song. She wouldn't have put him down as a Nashville type. It just didn't seem to fit. He had an easy grace and charm about him, she had to admit that, and an assurance and sophistication that she liked, yet, from time to time she sensed a shrewd side to this man and fancied that in different circumstances he might surprise her. She had wanted several times to ask what he did for a living but shied away from the intrusion.

Instead she asked, “How did he let you down, Gerry?”

He waved his hand as if to brush the thought away. “Ah, you don't want to know about that. It was just a lot of old foolishness, the mad dreams of a youngster.”

Yet it was important enough to mention earlier on. She looked at him steadily. “I'd like to hear if you wouldn't mind telling me.”

He sat back in his chair and regarded her over the rim of the bottle. “I was his protégé. I suppose that's how people would see it today. He worked with me for a nice few years to bring me along, all the time making me believe that if I worked hard at the books, I could be whatever I wanted to be. I believed him absolutely.”

He crossed one leg over the other, shifting most of his weight onto his left buttock and twisting his body around so that he no longer faced her. “I was the only one on the island at that time going for grade eleven. I worked a lot on my own and he taught me after school, at the weekends or whenever we could get a few spare hours. I was even allowed to go to Peg's house, if I was sore in need of help with my work. I loved to go over there. It was warm and cozy, always neat and clean and peaceful; merciful God, it was so peaceful. A haven of contentment, or so it seemed to me. You could tell there was steady money coming in there. Those days every other house in the community was full of half-starved youngsters, but there was only Sheila there, all bright and smiling and well cared for. They had it all, everything I wanted, or so I thought. But you know, the fact that they were not a real family didn't occur to me in those days.”

He glanced at her sideways and continued on. “When he left I couldn't believe he had walked away from that perfect, sheltered life. In fact I was ragin'.” There was a long pause. “I also couldn't believe that he had walked away from me, leavin' me twistin' about in the wind not knowin' where to go or what to do. I thought I was important to him.”

“I'm sorry,” Nora said, not quite knowing or understanding what she was sorry for. Was she feeling guilty about this strange long-lost man, this relative of hers, this …? She didn't want to use the word grandfather.
Blood is thicker than water
, a voice inside suggested. She wanted to be rid of that voice. She wanted it gone. Out! Peg, now she was the loyal one, the kind one, the one who knew him best. She was his … Again she was stuck for a label, a naming word, a bonding word. Immediately she felt ashamed of her rush to push her guilty feelings onto Peg, but at the same time she wondered whether Peg had ever taken on these same guilty feelings.

“So he ran out on everyone a second time. I didn't know that. What happened? Can you recall or do you know?”

“Oh yes, I know. It was my fault but I was only a youngster, and as I said, it was all a bit foolish. You want to hear that, too?”

She nodded.

“It was Christmas time and us youngsters decided to put on a concert. We wrote the skits, did up the songs and decided on the stories. I put it all together, taking into account all he'd shown us about setting things up and creating atmosphere, making believe. We held it down to our place on Old Christmas Day. Being Christmas and all, my mother got right into the spirit of things and made a big boiler of soup with doughboys enough for the crowd. Everyone was there, all packed into the kitchen. For a while we thought he wasn't going to show up, but just as we got under way he arrived and stood down back by the door beside my father, even though there was a seat specially set aside for him up front by Father O'Reilly. We had a fine time, everyone doing their bit. Young Joey Coady, I told you about, did the best kind of take-off of Father O'Reilly giving his sermon on Sunday. Up on top of a chair he was, decked out finest kind in an altar boy's outfit, lookin' like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, wagging his finger at the congregation and givin' it to her good as Father O'Reilly any day. It was a grand bit of fun and the crowd loved it and I was glad for Joey.”

“And the priest?”

“Oh, he was the best kind.”

“And did you perform?”

“Yes, I took my turn.” He drew in a deep breath. “I was expected to play the accordion and maybe give a song. That's probably what I should have done. But I was seventeen years old, getting ready to write grade eleven exams in the summer of that year and I had a plan. This was my chance to show him what I had learned. We had been studying Shakespeare's
Henry V
together and had talked at length about the dignity and manliness that the king had shown in his great speech to his men before the battle of Agincourt, and how those qualities had inspired his army to rise above the boastful frivolity of the French and eventually win the day against all odds.”

She nodded and, smiling, quoted in a low voice, “
And he which
hath no stomach to this fight, / Let him depart
.”

“You know it.” He beamed. “I loved that speech. It was burned into my imagination and I lived every word of it that evening. “
This day is called the feast of Crispian: / He that outlives this day, and
comes safe home, / Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, /
And rouse him to the name of Crispian
.”

He laughed as she added a new line. “
This story shall the good man
teach his son
.”

They touched bottles with a soft clink, confirming their togetherness at that moment.

“
We few
,” he began and she joined in, “
we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother
.”

Then, all of a sudden it hit her. Her heart began to thump. He need go no further. She knew, she just knew, with absolute certainty what was coming next: the curt dismissal, the bitter blow that in a matter of seconds would shatter a cherished dream, and then the aftermath, the misery of feeling silly and stupid and sorry, so bitterly sorry for having tried to reach for something that was out of the ordinary, something exciting, ridiculous. Her father, his own son, could do the same in an instant, without a second thought or a hint of remorse. She knew from experience, and the memory hurt her more than she could have believed.

“I was good, you know!” His laugh pierced the quietness in the room.

She felt a surge of relief that seemed to calm the frenzy in her chest.

“Next day there were high expectations of praise amongst the youngsters and he did manage to dole out a few well-chosen words but that was it. So after school, when the others had all gone home, I approached him.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Gerry.”

“I have a plan, sir, for when I finishes grade eleven.”

“When you finish, Gerry. You must get it right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what is your plan, Gerry?” He continued to read and make corrections to the exercise on the desk in front of him.

“I want to be an actor, sir.” His voice was steady. He waited, aware that he had drawn no comment. He waited a moment longer then continued to plough on, staring straight ahead at a dirty smudge on the white wall behind the desk. “If I could just get to New York, sir, and if you could help me a bit, maybe I'd have a chance to get started. I'd work hard and do whatever was necessary to get–”

With a clunk, the heavy black fountain pen with the gold band hit the wooden desk.

The young man's eyes went from the pen to the face behind the desk and saw a look of utter disbelief.

“Don't be talking such bloody nonsense.” The voice behind the desk was cold, quiet as death and with a hint of fear. “We are aiming at getting you to the university college in St. John's. That,” he spat the word out, “is what we are working towards.”

Unexpectedly, the man who never laughed, laughed. It was a quiet dismissive laugh that lingered with mocking candour on the chilly air. The heat rose in the young man's body, and like a flash fire, a crimson flush spread across the back of his neck and swept over his cheeks and forehead, rising into the very roots of his hair.

“I didn't know we had decided on that, sir.” He was staring at the dark spot on the wall again. “I don't remember ever discussing that.” His eyes hurt.

The teacher's fist came up suddenly and landed in a crashing thud on the desk. “Well, we're discussing it right now, young man!”

“We!” The pent-up anger spurted out like bright blood from a new flesh wound. “Who is this ‘we' you're talking about all of a sudden? In case you didn't know, it's my bloody life that we're discussing and just because you've made an arse of yours doesn't mean to say I've got to do the same with mine. Now, if I wants to be a bloody actor, I'll be a bloody actor, whether it's all bloody nonsense or not, and I'll do it with or without you.” He stood his ground, hot with fury, his breath visible in the frigid air.

For a moment there was a stony silence in the room, both realizing that a line had been crossed.

“For now, if you take my advice,” the voice was cool and controlled again, “you would do better to concentrate on learning the correct use of the English language.” He picked up his pen then and resumed marking the exercise in front of him.

Patsy Cline was done on the juke box and the place felt empty. “Of course, later on I regretted everything,” Gerry said with a smile. “I was glad I'd picked up for myself but it was like losing a friend, more than a friend. I knew things would never be the same again. I was no longer the boy he'd brought along. If he hadn't laughed, maybe things wouldn't have been so bad. Anyway, shortly after that he left and I never went back to school again.”

“So what did you do?”

“I wrote my exams and went to St. John's to the university college … eventually. So he had his way. But, it was my choice and not his.”

Suddenly she could stand the heat no longer. She had to get out of the place. “Maybe we should be off.” She made a move to leave.

He finished his beer in one swallow, went to the bar, counted out several bills and threw them on the counter.

Nora made her way to the door. The lone figure by the stove had raised his head and was looking at her with the blank stare of a cow looking over a fence. He blinked once, and for a second she thought he might speak but then he lowered his head and returned to his crouched position. She opened the door and stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine.

“Sorry if I upset you,” he said when he caught up with her. “But you did ask, and I gave it to you, warts and all.”

They had reached the car and she smiled across the black dome of the roof. “I'm glad of the truth. Thank you.” She got in and closed the door.

16

“
You
wouldn't know but it was the Queen herself was come to visit us. Father O'Reilly has been on the phone twice lookin' for you, and Pat came by wantin' to know if you'd fancy a run over to the island tomorrow. He'll be goin' by there to check his traps and he can drop you off on the way. If you like, that is. There's not too much there now, just the old houses but it's nice just the same, nice to spend a couple of hours on a good day.”

On the stove, a white enamel lid danced an urgent rat-a-tat-tat, the steam bursting in furious puffs into the kitchen.

“I'd love to go.”The very thought of actually setting foot on the island, seeing the house, the garden, of walking the path up over the hill through the alder bushes to the berry patch was all very exciting. “How long would the trip take?” Second thoughts had made her cautious. “I've got a flight to catch on Tuesday morning so I need to be back in St. John's tomorrow night.”

“Oh, it's only a couple of hours run, maybe less.”

“Then I'll go. I'd love to.” Nora paused a moment. “I don't suppose you would come too?”

“No, girl, I'm done with the island now. It makes me sad to think of the old house all neglected. Too many memories,” Peg said, raising her voice as she reached over to lower the heat beneath the bubbling pot.

“Then I'll bring back a memento of some kind, something special you can keep.”

“Yes, do that, girl. I'll let Pat know then.” She was already heading for the phone.

“Thank him for me. It's very thoughtful of him,” Nora called out. She went to the table and sat down on the corner of Peg's chair. The child's bouquet, although still bright and colourful, had begun to droop slightly, but it still held its place of prominence in the middle of the table. The faint smell of honey from the lupin brought her back momentarily to her mother's garden. She could see exactly the spot where the purple and lavender spikes stood tall and majestic in the perennial border, making a glorious splash of colour in early summer. She reached over and touched the velvety bloom. Everything in this tiny house was treasured: every scrap of clutter, every ornament and souvenir, every picture, every letter and card all had a connection to life. Her eyes fell on the big chair by the fireplace where the cat lay curled up asleep. Even the dust from the island had been saved. It was all important to Peg, keeping her together body and soul in an urgent drive to keep going. Nora could hear her now, busy making plans. There was a click as the phone was returned to its cradle.