Silent Time (11 page)

Feelings were another thing. They lingered inside her, warm and gentle in her chest or cold and restless in her gut. Sometimes they moved slowly through her, like cats in summer; other times fast, like rats across sawdust-covered ground. Sometimes they demanded release, until the urging in her throat, the fist against the wall, the foot upon the floor, or the salt drops across her face sent them on their way.

Sometimes, only Mother could do that for her.

There was something going on these days that Dulcie did not understand.

One day, soon after the man with glasses came, the man whose name became those glasses formed with fingers on her eyes, Mother took her to the beach and pointed across the ocean with a reach and expression that suggested something way beyond what Dulcie could see, no matter how far into the horizon she looked. Dulcie had never dreamed of anything beyond all that water and sky. Whenever this occurred, usually soon after the big man left, Dulcie looked at the horizon and back to
Mother with her face full of questions. For some reason, then, her mother laughed a bit and held her close.

Today, the man was back. The shining thing beside the house, a carriage without a horse, it seemed, had just brought him and another man, one in a silver suit, in a dust cloud down the big hill and across Knock Harbour Bridge. Dulcie liked the man with glasses, so she pulled in her line, picked up her gad of trout and walked along the meadow path to see him.

William and Sir John Crawford were seated directly across from a portrait of the heavily bearded Edward VII. He stared dourly at them from his place on Leona Merrigan's parlour wall.

“That's quite the portrait,” said Sir John, as he raised his glass of rum to his lips. “But I have to say, I'm surprised to find the Prince of Wales hanging on a wall in this great Irish district.”

The conversation so far had been awkward and this bold remark made William a little nervous for Leona. But she appeared quite undisturbed by it and he even saw her smile slightly as she replied.

“Paddy never said where he got that, but he used to say it reminded him that his brother Edward was a real prince. It was like a joke they had between them.” She shrugged a little. “I left it there.”

William raised his own glass and sampled the rum's fire. Its syrupy texture left a slight film on the inside of the glass. He placed it on the table and the sharp sweet smell of molasses and alcohol rose to his nostrils. A light breeze gusted through the raised parlour window.

Sir John, already out-drinking William two-to-one, downed his and was reaching for the bottle again when Dulcie walked into the room. She entered the circle of her mother's arms.

“So this is Dulcie,” Crawford said, grinning at the child. “Well, she looks like a very bright girl indeed. I know William is seeing to her schooling, Mrs. Merrigan, and he tells me he's got the situation well in hand.”

William took this cue to remove the sheaf of hand-mail from his coat pocket and drop it on the table.

“It's copper-fastened this time, Leona,” he said, indicating the package. “Safe as houses. All I need is your go-ahead and we can have Dulcie in school by the fall.”

Seeing the uncertainty in Leona's eyes he laid his hand reassuringly on the papers. “I saved all the correspondence, like you asked. There's only one letter you haven't seen yet, from the Colonial Secretary's Office. We can take a look at it in a minute.”

Leona looked at the little stack of papers and said nothing.

Crawford and William exchanged glances.

“William promised me I'd catch the best sea trout in Newfoundland here,” Crawford said. “Is he as good as his word, Leona?”

“I'd say so, Mr. Crawford,” she said.

“Do you think they're biting now?” Crawford asked.

“Anytime off the bar is pretty good, sir.”

“Why don't I go have a flick over by the gut, then?” He stood up. “You coming, William?” he asked.

“In a bit,” William said.

“What about the little one? William mentioned she was a good hand at trouting.”

Leona made signs to which Dulcie nodded happily. She disappeared and returned to the parlour with a fishing rod.

“She'll probably catch more than you and me together,” William said, with a laugh. Leona got Dulcie's attention, pointed to Crawford and then used a broad gesture of her arm to indicate the beach on the far side of the pond, as opposed to the river where Dulcie usually liked to trout. The girl understood immediately and nodded. Crawford got his fishing gear from the car and soon the two made an odd pair strolling along the beach road toward the gut.

Back in the parlour William continued to be quiet with Leona. He didn't want to push her, and so, had to restrain the urgency he felt after three years preparing for this moment.

“Now is the time, Leona,” he said, as gently as he could. “Dulcie will be ten this fall. According to the policy of the school, she can stay until she's twenty. With every year that passes from now on her chance to complete high school will slip away.”

Leona nodded, but still said nothing.

“If you give me the go-ahead today, you'll get another letter, in due course, from George Batstone, the principal of the Halifax School for the Deaf. He'll tell you exactly what Dulcie needs for school. She'll sail aboard the
Portia
from St. John's on the 15th of September. We'll arrange one night's accommodations and train fare to St. John's for you and Dulcie, so you can see her off at the waterfront.”

He had rarely touched her during the three years they had known each other, but now he reached across the table for her hand. He wanted her to know that he understood how difficult this was. He still wasn't sure what he read in her dark eyes when she looked up at him. He sometimes felt that she thought of him as more than just a politician, but mostly, she had remained a mystery. The time they spent together on his
brief visits had passed more easily with the years. Sometimes she had even laughed at his stories of shenanigans in the House of Assembly; but now her mood was as remote and humourless as when they'd first met.

He got up. “Take a little time to yourself,” he said. “I'm going to drop over to Thomas Tobin's for a minute, so he can thank me properly for the new concrete bridge. I'll be back in a little while.”

Leona placed the rum bottle on the floor and twisted the cork into it with a dry squeak. For the thousandth time, it seemed, she imagined the reality of Dulcie leaving home and admitted to herself that, even after all this time and after all William's efforts, she still didn't know if she could let her go.

She picked up the packet of mail. The envelopes had been separated from the letters and stacked carefully underneath. She laid them aside and unfolded the first letter. She'd received it during the winter. It had appeared like magic in the mail, a few weeks after she'd sent the application form to Halifax.

She saw the elegantly lettered words
School for the Deaf
centered at the top of the page. Thin black type spelled out
George Batstone, Principal,
in the upper left-hand corner. The type itself was purple. A carbon copy.

She glanced through it one more time to reassure herself she had truly understood the contents:

You will have to get a permit from the Colonial Secretary of your Colony before your child can be admitted. I advise you to get in touch with your local member of the Newfoundland Parliament to speak to the government on your behalf
.

William had made his first inquiry soon after that rainy night three years ago. Someone in the Colonial Office told him that Dulcie, at the age of seven, was too young for school. Yet the letter in front of her plainly said:
Children admitted between six and ten are allowed to stay ten years
. Someone had lied to him, put him off. The next year William was told that the Newfoundland contingent was already full. He had been extremely busy, what with all the goings-on in St. John's after the government fell. She knew that there had been some sort of scandal and that William saw it as a chance to get himself re-elected on the Government side. He said this would help with Dulcie's case. And so it did. He was as good as his word. Still, while the delay had frustrated William, Leona found herself relieved that her awful decision could be put off for another year, and then another.

And now another?

But the principal's letter made it clear that nothing but her mother's refusal could stop Dulcie from going to school now.

She put that letter aside and took up another, one that William sent her just last month from his new office in St. John's. She rubbed her thumb back and forth over the words
Department of Agriculture and Mines
embossed in bright red at the top of the page. On the letterhead a lion and a unicorn held up a banner with the words
HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE
. They each had one leg on a second banner underneath bearing the words
DIEU ET MON DROIT
. That was French, William told her, for “God and my right.” It reminded her of what he'd said that first night about Dulcie's right to go to school.

She smiled at the formality of his tone.

Dear Mrs. Merrigan
,

I think at last I have been able to arrange to have Dulcie sent to Halifax. It appears this September will be the proper time…trusting that this may be the turning point in the life of this poor child…Believe me, Sincerely yours…etc…etc…
.

Then, the flourish of his signature.

This was the letter that bore the great, but, at the same time, difficult news. At twenty, Dulcie could be an educated woman, as educated as any on the shore and a good deal more than most. At the thought of it, a flood of pride filled Leona, followed by a quick stab of pain.

She still couldn't bring herself to let the girl go.

Couldn't they wait just one more year? She glanced down again at the principal's letter:
Those entering between eleven and fifteen will stay eight years.

At a loss what to do, she stared blankly at the page until she began to look past the type into the paper itself. She massaged it idly between her thumb and forefinger, watching the play of sunlight over it, until she thought she saw a secret message written in it. She turned in her seat and held it to the window. Thin white lines ran through the paper one inch apart, subtly hidden, along with the words TOWGOOD'S SUPERFINE. She grimaced. It was only the manufacturer's name. What a foolish thought, to think some answer to her dilemma might be hidden there. Still, she didn't realize words were hidden in paper at all. She held up the letter from Batstone and the light revealed the word ARGUS.

Then, she picked up the letter she hadn't yet read, the letter William mentioned from the all-important Colonial Secretary's Office. It had a
similar letterhead to his except that the lion and unicorn were cheerlessly embossed in sombre black. Before reading, she held it to the light: WATERFALLS BOND. The letter consisted of one sentence:

Dear Mr. Cantwell:

Your letter of the 8
^th
instant addressed to Mr. Bennett, regarding the child of Mrs. Merrigan of the Cape Shore, has been sent to my attention so that I may make the necessary enquiries and ascertain whether or not our complement of children for the School for the Deaf at Halifax is, once again, full.

Yours sincerely
,

Arthur Duke, Deputy Colonial Secretary

Leona dropped the letter on the floor and ran into the yard. William had just left Thomas's house and was heading for the beach road when she called to him, urgently, to come back into the house.

William had never seen Leona so agitated, wringing her hands, pacing fretfully about the parlour.

“Calm yourself, Leona. Arthur Duke is an insignificant pencil-pusher who works in the Colonial Office. If I'd known that letter from him was going to upset you I wouldn't have let you see it. How on earth do you know him, anyway?”

“He came here three or four times with some men, looking for rum – you know, tryin' to find where I keeps it hid.”

“When was this?”

“Years ago. Not long after I started bootleggin', after I … after Paddy and the children ….”

“That bastard! I promise you, Leona, I'll put a stop to that for good. Oh, I've heard what Arthur Duke is like, everything by the book, but I had no idea he was as bad as that.”

“He says he'll stop Dulcie from going to school.”

“No, no, no. He says no such thing,” said William, picking up the letter and reviewing it. “This is a formality, Leona. The Colonial Secretary himself has assured me there'll be no problem, so his Deputy is hardly going to stand in our way.”

“Why would he do anything to help me or Dulcie?”

“Leona, try to understand. This is not Arthur Duke's decision. His boss, the Colonial Secretary, is a personal friend of mine. That's the Minister of Finance gone fishing with your daughter! I'm the Minister of Agriculture! You don't have to give a damn about a mean-minded little prig like Arthur Duke. But, tell me, does this mean that you've made up your mind? Are you willing to let Dulcie go this fall?”

“I didn't know for sure if I could let her go, then I saw that man's name on that letter an' I thought, he's going to try to stop her. And then I thought, no, by Jesus, he won't! He won't stop what's right for my girl. I wanted this for Dulcie ever since that afternoon when I heard you talk about it through the door. I've waited long enough. Dulcie got to have an education to live a proper life and you're goin' to do that for her, William.”

“We'll do it together, Leona,” said William, taking her by the arms and looking into her eyes, suddenly conscious of that fact that this was the closest they had ever stood together. “Don't you worry. I'll go see Arthur Duke as soon as I get back to town,” he said, as she turned from him and walked across the room. “There'll be no problems from the Colonial Office. I can promise you that.”