Where Old Ghosts Meet (16 page)

Childhood nonsense rang in her head:
Here's the church / There's
the steeple / Open the door / There's the people.

“A good man,” he reiterated.

She drew a deep breath. “How would you know that?” Her question, she knew, was blunt, too blunt, but she didn't care. She was beginning to find him irritating.

He shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “When one serves in a community for as long as I did one tends to get to know one's parishioners quite well. That's part of the job.”

She could feel the gulf widen between them. It made her more desperate, more insistent. He was preaching at her again and that annoyed her. She felt an overpowering urge to tell him that she wasn't here for a sermon, that she was not a pesky parishioner who could be cowed by a stern formal tone. But good sense or good manners, one or the other, took over and she decided on another approach.

“There must have been talk around that would have been of concern to the parish priest?”

“There is always gossip in small communities.” He was looking directly at her over the rim of his glasses.

She held her ground. “Gossip you could ignore?”

“The man came and stayed from time to time. He taught school for several years and he boarded with Peg Barry. There's no crime in that now, is there?” He wasn't asking her. She was being told.

“So, you had no reservations about hiring him to teach the children on the island?” She pressed, her pounding heart threatening to garble her words.

“No, I did not. I made what inquiries as were necessary. I offered him the job and he accepted.”

She wondered about the inquiries. How did one inquire about the likes of Matt Molloy?

“Did you know that he had a wife and child back in Ireland?”

He hesitated just a bit too long before answering. “Yes, I did.”

She could see the old power there, the well-honed ability to shut down any further inquiries. She decided to change direction again. “I understand he refused the position to begin with.”

“We had little to offer in those days. We were very fortunate that eventually he agreed.”

“Maybe he was the fortunate one. Perhaps Berry Island was a better alternative to Boston or New York in the Dirty Thirties.”

“I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you. Peg is the one who knew him best. She is your best source.” It was his parting shot. He got to his feet, abruptly bringing the conversation to an end.

She rose, thanked him, said goodbye and walked to the door.

In the car she went over their conversation bit by bit. Things had started off quite well. She had liked his humorous, straightforward approach but somehow things had turned around. She acknowledged that she had been too strident in her approach, not diplomatic enough but time was her enemy. Tomorrow she would have to leave. She was convinced that he knew more about Matt Molloy than he had let on. She could feel it in her gut. Why couldn't he just come straight out and tell her what he knew? At this stage what was there to lose? She was thinking about turning back and trying again when it occurred to her that maybe the nosey housekeeper might know a thing or two, and she was going to the garden party. Maybe she could corner her there and wheedle a few details from her.

Beyond a grassy meadow she could see a long stony stretch of beach. She pulled to the side of the road, hoping the fresh breeze off the water would clear her head. She hurried across the field, eager to get to the water's edge.

Sitting on a rock she watched the ebb and flow of the tide, the grey waters lapping the shoreline, running silently into every nook and cranny, painting dark shiny crescents on the beach rocks and the rough sand. She picked up a flat stone and threw it far out in the water. It made a loud plop and disappeared, leaving behind ever expanding circles that spread wider and wider and finally disappeared.

14

There
was no need to ask for directions to the garden party. The brightly coloured bunting beckoned with a mad kind of excitement as she drove down into the cove. Hoopla was the last thing she needed right now but she had to go for Peg's sake. When she'd stopped by the house to pick her up she found that Peg had already left.

Lively dance music crackled from a loud speaker as she stepped from her car. Two girls in tight bell-bottom jeans, one clutching a huge purple stuffed dog, went by arm in arm, heads close together, giggling and whispering. Across from where Nora stood, a crowd had gathered around a Wheel of Fortune. A couple of lanky boys, hair slicked back, hands jammed deep into their pockets, broke away from the crowd and hurried after the two girls. How in the world was she going to find Peg in this melee? Nora moved closer to the crowd.

“Last five tickets before the spin.”

“Twenty-five cents, any takers, any takers?”

“Keep her goin' there, b'y. We need a quarter, just one quarter, to stop the wheel.”

“Who's goin' to be the lucky one?”

“Yes, my darling, they're all yours.”

“We're ready now, here she goes!”

In one swift motion money and tickets changed hands.

“Take her away, Paddy. Watch your numbers, ladies and gentlemen.” Brrr. The wheel spun round and round, the rubber finger slapping the metal spikes. A hush fell on the crowd.

“Twenty-six,” Paddy called out with authority.

“Jumpins, I'm twenty-six!” A white head bobbed up and down and a thin hand slid a blue strip of tickets to the vendor.

“Yes, indeed, Aunt Carrie, my duckie, and I'm Santa Claus. You'll get no argument from me. Give the lady her prize, Paddy, if she says she's twenty-six, then, by God, she's twenty-six!” The crowd cheered and laughed.

He was playing the pack, a seasoned expert holding their attention, making eye contact, coaxing them shamelessly to part with their money. They were having a grand time. A blue flurry of spent tickets fell to the ground as the next spin got under way.

Eager to be part of the fun, Nora moved in closer, pulled out a dollar bill and reached above the straining heads. “A dollar's worth,” she called tentatively, not sure if she would be heard above the din.

“Ha, ha. Make way there, ladies and gentlemen, for the last of the big spenders.”

Heads turned.

“Step right up, my dear. Four strips for the lady from away.”

She reached forward, her green dollar bill dangling between her fingers. He laughed, showing his big white even teeth, his dark eyes full of merriment. She took in at a glance the neat set of his collar and tie, the tanned flush of his skin and the neatly combed head of greying hair. He put her in mind of one of the travelling peddlers of long ago, full of banter and charm but with a certain craftiness. Yet he cut a dashing figure. He took her dollar bill and held out four blue strips of tickets. She grasped them but he held on momentarily as if to say, “Not so fast lady.” In that moment he looked her straight in the eyes. It was an honest look but strangely disquieting, devoid of the merriment she had seen there earlier. Then it was gone and he moved on to his next customer, joking, laughing and selling. The crowd pressed closer to watch the next spin. She didn't win but decided to move on.

She had a go at the ring toss but again came up empty-handed. She wished she could locate Peg. A roar of laughter followed by loud clapping came from a group over by the tent. She began to hurry across the open space to the shelter of the crowd, aware that people sometimes stepped aside to let her pass. Was she the only one in a hurry? She wished that she had worn something less conspicuous. Her long maxi summer dress that she had hurriedly put on for her visit to the priest might be fashionable in Montreal, but here it made her even more conspicuous. She edged her way into the crowd and stood on tip-toe looking for Peg. The crowd was thinner over to the side so she went that way. Up front she could see a young man stripped to the waist, sitting precariously on a makeshift ledge a few feet above a huge plastic tub of water. Above the tub hung a large black bull's eye painted on a piece of wood. She strained to get a closer look. The woman to her left turned to leave and suddenly she was at the front of the crowd.

“A clean smack and down he goes. Three balls for a quarter. Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. Try your hand.”

“Gimme a couple of them there balls, Foxy, and I'll wipe the grin offa that young whelp's face. Time someone teached him a lesson.”

“Go for it, Ronnie b'y, give 'er a smack.”The crowd was all fired up, hollering advice at the little man to Nora's left.

“Clear the decks there, b'ys, and give the man a bit of room.”

In a flash his jacket was off and pressed into Nora's hands for safekeeping. “Hold on to that, my duckie. I'll be done the minute.” Bright eyes darted from the jacket to Nora, a caution to take great care of his bundle. He flexed his skinny muscles, pushed his tweed cap to a warlike angle and stepped up to the line. “Hang on to yer drawers, b'ys,” he yelled, as he wound up with an exaggerated motion, “Ronnie is about to blow the arse right out of her. She's goin' down.” The ball soared straight above their heads and tumbled back into the crowd.

Abuse came from all sides.

“Look, Ronnie b'y, the target's here, right above me head.” The young buck on the ledge pointed to the bull's eye.

“The sauce of that!” He wound up again. A quick flick and the ball once more flew into the air above the crowd.

“Ah, I'm not meself today, lost me touch!” With that, he turned, took his jacket from Nora and thrust the last ball into her hand. “Here, girl, have a go. Give it to him, right in the chops!”

She had no wish to participate. She just wanted to watch, to be a part of the crowd, yet she couldn't help but feel sorry for the little man who was getting such a hard time from the raucous mob. She was his partner after all; she had held his jacket.

He leaned in to her and whispered in her ear, “Go for it, girl. A clean hit an' he's in there, eyes and face. Give it all ye got.”

She felt the weight of the ball in her hand, turned it over several times, and with a knowing glance at her partner, stepped up to the line.

Now she wanted to do it. She wanted to bring that smirky face down and it wasn't just for the fun of it. She was shocked momentarily by the intensity of her feelings but she quickly pushed them aside. She eyed the lad on the perch. It didn't matter anymore that people stared, that they pointed and whispered behind her back. She was going to show them. She was going to enjoy this one.

She took careful aim, her eye fixed on the black circle above his head. Her arm arced back slowly. A quick flick and the ball flew from her fingers, hard and sure and straight. She heard the thump as it hit home. Another thump immediately followed and then an enormous splash. The crowd whooped and yelled in delight and then she too was laughing, wiping splashes of water from her face and forehead with the back of her hand. Ronnie, beside himself with glee, grabbed her by the waist and danced her round and round on the grass in a fumbling victory waltz.

“Yes, girl, you got 'un good.”

As she twirled round and round she caught a glimpse of her victim as he emerged dripping from the tank, hair plastered to his head. He was grinning broadly. She waved to him, mouthing her apologies. He winked approvingly.

“Feels some good, don't it?” Ronnie, delighted with his new buddy, continued with his victory dance.

She realized suddenly that it did feel good. It felt great.

When finally she broke away from the crowd, she was once more trying to decide what to do next when a voice spoke right in her ear.

“He had a good eye, too.”

She spun around. It was the ticket man from the Wheel of Fortune.

“You frightened me, creeping up like that.”

“Sorry.”

“What do you mean by that, ‘a good eye'?”

“Mr. Molloy, he had a good eye too. He was a crack shot, right on the target.”

“Oh, yes, so I hear. Peg told me.” Nora looked at him carefully. He had an amused look in his eye.

“Gerry Quinlan.” He held out his hand.

“Oh, Peg mentioned your name. I'm Nora Molloy.”

“Did she now? She's looking for you, wonderin' if you got here. She's in the tea tent just over there.”Without asking he put his hand on her elbow and ushered her across the grass.

It was good to see Peg looking rested and relaxed amidst the noise and hubbub of the tent. Nora walked over to where she sat with another lady having tea.

“Ah, there you are, child, and Gerry too. Come and sit down, the pair of you.”

“Aunt Peg, my dear, you're looking great, yourself too, Treese.” He nodded to them in turn.

“Get away with you, Gerry,” Peg said, dismissing the compliment, but she was obviously pleased to see him. She turned to Nora. “Are you enjoyin' yourself?”

“I'm having a grand time. I just dumped some poor young lad in the water outside there.”

“Oh, that'll be Gerry's boy, I suppose. He's a great sport. Loves a bit of fun.”

“Your son?” She turned to Gerry.

“Yes, my dear, you never know who's who in Newfoundland.” He was mocking her.

“You might have told me.”

“Never got the chance.”

“Treese.” Peg turned to her companion. “This is Nora Molloy from Ireland. You remember Matt Molloy, taught school on the island years ago? Well, this is his granddaughter. She's here for a visit.”

“Hello,” Nora said, offering her hand to the woman sitting on the edge of a folding chair. Nora was looking at a face full of scrutiny, one suffused by a deep frown, so much so that her eyes were all but lost to view. Only a glint of light coming from where the sockets were located gave this face any semblance of life. She was regarding Nora intently. For Nora, it was like looking at a mask.

“Something to drink, Nora?” Peg asked.