Bishop's Road (10 page)

Summer is in full blossom on Bishop's Road. On this heavy bee morning while her tenants sleep, Mrs. Miflin makes a call to Judy's probation officer. And if he hadn't decided to stop for a cup of coffee on his way, if he hadn't backed his car into another as he was fastening his seat belt, if he hadn't struck his head on the steering wheel and spent two hours waiting for stitches at the hospital, he might have been here. But by the time someone else takes over his caseload and gets around to Judy, the girl's drinking will be the least of Mrs. Miflin's worries.

Howard James is having a rough day as well. His secretary is late - assistant, she likes to call herself - and he hasn't a clue where she buys his coffee. He needs copies of some important papers immediately but has no idea where she keeps them. To make matters worse, he stepped in dog shit on his way to the office and the smell is still on his shoe, though he scraped it well. There are telltale signs on the rich carpet all the way to his desk. He is trapped in the office. Alone. With no coffee. Can't let anyone in until the mess has been dealt with and that won't happen until Ms Know It All shows up and calls a cleaner. His computer is down. The air conditioning is on the fritz. A pretty crappy day all around.

If Dorothy Blake hadn't stopped for his coffee just when she did, and that fool hadn't backed into her car just when he did, she would have been there by now, would have filled Mr. James' porcelain mug with take-out coffee (he likes to think he knows the difference between gourmet blend and Tim Hortons but he doesn't) and be on her knees scrubbing shit off his carpet. But life is no longer going as smoothly as was planned. Everyone within a mile's radius of Mrs. Miflin's house had that figured out before they planted their feet on the floor this morning.

When the knock comes at the front door, it is loud and serious. Mrs. Miflin hears it first and screams to the others to answer it, hoping Judy will be the one to greet the probation officer. Wishing she could see her face. And his when he smells old beer on her breath. But it isn't Judy who opens the door. Eve, still in her dressing gown, but face washed, hair brushed, is the one to let the man in.

Pushing her aside he demands to see Mrs. Miflin. Takes his filthy self into the sitting room to wait. “I know she's hurt. Tell that tall one to bring her downstairs. Tell Mrs. Jessie Miflin that her husband is home and wants to see her right now.”

No one need tell Jessie Miflin any such thing. She can feel his fists. She can feel his feet kicking at her full belly. She screams as the bloody water gushes from between her legs. She cradles the infant forced from her womb. Holds its precious body to her heart while he tears their home to pieces. Hears him snore. Rocks her cold baby for hours until the woman next door comes to visit.

She tried to kill him after that. Pretty Jessie Miflin stole a gun from her friend's husband down the street when no one was looking. October. Cool and bright. Followed him to the hills where he was shooting rabbits. Walked for hours until she saw the blue of his jacket. Came as close as she dared. Looked him in the eye before she pulled the trigger but aimed lower than she wanted. Stood over him while he bled, the ground around him wet, the bones of his pelvis showing sharp through the flesh, through the skin. Stayed there until she heard voices and fled.

No one believed him when he told what she had done. It must have been another hunter. It must have been an accident. Pretty Jessie Miflin wouldn't hurt a fly. Look how unhappy she was with her baby being stillborn and all. She was so frail and sad. Pretty Jessie Miflin didn't shoot her husband. Pretty Jessie Miflin worked two jobs for years, to overcome her grief, they said. By the time she had saved enough money to buy her house there was no
pretty left in Jessie Miflin except in deepest sleep. And even if someone had said ‘and that's the God's truth!' with one hand on a Bible, still no one would have believed that she could dig up her baby's grave and steal the little bones away. Carefully wash and wrap those bones in the lovely pink blanket she had made and place them in the cradle in the attic. They put it down to vandalism. There's a lot of that on the go these days.

Mrs. Miflin has thrown up all over herself. Eve washes her face and changes the bedding. The others are awake now and wandering about. Judy alone has ventured to the sitting room. Stares at Mr. Miflin. Thinks to herself, I could take him in a second, scrawny little bastard. He'd better not be trying anything around here. But he sees doubt in her face. Cocky as she is, this girl won't be a problem.

Eve doesn't understand why Mrs. Miflin is not pleased that her husband is back, for all that he is rather dirty and seems to have fallen on hard times. She can't reconcile the wedding pictures, the dried bouquet, the place so lovingly set at the table, with Mrs. Miflin's attitude.

“Well maybe,” says Ruth, “things are not as they appear. It happens, Eve. All the time. Perhaps our Mrs. Miflin is not who we think she is. What's the story Mrs. Miflin? You spend years yammering on and on about that wonderful husband of yours and now here he is finally home from wherever the hell he was and you're puking your guts up. A little shy all of a sudden?”

“Leave her alone,” says Ginny Mustard. “She's sick. Don't you talk to her like that. Make him go away Ruth.”

“She's the one who has to make him go away. She did it once and I'm sure she can do it again. How did you get rid of him last time Mrs. Miflin?”

“Please stop this Ruth,” says Eve. “Why don't you get Mr. Miflin a cup of coffee and ask him to wait a little longer? Would you like that Mrs. Miflin? If we just make him feel at home until
you get over the shock? I'm sure you'll be feeling better in a few minutes.”

“No!” Mrs. Miflin screams. “I want him gone! He kicked me and kicked me until he killed my baby and I shot him! I want him gone!”

“Well now,” says Ruth. “This is a fine kettle of fish.”

Ginny Mustard goes to the attic and returns with the rifle. “I found this in a trunk. We can shoot him again. He killed the baby and we can kill him.” Before the others can stop her she is standing in front of Mr. Miflin. By the time they reach the sitting room she has pulled the trigger. By the time Judy turns from the window she has been looking through, before the curtain falls back into place, Mr. Miflin's life is colouring the yellow carpet to rust.

The blast of the old gun was deafening. Maggie is screaming. Hands to her ears and letters all over the floor. Ruth slaps her hard across the face. Tells her to be quiet for God's sake. “What the hell have you done, Ginny Mustard? Are you completely out of your mind?”

“I had to, Ruth. He hurt Mrs. Miflin and he killed her baby.”

“That's it? You just decide to kill him? Did you even know the gun was loaded? He could have taken it from you. He could have wiped out the whole lot of us. God you are so friggin' stupid, girl.”

“I'm not stupid anymore. The doctor said I am not stupid, Ruth.”

Eve takes the gun from Ginny Mustard's hands and places it on the floor near Mr. Miflin's body. Sits on the sofa and says a quiet prayer. Mrs. Miflin is calling from her room. “What was that noise?”

“As if she doesn't know,” Ruth is laughing. “Well, this is just great. I'm going to the store for beer. Don't either of you
move a muscle until I get back. Don't call the cops. Don't do any-thing. And for Christ's sake don't let anyone through that door.” She nudges the bloody Mr. Miflin with her foot. Nothing. “Well, he's dead, that's for sure. I'll be back in a minute. Don't budge.”

But they do, of course. Ginny Mustard wants breakfast. Eve pulls herself together and goes to tell Mrs. Miflin what happened. Maggie shakes in her shoes for awhile but even she decides to get out of the sitting room and gathers up her letters, wanders to the kitchen to play with the kittens until Ruth comes home. Only Judy stays where she's told. But turns again to look out the window. Across the street the aspen has lost all of her leaves. The other trees are laughing.

When Father Delaney hears the noise he jumps. Having been through at least one war, he has never quite forgotten the sound of gunfire. Finishes his breakfast and pulls on his shoes. Runs on his old spindle legs to Mrs. Miflin's house. Meets Ruth on her way back from the store. Frowns at her purchase. The Jezebel didn't even have the decency to ask for a bag. The likes of her - buying beer at this hour.

“What brings you over, Father? Checking up on your parishioners this fine day?”

“I heard a noise. It sounded like a gun. Do you women have a gun in that house?”

“Not that I know of. What you heard was probably the stove. The pilot light went out and it gave a bang when Ginny Mustard lit it. Blew her and the oven door right across the kitchen. I keep telling the missus it's not safe to have something that old in the house but she's a bit tight with the dollars. Don't concern yourself with Ginny Mustard. It'll take more than a minor explosion to kill that one.”

“Well. I guess I should see how Mrs. Miflin is doing now that I'm all the way over here.”

“No. You shouldn't. She needs her rest and we're just
about to have breakfast.”

“How are you cooking breakfast if the stove is broken?”

“It's not broken, Father. It exploded. We put the oven door back on and it's as good as it ever was. Which isn't to say it won't blow us all to kingdom come tomorrow but it will do for the likes of us. Why don't you run along, now, and change your shirt? You've got egg all down the front of it.”

“I'm home,” sings Ruth. “Be it ever so humble. Pity about the body in the sitting room - but hey.”

“What has gotten into you Ruth?” asks Eve. “Ginny Mustard has done a dreadful thing and you are treating it like a joke. It's not funny Ruth. A man is dead. And Ginny Mustard will end up going to jail for the rest of her life.”

“Yes. Well I thought about that while I was out. You're right, of course. She'll have to go to jail. It's too bad she turned out to be smart. A few days ago she could have pled stupidity and got away with a few months in the nuthouse. The girl's got lousy timing - that's for sure. I think we'd best call a meeting of the tenant's association. I'm going to put this beer away. Let's have break-fast and discuss the matter at hand. What do you say, old Eve? Think we can work our way out of this mess? And we thought bones in the attic was a problem.”

Again Ruth is laughing. “Someone bring food to the grieving widow. I can hear her moaning and groaning all the way down here. And then let's eat before Mister starts to go bad. We'll have to work fast or we'll never get the smell out.”

Breakfast is leftovers. Everything from night before last and some vegetables slightly past their prime. Ruth says, “Ginny Mustard you have found your calling. You're not a half bad cook. And you're a pretty good shot too. There may be a place in the world for you yet, girl.” And the others smile at that. Cautiously. Unsure of the etiquette of doing so with one newly deceased in the next room.

After the plate scraping and dishwashing have been done, things put back the way they were, Ruth calls them to Mrs. Miflin's room to discuss their latest dilemma. They are in agreement that Ginny Mustard did the right thing. Mrs. Miflin provides vivid details of her married life. The more she talks the less she whimpers. The less she whimpers the clearer her focus. She is more like her old self but without the fuzzy edges that had never made sense. They can see that the man was scum. And that's all he was. Didn't matter that he had been a sweet baby once upon a time, that someone had taken the trouble to name him, maybe played with him. In their minds he was never anything other than what he had become.

If Mrs. Miflin had mentioned the flowers he brought her. Or the way he rubbed her back when she had been sewing for too long. Or the times they walked to the river and threw pennies in to buy a wish, or sat up late at night watching out for falling stars. If she had told them that he cried when their first baby died so soon after he felt it kick, gentle hand on her belly. Oh how he had cried. She had never known a man could cry. If she had told them anything at all, other than what she did, then things might have been different. They might have felt something for the man, some sadness for the waste of life. Might have questioned his fall from saint to monster. Not exactly blissful in their ignorance but, free of pain and regret, they plot to save Ginny Mustard and conceal her wrongdoing.

“What we need,” says Ruth, “is a freezer. That's a bit cliche to be sure but I can't think of anything else at the moment. It will have to be big enough so we can store him in one piece. I am not about to start hacking him up.”

“Oh, Ruth, no. The man needs a proper burial no matter what he has done. We can't just freeze him.”

“Oh for God's sake, Eve. Stop it. You can't run around burying people without someone finding out. Next you'll want an
obituary in the fucking papers. Forget it Eve. We have to put him on ice. Ginny Mustard is the only one with any money and since she's the one who killed the bastard in the first place, she's going to have to buy a freezer. We'll put it in the basement and throw some casseroles on top of him so if anyone comes snooping they won't see he's there. Though I can't imagine who'd be looking for the likes of him. Ginny Mustard you'll have to make a lot of casseroles.”