Where Old Ghosts Meet (26 page)

Nora nodded. “But the isolation, the cold in the depths of winter, the dark, the work to keep wood cut, the fear of being far from help. It must have been terrible.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her body.

“How did he die?” Nora suddenly asked. Then, in an attempt to take some of the bluntness out of her question, added, “My father just slipped away in his sleep at the age of sixty-two, just a few years before his coveted pension came due.”

“It all happened so suddenly, one day he was the best kind, next day everything had changed.” The tone of her voice dropped as she retreated into her world of memories. “He come out of his bedroom one day all wrapped up in his winter coat, the buttons all skew ways. ‘Blessed Lord, what are you at?' I said. ‘Look at the get-up on you. It's a beautiful day out.' Well, girl, he didn't know what I was talkin' about, but he let me help him off with the coat and we had a little laugh about it. But I thought it strange.

“By and by, there were other little things he'd do that was not like him. Like one day he opened the door to the back porch and said, ‘I'm sure this used to be the outhouse.' I said, ‘No, Matt, it's never been there. It's out back.' It was funny in a way and kind of nice to be having a laugh together, especially about personal things like that. But soon it wasn't funny no more. Times I was frightened. At night he'd usually read for a while by the fire. Always when he'd finish he'd close whatever book it was he was readin' and lay it on the shelf by the stove. This one night he was rummagin' about, tossin' things aside and makin' the biggest kind of fuss. His book was gone. I had taken it and hidden it away. He spoke quite harsh to me that night, not like himself, and when I passed him down the book from its usual spot, he never breathed a word of apology. He just sat down in the chair like nothin' had happened. What shocked me most that particular night was he hadn't the clue what to do with that book.”

She looked at Nora and saw the look of disbelief on her face. “That's the truth. He turned it over and over, opened it and closed it. ‘Here,' I said, turning it right way up and opening it at the right page. ‘It's the poems you were readin' last night. Remember?' He was all right then. But now I knew for sure that the man I knew was slippin' away from me.” Every word carried pain.

“That was the beginning of a long goodbye,” she whispered.

Nora reached for her glass and over the rim stole a secretive glance at Peg, who was studying the diminished contents of her glass, swirling it slowly round and round. Then, she took a carefully measured sip.

“I was embarrassed to begin with, didn't tell anybody. I was hopin' it would all go away. But strange things began to happen all the time after that. Mostly, when people were about, he'd act almost normal. He had never been that talkative around others anyway so it wasn't that noticeable until one day Mary Anne Casey come by right excited.

She arrived in the kitchen panting, a letter clutched to her chest. “Peg, I got the finest kind of news today.” Her breath came in short gasps as she fanned herself with the white envelope. “My daughter Agnes is goin' to have a baby.” She finally got the words out. “They've waited nine years and here at last it's on the way. My dear, it was St. Jude, him an' me done it. We've been stormin' heaven these years, and finally we got through to the Almighty. I has great faith in St. Jude.”

“Well, Mary Ann, that's wonderful news all together. Did you hear that, Matt? Mary Anne's daughter, you remember Agnes, the one in St. John's? She's to have a baby.” Peg didn't wait for an answer.

“You sit down there now and take a spell and I'll make us a cup of tea to celebrate. You'll be goin' to St. John's then, by and by.”

“Yes, but it's not for a while yet.” She flopped down in the chair by the table. “When we was young, it was tryin' not to have them, we was. Right, Peg? What with one on the floor and one on the way most times.”

Peg set the tea things on the table. She said nothing. Suddenly the woman realized her error. She leaned across the table. “I often thought,” she whispered, “if you'd done the novena years back, things might have gone different for you.” She gave Peg a knowing look, raised her eyebrows and gave a flick of her head in Matt's direction.

“You'll have tea, Matt?” Peg chose to ignore her visitor's comment but gave her a reassuring smile to show there were no hard feelings. “Sit in to the table now.” She poured tea and set out plates of bread and jam.

“So when is the baby coming?”

“May month. I'll–”

The conversation stopped abruptly as both women turned to watch the activity at the other end of the table. Matt had tipped the slices of bread onto the table and had pulled the plate close to him. Slowly he picked up his mug and with great care began to pour the hot sweet tea onto the plate. When it was about half full he set down the mug, picked up the plate, carefully balancing it between widespread fingers, and brought it to his mouth. With a loud slurp the tea disappeared. The women stared. There was a soft tap as he set the plate down. He was pouring again, the trickling noise breaking the silence in the room. He worked carefully, setting down the mug, then, just as carefully, he picked up the plate and held it out to the woman on his left. She hesitated a moment, unsure, and then slowly reached for the brim-full plate. The tea slopped dangerously close to the edge. She steadied her hands and took a deep breath.

“Here's to the child,” she said as she exhaled and brought the plate to her mouth.

Peg watched, wide-eyed.

When it was all gone, the woman set the plate down in front of Matt. “I'll tell Aggie we drank to the baby's health,” she said.

At the other end of the table, Peg looked on like an unseen observer. A sudden realization swept over her like the touch of a warm breeze on a cool day. There was no shame, nothing to hide.

“That was a grand cup of tea, Peg. I'm some glad I was able to come by right away and tell the news. It couldn't wait.”

“I'm glad you came too, Mary Anne. Good news is always welcome.”

Mary Anne got up from the table then, said goodbye and left.

“It was a great relief to know that I didn't have to hide what was happening anymore, that I didn't have to face things on my own. Mary Anne was the best kind. She came by again the next day to tell me her grandfather had suffered the same thing years back when she was a child and she remembered quite well how it was. She was a great help to me in the months to come. It wasn't easy to open up just like that to an outsider but I couldn't have managed without her. I had never shared my business with anyone, especially with regards to Matt and me, never let them in our private life, but Mary Anne seemed to understand. She had the good sense to take things slowly, lettin' me find my own way. I was glad of that.”

Peg, her eyes heavy with concern, looked at Nora. “It's a hard way to go, you know. You need people around you who care.”

A car engine sounded in the distance and grew louder. A bright beam of light penetrated the thin blinds and briefly scanned the room as if seeking them out.

“That will be the crowd from the dance. They're headed home.”

Nora looked at her watch: 12:30. Another car passed and another right behind. Music blared momentarily, someone yelled, a loud drunken yell. The car sped away and silence settled in again.

“I watched him slip back to his childhood. His garden became a playground. Days I saw a little boy playing in the mud, building castles, rapt in his own imaginings. He'd haul out the new carrots and turnip and then fill up the holes with water. It was terrible to watch. Other times he'd come in the kitchen and say, ‘I'm off to school now,' and head off out the door. I was afraid for him to go out on his own, afraid he'd go too close to the cliffs. Times he couldn't find his way back. He seemed to have no sense. There was one time when I tried to stop him goin' off on his own, he turned and hit me hard. Knocked me right over, he did. I cut my head open on the door frame.

“I was about to give up after that but when Mary Anne come by and seen what had happened, she was full of wisdom. ‘Peg girl, he does that because he's frustrated. He wants to go to school and no matter what you say it won't make no difference. What my mother would do with Poppy when he'd be like that is she'd say, “Very good then, let's go to school.” Then she'd lead him off down the road or into the garden or wherever until he'd forgotten all about school.'

“Sometimes I could laugh at things he'd do and the things I'd do to keep him happy.

“One day I realized that he could recite a lot of the stuff he'd learned off in his head. So sometimes I'd start him off with a few words I knew and off he'd go like one of them tape recorders. He'd be happy as a clam then. I got so I'd have a line ready in my head, ready to distract him. Not everyone understood what I was at, especially Pat. There was one day in particular when he came across from Placentia to check on us.”

Peg was in the yard hanging the washing on the line when Pat came around the corner of the house carrying a box of supplies.

“That's a fine load of washing you have there, Aunt Peg.” He set down his load and then bent down to draw a heavy white sheet from the basin and throw it over the clothesline. “Matt should help with this. It's hard on you.”

“Yes, he does normally but he's at the garden now and content so I won't bother him.”

“How is he these days?”

“Oh, best kind. We manage, the two of us.”

Pat stood next to her, helping to get the wet laundry on the line. When it was all done and neatly pegged she stepped back, and had he not been there to catch her, she would have tumbled to the ground. At arm's length, he took a good look at his aunt. “You look exhausted, Aunt Peg, and that dress looks like it could do with a wash and a button sewn on.”

She looked down at her dress and was taken aback to see the front gaping open and the white flesh of her breast exposed.

“Come in the house now and we'll get you squared away,” he said. Picking up the bags, they headed towards the back door. “Bride's got a job for the summer. She starts Monday,” he called over his shoulder.

“Them few things should be dry by suppertime if the rain holds off. Maybe you could empty that water for me, Pat. Soon as I get clear of this, we'll have a cup of tea.” It was as if she hadn't heard him.

Peg sat down. Her arms, heavy with exhaustion, rested on the table top.

“You can't continue like this,” he said, beginning to clear up the remains of the washing. “He needs to see a doctor and so do you.”

As he spoke, the back door opened and Matt Molloy stood there, the wet laundry clutched in his arms. He took a few steps into the kitchen, stumbled on a loose end, quickly flipped the dirty straggling end over his shoulder and furtively searched the room. He paid no attention to the two sets of incredulous eyes watching his every move. A few quick steps and he was across the room, the white sheet trailing the floor behind him. One last look around and he disappeared into his bedroom.

“Christ Almighty!” Pat said. “He's gone in the head.”

Peg was on her feet, her open hand thrust forward, blocking what he was about to say. “Leave this to me. I know what to do.”

She hurried towards Matt's bedroom door, knocked once and entered.

“But they're mine.”The whiny voice came from behind the door.

“Yes, Matt, they're yours but we must dry them first. We'll hang them on the line in the sunshine and we'll dry them and then you can have them back.”

There was a lengthy silence. Pat stood ready, tense.

“Let's see. What about … ” Peg's voice was soft and cajoling. “
Friends, Romans, countrymen
… That's a good one. You remember that one?”

“
Lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar not to praise him
.” The words were running off his tongue, strong at first and then petering off to a mumble.

Peg came through the door, the laundry in her arms. “Put that on the line for me, Pat. It's all right now.”

“They're dirty.”

“No matter, just get them on the line.”

The mumbling continued from beyond the door.

Pat took the wet sheets in his arms. “Aunt Peg, he's not right in the top story. You know that, don't you?”

“He's sick, Pat, I know that. He just needs carin' for, that's all.”

“That's not all, Aunt Peg, and you knows it. He needs a hospital. He needs puttin' away.”

“Yes, into that hospital in St. John's!That's where they'd put him. I won't have it, Pat.”

Behind the closed door they could hear him pacing the floorboards, back and forth, back and forth, his mumbling punctuated by the odd shout.

Peg had seen the hospital in St John's. The Waterford Hospital they called it. She had walked by there once. It was just down the road from the sanatorium. In the spring of the year, when she was on the mend, oftentimes she'd go for walks to build up her strength to make ready for goin' home. It was a grim-looking place, she remembered. High brick walls with empty windows and not a soul to be seen about the place. “That's the loontic.” Annie Walsh had grabbed her arm and steered her across the road. “It's where they puts them loontics to. Locks them up in the basement, they does. We'd best hang on to our wits, girl, or that's where we'll end up, too.”

“It's you I'm concerned for, not him.” Pat's voice startled her. “You're out here in the middle of nowhere.” He dropped his voice. “Livin' with a friggin' lunatic.”

She looked across at her nephew's dear earnest face. She loved Pat to pieces but she wished he wouldn't use that word. That was Annie Walsh's word and she didn't like it.