Listen to the engine, listen to the bell, as the last fire truck from hell
Goes rolling by, all good people are praying.
It’s the last temptation, the last account, the last time you might hear
the sermon on the mount. The last radio is playing.
Seen a shooting star tonight slip away.
— Bob Dylan, “Shooting Star”
I
Seeing Eileen so distraught gave me cause to regret the moments I had smiled over the way she blushed in the presence of Father Burke. Her grief was obviously real and heartfelt. The prospect of losing him to a life sentence in a maximum security prison was too much to bear. Eileen had been helpful to us in our efforts to counter both murder charges, insisting as she did that Father Burke barely knew Leeza Rae, and did not know Tanya Cudmore at all.
“Eileen,” I said. I took her hand and led her into her office, where we sat. “I know Brennan is grateful for your concern.” She looked away. “He is dealing with a level of stress we can hardly imagine. And I know it’s not easy for you, or me, or any of us.” She turned her tear-streaked face in my direction. “But he appreciates what we’re trying to do for him. You’ve known Father Burke a long time, longer than any of us.”
She looked at me warily. Was my attempt to salve her ego just a little too blatant? No doubt. But she replied: “Yes, I have.”
“You seemed upset in court, when you heard Brennan testify that he had fathered a child in his early years.” Her face flamed red, and she kept her eyes on her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. I went on: “People don’t tend to think of a priest —”
Eileen’s response took me by surprise, as much for its intensity as for its content. “I was supposed to be adopted, you know.” Her voice seemed unnaturally loud in the small room. “I was meant to be adopted.”
“What happened, Eileen?”
Her story came out in a rush of words. “I was here at St. Bernadette’s, when it was an orphanage. We lived for one thing, and one thing only, that some nice Mum and Dad would come and take us home. There were nine or ten of us living here at the time, and I was eight years old. We were all ‘hard to place,’ mainly because we weren’t babies anymore. Other reasons maybe, too. Whenever adults showed up, husband and wife together, we all went into action. Straightened our clothes, patted our hair down. There was a mad scramble for the piano. Any child who could play a tune would try to perform. Sometimes there would be a shoving match on the piano bench. Whoever got shoved off would try to look wounded and hard done by. The kid who had the piano banged away ferociously, hoping talent would cancel out the sin of knocking the other child out of contention.
“The Kernaghans were coming around. You must know them. He’s a
BCL
— Big Catholic Layman. She’s involved in the
CWL.”
Eileen seemed to assume that I was part of the world of St. Bernadette’s. “They pretended they were just dropping in, visiting the nuns. But I knew. They were going to adopt one of us. You hear about this one and that one being traumatized when they find out they’re adopted. Try
not
being adopted. Ha! Try
not
having a family.”
“So the people here at St. Bernadette’s are your only family.” She nodded distractedly and I continued: “Well, we’ll have to work extra hard to make sure the black sheep of the family doesn’t get sent away.” But she had returned to the past.
“I knew the Kernaghans were looking at me. I was a great one for sneaking around and listening to the grown-ups talking. One night I even found my file in the director’s office. I never got to read it all
because I heard Sister swishing along the hall towards the office, rosary beads clacking. I had to stuff the file back in the drawer and hide. But I read the notes about myself: ‘Eileen is bright, significant potential, keep giving advanced work — approaching hard-to-place category — Kernaghans interested.’ The Kernaghans visited, more than once, and I was on my best behaviour. He was tall and had a big laugh. He brought us licorice cigars and ruffled our hair. He called all the kids ‘dear,’ even the big boys. Mrs. Kernaghan was a kind person. ‘Are you warm enough, Eileen? Do you have a sweater?’
“It was a done deal, in my mind. A child’s mind. I was Eileen Kernaghan. I had perfected my new signature. I was so far beyond my old life at St. Bernadette’s Home for Children that I was on my way back, puffed up with a sense of patronizing goodwill towards the inmates I had left behind. I was on a mission, to lift them out of their miserable little lives. Poor things.”
Eileen got up slowly and walked out of her office as if in a trance. I sat, uncertain whether to follow. A few minutes later she was back, with a paper in her hand. I peered at it and could see a childish but very detailed picture drawn and coloured on lined paper. It was a winter scene with a large colonial-style house, its front windows glowing a warm golden yellow. A small girl stood stiffly in front, bundled in a dark blue snowsuit with a red hat, one red mitten and a red scarf billowing in the wind. A big yellow dog sat at her side, gazing at her with the other red mitten in his mouth. Eileen began to read.
“Jennifer dressed with a lot of care for her trip back to St. Bernice’s Orphanage. It had been so long since she had been there she could hardly remember what it looked like. Were there snowbanks in front? Were there railings to slide down on the front stairs? She honestly could not remember. Just then, Jennifer’s mother came into Jennifer’s big bedroom, which she had all to herself except when her parents came in to kiss her goodnight or gently wake her up in the mornings, and it had wallpaper with little tiny yellow, blue, and pink flowers, and a cozy bed with too many pillows on it. Jennifer’s mother was in by this time and
said ‘You look beautiful darling!! I’m glad you’re wearing the new dress we bought you for Christmas. It will be perfect for your trip back to that orphanage. Oh, there’s the phone. It could be an important call.’ Jennifer’s mother gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and went into another room to answer the phone, which had started ringing just after she (Mother) arrived in Jennifer’s room.
“Jennifer looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair had grown in the long time since she had left the orphanage and it had a bit more curl in it now. It looked pretty in the red headband that matched her red velvet Christmas dress with the white lacey collar. All of a sudden Jennifer realized something. She could not wear that dress to visit the poor children at the orphanage!! It would not be fair! Jennifer quickly changed into an old skirt and sweater and put her hair in a ponytail. She stuck her list of Things To Do To Get Adopted in the waistband of her skirt. She would not leave St. Bernice’s till she had told every kid — even Albert — how to make grown-ups like you and take you home. She would put Molly in charge of getting the kids to change into perfect girls and boys. Or at least tidier and more polite. Then she would tell her Mum and Dad to tell all their friends — some were lonely and old with no kids — to go visit St. Bernice’s. Surprise! ‘What cute youngsters you have here!’ Mum, I’m ready!”
I didn’t dare speak. Eileen looked up from her story, eyes blazing. “Of course, it never happened. I spent my life in that place. Well, this place. The orphanage. In a dormitory with other kids crying and snuffling and hacking and fighting all night long. I never went to university. I never became a teacher, even though I had the aptitude. Where was the money going to come from for that?”
“What happened, Eileen? Was there really going to be an adoption?”
“Oh, there was an adoption all right,” she recounted in a hollow voice, “but not for me. They chose another child. So. I never became a Kernaghan.
I never set foot in the Kernaghans’ house. And they’ve never set foot in mine! I live in a noisy, rundown apartment in the basement of a frat house. A bunch of drunken fraternity boys for housemates. Well, I can’t complain that I don’t have a man around the house.” She tried for a laugh. “Just not the man of my dreams. Ha!”
“The man of your dreams is not available, is he, Eileen?” I said softly.
She looked at me, and I saw a trace of bitter amusement in her reddened eyes. “And if he were, he would not be available to the likes of me,” she replied, with self-lacerating insight. “But you know that already, don’t you? You know I would be the last woman he would notch up on his belt, or whatever that notch business is with men. You think I’m ridiculous.”
“No, I don’t.” Not anymore.
Eileen stood up, wiped her eyes, and scraped her damp hair from her face. “I have to get — home,” she announced, “such as it is.” She took a deep breath. “Monty, I promise I’ll be all right in the morning. No more self-pitying outbursts from me.”
“We’re all entitled to let it out once in a while, Eileen.” I got up to leave.
“Take care of the good father, Monty. Some of us here — I won’t mention any names,” she said, in an effort at lightness, “but some of us could not bear to lose him.”
“I know. Thanks, Eileen. Goodnight.”
II
Brennan and I yanked our ties off when we arrived at the house on Dresden Row, and Maura went to the kitchen. I followed her, opened the fridge and a couple of cupboards. “What did you do, hijack the Sobeys truck? I’ve never seen this place so well-stocked. Expecting company?”
“I have company. I did what you are never supposed to do. Shop while starving. And you’re not going to lug any of this stuff to your place. Last time you were here, we looked the next day for a box of pasta and poof! It had disappeared.”
“That was months ago, and the kids ate it. If you’re going to keep track of all my —”
“Are we going to eat, or are you two going to have a row?” Brennan had come in behind us. “In our house, when the women hijacked the grocery truck, the men did the cooking. So give me a cleaver and some living things to chop.”
“Get Brennan some lettuce and veggies to hack at, Collins. I’ll make a sauce, and you can put the pasta on to boil. But keep your hands and the package of pasta where I can see them. Tom! Normie! Have you two had your dinner?” From somewhere upstairs came an affirmative reply. “We have company. Come down and say hello.”
Normie flung herself down the stairs, missed the last few, skidded to the bottom and hit the ground running. Brennan and I had gone out to meet her, and he grabbed her around the waist as she careened by. Her legs kept going, like those of a cartoon character who had just run off the edge of a cliff. Brennan squatted in front of her.
“Evening, Stormie!”
“Good evening, Your Excellency!” she answered, giggling.
“Excellency, is it now? So, Stormie. What happened to you, did a tornado go through your hair?”
“What happened to you, your Grace? I thought you were only allowed to wear black and white.”
“Maybe I just felt like bursting out in a riot of colour today.”
“But it’s really just a dark blue you have on, with white again. I could show you some other colours if you like.”
“I’ll bet you could.” They smiled at each other and then my daughter’s small face grew solemn. She stared at Brennan and one big tear rolled down her cheek. She suddenly clasped him in a fierce hug, then broke away and pounded up the stairs. I gaped after her. Brennan didn’t move.
“Hey, Father!” My son had joined us. Brennan didn’t seem to hear him; then he made an obvious effort to shake off whatever he had been experiencing.
“Hello there, Mr. Douglas.”
“Are you doing okay, Father? We’re all rooting for you.”
“I’m fine, Tommy. I’m on the pig’s back. Don’t you worry.”
“All right. Well, I’m on my way out. Mum, I’ll be late. Yes, I’ll be
careful. No, I won’t have anything to drink. Yes, my clothes are clean. No, I won’t —” Tommy’s voice was cut off as the front door closed behind him.
Then we three adults busied ourselves in the kitchen, preparing a dinner with a high quotient of garlic. We opened a bottle of red wine and spoke about inconsequential things. Anything but the trial. And the impending verdict.
“Oh, Mum!” Tommy Douglas popped his head in the door again. “I forgot. You had a phone call from some guy who can hardly speak English. But he said he’ll call you back. His name was Jackabo.”
“Must be Giacomo,” she murmured, and I saw a rare blush creep up my wife’s cheeks.
“Giacomo?” Simultaneously from me and Brennan. I realized I was staring at Maura, and looked quickly away only to find Brennan regarding me with shrewd eyes. No doubt mistaking curiosity for something stronger.
“Yes. Giacomo. He’s from Italy.”
“So, how did you meet this Giacomo?” I asked out of politeness.
“How did I meet you? How do I meet anyone? I get out of the house once in a while.”
When the meal was ready, we carried things into the dining room. I scooped a large pile of the kids’ junk from the old cherry wood table, checking to make sure there was nothing on the chairs that would stick to us unbecomingly when we got up.
We had just sat down when the telephone shrilled in the kitchen. Maura jumped. But Brennan was quicker. “Don’t trouble yourself, my darlin’. I’ll get it.” He rose from his chair and picked up the receiver as if it were his own, then turned to face us in the archway.
“Prrronto!”
he said into the phone.
Maura, both hands tensed on the table, looked on as Brennan began speaking to the caller in rapid Italian.
“Chi sta parlando? Mi spiace molto, ma la signora MacNeil non può venire al telefono proprio adesso. Stiamo molto occupati qui. Questo non è un momento conveniente per essere chiamati da un ragazzo. Cosa? Oh — Lho chiamato ragazzo perché la sua voce mi dava I’impressione che Lei è molto giovane. La prego di scusarmi. Chi sono? Sono il padre Burke, il confessore della signora MacNeil. Si. Non mi piace quello che
ho sentito dire, e nemmeno deve piacerle. Credo che rimarremo qui per tutta la notte. Adesso devo lasciare il telefono. Ciao. “
He hung up with a soft click, came to the table and picked up the bottle of wine.
“Vino,
anyone?”
“What did you say to him?” Maura hissed.
“Oh, I just told him that you’re with me now and you have no need of other company. I thanked him for calling.” He flashed her a look I could not interpret, then sat down and tucked into his pasta.