The Mill River Recluse Read online

  “I was hesitant to make that promise. I was a young man then, barely a priest, trying to tend to my first congregation, and here I was being asked to look after someone for the unforeseeable future. I knew there was no guarantee—in fact, it was unlikely—that I would be in Mill River all of my life, or Mary’s. But I knew Mary had no one but Conor, and Conor’s request was impossible to ignore. I became a priest in part to help people. And so, I promised to do what I could, for as long as I could.

  “Over time, Mary came to trust me and we became friends. In fact, she was like a sister to me. For a long while after Conor died, I was the only person that she would see. Our friendship lasted more than sixty years, until she lost her battle with pancreatic cancer last month.

  “You might ask how a person could live in almost total isolation for that long. I asked myself that question so many times and I have yet to come up with an answer. I do know that at first, Mary was happy being alone. After what had happened to her, she needed to feel safe, and she felt completely secure up in her marble house. She didn’t trust people, either, at least in those early years, and she found plenty to keep herself busy. But as the years passed, she wanted more and more to overcome her anxiety. When she finally worked up the courage to venture out, the experience hurt her terribly. So, she resigned herself to spending the rest of her life in the security of her home. She loved her horses and her Siamese cat, and she struck up an unexpected friendship late in her life.” He smiled at Daisy, sitting rapt with attention, and the little round woman grinned back at him. “She especially loved to read. She learned so much from her books. I think she had one of the sharpest minds I’ve ever known, even though she never finished high school.

  “But the reason I asked to speak to you today is because there are a few things that Mary, and I, thought you should know.”

  At once, the slight fidgeting that had begun to ripple through the crowd in the meeting room ceased.

  “Mary McAllister knew all of you. She used to watch out her windows to see what was going on in town. She read the Gazette and listened to the radio. She watched certain television programs, even though just seeing people on the screen sometimes frightened her. But most of what she knew about you she learned from me.”

  A murmur of concern rose up from the townspeople. He could sense what must be going through their minds.

  “You needn’t worry,” Father O’Brien said. “I assure you that I told Mary nothing in violation of any of my vows or duties as a priest. I only provided her information much as one friend or neighbor might do for another.”

  Father O’Brien scanned the faces watching him. He smiled and looked into the eyes of Ruth Fitzgerald as she stood by the long table. “Mary knew you, Mrs. Fitzgerald. You did her shopping for years without ever having met her, and you saw her only once, but she knew you. She knew when you and Fitz had your twin girls. She saw their picture in the Gazette and said they were two of the sweetest babies she had ever seen. After you opened the bakery, she grudgingly admitted that your tart cherry pie was better than hers.”

  The meeting room tittered, and he shifted his gaze to Kyle Hansen. “Mary knew you, Officer Hansen. She knew that you left a hard-earned position in Boston to make sure that your daughter could grow up in a safe place with the one parent she had left. Mary thought that that kind of love was wonderful, and so often lacking today.” Kyle smiled and looked down at Rowen seated beside him. His ears were bright pink.

  Claudia Simon sat on the other side of Kyle. Her eyes grew wide as he addressed her next. “Mary knew you, Miss Simon, even though you hadn’t lived in Mill River for more than a few months. She knew you were an elementary school teacher and a good one at that. She often said to me that without teachers like you, she never would have learned to read. Her limited world would have been infinitely smaller without her books.”

  Jeanie Wykowski was sitting between her two sons; her husband was on duty at the police station. “Mary knew you, Mrs. Wykowski. Even though you took care of her in the end, she knew you much longer. She worried about Jimmy when he was hospitalized with pneumonia a few years back, and about Johnny when he got hit with a bat during his first Little League game. She knew how hard you and Ron work to take care of your kids and each other.” Jeanie put her arms around her boys and looked as if she would cry.

  Father O’Brien looked again at the little round woman. “Miss Delaine, you are one of the few who actually got to know Mary. She was a fan of your potions from the beginning. She always made sure I bought them for her.” Daisy’s face lit up like the bright circle of her floodlight on the snow. “Mary always felt that you and she had something in common, too. She told me once that you were both a little eccentric, and misunderstood by most. Late in her life, when she finally met you in person, she was touched by the kindness that you showed her.” Daisy nodded and wiped at her eyes.

  “I could stand here and say similar things about each one of you. Through her knowledge of you, Mary felt as if she were a part of Mill River. She appreciated that so much. Even though her condition prevented her from personally interacting with you, knowing about you gave her a sense of belonging, of community. And for all those years, she tried her best to give back to the community the only way she could, in a way that I’ll explain shortly. But when Mary learned that she was dying, she decided she hadn’t done nearly enough.” He blinked rapidly as he pondered what else he should say. Finally, he made a decision and continued.

  “This,” he said, holding up the envelope, “is a letter from Mary. She wrote it on the day she died. It explains, in her own words, a decision that she made. She also gave me this small package to give to all of you. These things are the reason I’m up here right now. I promised her that I would read her letter and present this package to you on Town Meeting Day. I suppose I’ll start with the letter.”

  He put on his reading glasses and ripped open the envelope. His breath caught as he unfolded the fine linen stationery. The lines of tentative handwriting on the page were far fewer than he expected. Nevertheless, he said a quick prayer for strength and began to read.

  To the dear people of Mill River,

  I first intended to write a letter that would explain everything. But then, I decided that there was a better way to go about it, a way that might finally permit you to see me and know me better, much as I have seen and known you for all of these years. I’ll ask Father O’Brien to open the small brown package now. Once you see what is inside, all will become clear.

  Sincerely,

  Mary Hayes McAllister

  That was all that was written on the paper. With his brow furrowed, Father O’Brien looked up from the letter. The people staring back at him appeared to be confused as well. “I’ll just open it, then,” he said, briefly holding up the package. It took only a moment to tear away the brown paper.

  The small package was a DVD.

  For a moment, Father O’Brien stared down at it, knowing what must be on the disc and yet not believing Mary could have done it and kept such a secret from him. How had she done it? Mail-ordered a camcorder and discs and recorded herself, perhaps. That would have been the only way, he thought, before he suddenly remembered that everyone was watching him expectantly. “It’s a DVD recording,” he said, raising it again for all to see. He turned to Fitz. “I don’t suppose we have some way to watch this, do we?”

  “Well, sure,” Fitz said. “There’s the TV and video player for the Saturday movies. It’s over there in the supply closet. Hold on a minute.” Fitz scrambled up out of his chair and headed for the doorway where Father O’Brien had waited before the start of the meeting. Several hundred pairs of eyes watched him sort through the numerous keys on his key chain until he found the one that unlocked the supply closet. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before he had opened the closet and wheeled a tall media cart holding a television and a DVD player to the front of the meeting room. He plugged in the equipment and turned to Father O’Brien.

  “I’m n
ot so good with technology,” Father O’Brien said, handing the DVD to Fitz. “Would you mind?”

  Father O’Brien stepped back and watched as Fitz slid the disc into the DVD player and turned up the volume on the television.

  There were a few moments of static, and then Mary’s face appeared on the television screen.

  The people sitting before him uttered a collective gasp.

  Mary was wearing her eye patch. Her face was thin, but not as thin as it had been upon her death, Father O’Brien noticed. She looked alert and a little nervous, and he guessed that the recording had been made months ago, while she still had the ability to move about the marble mansion.

  Mary stared into the camera for a few minutes and began to speak.

  “My name is Mary Hayes McAllister. I am making this recording for the people of Mill River, where I have lived all my life.

  “Mine has been a solitary life. Father O’Brien has undoubtedly told you by now about the anxiety I have suffered. It started as a girl, after one of my high school teachers forced himself on me. That terrible experience was the root of an anxiety that became worse and worse. For years, I tried to work up the courage to become part of the community. But even now, the very thought of meeting another person causes me such anguish that I can barely keep from locking myself away in a room. It is even difficult for me to sit here, knowing that so many people will see this recording. I know that I cannot stop the anxiety. I have merely learned to live with it, to take comfort in my solitude, as best I can.

  “Still, like any human being, I have also wished that I might belong, that I might have friends and acquaintances, people to care about and who might care for me. Through the windows of my home, the Gazette, and Father O’Brien, you, the people of Mill River, provided me that sense of belonging.”

  Mary’s voice trembled as a tear slipped from the corner of her visible eye. She swallowed hard and continued.

  “For sixty years, I have cared about you. Seeing the town, reading and hearing about you and your families and your lives, always gave me such comfort. It was one-sided, yes, but it sustained me from the time I was widowed, until now, as I sit before you an old woman. I tried to reciprocate this comfort by providing for you in your times of need. I always had so much more than I needed, but I know now that what I provided wasn’t nearly enough.

  “You see, not long ago, I left Mill River for the first time since I was a teenager. I learned on that day that I was dying. Coming home, seeing my house high up on the hill apart from the town, I realized how much of an outsider I have been. I’ve not done enough to allow you to get to know me. Yet, without your presence in my life, I would have died long ago.

  “It would be impossible to repay you for the happiness you have unknowingly given me. But I asked myself how I might try to express my gratitude in the time I had left. As much as I long to meet all of you in person, I know that doing so would be impossible for me. I doubt that I could face any of you, and I know that by Town Meeting Day, my time in this world will have passed.

  “But I can give to you everything else I have, and this I shall do.

  “I know that you are honest, hardworking people. You give of yourselves even if what you have to give is little. Several among you have gone out of your way to show me undeserved kindness. I would be honored to contribute to your well-being and your happiness. You have unknowingly helped me for so long. I hope that you remember me as a friend and neighbor who will always be grateful to you.”

  Mary paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

  “There is something else I want everyone to know. On the day I learned I was dying, the same day I realized how distant I must be to all of you, I learned something else that brought me great happiness. As I record this message, I have yet to tell anyone. But you need to know. Everyone needs to know.

  “I was never able to return to school after the incident with my teacher. I was devastated, yes, but, as I soon discovered, I was also pregnant.

  “When I was sixteen years old, I gave birth to a baby daughter. I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her. I memorized every detail of her cherubic face, down to the shape of the birthmark that extended up onto her cheek. But I was still a child myself, and there was no way I could have provided her the life she deserved. I gave my daughter up for adoption.

  “On the day I was diagnosed with cancer, I met Daisy Delaine for the first time, and I recognized her face and her birthmark. I knew my daughter had come back to me.

  “Some might see it as a cruel twist of fate that I found Daisy in the waning days of my life, but I see it as a blessing. I was given time to get to know her, to learn about her life, her upbringing, her dreams. And by now, she knows me as well, and knows who I am. She knows that I have wondered about her—and loved her–all of my life.

  “Like me, Daisy has lived in your midst for years but is still isolated. To you, Daisy is a familiar face but an unfamiliar person. I understand that it is human nature to avoid people who are a little different from us. But it isn’t easy for any person to exist on the perimeter of relationships, to be tolerated but not welcomed. Know that my daughter is a gentle, beautiful soul. She reaches out to you, our neighbors in Mill River, as best she can. I ask you to open your hearts and return the friendship she so freely offers, to consider her part of your families as I consider you part of mine. After all, one cannot love, or be loved by, too many people.”

  Mary sniffed once as another tear slid down her cheek. She leaned forward, presumably to stop the recorder, and the television screen filled with static. Fitz slowly reached over and turned off the TV.

  His face wet with tears, Father O’Brien looked away from the television screen. The floorboards creaked as he shifted position behind the podium. In the silence of the meeting room, the sound could have been the earth cracking. Many of the women dabbed at their eyes with tissues as they looked at Daisy Delaine, and him, and each other. Most of the men kept their faces turned downward. He took a deep breath. He wasn’t finished just yet.

  “My dear Miss Delaine,” he said softly, “I think I speak for us all when I say that your mother was an extraordinary woman.” A collective murmur of assent rose up from the crowd. Daisy nodded and smiled, too overwhelmed to speak.

  “Jim, why don’t you stand up,” Father O’Brien said to the man in the gray suit whom he had greeted before the start of the meeting. The man stood and turned to face the seated townspeople. “I’d like to introduce Jim Gasaway. Jim’s an attorney from Rutland, and a good friend. He, and his father before him, have handled Mary’s affairs since her husband died.” Jim raised a hand, smiled at the crowd, and sat down again.

  “For the last year, since Mary learned that she was terminally ill, Jim and I have been making arrangements to dispose of her possessions. She insisted on absolute secrecy, and she was adamant that everything she owned be given to Mill River. To you. She wanted to make sure that she helped wherever there was a need.

  “It might surprise you to know that Mary has helped all of us for a very long time. Even if you didn’t live in Mill River at the time, most of you have heard the famous story of Christmas 1973, when everyone got a new color television. That was all Mary’s idea.” His voice cracked and he blinked again. “She wanted everyone to be able to see Charlie Brown.”

  Many in the crowd began to whisper, but he ignored the noise and continued. “Then there was Edna Wilson’s medical bill being paid for and the Sears tire truck rolling down Main Street. And all of the little things that happen around here—the birthday cards for kids, new baby gifts, everything. It was Mary’s doing all of those years.

  The whispering became an excited hum. “I’m sure many of you remember the fire in town this past November—the one that burned Miss Delaine’s home. You probably noticed that Daisy had a brand new mobile home a few days after that fire. What you don’t know is that Mary provided that new home for Miss Delaine.”

  The meeting room was awash in excited chatt
er, and Father O’Brien waited a moment until the conversation ebbed. “You’ll remember that earlier this month, our police department was the recipient of a brand new Jeep Cherokee to replace a vehicle totaled in an accident. Mary provided that new Jeep.”

  Father O’Brien looked down at Fitz sitting to his side. The police chief was grinning, but still shaking his head in disbelief.

  “There’s much more,” Father O’Brien said, hushing the meeting room again. “The old Hayes farm, about three miles west of the river, was owned by Mary’s father. That property has been deeded to the town for use as a park and recreation area. As soon as spring arrives, we’ll be sprucing it up a bit. It’ll have areas for camping and picnicking. We’ve ordered some playground equipment, too.

  “I think Jim will tell you we’ve been pretty busy over the last year.” Father O’Brien smiled down at the letter as another tear worked its way down his face. “Other than a few individual gifts, which will be handled privately, most of Mary’s considerable estate has been organized into trust funds to benefit the town. There will be an annual allowance for the schools, enough to buy new textbooks for every enrolled student. The school and town libraries will receive an annual sum for the purchase of new titles. In addition, Mary’s personal collection of books, numbering over four thousand, will be donated to the town.

  “There’s another trust fund for emergency health care. Mary knew that not all of you have health insurance, and that sometimes even the best insurance doesn’t cover all medical expenses. Each year, a certain amount from the emergency health fund will be divided among people in Mill River who need a little extra help covering their medical expenses.”