The Mill River Recluse Read online

  “Actually, I was just ready to leave.” She handed him the key to the marble mansion and put her purse over her shoulder. “Father,” she said, stopping just before the doorway, “is it true that Mrs. McAllister had no family at all?”

  Father O’Brien was silent a moment. “Well,” he said slowly, “members of the McAllister family forgot about her long ago. I don’t believe she’d had contact with any of them in decades.”

  “Then, what will become of all this?” Jean asked, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t clutching her purse. “The house, and everything else?”

  “I believe it will go to a variety of people,” Father O’Brien said carefully, “but exactly who those people are....” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Who those people are remains to be seen.”

  “Oh. Well, I’d better be getting home. Take care,” she said, and started down the staircase.

  Stupid, stupid, Jean thought to herself as she hurried into her car and started the engine. You should have gotten in and out. A few more minutes, and he would have seen you with the ring. She shuddered to think how much worse it would have been if she had been caught stealing, or returning something she had stolen, by a priest. Her heart, which had been racing since the moment she had seen Father O’Brien, began to slow down. At least now, the ring had been returned and her conscience was clear.

  ~~~

  Father O’Brien watched as Jean Wykowski’s car left Mary’s driveway and appeared on the road back into town. He opened the lid to the jewelry box and saw that the diamond ring was back in its usual place. He still couldn’t believe that she had actually returned it and that Mary had been right. Ah, Jean, he thought, she knew you would keep it for just a little while. He admired the character that Jean must have had to return the ring she obviously loved so much. Throughout his many years of petty theft, he had mustered neither the strength nor the courage to return a single spoon.

  Father O’Brien left the bedroom and went across the hall into the library. The closed door creaked when he pushed it open. The layer of dust that coated the shelves and the stale air that hung between the bookshelves revealed how long it had been since Mary, or anyone, had been inside it. A small desk was nestled in the far corner. He went to it and completely removed the top drawer. It was filled with assorted papers and several bunches of old correspondence bound with rubber bands. Near the back of the drawer, he found what he was looking for: a wrinkled manila envelope containing some folded papers, two business cards, and a small leather booklet.

  One of the business cards, from Gasaway and Gasaway, Attorneys-at-Law, was yellowed and slightly bent. The other was crisp and new by comparison. It read James R. Gasaway, Attorney. The booklet was old, and nondescript save for the inscription of “Rutland County Savings and Loan” in the lower right corner.

  Father O’Brien placed the envelope in his coat pocket and exited the library, closing the creaky door behind him. He went back to the bedroom and withdrew from another pocket a small notepad and pen. He began making notes to himself, lists of things. The jewelry box and its contents were on the list. The house, the furniture, the midnight blue vintage car in the garage out back, the old horse farm that had belonged to Mary’s father. The sixteen million dollars in liquid assets. Sham, the Siamese.

  Then, he began to list the names. The Mill River Public Library. Mill River Elementary and Junior-Senior High Schools. Rowen Hansen. Ruth Fitzgerald. Daisy Delaine. Jean Wykowski would have been shocked to know that her name was on the list, too.

  The sun was starting to set, and Father O’Brien looked out over Mill River as shadows began to envelop the little town. Today was the ninth of February. He had twenty-two days until March 2.

  Tuesday, March 2, would be a very important day. Vermont state law designated the first Tuesday in March as the annual Town Meeting Day. On that day across the state, residents of each town would meet to debate and approve a town budget, elect town officers, and visit with neighbors. Town Meeting Day was always a major social event for Mill River. By the beginning of March, most people in the little town were eager for a change in their winter routines. The meeting was usually held at four o’clock, with a merry potluck supper immediately following.

  Father O’Brien thought of the little brown package and the sealed envelope that Mary had given him. They were still on his desk back at the parish house. At Mill River’s town meeting on March 2, after the debating and voting, he would read that letter and present to the town whatever was inside the package. In doing so, he would fulfill his final promise to her.

  He looked down over Mill River, watching as the sunlight faded and the streetlights switched on. In the next twenty-two days, he had a lot of work to do.

  ~~~

  Chapter 14

  “Well, here we are,” said Conor, holding the back door of the marble mansion for Mary. It had been four weeks since she had last been inside her home, and she walked through the door looking at everything as if for the first time. She was not completely blind in her left eye, but she might as well have been. It registered only shadows of movement and was extremely sensitive to bright light. Its color had changed, too, from a clear, bright blue to a murky shade of blue-gray. She had taken to wearing a patch over it.

  “How are you feeling?” Conor asked, coming up beside her.

  “Fine. A little strange at being back here, but relieved to be out of the hospital.”

  Conor nodded. For a while, he stood in the sitting room, watching as Mary walked slowly around the davenport and chairs, tracing her finger along the staircase railing. She looked up toward her bedroom, put one foot on the bottom step, but didn’t venture any further. She wasn’t ready to go there just yet.

  “Grandpop,” she said, backing away from the staircase, “I want to go down to the barn.”

  Conor smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. There’s something down there I want to show you.”

  All three of the horses were grazing in the pasture. Ebony and Penny hadn’t changed at all, except for having grown fatter. But it was the sight of Monarch that made her gasp with delight. Having been well cared for over the past month, the blood bay horse had regained much of the weight he had lost. His ribs no longer showed, and his coat, though still scarred with white whip marks, was beginning to take on a healthy sheen.

  “He looks wonderful! They all do,” Mary said. The horses were coming closer, ears pricked forward, nickering. Monarch wasn’t limping at all. In fact, there was no sign that there had ever been anything wrong with his hind foot.

  “The veterinarian was out almost every day at first,” Conor said. “Said he’d never seen a horse in such bad shape. He had him standing with his hind foot in a soaking bucket twice a day for the first week. I don’t know what else he did, but he managed to get the infection cleared up. He said it was close. Another few days and he wouldn’t have been able to do anything for him.”

  Ebony went immediately to Mary. Monarch, on the other hand, went to Conor and began nuzzling his shirt pocket.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” he told the horse, laughing.

  “He likes you!” Mary said.

  Conor retrieved several sugar cubes from the pocket and offered them to Monarch. “Sugar’s rationed, you know, so I really shouldn’t be giving it to a horse. But I’m afraid I’ve spoiled him,” he explained. “I’ve been out to see him a number of times over the past few weeks, and we’ve gotten to know each other. He was pretty skittish at first, but this fella has a sweet tooth. Once I figured that out, he came around pretty quickly.”

  “Grandpop, I had no idea you liked horses.”

  Conor chuckled and rubbed Monarch’s forehead. “It’s been a while since I’ve been around any. But don’t forget, when I was your age, if you didn’t want to walk somewhere and you weren’t taking the train, a horse was your only other option. I enjoyed them very much when I was a young man. I guess I still do.”

  “Would you like to go riding with me sometime?” Mary
asked.

  “I haven’t ridden in years. And, mind you, I wasn’t all that good at it when I was growing up. But, maybe, when the doctor says you are well enough to ride, I could be persuaded to try it again.”

  Mary stroked the velvety skin on Ebony’s nose and smiled.

  After a few more minutes, Conor looked at his watch. “Mary, it’s after two-thirty, and I promised Stephen I’d be back at three.”

  “Oh! Well, you shouldn’t be late on my account.” Her attention was still focused on the black mare.

  “Yes. Well.” Conor shifted uncomfortably. “Mary, are you sure that you won’t stay at the house in town with the family for a few weeks? Just until you’ve adjusted to being…well, being by yourself?”

  Mary sighed and looked into Conor’s worried green eyes. “Grandpop, I’ll be fine, really. I feel fine. Doctor Mason said there isn’t any reason why I can’t do things around the house, so long as I don’t do anything too strenuous for the first few days. And, I know how Stephen and Elise feel about me. It would only make things worse, for everybody. I’m much better off here.”

  “But you’ll be all alone. I intend to do everything I can to see you regularly, but you have to know, with the war on, gasoline is hard to come by and driving for pleasure isn’t allowed. I had to get special permission from the county to take you home, and I don’t know how often I’ll be able to get out here.”

  “Grandpop,” Mary said, “please don’t take this the wrong way-–you know how much I enjoy your company--but I’m used to being alone. I don’t mind it. I’ve always been that way. You know strange people and places have always made me anxious. I’d much rather be safe in the comfort of my own home or off riding with Ebony. I’ll be fine here, really. As soon as I’m able, I’m going to start a garden, and go riding, and redecorate the library. And I know you’ll visit me as often as you can.”

  “And so will Father O’Brien. He’s right here in town, so he’s offered to stop by a few days each week to check up on you as a favor to a certain someone,” Conor said, winking. “He also said that you should call him if you need anything, however small.”

  “I will,” Mary said. She smiled to herself as she remembered Father O’Brien standing awkwardly in her hospital room, his face contorted with shame, after she had first asked him about the spoons. “He is very kind, having spent so much time with me in the hospital. I do feel comfortable around him.”

  “Good, good. So, my dear, do you feel well enough to walk an old man back to his car?”

  “Of course, but you’re not old, Grandpop.”

  Conor smiled and offered his arm to Mary. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve hired a local girl to help around the house. She’s already been to the market for groceries for you,” he said, as they started back toward the marble house. “Also, I’ve had two boys from a farm a few miles out coming each day to look after the horses. I’ll tell them to continue, at least for the time being, yes?”

  Mary nodded. “They’ve done a wonderful job,” she said, but then her brow furrowed. “As long as it doesn’t cost too much. I can’t imagine how much it was to have the vet out for Monarch all those times.” In fact, she hadn’t thought about that at all, or about her own hospital bills, or any of the other bills for the house or the car.... She touched the patch over her left eye.

  “Good gracious, Mary, you needn’t worry about any of that, or any of your other expenses, for that matter. I’ve made arrangements to make sure that you will be secure financially. I just need a few more days to work out the details, and then I’ll sit down with you and go over everything.” He patted the hand she had linked through his arm. “Promise me that you’ll worry about nothing except recovering, and getting your life back.”

  Mary looked up at Conor and nodded. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  “I am,” he said. They had reached the door to the marble mansion, and he reached out to open it.

  “Grandpop?” Conor looked down at Mary and saw her eye becoming teary. “I just want to tell you . . . I feel as if nothing I can say can thank you for everything you’ve done, for taking care of me. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she wiped the tears that spilled down her cheek.

  “Mary, my dear,” he said, but his words caught in his throat. He put his arm around her, kissed her on the forehead, and tried his voice again. “Mary, that’s what your family is for.”

  ~~~

  The next day was Sunday, and, true to Conor’s word, Father O’Brien stopped by in the early afternoon. Mary invited him into the sitting room and went to put on water for tea.

  “It should be ready in a few minutes. I’ll hear the kettle when it whistles,” she said, joining him.

  “I’m in no hurry,” he said, settling back into the chair. “I had two visits scheduled after the service this morning but nothing else for the rest of the day.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, each aware of the lengthening silence.

  “Have you given any thought to attending Mass? Once you’ve settled back in here?” Father O’Brien asked.

  “I have,” Mary replied, “but I don’t think. . .I don’t think I will.” Father O’Brien’s face registered polite surprise. “Michael, I don’t want you to think my decision has anything to do with you. It doesn’t. I don’t think I could bear being around all those people. And even if I could, my memories of being in the church are painful, the beginning of a year I wish I could forget.”

  “I understand,” Father O’Brien said. “I only thought that it might help you work through everything that’s happened. Many people find coming together with each other, and with God, to be comforting.”

  Mary averted her eyes, glanced down to where her arm rested on the arm of the davenport. She looked meek, almost ashamed, as she smoothed the fine fabric beneath her hand. “I’ve never been comfortable coming together with other people. Well, I suppose that’s not completely true. With Patrick, I had started to feel more comfortable, but now, it’s so much worse.” Mary appeared to be searching for words, but they did not come to her. She shook her head quickly to herself and continued. “As for God...I have a lot of questions right now. Patrick insisted that we attend Mass, and at first, I thought doing so might be a good thing. But now, I find myself wondering if there is a God at all. Conor was telling me the latest news of the war on the way home. Why would a God who’s supposed to love everyone let the world turn on itself? And what about me?” Her voice cracked. “In the last year, I’ve lost nearly everything—my father, my marriage, my husband. I’m lucky that I didn’t lose my life.” Mary was trembling, clenching the arm of the davenport, staring at him with her one blue eye. “I feel almost as if I’ve been punished for something, but what? I’ve never hurt anyone. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone.”

  Father O’Brien flattened himself against the back of the chair. Questions such as Mary’s were to be expected. He had counseled many who had begun to question their faith after suffering personal tragedies. But the intense pain in Mary’s voice and the grief that distorted her young face rendered him speechless. He gasped and tried to come up with something to say.

  The tea kettle beat him to it. Its whistle had an immediate calming effect, much like a bell signaling the end of a round in a boxing match. Mary took a deep breath, straightened the black patch over her left eye, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Excuse me a minute,” she said, and left for the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, she returned with a silver tea tray. She set it down on the coffee table, revealing, in addition to the teapot and two cups with saucers, a plate of cookies, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a pitcher of cream. He noticed that a small teaspoon rested on each saucer.

  “Here you are,” said Mary, filling the first cup. “I didn’t know how you take your tea, so I brought out everything. Please help yourself to whatever you like.” She handed him the cup and saucer and proceeded to pour some tea for herself.

  “Thank you, Mary,” he said, carefully accepting the tea
. He was most interested in seeing the spoon tucked on the saucer behind his cup. It would surely be a beauty, made of fine silver and patterned with delicate swirls. Holding his breath in anticipation, he held the saucer in his left hand and grasped the silver spoon handle with his right. He brought the spoon up over the edge of his cup, but it wasn’t a spoon.

  It was a fork.

  He would have thought this an oversight with anyone else, but he knew Mary’s choice of flatware was no accident. He swallowed and felt his cheeks begin to burn.

  Mary was watching. She herself had a spoon, which she was using to deposit sugar cubes in her own cup. She added cream and stirred. “It’s just a little precaution, Michael,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I hope you understand.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, and used the fork to take a sugar cube. This was turning out to be a most unpleasant visit.

  Mary set her cup back on its saucer and sighed. “I’m sorry I got upset a few minutes ago. It’s just since that, since I’ve been home, I’ve had time to think about...what happened to me. It makes me angry to know that I loved—that I still love--someone I didn’t really know at all, someone who would do something like this to me.” She paused, waiting for some response from Father O’Brien, but he only nodded. “I’ve thought about how Patrick died and it doesn’t seem fair. He didn’t suffer enough. Not like I did, and Monarch did. He didn’t live to face a life of half-vision, or his family in mourning. And even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have cared.”

  “Mary,” Father O’Brien said, “even though Patrick is no longer living, I have to believe that he is being made to atone for what he did. I also believe that everything happens for a reason, although it may not be clear to us what that reason may be.”

  “You believe that God allowed Patrick to do this to me for a reason?” The edge began to creep back into her voice.

  “Man has free will, and Patrick chose to do what he did. But, yes, I do believe it happened for a certain purpose that neither of us is aware of, at least right now.”