What Reviewers Are Saying About Pat Mestern Novels:
“Pat Mestern should be considered a national treasure. Her descriptive writing style gives a wonderful glimpse into past lives and times that are quickly being forgotten.” --Fergus Elora News Express
“In conversation with Pat, one senses that no reading of her works of fiction can take us into the deep, compulsive level of creativity that this novelist experiences and accepts as another strata of her life--a plateau as mysterious as some of the characters in her novels. And this deep level of creativity is what makes Pat’s novels so compelling. They come from the heart and soul of the writer.”--Ryan Taylor, Book Reviewer, Fort Wayne, Indiana
“Pat Mestern's fictional works are among the most rewarding and most pleasing published today. Her historical novels conjure up a time long gone and characters long dead. They never fail to embrace the sorts of scandals, dreams and secrets that can haunt nearly every family in every walk of life for many tomorrows.”--J. Marshall Craig, screen writer and film director
ANNA
Child of the Poorhouse
A Novel By
Pat Mestern
Canterbury House Publishing
at Smashwords
www.canterburyhousepublishing.com
Copyright Patricia Mestern, 2011
All rights reserved
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedicated to my children Andrew, Celeste,
Julia and Cecile
Prologue
A chill November wind howled up the drive and round the three-storey building on the hill. It whistled through the turret and set the heavy bell there swaying. Windows lined the south facade, which faced the river valley. The building dominated the landscape, dwarfing young trees on the lawn. If one didn't know what it housed, they would simply assume that some wealthy Scots landowner had come to Ontario and built himself a fine mansion.
But everyone knew about it, and passed by as quickly as possible for fear they might someday end up behind its walls. Children pointed at it, and whispered, ‘The Poor House.’ More than once, old people begged anyone who would listen, ‘Don’t let me end my days in that place.’
The House sat on the highest prominence of land at the edge of the Aboyne Settlement, between the villages of Fergus and Elora. Its east windows faced up the river valley toward Fergus, and those on the west, towards Elora.
Although within one and a half miles of both communities, it stood separate and alone from them, which was how the villagers preferred it. Both communities were quick to point out it wasn't their Poor House; it belonged to the County. Most regarded it as a blot on the landscape, but a necessary evil. The maimed and penniless in their society had to be put somewhere. They just wished that it wasn't in their backyard. Out of sight, out of mind, would adequately describe their feelings. Few felt compassion for those who needed its facilities.
The communities’ disdain for the House did nothing to improve its image. Any incident that took place behind the grey stone walls was immediately elaborated upon. Favourable publicity about the House was immediately countered with tales of inmate deprivation and ill-treatment. No one, except County officials, bothered to correct this opinion. They were fighting a losing battle.
A buggy drew off the gravel road and up the lane to the building, the driver snapping his whip to urge the horse along. He was stocky, and wore a heavy bearskin coat. A small figure sat beside him, wrapped in blankets.
Reining the horse at the steps, he dismounted, and went round to his passenger. “Come on, girl. Step down. I'll help you.”
She responded hesitantly. If she hadn't held his hands, she would have fallen. Realizing her fragility, he carried her up to the front doors. They were opened before he reached them. A large woman stood just inside the entry, her drab black dress allowing her to blend with the dimly lit hall.
"Is this the woman, Reeve O’Brien?" Her voice filled the hall. "Put her in the chair." Harry O’Brien brushed past the matron and gently sat the bundled woman in a large wooden chair. A dark misshapen form shuffled along the hall, her slippers brushing the wooden floor.
"Anxie...Anxie, listen to me!" Matron's voice drew the woman up short. "Get your blankets and take them to the cot in the attic. Then get Lily to help you put this woman into bed – your bed."
"I doubt she can walk upstairs," Harry O’Brien said, looking at the bundle.
"They'll manage to get her up to the ward. Come into the office."
Matron turned again to the woman called Anxie. "Do as I say, immediately."
"There's no heat in the attic this time of year," the woman said.
"I am aware of that. See if you can find an extra blanket in one of the trunks."
Anxie sniffled. "There’s is one to come, and one to go, for one to come" she said, looking directly at Matron.
"What did she say?" O’Brien asked looking at Anxie.
"You're talking nonsense, Anxie." Matron turned to the Reeve of West Luther Township. "You can't believe half of what she says. It's utter rubbish."
The woman in the chair moved, groaned.
"Get Lily now, Anxie, before she faints."
Anxie shuffled along the corridor toward a set of stairs at the east end of the building.
"Lily is in the laundry, Anxie, downstairs."
"T’is all you know. She's cleaning the ward upstairs."
"You'll talk to me sharply once too often, Anastasia Bates. Then you'll be put in the attic for good."
"I spend more time in the attic then I do on the ground," said Anxie, sniffing as she pulled herself up the stairs. “At least I’m closer to God up there than you are down here.”
"What did you say?" Matron said.
"It will be years before you rid yourself or this House of me." Anxie climbed until she was out of sight.
"Should we leave the woman alone?" Reeve O’Brien said, reluctant to enter Matron's office.
"Leave the door open, so that I can watch her." Matron stepped into a small room lit by a solitary oil lamp in a wall sconce. She carefully took the lamp and placed it on a cluttered desk.
The Reeve removed some papers from a chair and sat down.
"Did you bring the necessary papers?"
The Reeve drew several pages from his great coat. "They're signed. She’s a ward of the County now."
Matron glanced at the papers. "We don't need another one. You know that, Mr. O’Brien."
"She had no place to go.
"Surely someone in your area would take her."
"I asked around," the Reeve said. "My wife and I kept her as long as we could. She'd had a good bath and some decent meals but neither of us could find a place for her, not in her condition."
"What precisely is her condition?" Matron glanced at the papers before her.
"She's with child. That was in the letter I sent to you last Friday."
"I didn’t receive it, just a note this week, saying that you were bringing a new inmate down today. I didn't know what you were talking about. Neither did Keeper, so we kept an eye out for you." Matron sighed heavily. "Had I received your letter, I would have told you that we have no room for a pregnant woman."
She rose from her desk as Anxie and Lily came to the woman’s side and began removing some of the blankets.
"Is she dressed?"
"She’s wearing the only things she has," the Reeve said. "The bundle she's carrying contains baby garments, things she appears to have made from petticoats or underthings. My wife said they are beautifully stitched."
Matron addressed the pair who lifted the woman to her feet and were supporting her between them.
"Don't bother to give her a bath. Just put her into bed. Take her clothing to be burned, but let her keep the bundle. Make sure there are no bugs in it though."
"My wife laundered and pressed everything. You don't have to worry," the Reeve said. "Maybe I should carry her. She can barely walk."
"She’ll be all right. Anxie and Lily will assist her." Matron returned to her seat. "How far along does your wife think she is? Has she seen a doctor?"
"She’s due within a month." Harry O’Brien shifted his frame around in his great coat. "She has no husband I could find."
"Did she ever have one?" Matron arched her eyebrows.
"She won’t say, but the people who told me to check on her said that a man was in her cabin last winter."
Matron reached for the papers again. "There's no name here." Perplexed, she looked at the Reeve’
"She wouldn't give it."
"You've brought me some strange inmates before, but this one has to be the limit."
"All I know is that her man ran off and left her in the family way. She's been living in the County for over a year, so she's entitled to the charity of the House as a destitute. She is young, matron." Reeve O’Brien was getting angry. "If you can't accept people like her, who do you accept?"
"The insane, the mentally deficient, the poor, and her sort too." Matron placed both hands on her desk and leaned toward the Reeve. She indicated the pile of paperwork.
"You don't seem to realize that we need more space for these unfortunates. Anxie's in the attic so that this woman can have her cot, to bring an unwanted child into the world."
"It won't be unwanted," the Reeve said. "She prepared clothing for it. It's going to be her only possession."
Matron looked away. "She won't live to enjoy her child. I can tell that she's in serious trouble. Death stalks her."
"Then who'll raise the child?"
"The women in the House and if it’s healthy enough, it will be put up for adoption or bound out at an acceptable age."
"You talk as though you're tending a flock of sheep. There's not a shred of emotion in your voice," the Reeve said, staring hard at Matron.
She sighed. "If I felt compassion for every man, woman or child in this House, I'd be insane myself. Keeper feels the same way. We're doing our job, but it didn't state anywhere in the rules that we have to have compassion. If you do, take her home with you, give her a proper home, and adopt the child."
"What about Anxie, whom you relegated to the attic? Is it as cold there as she says?"
"She'll survive."
"She shouldn't be locked up."
"Are you running this house, or am I?" Matron's face was flushed. "Do you want the job? Keeper and I will gladly hand it over to you."
"I don't want it. I was just questioning some of your ethics." The Reeve rose from the chair.
"Don't," Matron said. "Anastasia Bates is a troublemaker. She 'speaks-in-tongues'." Matron rose and turned her back to the Reeve. She pulled the window drapery aside and looked down on the bleak November lawn. "It's hard to explain Anxie and the animosity I feel towards her. It's well known that we don't get along. I think she's crazy."
"I'm sure you could arrange other accommodation for her."
"I can’t. To be honest, she scares me."
"Is she violent?"
"No, she’s docile. Her tongue is the sharpest thing about her, but she has second sight. She sees things that will happen months ahead. She speaks in rhymes that make no sense today; and all the sense in the world tomorrow. You heard her say that 'there's one to come and one to go for one to come'?"
"Yes," the Reeve said.
"Do you know what that means? Think about it. Anxie and I didn't know that the woman was with child although we were both standing beside her. It simply means that she has come and she will die when the child is born."
"That is utter nonsense." Harry O’Brien shook his head in disbelief at what he was hearing.
"Anxie has been saying this to me for the past three weeks. I don't think it is nonsense. I've dealt with her statements before."
"She couldn't have known. We have only had the woman at our home for the past four days."
"You'll see that's what she means,” Matron said. “You'll see."
"Why are you afraid of her? She can't hurt you with her tongue."
Matron shrugged her shoulders and looked intently at Harry O’Brien. "You know I cannot intelligently tell you why I am afraid of Anastasia Bates. Aside from the fact that she is a little strange, takes fits and is so misshapen she can hardly be called pretty, her cousin does pay a handsome amount for her upkeep. The last bit of information is not known to her, at his request. She’s a paying customer and there are very few of them here."
"Then she must not be sent to the attic! Having her board paid entitles her to a decent bed."
"There are no other beds available. Don't pass judgement on a situation you know little about."
Reeve O’Brien turned to the door. "Enough said. I'll be off."
Matron followed him to the hall. "On your way through Fergus, please leave a message for Dr. Groves to come out here. The woman should have medical attention. You see," Matron said, allowing herself to smile, "my heart is in the right place occasionally. And we'll give her a name."
Reeve O’Brien smiled. "It's good to see you have some heart left in you."
"It's not an easy job, Sir. Believe me."
"If I recall, no one ever told you it would be an easy job. You and Keeper were both warned that you’d have a difficult time."
"I wouldn't do it again," Matron said. "Tell Groves to come as soon as he can. And, please really try to ascertain what the woman’s name is.”
Harry O’Brien pulled his hat from one of the great coat’s pockets, retrieved his blankets from the chair and stepped out into the raw wind. He shivered involuntarily and took a deep breath. It was always good to leave the Poor House. He breathed deeply again trying to expel the stinking air from his lungs. He always felt unclean in the House. It would take the ride home to rid his clothing of the smell.
Erasing the place from his mind would be more difficult, especially this time when he was compelled to sign in such a lovely young woman. The word freedom came to mind. That woman would never know freedom. If she survived childbirth, she would be shackled to poverty for the rest of her life. And, what would become of her child? The Reeve shook his head. Maybe he could find someone interested in adopting a child. He’d try. Untying his horse Harry O’Brien climbed laboriously into the buggy, wrapped the blankets around his feet and left.
An unrelenting December storm lashed the curtainless windows of the Ward with a combination of ice and snow. The accompanying wind moaned through the turret and round the east eaves, causing Anxie to shiver and draw away from her window. It was her territory for no one would dare pass by her rocking chair to look out. Anxie had claimed the window and its view three years before when she first arrived. Not even Matron disputed the boundaries set up by the eccentric woman. No one else would have been allowed their own chair and window, but no one dared question Matron's reluctance to disturb Anxie.
Anxie's view was one of the most beautiful, if anything remotely connected to the house could be considered beautiful. Directly below the window the narrow gravel drive wound downhill to the road between Fergus and Elora. The dark form of a rail bridge dominated the scene as the Grand Trunk with its thin ribbons of steel crossed over the high bridge at the river and disappeared between the hills beyond. Much further east, over the tracks Anxie could watch the sunrise every morning over Fergus and Kinnettles. A thin line of evergreen and cedar accented the meandering path of the Grand River as far as the eye could see down its valley.
Her rocking chair creaked as Anxie lowered her tall, angular frame into it. She sighed heavily, pulled her shawl around her shoulders and peered into the dark recesses of the ward. “Wind of death”, she muttered to herself. “This room is being touched by the wind of death”.
Matron didn't allow lamps in the wards but Anxie knew the layout by heart – ten cots down one side, nine down the other - eight trunks on one side, three on the other; and a rocking chair between the second and third cot along the east wall. The ward was empty except for Anxie and the young woman in the cot beside her. The female inmates were working in the basement laundry or scullery. Those who were frail or sickly would be in the women's sitting room one floor below. The only sound on the second floor, other than the wind and sleet, was the laboured breathing of the woman in the cot and the creaking of the rockers against the wood floor.
Anxie bent and touched the feverish brow, smoothing back the wisps of golden hair. She pulled the heavy woollen blanket up around the delicate chin. Except for two days when Matron had put her in the basement on bread and water for disobeying her order about sleeping in the attic Anxie had been by the side of the woman. She, Lily and Margaret shared beds. Lily's cot was third along the east wall.
Anxie leaned back in her chair, beating her slippered feet on the floor, which set the rhythm of the rockers...she's going to die…she's going to die…she's going to die...the rockers whispered to her.
Anxie had approached Matron some time before with her concerns. "She's going to die. Don't you understand, Matron?"
"I leave that in the hands of God, Anxie. I do not pass judgement on His decisions. If He wishes to take her, then so be it. My immediate concern is not her, it’s you. You disobeyed my orders to sleep in the attic, and took Lily's bed. Where Lily sleeps, I'll never know."
"We're taking turns sitting the woman," Anxie explained.
"She’s no concern of yours."
"You don't seem to care. She's going to die, and her baby will live. What about the child?"
"Again, that is no concern of yours, Anxie. Why have you taken it on yourself to be a guardian of this woman?"
"I don't see you spending much time worrying over her. She was lying up there not even able to attend to her toilette and you didn't care enough to have paid staff tend to her." Anxie's eyes pierced the gloom.
"You dare to stand here telling me that I’m not performing my duties?”
"That’s true," Anxie snapped.
"Go to the basement. Keeper will make sure that you’re shut in with nothing but bread and water for two days."
"Last time it was three. I'll tell James about the woman. He’ll do something."
"You are crazy!"
"I'll tell James that you said that too."
Matron had momentarily forgotten James Bates, cousin of Anastasia. She could hear Keeper carrying on about paying clients, balanced books, and county jobs. Matron began to pace back and forth slowly behind the desk. What harm would come by giving Anxie responsibility for a woman no one knew? Somebody would eventually adopt or apprentice the child, if it lived. If it was a boy, perhaps James Bates himself could be persuaded to take him. He couldn’t adopt a girl because he was a bachelor, but he might be persuaded to pay for her keep at the House. Matron smiled. Keeper would be pleased about another paying inmate.
Anxie saw in matron a shrewd, calculating person, known for her vindictive nature, but also for her efficient operation of the House. Of course, Anxie knew that she was the brunt of most of Matron's anger and frustration. Matron was afraid of her. So she should be!
Anxie saw unjust treatment of the inmates, and people being taken advantage of by Matron and Keeper. Both had never known hardship or poverty. But, no one would listen to her when she tried to speak up. She didn't let the fact Matron thought her crazy bother her. Anxie had come to the conclusion a long time ago that she probably was crazy. That’s why people didn't take her seriously.
"I will give you permission to take care of the woman,” Matron had said. “It will be your responsibility to see that she is fed and that her toilette is attended to. Dr. Groves informs me that she is very sick, but the baby’s heart beat appears to be normal. At the time of her confinement, Groves will attend to her. If she dies, the child will be placed in your full care until adopted. Is that what you wish?"
Anxie didn't answer. She was already at the door. When she did turn, it was to look intently at Matron.
"I was put in here at the same time you were appointed. I didn't ask to be the bane of your life but it appears that I am." She paused. "We're fighting, just like sisters. I think that's funny. I never had family, only my Cousin James. No one will marry somebody who looks like me, has second sight, and suffers from fits. I wanted a home and children. I love them. But, it wasn't to be. People are frightened of me. You're frightened of me. Only James understands. This woman has the second sight too. She understands. Her child will be my child, a girl. And, she’ll be special".
Anxie left without waiting for Matron to reply.
Hearing her name, Anxie’s slippered feet ceased their rhythmic movement and the rocking chair stopped. Looking around, Anxie expected Matron to be standing behind her. She shook herself fully awake at the sound of her name being called a second time. A slim hand was resting on her wrist. Anxie realized that the woman in the cot was speaking.
"Did you call me? I was daydreaming."
"What is the noise?"
"It's the wind coming to herald the arrival of your child." Anxie covered the fingers on her wrist with her own huge, rough hands.
"Is Dr. Groves here?" the woman asked.
"Do you have need of him?" Anxie was on her feet, still holding the hand.
"My labour has begun," the woman said simply.
Anxie stroked her forehead. "Are you prepared?"
The woman smiled, and held fast to Anxie's wrist.
"You and I know that I will never see the child. It is you who must prepare it for the future."
"What will we call the baby? And, what will Matron write in her ledger as your name? You are only known by the number you were given when you entered the House."
"Call the baby Anna Graham. Bury me as Liza Graham."
"Your maiden name?" said Anxie.
"You alone know that."
"Is there anyone I should write to? Your parents should be told."
"They cared not when I was a bride, and wouldn’t now. Let me go from this world peacefully. All I want is happiness. Perhaps I will find it after death."
"What of your husband? If you disclosed his name, it might be possible to find him."
"I love him. Something has obviously happened to him. He would have returned to me had he been able. If I am wrong, I wouldn't want the child to know the man who deserted me." Liza grimaced in pain. "Please ask Matron to send for Dr. Groves. I doubt that she'll want the guilt of my death on her hands alone."
Anxie looked out of the window. The wind still howled, and the lane was obliterated by snow.
"He'll come," Anxie said, "if I have to go for him myself. I know for sure that James will too. He'll see your baby, Liza, and he'll love her as though it were his own, just as I will."
Liza squeezed Anxie's hand, and then relaxed her grip.
"I feel as though my strength is already ebbing away," she said.
"Save some for the birth. I'll go but return immediately. I'll stay with you as long as I can. You're having my child too."
Anxie left the bedside quickly, her feet scuffling across the floor, the sound echoing down the long corridor and stairs. It seemed an eternity to Liza before she returned, flushed and angry. She didn't immediately sit in her rocker but stood by the window until she detected the outline of a horse and sleigh on the east driveway.
"Is he coming, Anxie?" Liza called weakly.
"Ol' Joe's gone to get him," Anxie said trying to hide her fury at Matron's response to her request. "Groves will come. He won't let a storm stop him. It's Ol' Joe I'm concerned about now. He’s not the one should be sent."
She returned to her rocker, felt Liza’s forehead again, tucked the blankets around her, and sat down.
"Have you ever felt such anger that you wanted to hit someone?" she asked.
"Never," Liza replied.
"I didn't hit her but I felt like it. Matron wouldn't send Keeper through the storm, but she didn't mind ordering Margaret's Ol' Joe, a man in his seventies, to go. He shouldn’t be out in such weather."
Anxie pulled her shawl around her angular shoulders and reached for Liza's hand. She held it fast, stroking the delicate fingers.
"I'll pray for you. I haven't prayed in years but I'll sit right here and pray for you until Groves comes."
Liza smiled weakly. "I haven't caused the Lord much hardship, Anxie. But, I'd appreciate your prayers."
"Hush now. Save your energy. Maybe I'm praying for myself too. Matron just condemned my soul to hell."
"Little does she know what a saint you really are," Liza said. "Hold my hand, Anxie, for as long as you can. I fear the unknown and the pain to come."
"I’m here. I won't leave you."
At the height of the storm, Groves delivered a small, delicate girl child. But with the birth, the life of the mother ebbed away. Liza Graham was buried in the House cemetery the day after her baby’s birth. Anxie, holding the frail, sickly babe, watched the burial from her window.
When her cousin James arrived later in the day, and looked at the child, a lump rose in his throat.
"Will she do, James? Have I chosen carefully? Will Anna Graham fill the ache in your heart and mine?" Anxie gazed in rapture at the baby.
"Ah, she is a beauty, Anastasia. Raise her to be strong, so that she can be free and independent."
"She will take a lot of care, James. She is a delicate, but she will live. Hold her, James. Her name is Anna."
Anxie held the baby out to him and he stood for a long time, gazing at her. He kept his emotions very tightly under control. When he finally returned the baby to Anxie, he said quietly, "We must plan for her future."
"She’ll experience much anguish before she finds happiness, as the future must unfold as planned for her. She is safe with me behind these walls until three and nine. She was given into my care." Anxie was becoming very emotional. "That was how it was to be."
"You are talking in riddles again, dear cousin." He smiled. "She is the light of your life now, Anastasia. I can see love in your eyes and in your heart."
"That she is, James. And, there's love in your eyes for the wee one too."
"Well, there should be. She's stolen what heart remains in me."
"You’re not destined to die of a broken heart, but when this child is taken from me I will."
"She’ll have to leave you eventually. Matron will see that she is either adopted or bound out." James watched for Anxie's reaction to his words. She accepted them calmly.
"I have some ability to see into the future. I know she will remain with me until three and nine and I’ll remain in her heart forever."
"What does 'three and nine' mean?"
"I don't know, James. Because I see the future doesn’t mean that I always understand it. All I’m sure of is that the child and I have time. I know we have time."
James looked again at Anna, who began to move in Anxie's arms.
"You can't take care of her during one of your fits, so who will?"
"Lily, Margaret and I will raise her. She will never want for attention."
The baby woke, and moved her small arms. James took one last look before he left to see Matron.
"I must admit, Anastasia Bates, that the child has captured my heart."
"That’s good, James, for ultimately, her future lies in your hands.
Chapter One
April 26, 1904
The metallic sound of steel wheels on metal track and the rhythmic sway of the passenger coach had lulled William Carliss into a light sleep, his newspaper still propped against his business case. The scenery passing quickly held no surprises for him as he had travelled between Guelph and Fergus by train many times in the past five months. He knew every bend in the track, every farm, every small creek. Not even the sound of the train's whistle when it crossed a concession road roused him. He knew it would eventually stop in Fergus, and the conductor would wake him.
William’s tall, muscular frame barely fit into the plush seat of the first-class coach. Often during a long trip he would have to stand and walk the aisle to exercise his legs. When he did so he usually attracted a good deal of attention from the women. He was a handsome man. Brown, curly hair fell to the turn of his collar and a well-trimmed beard, tinged with just a touch of gold, framed a tanned face. Its most striking feature was piercing blue eyes, which, considering his colouring, one would normally expect to be brown.
"Excuse me, sir." A woman's voice interrupted William’s sleep.
William shook himself awake and turned his head in the direction of the voice. His eyes focussed on the face of a comely woman seated opposite him.
"Sir, could you tell me if we're near the Poor House? It is a strange question, I know, but I've been told it's an impressive sight from the train."
"It is that," William answered, quickly looking out the coach window. "We're going through a cut, and soon will come in full view of the building. It's set high on a hill, overlooking the river. Look there, now! The train crosses a wooden trestle over the Grand River and then you can see the entire operation, barns, house and cemetery."
The woman had quickly turned from him and was glancing out her window, oblivious to him. William Carliss had escorted enough women in the past ten years to consider himself a good judge of them, and this one impressed him as no other had done before.
She was tall and slender, around twenty years old. William could see the clear profile of her face, high forehead, aristocratic nose, delicate sensuous lips, and dainty chin. Golden hair cascaded from beneath a large blue fabric hat. An expensive, tailored travelling suit accentuated a well-rounded bosom and small waist. She wore no jewellery. White silk gloves and a travelling bag lay on the seat beside her.
Anna Ellington gasped as the train broke from the cut. There it was, defying her to expel it from her life. The huge stone building dominated the horizon and the trees around it. An early evening sun reflected in its bleak windows, turning them to eyes of gold staring out in defiance of the world. Anna shivered but couldn't take her eyes off the scene. A soft mist, rising from the river, caused the building to appear to float between land and sky.
The engine, racing across the wooden trestle, caused the mist to swirl around the coach, obscuring the scene from Anna' view. When she saw the building again it appeared larger as the coach had been drawn parallel to it and only a field separated the rail line from the House. Anna quickly averted her eyes to a bare patch of ground she knew existed by the side of the track. Several freshly dug mounds of earth were visible.
"The pauper's cemetery," she said faintly. "That's where my mother is buried."
When she glanced again toward the House she could see nothing. The engine had entered the long cut before Allardice Line and was whistling for the station. The mournful sound echoed through the passenger coaches indicating to some people they should gather their belongings to disembark in Fergus. Anna Ellington closed her eyes and leaned back against her seat, unaware William Carliss had been observing her closely.
William, gentleman that he was, rose and quickly removed himself from the area. He didn't want the young woman to know he had seen her tremble violently at the sight of the County Poor House and had heard her speak, heard what she said.
"Fergus!" the conductor called, as he went through the coach. He stopped before Anna. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
Anna opened her eyes. "Yes. Would you assist me with my small leather bag please? I presume that the trunks I had shipped will be in the baggage car."
The conductor reached above Anna to retrieve her bag. "They’ll be delivered to your address," he said.
"Thank you," Anna replied. "I’m staying with Miss Young on St. David Street."
"Anxious to be off, are you?" the conductor asked the tall young man sharing the passageway.
William smiled and nodded agreement, all the while keeping his eye on the lady in blue. She is exquisite, he thought to himself, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
"Do you know her name?" he asked the conductor, indicating Anna with a nod of his head.
"Haven't a clue," the conductor answered. "She's never been on this route before. I'd sure remember her if she had."
William leapt to the platform, not waiting for the conductor to place his wooden step on it. He was going to be sure he was at the foot of the step to assist the woman in blue to alight. He certainly wanted to meet her. Strange he hadn't noticed her before she had spoken to him. Of course, it was his fault. He usually looked around the coach to see who his fellow passengers were, but today he was so interested in "The Financial" that he'd begun reading immediately upon sitting down.
William had "The Financial" sent to a Guelph address in the name of the Oil Company he worked for to avoid all suspicion and talk in Fergus. The paper this week was completely devoted to his banking endeavours and the problems of management. Newspapers tended to elaborate on all minor situations, but reading between the lines, William knew a decision on his part would have to be made soon. He could see the woman walking along the aisle of the coach, and patiently awaited her exit.
"I think we'd better talk, Carliss," a loud voice said, directly behind William, who jumped in surprise. Turning, he found himself face to face with Patrick Smith, a giant of a man.
"Not now, Smitty," William said. "I'm waiting for someone."
"Yes, now!" Patrick Smith bellowed.
"It's about Fanny McBride, isn't it?" William looked at Smitty, trying to determine how angry he was.
"It sure is."
"Are you drunk?" William asked.
"No," Smitty retorted. "Let's go somewhere quiet to talk."
William shrugged. "Okay," he said. "But, could we possibly postpone this conversation until later this evening, over whiskey, with me buying?" He pulled a large gold watch from his vest pocket. "I promised MacGregors that I would dine with them at eight o'clock, forty minutes from now. I'll meet you in the bar room of the Wellington at nine-thirty, no later than ten o'clock. This is not the proper time or place to be discussing Miss McBride."
Smith eyed him suspiciously.
"You promise to be there?"
"I promise," William replied, replacing the watch. I want to talk to him about Miss McBride just as much as he wants to talk to me, he thought.
"I've got freight waiting to haul to Ennotville," Smitty said, so I'll see you at the Wellington."
"Thanks, Smitty," William said extending his hand. "I offer a gentleman's handshake that I'll see you tonight."
"I trust you," Smitty said turning away without shaking the hand. He spat tobacco juice into the wheel of the coach. "I don't know why I should, but I do."
William quickly turned his attention back to the passengers alighting from the coach. He couldn't see the woman! His eyes swept the platform. She was nowhere in sight!
"Have you seen the young woman in blue?" he demanded of the conductor. "Where did she go?"
"I helped her down and she was immediately approached by a man and woman. I don't know where they went. My job isn't eyeing young woman. The trunks have been picked up too."
William walked quickly to the north end of the platform and looked in all directions. A closed carriage was travelling down St. Andrew Street and another down St. George Street. He had no way of knowing in which she might be. She also could have gone towards Elora or down Johnson Street. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. How could he let such a stunning woman out of his sight? Who was she? Why was she in Fergus?
William began walking toward St. Andrew Street, 'The Financial’ secure under his arm. He could have taken the stage but he needed time to think over his situation before he dined with the MacGregors. His business case was light enough he needed no assistance carrying it. He swung it easily by his side as he walked. His mind didn't stay on business. It kept drifting back to the woman. Whoever she was she couldn't remain long in the Fergus area before everyone knew about her.
William smiled to himself. When Florence McBride got wind of the woman in blue there=d be sparks flying. If ever a woman could unseat Florence McBride from her elevated social position in the community, the lady from the train would be the candidate. William knew by looking at her she had poise, intelligence and good taste. Her greatest asset was that she probably had a little money. But, what on earth did she mean by muttering - 'that's where my mother is buried' while looking at the pauper's cemetery.
Much later, at dinner, he found to his dismay that his thoughts were on the woman more than on the meal.
"William," Mrs. MacGregor chided. "Maudie has asked you twice now if you wish more cake."
"I am sorry," William apologized. He helped himself to a second slice as Maudie, the maid held the plate. Glancing from Mrs. MacGregor at one end of the table to Charles at the other, he said, "I haven't been good company tonight, have I?"
"You certainly have not," Mrs. MacGregor replied from her end, surrounded by white linen and sparkling glassware. "I want to know everything you did in the city."
"Leave the man alone," Charles MacGregor said from his end of the table, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "He obviously has something much more important on his mind tonight than the city, and I'll wager it's a woman."
William smiled. "Mrs. MacGregor, is any of your friends expecting company? A young woman stepped from the train today and I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself."
"No one has mentioned to me recently that they were anticipating house guests." Mrs. MacGregor waved Maudie away.
"Are you not seeing Miss McBride?" Charles asked accepting a second helping of cake.
"I see Miss McBride occasionally, especially when she is set upon me by some well-meaning matchmaker," William replied, looking toward Mrs. MacGregor, who coughed nervously. "I don't intend to make Miss McBride's company a habit," William continued. "I believe she's already been spoken for by Mr. Smith and I don't particularly like the woman."
"Patrick Smith," Charles asked.
"One and the same," William answered.
"The Bull of Belwood?" Charles poured himself a glass of whiskey. "I wouldn't be crossing his path if I were you, William."
"I don't intend to," William answered quietly. Looking at Maudie out of the corner of his eye, he said, "Could we change the subject? Walls can have ears."
Mrs MacGregor gave Maudie a stern look and said, "Why don't you two go somewhere else? I'll supervise the washing up."
"A good idea," Charles replied. Taking his glass, he led William toward the library. It was always Charles' custom to take whiskey after supper before the fireplace in the library, except during the warm summer months, when he switched to the atrium.
"I can't linger, Charles," William said. "I have to meet Smitty in the Wellington at ten o'clock. He's on to me about Fanny McBride again. She managed to get herself stranded in Guelph last week and I happened to be in the same city. It was proper etiquette that I offer her a ride north."
"She contrived to get herself stranded, knowing you were in the neighbourhood," Charles snorted. Don't get yourself caught by that woman."
"At any rate, I imagine Smitty heard about it."
"I imagine Fanny told him," Charles interrupted. He poured himself another whiskey and offered the bottle to William. "As my father used to say, if you manufacture the product you have to use it.” Charles chuckled.
"In moderation," William answered. "I imagine I have to match drink for drink with Smitty. I'll pass on your offer."
"Don't get within ten feet of Smith's fists," Charles warned. "He's a killer". You're strong but you're no match for that fellow."
"I don't intend to fight Patrick Smith over a flirt like Fanny McBride." William leaned against the oak mantel and lit a cigar. "You haven't had time to read 'The Financial' have you?"
"Not today," Charles responded.
"The pressure is on," William said, drawing on his cigar. "The shareholders are demanding to know when they will have a President again. They say it has been three months."
"Are you ready to make the decision?" Charles asked.
"I am not," William answered. "It's a decision which can't be reversed once it's made."
"Your mother was doing an excellent job of running the bank," Charles mused, looking into the fire. "If she hadn't taken the fall from her horse, you wouldn't have to be making such a decision about your life. No fifty-one year old woman should have been allowed to go horseback riding, especially alone."
"You couldn't tell mother anything," William said. "It's unfortunate she died. I miss her. Father was older than she. But, I wasn't as close to him as I was to her. Father always assumed I would take the Presidency at his death, but mother let me go my own way, believing I had a number of years ahead of me before I settled down to banking, and Carliss Enterprises."
"You are capable of managing both," Charles said, settling himself into an overstuffed armchair with the bottle close by.
William absentmindedly poked at the fire. "I was groomed for the position from the day I was born. I'm just not sure I want to spend the rest of my life behind a desk. I enjoy the work I'm doing now. There's adventure in the oil business."
"But, there's no money in your end of it," Charles said, topping up his glass.
"I don't need money." William drew on his cigar again, and threw it into the fire. "I've been left enough money to last me several lifetimes. The question is - do I step into the Presidency of the bank and Carliss Enterprises or do I turn control over to someone else and go my own way as a geologist?"
"You have to weigh all the advantages and disadvantages of both professions. My wife and I promised your mother we'd provide you with a home while you were in Canada, but we can’t decide your future for you. You have been with us five months and your mother has been dead three. I only hope you choose wisely. Don't let your shareholders bully you into a decision you might regret. But, on the other hand, don't let adventure be your hand servant. Someday you'll have to settle down with a wife and family. You can't drag a woman from one end of the globe to the other while you chip rocks and wander through swamps."
"I don't plan to marry," William said taking his watch from his pocket.
"I've heard that from a lot of married men," Charles laughed. "You'd better go change. You can't walk into the Wellington looking the way you do now. They'd muss you up in the gutter for sure, just for the hell of it."
"Tell Mrs. MacGregor not to wait up for me," William said, smiling. "I might be late getting in."
At the opposite end of the village, Anna Ellington sat at a kitchen table covered with yellow oilcloth, helping herself to bread and jam. The soft glow of an oil lamp reflected in the golden coils of her loosely bound hair. Clara Young sat opposite, pouring tea.
"What are your plans now, child?" Clara asked.
"Tomorrow I have an appointment with Mr. Beattie, arranged by your friend Sootie. Until then I can't say."
"You are welcome to stay with me as long as you need to. When Mr. Fegan wrote Sootie about the possibility of a young woman staying with me, I wasn't too sure I wanted the responsibility. But Sootie is a good judge of character and assured me you were a fine Christian woman. I didn't question his judgement."
"I don't want to be a burden to you, Miss Young."
"You're no burden, Miss Ellington." Clara Young smiled. "You are a striking young woman. I expect young men will be lined up at my door as soon as they track you down. You should spice things up in the village."
Anna blushed and answered quickly," I am not interested in meeting all the local eligible bachelors."
Clara Young looked long and hard at Anna. "Well, you may stay here as long as you like. Sootie told me you have no family to care for you." She reached for a thick pad on which to place the hot tea pot.
"Mr. Fegan was my family," Anna answered quietly. "When he died I had no one to live with, or care for."
"You have me and Mr. Beattie now, for what he's worth." Clara helped herself to a slice of bread. She waved her knife in Anna's direction. "You help yourself to whatever you want. I realize you are used to more formal service, but there's none of that around here. Why do you want to see Mr. Beattie?"
Anna glanced quickly toward Clara, wondering if she should answer such a direct question.
"I'm being nosey, aren’t I," Clara said.
Anna laughed. "I'm in your house," she said, "a complete stranger to you. It's only natural that you should be inquisitive. Truthfully, I don't know why I must see Mr. Beattie, except that he asked to see me, after being approached by your friend, Sootie. As a matter of fact, he insisted on seeing me, even if it meant a trip to Toronto for him. I do need someone competent to help me with my financial situation. And, his name was one of the few I remember from..."
Clara raised her head, glanced quickly at Anna, and said, "From the Poor House?"
A startled look from Anna caused Clara to blush. She reached for the teapot.
"I know, child. I know you were born a child of the Poor House. But, I'll never tell, never. You can trust me. That's why you are in my home. Beattie is involved with the House. He might have something to tell you."
"How did you know?" Anna asked.
"Sootie told me. He thought I should know. I knew Anastasia Bates well. "May I offer you some advice?"
"Of course," Anna answered, wondering what Clara Young would reveal next.
"If you're contemplating the village of Fergus as a quiet retreat from the world, you might have come to the wrong place. People are nosey here. They'll leave you alone only if you give a strong indication you want privacy. There are some that need putting in their place. But, you probably know how to do that like a lady, without ruffling their feathers too much."
Anna remained silent, letting Clara continue.
"There are several others using Fergus as a retreat. William Carliss is one of them. Being city-raised, he no more belongs in this village then you. You must have seen him on the train. He was talking to Patrick Smith on the platform just before you got off. He jumped off the coach as soon as the train stopped in the station."
"I didn't meet anyone on the train," Anna mused. "And, I can't remember seeing any men on the platform."
"You must have noticed him in the first-class coach. He is a handsome man in his late twenties."
Clara rose and began clearing the table. Anna stood to help.
"I was so upset about seeing the Poor House again after so many years I couldn't even recall the features of the gentleman I asked about the train's proximity to the building. He had himself buried behind a newspaper. I did want to thank him for his help but he'd left his seat when I did look for him."
"I understand Mr. Carliss' situation is similar to yours. He has no family. Both parents have died."
Anna turned to look directly into Clara Young's wise old eyes. "Tell me, Miss Young, what am I to do to avoid the entire village knowing my situation while I go about my business."
"Well, I'm not going to be the one to do the talking," Clara answered returning Anna's look. "Neither is Sootie. You remember that what brought you to this village is your business, no one else's. Everyone's got secrets. You don't talk to anyone about yourself unless it’s absolutely necessary. You need to be strong to remain anonymous in a small place like Fergus. You learn whom to trust and whom to stay clear of. Just remember you don't need social climbers like Fanny McBride asking you questions. She can be a nuisance. Stay away from her kind."
"I don't know any Fanny McBride," Anna said.
"It won't take her long to introduce herself to you. She'll perceive you to be a threat to her."
"What sort of threat?" Anna asked.
"You’ll be a threat to her position in the community. She’s a good looking woman who can snap her fingers and have five or six young men asking her out. She holds sway over some of the women's organizations. You are a woman of poise, beauty and obviously well-schooled in the finer arts. You are also from the upper level of city society. Oh, you'll be a threat to her all right. Be wary of her."
"I'll try to avoid her, not to be a nuiscance to her," Anna replied.
"Fortunately, there's only one true nuisance in Fergus…Fanny herself," Clara chuckled.
Anna glanced at her bodice watch."MissYoung…Clara, could I possibly retire? I am exhausted."
"Of course. I'm a poor hostess, keeping you up. You've come a long way today, and had a bit of a shock seeing the Poor House again. Your bedroom is right at the head of the stairs."
Clara took a light and walked through the front hall to the stairs. Anna hesitated before following behind.
"Could...could you possibly go upstairs ahead of me with the lamp," she said. "I'm not familiar with your house." She glanced up the stairwell. "I am so glad you have an open stairwell. So much light comes through, doesn't it? I don't like dark enclosed stairwells."
She followed close behind Clara but waited at the door of the guest room while Clara lit a small oil lamp beside the bed.
"Have a good night's sleep," Clara said, indicating Anna should enter the room. "I'm just down the hall if you need me. Tomorrow will be exciting for you, won't it?"
"It certainly will," Anna replied, "and, so should my summer."
William stepped into the smoky bar of the Wellington, surveyed the room and spotted Patrick Smith seated at a small table toward the rear. He walked quickly through the crowd, greeting everyone he knew and ordering two whiskeys as he passed the bar.
"Bring them over to Smitty's table," William called to the bartender.
Smitty glanced up at Carliss as he sat down then peered through the smoke at a clock behind the bar. "You're ten minutes late. I was already to go pull you out of MacGregor’s by the scruff of your neck."
"You wouldn't do that Smitty, and you know it. I always keep my word. I apologise for being late but Charles wanted to talk."
The whiskeys arrived and William paid the bill.
"I want to talk too," Smitty snorted. "You've been seeing Fanny again, haven't you?"
"I have not," William replied.
"You have!" Smitty's fist hit the table but William didn't jump. Some of the bar patrons turned to look at the pair.
"You're going to spill a perfectly good drink, Smitty." William spoke quietly, never leaving his eyes off Smitty’s hands. "I gave Miss McBride a ride up from Guelph last week because she asked me to. She claimed she missed the train. I do not leave women stranded thirteen miles from home." William took a long, thirsty swig of his whiskey.
"That' all there was to it?" Smitty asked. "You didn't stop in at Marden?"
"We did not and I didn't lay a hand on her." William answered. "Look Smitty. If you don't want her chasing me, you should tell her so. You should have some sort of agreement with her. But, if you two aren't engaged she feels free to chase whom she pleases. I happen to be the one she's after now."
"Is Fanny chasing you?" Smitty snapped, downing his whiskey. "Or are you doing the chasing, Carliss?"
"I am not," William retorted. "Sure, I'll admit when I came to Fergus a few months ago I made the mistake of asking Fanny out. She accepted several invitations, but didn't let on that you were her beau. I found out when you got back from teaming to Sarnia, and bloodied my nose at the Opera House for being with her. I should have given you a few licks then. Maybe you'd be leaving me alone now."
"You were going to fight me?" Smitty asked, looking at Carliss.
"Yes," William said. "I've had my share of fights. The oil fields of Pennsylvania are a great place to learn to fight, dirty or clean."
Smitty didn't speak for a few minutes, and William allowed himself to relax.
"Well, leave Fanny alone," Smitty finally said.
"I haven't dated her since the Opera House," William said. "These village matrons keep pairing me off with her when you're not around. Fanny doesn't mind throwing herself at me either, when you're not looking."
Smitty looked hard at Carliss.
"I'm telling the truth, Smitty, honest. I swear on my mother's grave. I am not interested in your girl. But she sure seems interested in attaching herself to me."
"What have you got that I haven't?" Smitty asked, polishing off his whiskey. "Why is she chasing you?"
William signalled the bartender to bring another two drinks. "Money," he said. "She smells it on me, and she’ll do anything to get it."
William tensed, expecting Smitty to leap at him, but instead, a wide grin appeared on his companion’s face.
"You've got guts. No man would sit across a table from me, insult my girl, and be willing to fight me, unless he believed he was telling the truth."
William allowed himself to relax again. Smitty might be reasonable, after all.
"Fanny McBride is an exceptional woman, Smitty. She is clever and has managed to become an important figure in the various women's groups in the village. She snared you and that's an accomplishment in itself. You are quite a catch. You're handsome, and have a certain element of danger about you that intrigues women. But, when I came along she saw something you couldn't give her. She saw money. If she could lure me into marriage, she would have a social position wherever she went. How much she does know about me is anyone's guess. But I'll wager it’s a lot, and this bothers me."
"You're making sense, Carliss. I can see your point of view."
"Please realize that I’m not interested in Florence McBride." William stated flatly. "She is not the sort of woman that I’m attracted to. I won't tell her that fact unless it is absolutely necessary because I don't want to insult the woman. But, I don't appreciate women chasing me, for love or money."
Smitty downed his second glass of whiskey while Carliss sat watching him, wondering what to say next. Obviously Smitty himself wasn't sure about his own attraction to the woman.