Mother Lode (46 page)

“Put away.”

“Did Mummy make you give them up?”

“No. It’s a sacafice. I was very good
tonight. I didn’t have any supper.”

Jorie’s stomach turned over.

“Mummy loves me now. We
have the
Golden Bubble
, Jawie. Just the two of us.”

My God, she was at it again!

“She’s teaching me to
speak French. And
then
we won’t need English at all. Comprenee vous,
Jawie?”

A kind of fire was rising from the base of
his spine. “What else does she make you do?”

“Sometimes I’m not allowed to speak all day
long. I must stay in my room.”

Suddenly her hand shot to her mouth. “I’m
not supposed to tell, Jawie! The bubble will break if I do.” She
started to cry. “Now I’m going to get in trouble!”

Jorie held his little sister against his
breast and comforted the child. He could feel her little heart
beating like that of a small frightened bird.

When he went downstairs his mother was in
the kitchen.

“You’ve come back.” She missed the fire in his eyes.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away. Sit down, and I’ll fix you
something.”

“No,
you
sit down. I have something to
say to you.” He took a deep breath. “You cannot start in on Eliza
the way you did with me. It’s wrong!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sacrifice and the
Golden Bubble
— all
of
that
.”

“It never did you any harm.”

“It’s got to stop!”

“Oh, you hush your mouth. She likes it.
Don’t you remember how you loved it? She was made for surrender,
Jorie, even more than you. She has the temperament for it.”

“It’s
damaging
! You
will
stop!”

She laughed. “And how are you going to make
me?”

“I’ll take her away from here!”

Catherine laughed. “You’d be caught and put
in prison. And what could you do for her from there?”

“I’ll report you, to the authorities!”

“Who would believe you?
It’s
you
who has
a record of violent and unstable behavior.”

“What you’re doing
is
evil,
Mother!
Don’t you understand?”

“No, Jorie. It’s you who must understand.
She’s my child, and I’ll raise her as I choose. It’s every parent’s
right—”

“You must stop! Before I leave—”

“You’re not going anywhere. I have you for
life. Don’t you know that yet?”

She said it with the smugness of someone who
had just played her trump card. Taking a hairpin from her hair, she
gathered and twisted the rogue tendrils that lay against her back,
pushed them up and fastened them securely with the pin.

“You cut your teeth on me,” she smiled. “If
you won’t remain for me, you’ll stay for Eliza.”

He studied her small delicate neck. How easy
it would be to squeeze the life out of her there on the spot. His
hands clenched and unclenched, while she stared at him with that
Mona Lisa look, until he turned and strode out with as much
determination as he could muster.

He had to get Eliza away from her.

He remembered type-setting an article a
couple of months ago about a boy in Red Jacket who’d been severely
beaten by his parents over a period of time. The teacher had
reported it, but the deputy said there was no provision which
entitled the law to intervene. He was quoted as saying, “We don’t
take children away from their parents.”

The boy had died.

What hope was there for
getting Eliza away from her mother? He’d have to find a
solution.

The next day he went to see a lawyer in
Dollar Bay. He didn’t know Mr. Olsen, and he didn’t think the man
knew his family either.

In obvious pain the old attorney seated
himself on the swivel chair, cleared a space in the center of his
desk, and brought out a fresh piece of paper. He dipped his pen in
the inkwell, brushed back a lock of thick grey hair and looked
up.

“And what can I do for you, my lad?”

Jorie said, “Could you tell me, sir, the
procedure for declaring a person insane?”

“Insane? To what purpose?”

“Well, so that . . . they would be put
away.” He could hardly believe he’d said it.

“Committed.”

“Yes.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

He wet his lips, felt the sweat on his brow.
“My mother.”

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “On
what grounds?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Then I can’t help you.”

“Well, that would come later. I’m just
trying to get a feel for the procedure, how difficult it would
be.”

“I’ll tell you this much, lad, you’d have to
have a lot of evidence, witnesses to back up your testimony.
Including her doctor.”

“Thank you for your time, sir.”

He paid the lawyer on the spot and left the
office frustrated.

Witnesses.
He had none
.
He thought of Doctor Johnson, who had attended
him through so many illnesses, had braved the winter nights to
bring medicine for him when he was ill. The doctor who’d visited
him so often the year he was kept from school because of the
Scarlet Fever scare. Could he trust him with this unspeakable
story? Would
he
be willing to talk to his mother, convince her that what she
was doing with Eliza was wrong? And if he couldn’t persuade her to
change her ways, would he be willing to have her
committed
? It didn’t
seem possible. But still, he would try.

The doctor listened sympathetically, but was clearly
uncomfortable. He shook his head, said he’d make a poor witness,
never having known Catherine to behave in a harmful way to her
children. He suggested Jorie get his mind focused on his studies,
and assured him he would keep this conversation to himself.

It would be just as useless to talk to the
sheriff. He could think of no legal exit out of this quandary.

What if he kidnapped Eliza
and took her out west with him? His mother’s derisive taunt came
back to him:
You’d be caught and put in
prison. And what could you do for her from there?
With each plan he found fault.

He must find a solution.

When he could think of no
other, though every fiber fought against it, he started scheming
how he would end his mother’s life. In one scenario he would start
playing games with her again. He would suggest
Blindfold and Taste
. Only this time
it would be she who would have to guess what food or drink he gave
her. And after offering her a bit of cake and perhaps a taste of
honey, he would give her poison, mixed in a sweet drink. If he had
to, he’d force her to down it.

He dismissed this idea; he knew it was not
viable. The cause of her death would be obvious. Whatever happened
to him, he didn’t want to leave Eliza a legacy of scandal.

Perhaps a boating accident in Portage
Lake.

His mother must think that all was well
again between them. He moved back to the house, started playing the
piano again, even cards with her. He was eating humble pie, but his
larger objective made it bearable.

His mother reveled in triumph. He could see
it on her face.

The sound of Cora Foster’s voice broke through
Jorie’s reverie. It was time to eat.

Of course! How could he have forgotten the
reason he’d stopped his mother’s life? Why had his demons filtered
out all but the unthinkable deed?

Gradually, another kind of feeling began to
pervade his senses. A softness enfolded him. His self-condemnation
was always there, droning away in the background, but it didn’t
come with such fiery spikes now. He began to take a quiet pleasure
in the plain fare of hearty meals Cora Foster bestowed on him, and
her husband’s unrelenting vigil.

The ordinary became exceptional, and
healing.

He thought what he’d done
was appalling, but looking back, he still didn’t see any
alternative that would have saved Eliza. Could he live with what
he’d done?
Every day?
He didn’t know.

The next morning when Mr. Foster tried to
talk to him, Jorie didn’t resist. He poured out the whole story of
that night in Eliza’s room and what followed. It felt good to
wrench these secrets from their hiding place, lay them in the open
within the safety of these walls.

“Do you believe me—about what she planned to
do with Eliza?”

The sheriff nodded. “It was all in the last
diary.”

Jorie looked up, surprised.

Earl wanted to unravel this last knot. “You
said you didn’t read this diary—”

“I never read any of her diaries before you
brought them to me.”

Earl tried to take this in. As if on cue,
his elbow started itching. “You had two of them in your
closet.”

“But I didn’t read them. I just . . .
couldn’t”

“And the third you took to Mrs. O’Laerty’s.
It spelled out—”

“I found it at the house the day before you
took me in.”

“But you didn’t read it?”

“I was going to — the night you arrested
me.”

“How come you didn’t read the first two, but
you were going to read the last one?”

“I didn’t want to re-live all that old pain
between Ma and me that had to be in the earlier diaries. But after
that night in Eliza’s room, I thought maybe Ma had written her
plans for Izzy in her last book. It seemed very important to get a
hold of it. I thought if I could bring that part to you as
evidence, maybe you could stop her. Then I wouldn’t have to . .
.”

Jorie knew his lips were starting to quiver. He blew
his nose to conceal his feelings. “I searched everywhere, every
chance I got. I knew it had to be there someplace.”

“How did you even know it existed?”

“Because I
made
it for her. And I
knew she was using it. But even . . .
afterwards,
when I moved into the
O’Laerty’s I couldn’t find it. I went back twice before I finally
discovered it.”

“Where was it?”

“At the bottom of a box of toys in Eliza’s
closet.”

Earl stirred his tea, removed a leaf
floating on top. “Why didn’t you tell me where it was?”

“It was too late. I’d already. . .”

It was getting cool in the room. Mr. Foster
got up and put more wood on the fire. There was a long silence,
while the two listened to the popping of the pitch as the flame
licked the pine. Slowly, the tension between them seemed to float
up the chimney with the smoke.

He looked out at the storm clouds gathering
in the north. Almost December, there would be no more
here-today-and-gone-tomorrow weather; winter was preparing to
ensnare the whole of Copperdom in its clutches for the long
haul.

His thoughts traveled back to the first
storm of the season. Finally, the prison bars of his mind had
dissolved enough to allow him to look at that last afternoon with
his mother just as it was:

It was nearing the end of
October and the days were definitely getting cooler and shorter. It
wouldn’t be long before the snows. He had a new plan, but it
depended entirely on the weather. Each day apprehension mounted in
his belly as he waited for the forecast. Since he worked at
the
News,
it was
easy enough to get.

On the morning of the twenty-second of
October, he learned that a snow storm was coming in from Lake
Superior, and should hit sometime late afternoon.

But so far it was still a crisp and sunny
day. After work he didn’t go to bed as usual; instead he said to
his mother, “Ma, it’s such a beautiful day I thought you might
enjoy a ride in the country.”

“Now?” She was clearly surprised.

“When it warms up a bit.”

“Yes, I’d like that, Jorie.”

“Where’s Eliza?”

“She’s at Stockwells. We can fetch her at
dinnertime.”

If she hadn’t been at the neighbors’, he was
going to suggest they take her there. Something about the ride
being too cold for her. Ma might refuse, but he didn’t think so.
She liked it better with just the two of them.

They waited until they’d had their noon
meal. Then Jorie went to the stable to hitch up. Familiar smells
assaulted his nostrils, reminding him of that day long ago when
she’d made him stay naked, spread-eagle on the stone. He shuddered
to think of that happening to Eliza.

He wasn’t at all sure his idea would work.
If it didn’t, he’d have to think of something else. But even now he
could feel the temperature dropping.

He brought the buggy round to the house,
helped his mother in, and spread the fur lap robe across her knees.
They headed down to the main road and followed it up the hill past
the mine and north out into the country. To the far west he could
see dark clouds forming, but his mother didn’t seem to notice. It
was still sunny.

She was chatting merrily, as though they
were on good terms again, and all was forgiven. She seemed excited,
like a schoolgirl being taken for an outing by her beau.

“I’ve started a new sweater for you, Jorie.
You’ve outgrown your old ones. This one will be gray. Will you like
that? It will bring out the color of your eyes.”

He turned east onto a side road. The clouds
were behind them, but the snow was not far off. He hoped he could
get her on the trail before it started.

“Where are you taking me? Is it to be a
surprise?”

“Just a pretty road I discovered. Then if
you’re up to it, there’s a lovely footpath through the forest.”