Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [67]
“Was he fond of Sheila?” Nora asked, thinking of the little girl caught in this strange triangle. She wasn’t sure if fond was the right word but that was what had come out.
“I believe he was. Well, I know he was, maybe not in the same way as you or I might be fond of a youngster.” She pondered the situation, searching for words to explain. “When she was little and he’d come through the door of an evening after school, she’d go right to him, slip her little hand in his and guide him in. He never did get past his awkward way with her. But now just the same, if she wasn’t there, the first thing from his mouth would be, ‘Where’s Sheila?’ He bought her a doll one time. Ordered it from the catalogue, the best there was. There wasn’t another on the island the like of it. She loved that doll. There was nothing could take the place of it.” Peg drew in a deep breath. “Once she started school and he was the teacher, there was a distance come between them that wasn’t there before. It just grew more noticeable as the years went by. But she thought a lot of him just the same. When he died, she came all the way from California to bury him. That was good now, wasn’t it?”
17
The cat had found a spot in the sunshine, and with impassive eyes watched as Nora washed the supper dishes. It was a relief to have something practical to do. On the shiny surface of a plate she caught a passing glimpse of her reflection. She shut her eyes and abruptly dunked the plate back into the suds. She suddenly realized that she wanted to get away from the Molloys, to talk about something else, anything other than the Molloys.
She hit on an idea. “Tell me about Sheila, Peg. What did she do with herself? Did she finish school?” Nora spoke over her shoulder as she lifted the plate out of the water and set it on the dish rack.
“Indeed she did. Sheila’s a nurse. It was all she ever wanted growin’ up, to go to one of them big hospitals in St. John’s to be trained.”
“Really! You must have been delighted. Was Matt pleased?” Too late she realized her mistake.
“Pleased? Of course he was pleased.” A sharp note like the ping from a tuning fork sounded above the clatter of dish washing. Nora stopped what she was doing and looked over her shoulder. Peg was sitting in the same spot, her hands clenched tightly in front of her mouth. She refused to look across at Nora.
“It’s always the same,” she said finally, sounding peeved. “People always quick to think the worst of him, always seein’ him as ‘the selfish ole bugger who only looks out for hisself.’”
There was a loud clatter as a dish was placed randomly on the rack.
“I heard those very words spoken,” Peg said indignantly. “But I knew better. I knew it wasn’t hisself he was thinkin’ of then. He was thinkin’ of me. He wanted what was best for me.”
Nora moved quickly. Wiping her hands against the cloth of her dress, she hurried across the floor and eased herself onto the chair alongside of Peg. She rubbed her damp hand once more along her thigh and then gently placed it on Peg’s rigid arm. She felt a long quiver, like the fluttering of a frightened bird. It was followed by another. Nora stroked the wrinkled arm, momentarily surprised by the warmth and life that still ran in the slack aging flesh.
“It was a comfort to think that someone was lookin’ out for me.” The cat silently got to its feet and in an effortless leap was on Peg’s lap. Peg began to stroke its soft fur lovingly. “I was frightened, that’s all, afraid for the first time in my life of being alone.”
Nora was at a loss; her glib comment had obviously touched a nerve, but there was something else going on and she had no idea what it was. She was about to say she was sorry once again but changed her mind at the last moment and instead asked, “Why were you frightened?”
The hand stroking the cat became still for a moment and Peg’s mouth began to work furiously in that funny little way she had when having difficulty voicing her thoughts. She began to pet