Chapter Thirty-Eight
Unlike my baby, I am far from perfect. Infection sets in after dear Mary is born, and for two weeks I fight to stay alive.
I must. ’Tisn’t just me anymore. I have a tiny, helpless daughter who needs me.
At last I recover, but I am weak as water.
Carrying her around for a short time wears me thin.
I begin to wonder if I will ever be strong enough to be the mother she deserves.
As soon as I am able, I bundle Mary up and go to see Father Charles.
Granny is with me, nodding with pride as I present her great-granddaughter for baptism.
Mary is three weeks old, bundled up snug with a perfect whorl of Damien’s pale orange hair.
She is so tiny, and when Father Charles uses his thumb to make the sign of the cross on her brow, she holds up her hand as if she’s saying hello.
Father Charles pauses, touched by the moment, and gives her his little finger to clutch.
She grabs onto it, wide-eyed, and I giggle through my tears.
If only she could squeeze Damien’s finger like that.
Mary is the best of babies. I have lined a box with towels and a blanket, and she fits into it neat as you please.
When I wake, I hold her to my body and pour all my love into her.
When she suckles, I tell her stories and sing her songs Granny used to sing to me.
She opens her eyes, always watching, looking as if she already knows every word.
Once I am strong enough, Mrs. Milne lets me keep Mary with me in the reception area.
She knows I am worn to the bone, but my energy comes from the baby.
Oh, that child, with her button nose and beautiful big eyes, with tiny pink lips that root and reach for me when I bring her to my breast. She is my world, and I thank both Damien and God every day for giving her to me.
“Mo stórín beag,” I whisper to her. My little treasure.
“Excuse me.”
“Oh, beg pardon,” I say, raising my eyes to greet the guest who has just entered. He’s tall and broad, wearing a long black coat and matching fedora. “I was distracted.”
He removes his hat, then he sticks a cigarette in his mouth and lights it. “I need a room for the night.”
My heart has stopped beating. I know this man. He works for Mr. Carboni.
“Of course,” I say quietly.
My hands are shaking, and I know my cheeks have flushed a deep red. I need to act normally, not rouse suspicion, but every nerve in me is screaming.
“Would you like a room with a bath?”
He says no, takes the key I hold out for him, and heads upstairs with his luggage.
I am blind with panic. The man might not have noticed me, but I’d be a fool to think my luck might last. I must go.
I must hide. I take Mary to our room and pack everything with shaking hands, speaking quietly to her the whole time so she does not sense my fear.
I will send Mrs. Milne a note when Mary and I are safe, and I’m sorry for that.
She has done so much for me, but I will never be able to tell her the full story.
At last, I give the little room a once-over, and sadness settles in me.
I hadn’t expected to ever feel content again after I lost Damien, but I was here.
I square my shoulders, then I pick up my bag and clutch Mary to my chest. It’s time. I rush upstairs, and no one is at the front desk, thank the saints. But just as I touch the front door, I hear Mrs. Milne’s surprise.
“Mrs. Ryan? Where do you think you’re going?”
I hear a rustle and spy a man in the corner, lowering his newspaper.
God help me, it’s him, and there’s no question that he notices me this time.
His eyes go round as saucers, then his gaze drops to Mary.
Before he can stand, I wrench open the door and run for our lives, my heart hammering like a drum.
I don’t look back. I’ve no time for questions or answers.
Mary starts huffing, frightened, but I cannot stop to soothe her.
I twist between buildings, hoping to throw the man off the scent, knowing I must find us a place where we cannot be found.
I run until my arms ache and my lungs scream for air, until I leave the noises of downtown behind.
Wheezing, and practically blinded by tears, I spy a broken-down shack standing alone behind other houses, in a tall field of dry, yellow grass.
Sure, and I don’t question the gift. I open the door and collapse inside, gasping for air.
Mary finally gives in and screams her distress, and I’ve no choice but to calm her.
I lift my blouse and press her to me, feeding her so she’ll keep quiet.
Minutes pass. When I can, I get to my feet and peer through a cracked window, the only source of light in the dusty, cobwebbed building.
There is no movement outside save the yellow grass swaying to and fro.
Relief rushes through my body, seeing I’ve done it.
The man and the threat are nowhere to be seen.
I draw a ragged breath, then take in the space. There is nothing in here save spiderwebs, dust, and a couple of old tin buckets. Empty as Granny’s cupboards in winter. Daylight is fading quickly. Soon we will be in the dark. I can only hope the man with the newspaper does not hunt at night.
How is he here, in the middle of nowhere?
Sure, and I remember him now. He’d been the man to open the door that first time, when Bianca and I stood in front of Mr. Carboni and I was close to throttling Bianca for her boldness.
Why is he not in Toronto with his boss? Has he business up here?
Something to do with Mr. Carboni? Or could he have come all this way because he learned I was here?
No, that makes no sense. No one here knows a thing about me.
Mary and I sleep in a corner of the shack.
She’s wrapped up well so she’ll not roll from my arms like a potato in the night.
I’ve done it right, because when the morning sun gleams through the grimy window, she’s lying there asleep, just as I’d placed her.
Mind, ’tis not entirely true when I say that we “wake,” since I’d barely slept a wink.
The night noises and the sharp eyes of the man in the hotel steal my thoughts.
Well now, I’m too tired to be of use. But my stomach is shouting for food, and my mouth is bone-dry.
After her breakfast, I dare myself to carry Mary to the market.
Most of the city appears to be at the market this morning.
I am hidden among them well enough, but I must be watchful.
Carboni’s man could be here as well. My nose gets a whiff of baking bread, and I shuffle through the crowd toward the baker.
I step toward the table, then stop short when a man moves in the side of my vision.
He’s in a black coat and fedora like so many other men here.
I cannot tell if it’s him or not, but I whirl out of his view just in case.
Another man in black stands there, and I dare to look right at him.
’Tis not Carboni’s man, thanks be to God, but now I see men in black coats all around. I’m dizzy at the sight.
“There’s a young one,” comes another man’s voice from behind me.
He’s peering over my shoulder at Mary, curious-like.
The stranger in black stretches out a finger to touch my baby’s cheek and I turn away, keeping her out of his reach.
I catch the baker’s attention in the booth and hold out some coins, so he hands me a loaf of bread handy as you like, and I bolt.
With my heart thundering in my ears, I push through the crowd, scanning everywhere at once.
Mary shrieks, for the poor thing is squashed against me and struggling.
I loosen my grip on her, cooing and apologizing, but she’s not having it.
She’s set her mind on telling me all about it.
Her cries cut through the crowd’s noise, and I recall that Carboni’s man spied her back in the lobby.
If he is close, she’s sending out a beacon.
I toss the corner of her blanket lightly over her face, and I’m off again.
I don’t go the way of the hotel in case he is there. I’ll lay you a pound to a penny that’s where he is.
I’m near defeated, thinking of another sleepless night in the cold, dusty shack.
My fingers curl around the brass key in my blouse as I walk down the street, and I hold it like a charm.
I need luck to find somewhere safe for me and Mary, and it’s helped me before, hasn’t it?
I stop outside a small white boardinghouse, thinking maybe I can stay there for a couple of days, then move on again.
I’ll keep going until the danger’s passed, but I fear that might take forever.
Now I climb the stairs to the front door, which is open, and I’m nearly inside when I hear the man’s voice.
“Yeah. She’d be about this tall, black hair, and she’s got a baby.”
“I can’t say as I’ve seen anyone meeting that description,” another man replies.
There’s a break, then Carboni’s man says, “How about now?”
The first sniffs, then he snaps, “Don’t matter how much money you slide this way, I still ain’t seen anyone like that around here. I’ll keep watch, but no sir. She ain’t here.”
They keep talking, but I have left them behind.
Again Mary pipes up, and I put a gentle hand over her mouth to quieten her.
My baby can cry all she wants when we are far enough away, but not here.
I duck behind another building, then I look back.
The big man is standing out front of the boardinghouse, hand cupped by his mouth as he lights a cigarette.
Letting the smoke out in a cloud, he glances left, then right, and for an instant I fear he is staring right at me.
I’m too frightened to move. Then he turns the other way and strolls back toward the Queen’s Hotel.