Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [2]
The other envelope Nora had seen once before, many years ago. She hadn’t thought about it in years.
The kitchen had been empty, her mother nowhere to be seen. Maureen’s school bag had lain abandoned on the table. A letter with foreign stamps sat on the mantelpiece, propped against the clock. She took it down, examining every detail, and returned it to the exact spot where she had found it. Then she went into the back bedroom where she knew Maureen was waiting.
“It’s from the Da’s da,” Nora announced without preamble, cutting her sister off before she could draw breath.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Maureen slowly unravelled herself and followed, with eagle eye, Nora’s every move. “You mean the grandfather who’s supposed to be in America?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Nora, “the very one.” She threw her sister one of her know-it-all looks. “And he’s not in America, he’s in Newfoundland, in Canada.”
“And how in the name of God would you know that? Nobody knows anything about him.”
“The postmark, stupid, the handwriting of an older person … I’ve just put two and two together, but I bet I’m right. Besides, who else would be writing to the Da from Newfoundland?”
“Where’s that?”
“Somewhere in Canada.”
“He must be a real oul’ fella by now, seventy years old or more.” Her eyes searched the room, darting hither and thither. “Wouldn’t you wonder what he’s like?” She shifted in the hollow nest of the bed, eyes dancing. “Maybe he’s a cowboy or even a film star … like, like, Roy Rogers! He might even have a bundle of money stashed away somewhere and is looking for someone to leave it to.”
Nora turned to face her sister. “Now you’re talking. He just might. We could be rich, my girl, as of this very day!”
But Maureen wasn’t listening. She had sprung to her feet on top of the sagging bed, her arms flung wide in a dramatic pose. “Maybe, like Oisín, he was carried away on a great white charger, by the beautiful Niamh, her golden hair flying in the wind.” She flicked at her own blonde mane. The bed springs gave a sharp yelp as she struggled to keep her balance. “Gone, gone giddy gone! Off to Tír na nÓg to live forever in the land of eternal youth.” She paused for effect.
Nora jumped in. “Yes, or maybe he’s just an oul’ reprobate looking for a place to hang his hat!”
Maureen was quiet for a while, then, with a sharp intake of breath, she gave a wild whoop of abandonment and began to sing in her best Yankee drawl: My daddy he’s a handsome devil / He wears a chain that’s five miles long / And on every link a heart does dangle / For another maid he’s loved and wronged.
Then, excited and wild-eyed, she had turned to her sister. “Wouldn’t it be a gas to track him down, Nora?”
Now, the question seemed to echo in the quiet peace of the sitting room. Nora smiled at the memory as she slipped the yellowed writing paper from the envelope. She began to read, skimming for information. Then she read again, slowly this time, unconsciously brushing the pages with fleeting images of people and places, the past whispering between words. I have never been as a father to you, so I do not presume to call you son … Blood stranger … I have no excuses to offer for my actions in the past that I think can honestly serve any purpose at this time … There are reasons only