Chapter 26
Chapter 26
It was remarkable how—even on the mainland—Emma’s life was still profoundly affected by the monthly comings and goings of the Sable Island supply ship.
By mid-April, she’d finally begun to settle in at Ruth’s house and had reapplied to Dalhousie University for the fall session. Her pregnancy was progressing well, and she had a new female doctor, which at first made Emma uncomfortable and uncertain, but after a few visits, she realized that Dr. Frizzell possessed an uncanny knowledge of women’s health issues. She’d given birth to two children herself, and Emma had never felt more heard or understood. She began to hope that Dr. Frizzell could remain her physician for the rest of her life.
Matthew, too, was adapting to city life in surprising new ways. He’d made friends with some children in the neighborhood, and they rode bicycles to the park, played baseball and ball hockey in the street. Each of those activities led him to declare one night at dinner that he loved asphalt and couldn’t imagine his life without it. He described its physical qualities and deemed it a “great wonder of the world.” Emma threw her head back and laughed, and clapped her hands together. How wonderful it was to smile and laugh again after so many sorrow-filled days and nights.
But then the supply ship arrived. It docked on the Dartmouth side of the harbor, and two days later, a letter was delivered to the mailbox at Ruth’s front door.
Emma was relaxing on the sofa, reading a book about early childhood development, when Ruth walked into the living room, gray as a ghost.
With a wave of apprehension, Emma sat up heavily and propped herself up with her arm. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”
“A letter came,” Ruth replied. “It’s from your father. I just finished reading it.”
Emma frowned. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine.” Ruth held the letter at her side and moved woodenly to sit on the sofa beside Emma. “It concerns Oliver. Your father asked me to prepare you for some bad news.” She paused. “I’m afraid it’s ... it’s very bad.”
Emma’s blood went cold in her veins. “Tell me.” She couldn’t sit in suspense. She couldn’t bear the not knowing. “Please, just say it.”
Ruth bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, but not long after Oliver left you on Sable Island last September, on his return trip to England, his ship hit a mine in the ocean. There was an explosion, and they sent an SOS, but it took too long for a rescue ship to reach them.”
The news floated around Emma’s ears, not quite sinking in. She could only seem to process it as an account about a distant, nameless ship somewhere on the globe, far away.
Then it hit her, full force. The sound of the explosion. The fire. Oliver on a burning ship, fighting to save it, fighting to save his crew. The ship filling with water and slowly going down. Oliver holding his breath, then sucking in water, drowning in the cold, empty darkness. His body slowly sinking.
The shock was like a bullet in the heart. Nausea spurted through her. If she tried to speak, she might choke.
With concern, Ruth laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“No. I think I might be sick.”
In a flash of movement, Ruth reached for the vase of flowers on the side table, dumped the flowers and water onto the floor, and handed the empty vase to Emma. She retched into it violently, her body continuing to gag and heave even when there was nothing left to come up.
Eventually, she set the vase on the coffee table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Tears stung her eyes. Her nose was running. She began to shake uncontrollably.
Ruth went to the kitchen and returned with a warm, wet cloth and a glass of water. She sat down beside Emma and handed her the cloth. Emma pressed it to her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, and took a sip of water.
“There’s a letter here from Oliver’s wife in England,” Ruth explained, looking down at the envelope on the table.
Emma couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. “His wife?”
“Yes. Would you like me to read it to you?”
Emma stared at it for a moment. “No. I think I should read it myself.”
With hands that shook, Emma reached for it, removed it from the envelope, and unfolded it.
Dear Mrs. Baxter,
I’m not sure how to begin this letter, except by introducing myself. I’m Mary Harris, wife of Oliver Harris, captain of the Overton . I found your letters at his flat in Manchester, which is why I’m writing to you. I’m afraid I have some sad news. Oliver has died. His ship went down after colliding with a mine off the coast of Africa as he was making his way back to England from America with a shipment of cargo bound for Tangier. From what I’ve been told, the radio operator sent an SOS and reported that they were going down fast and intended to abandon ship. The nearest steamer was sixty miles away, so it took too long to reach them. An air search followed, but there was no sign of the ship or any survivors in lifeboats. A search went on for six days, and some wreckage and cargo were eventually found floating in the ocean, but nothing more than that.
I’m sorry to be the one to deliver this news to you, but I couldn’t let you continue to write, asking when he might return. I also understand and sympathize with your sense of urgency, as I read all your letters. I was the one who cleaned out Oliver’s flat after the news of his death, and that’s where I found them, unopened on the floor in the front hall where they were slipped through the mail slot.
I wanted you to know this because I can only imagine what you must think of him after receiving no replies to your letters. Allow me to assure you that he was a decent, honorable man, and I’m sure he would have returned to you if not for the accident. In fact, he was a changed man in recent years, which has left me with many regrets since his death.
Sincerely,
Mary Harris
Feeling sick and dizzy, Emma lowered the letter to her lap and began sobbing. Tears streamed down her face and neck, all the way to her collarbone. She was vaguely aware of Ruth wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, resting a hand on her back, sitting down beside her.
At long last, Emma turned on the sofa cushion and looked blankly into Ruth’s eyes, then buried her wet face into her shoulder.
“I was so wrong to hate him,” Emma cried, the words gushing out of her. “He didn’t abandon me. I can’t bear to think about what might have happened on the ship when they were sinking. It must have been terrifying—like the wreck at Sable, only worse, because they were in the middle of the ocean with no one to rescue them.”
Ruth rubbed Emma’s back. “I’m so sorry.”
“How could I have let myself believe that he’d abandoned me? I never wanted to believe it. Everything in my heart told me it couldn’t be true, but I let myself assume the worst. What does that say about me, Ruth? How could I have been so quick to hate him?”
“You didn’t hate him,” Ruth said. “You didn’t know. How could you know?”
“But I should have! I should have felt it in my heart!” She pressed a tight fist to her chest. “My soul! I should have felt something when he was drowning. Why didn’t I feel it?”
Ruth hugged her fiercely. “He was far away.”
“Oh, God, Ruth! I hate the ocean! I’ll never go back to Sable Island. It’s a graveyard there. A widow-maker! It lures ships and sucks them into the sand. Think of all the dead people ... the skulls in the boat shed!”
Emma’s thoughts were frantic, her emotions out of control. She feared she might lose her mind. Thank God Matthew was outside with his friends, peddling around the neighborhood. She didn’t know how she could ever explain her hysteria to him. Or her wrath. Or the dark and immeasurable depths of her grief.