Mother Lode (43 page)

As a boy, the doctor told him he could be
anything he wanted to be—a scientist, or a writer. “What are your
plans now, son? Have you decided on a career yet?”

“I couldn’t get a career as a street cleaner
after what happened.”

“Let’s talk about that.”

“It seems like such a long time ago.”

The doctor checked his notes. “Two weeks and
three days.”

“Seems longer.”

“I suppose it does.”

“How long have I been in here?”

“Five days. I’d like to hear the whole
story, whatever you remember.”

Jorie said nothing.

“Look, keep in mind that I’m not against
you, son. And I’m neither judge nor jury. So anything you say that
will assist me in my task will be of benefit to you.”

Jorie nodded.

“Did you grasp what I said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me about you and your mother.”

The question surprised Jorie. “I love
her—loved. I still love her.”

“Did you ever get angry with her?”

“Enough to kill her? That’s what you think,
isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what
happened. Remember, I want to hear your story. It won’t go on the
record, I promise. My task here is to see if you’re coherent, can
comprehend our discussion, so as to aid in your defense. Anything
you tell me as your
physician
is confidential.”

The doctor waited.

“You trust me, son, don’t you?”

Jorie wanted to pour out all his thoughts to the
doctor. Maybe with his help Jorie could finally unwind the truth.
But could he trust anyone?

Chapter 34

Earl walked across the bridge toward home.
The wind was so strong it almost blew him over. The omnibus passed
him, throwing bits of snow and dung in its wake.

There was something besides his psoriasis
that kept itching at him ever since he learned of Catherine’s fate.
Earl had based his first suspicions of foul play on Jorie’s history
of volatility with his mother. But in that case, it seemed if he
was going to murder her, it would have been in an act of rage. And
he’d probably regret it later. But it hadn’t happened that way. If
it was murder, he had planned it, had waited for the right weather
conditions to fit his scheme. And that didn’t fit his picture of
Jorie Radcliff at all. There was a missing piece.

Well, there wasn’t much more time to get a
handle on this thing. The hearing was tomorrow.

Again he thought about Jorie’s tortured
picture, and the corner with the two crosses.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. What was it he
called his little sister?

Izzy, wasn’t it?

God Almighty! What secrets still lay
buried?

Helena looked frightened when she opened the
door to Earl Foster.

“Is there something wrong, Sheriff?”

“I’d like to make a thorough check of
Jorie’s room, if it’s all right with you.”

She swallowed. “Of course, sir. Right this
way.”

She led him upstairs to the tiny spare room.
Plain and tidy, with little furniture, it wouldn’t take long to
find what he was looking for, if it was there.

Helena, clearly nervous, stood rolling up
the hem of her apron as he conducted his search.

He looked in the armoire, which still held
some of Jorie’s clothes, and checked the drawer at the bottom. Then
he got on his knees, looked under the bed, and raised the mattress.
As he was doing this, Eliza burst into the room.

“What are you doing, mister?”

“Oh, looking for something I thought I might
find here.”

“Is it a book? I found a book when my ball
rolled under Jawie’s bed.”

Earl looked at the child, and back to the
woman, who had lost all color in her face.

“I gave it to Henna,” Eliza explained.

The woman burst into tears.

“Oh, help me, Jasus, I didn’t mean no
harm.”

Earl got to his feet. “Take it easy, Mrs.
O’Laerty.”

“But sure, and I have’na been meself
lately.”

“Where is it now?”

“If you’ll jes wait a bit, please.”

She scurried off, and returned with something
wrapped in a pillow case.

“I wanted to do the right thing by it. After
all, it was Mrs. Radcliff’s.”

She could only be talking about one
thing.

“I t’ought of bringing it
to you earlier, but, well, a diary’s private, isn’t it? Didn’t I
know I
couldn’t keep it, and did’na want
to. But it wasn’t anybody else’s either – Sweet muther of Jasus, I
don’t know what Jorie was doin’ with it. And didn’t it just sit
there the whole time starin’ at me, darin’ me to do
somethin’
.”

She crossed herself, then
looked up in sudden consternation. “Begod and bejasus, you don’t
think I
read
it,
do you? Truth be known, I can hardly read a’tall.”

Earl could hardly keep from grabbing it out of her
arms .

“Did I commit a crime, Mr. Foster, not
bringing it to you, straight away?”

“No, Mrs. O’Laerty, you did what you thought
was right.”

A great look of relief came over the woman’s
face.

“How long have you known about this diary,
Mrs. O’Laerty?”

“How long? It was on Monday last, sir, the
child brought it to me.”

“And now, ma’am, will you give it to
me?”

She looked as though she’d forgotten what
she was holding. “Oh, yes, sir. To be sure.”

She thrust it into his waiting arms.

Chapter 35

With increasing conviction
Jorie felt he’d ended his mother’s life for one reason only:
to break her hold on him.
But it hadn’t worked. He thought more about her now than he
ever had. She just wouldn’t get out of his head.

For many nights now, with
sleep unavailable, he’d searched to find a solution to his
unbearable anguish. It didn’t matter what they said in that
courtroom, he had become his own judge. The verdict was clear. Only
his death would silence the jury of demons that taunted him.
You have no right to live!
It wasn’t that he wanted to die; he just couldn’t go on
living. Sobbing into his mattress, he wept for all the love he’d
had for her, and all the hatred too. And he wept that the only
solution he could find for himself was to die.

But at least then, maybe
his internal jury would leave him alone.
Hopefully, some sweet oblivion. Yes, that was the
answer.

He tried not to think
about hell and how he might be eternally damned. Maybe none of that
was true, either.
Dona nobis
pacem.

With the decision made, the demons seem
satisfied, receded to the further recesses of his mind. At last a
certain peace enfolded him.

As he finished reading the third diary, Earl
looked up from the last page Catherine had penned, to discover it
was already approaching morning. The black of night had thinned to
grey. He hadn’t been to bed at all. Today was the hearing!

The machinations of his mind had never
carried him to such distant and deranged states as he’d read in
Catherine Radcliff’s diary. He hadn’t known her at all; only
thought he had.

He got up and walked to the privy. Had he
actually read it, or was it the perverse stuff of his own
dreams?

He went back to the book, flipped through
the pages again, his eyes lighting on certain passages:

May 4, 1900

Perhaps I should give up
on my own writing altogether, and devote myself to furthering his
career. He is so talented, and I can help him a great deal! I
cannot bear to dwell on the possibility that next year, he may
leave me, perhaps forever. It is to him my heart belongs, for we
are two of a kind, and dip our quills in the same well.
But it was what followed that turned his stomach.
In late summer she was on another tack.

“
August 15, 1900

If Jorie leaves me, I
still have my little Eliza. What a ready disciple she is. Already
she asks
to make sacrifices and happily
submits to my loving discipline!

“
August 29, 1900

When she is five, I will give her a ritual
for the initiate. I will dress her all in white and prepare her for
what’s to come, so that she will understand the importance of the
vows she is to take. What pleasure I will have creating these vows!
Each year new ones will be added. After her initiation she will be
allowed no contact with others.”

“
September 3, 1900

I am teaching Eliza to speak the French
language, and following her initiation that will be the only tongue
she will be allowed to use. Soon she will forget English. I will
school her at home and her education will be entirely under my
control. We can hardly wait. But such events must be heralded by
periods of agonizing anticipation!

“
September 7, 1900

Perhaps I will tell people that Eliza is
mute. She will not be allowed to speak to anyone except me, and at
certain times, only when spoken to. In any case after a time she
will not understand what others say. I will rid this house of all
books printed in English and purchase many in the French
language.

September 8, 1900

She will be my little dress-up doll, my
lady-in-waiting, my acolyte. Even her thoughts will be under my
domain. Perhaps I will invent a new language that only she and I
will understand. In this way, she will of necessity turn to me for
everything.”

He scanned the remaining
pages, caught fragments: ‘
acts of
sacrifice,’ ‘an exciting experiment.’
‘
In time she will not be able to
distinguish pleasure from pain.’ ‘If our Lord could wear a crown of
thorns. . .”

Earl’s palms were all sweaty. What a
diseased mind she’d had. He wondered how she’d come to be that way.
To think of your children as globs of clay that you could form into
anything you please, however damaging. With Thomas’ death, there
was no one to rein in this wildest of mares!

All the pieces were coming together.

Now he understood why Jorie had sought to have her
committed. When he failed, the lad had seen no other recourse but
the one he had taken. This most vile of mothers had to be
stopped.

That the mystery had finally revealed itself
to him was cold comfort. He rose and carried the diary to the shed,
where he concealed it behind some old harness pieces. It felt
heavier than when he’d first held it.

Earl had never before questioned the meaning
of justice. If you broke the law, you paid the consequences.
Simple.

He’d been interested in law enforcement ever
since that time in school when his family lost their home and farm
to some real estate swindle. It had killed his father, years before
he died. Earl spent his graduation day loading their furniture onto
the wagon.

When he’d first suspected Jorie there wasn’t
any doubt in his mind that if he were guilty, the boy should be
brought to justice, and that was that. Justice and the law — they
were one and the same.

But Catherine had betrayed her son and was
set on a course to destroy her daughter! She had tricked Jorie into
staying home from college on the grounds they had no money. No
wonder he’d pushed her around upstairs! It wasn’t anything like
what she’d implied. He felt tremendous anger boil up inside
him.

She involved
me
in this cover-up
scheme!

Find a way to save him!

He had to catch McKinney before the hearing.
He had to get it postponed, if possible. It was vitally important
that he find a way to help Jorie. He’d gotten him into this mess ‘o
mackerel; he’d have to get him out.

Despite his taste for drama, George McKinney was a
fair man. But what would he consider fair in this case? Did Earl
dare tell the judge about the diary? It would almost prove Jorie’s
guilt. George might be sympathetic, but he couldn’t be expected to
disregard the law.

And Earl couldn’t overlook the persuasive
power of the prosecuting attorney. He wondered how much
investigation Buck had done on this case. Buck Boyce had a history
of relying on others to provide the necessary evidence for a
conviction. Come to think of it, most of the cases he’d won were
pretty cut and dried – lethal fights in barrooms, a runaway horse
that trampled a child. All with plenty of witnesses.

Earl walked to work, again guided by one
gaslight to the next. The patches on his elbow and groin were both
screaming — at each other, it seemed, blaming the other for this
sorry state of affairs.

As he entered the courthouse he knew it was too
early to find George. He went downstairs, passed the night turnkey
sleeping on his chair, grabbed the key off the hook, and continued
toward the prisoner’s cell.

From the hall Earl could see Jorie using his
mother’s necklace like a rosary. With each bead he said, “Holy
Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at our hour of
death.”

Earl stepped inside the cell. “Don’t let me
stop you.”

Jorie put the beads in his pocket.

Earl picked up the spoon and stirred the
contents in the untouched bowl. “Can’t say as I blame you — some
sort of gruel out of ‘Hansel and Gretel’. He tried to break Jorie’s
solemnity. “Who mixed up your poison today?”

“Yes.” Jorie stated.

“Yes, what?”

Jorie swallowed. “Haven’t you been trying to
get me to say it? Don’t you want to know?”

Not now
. Earl wanted time to freeze. But he could not stop the words
coming from Jorie Radcliff’s mouth.

“I killed her. I took her to the forest to
die.”

The long-awaited confession came with such
sudden ease it was as though Earl had leaned hard against a door he
didn’t expect to give, only to have it open easily causing him to
lose his balance.