Gilbert Bell was about to leave the barnyard and make his way back to the upper field when he saw Sarah McPherson coming down the lane towards the house. She had walked the mile that separated her home from the Bells, across Gilbert’s fields, picking cranberries as she came, to present to his wife, Catherine. As Sarah stopped to catch her breath, some of the fruit fell from the full pail and rolled around on the ground. She was not a small woman and the day was warm and sunny.
“Clothesline broke agin,” she said, shaking her head. “If it had been fixed right the first time ’round that wouldn’t have happened.”
“Well, that was a devil of a storm we had last night, Sarah. You’re lucky you’ve got any line left. Lucky it didn’t blow clear into Charlottetown.”
“True enough.” She nodded. “The windows shook in their frames something terrible all night. It’s a wonder we got any glass left in them at all. Neill told me to tell you that he’ll meet you back up there as soon he’s finished with my line.”
“Thanks, Sarah.” He grinned. “And just to let you know, I’ll only charge you half price for those berries since you picked them yourself.”
“Ha,” she said, waddling to the porch door.
Gilbert couldn’t remember the last time it poured rain as it had last night. It started all at once, right after supper, and lasted until dawn. Catherine didn’t even have to call Jimmy, their youngest son, in from playing. He’d run through the kitchen door, his eyes big, exclaiming that the wind was blowing so hard it kept pushing him back as he tried to make it to the house. It almost took the porch door off the hinges before he got it shut.
Branches blew apples off the trees in the orchard. Gilbert had sent Eddie and Avard, his nineteen-year-old twins, out early that morning to collect the dead wood and assess the damage. They said that all kinds of apples had been swept away in the storm. That was not good for the winter store. It was going to take the boys the rest of the day to clean up the mess back there and to collect the downed apples. At least the horses could eat them.
Sam Thompson, the blacksmith, had arrived after breakfast with the new horseshoes Gilbert had ordered, and said that a lot of fishing boats had either broken loose from the Cape Traverse wharf or, while still tied, smashed up against it. The storm had also damaged some of the old fencing that Gilbert and Neill shared in the upper field and they had been repairing it throughout the morning.
Gilbert stopped short and shook his head in frustration. He had forgotten the maul he needed this afternoon for pounding the stakes firmly into the ground. The one Neill had brought along to do the job just wasn’t sturdy enough. He retraced his steps back down the hill and into the tool shed. Gilbert was a tall man and had to stoop to get inside the door. Stepping out again with the maul over his shoulder, he heard shouting. Jimmy, with his friend Tom McPherson, Neill’s and Sarah’s youngest, were heading down the lane, likely on their way to Bell’s Point to look around. A storm always churned up stuff in the water and washed it up on the beach. Stuff interesting to seven-year-old boys. Jimmy already had five wooden boxes neatly arranged under his bed and filled with shells, rocks, pieces of glass, and rope that he had scavenged.
He’ll outgrow that soon enough, just like the twins did, Gilbert thought to himself. No harm in it, I guess, just something to make his mother yell when she has to keep fishing things out of his pockets before she can wash his overalls.
About all Jimmy ever found was trash that had been thrown into the Northumberland Strait from along the western shore of PE Island, or from Cape Tormentine in New Brunswick, or even further north.
“Quickest way to get rid of what you don’t want,” Gilbert mused aloud.
Most of it was worthless, but every once in a while someone would walk into Muttart’s store trying to sell something or other that had washed up on the beach. Mainly, though, it was just kids who went looking for so-called treasure.
When Gilbert got back to the upper field where his land adjoined that of the McPhersons, Neill was already there.
“Took me no time to fix the old woman’s line,” his friend said, grinning. “She’ll be disappointed, give her one less thing to go on about tonight.”
The men were at the north boundary line that separated the two properties. Gilbert’s great-grandfather Sherman Bell had started to clear the land shortly after arriving from upstate New York in the late 1700s. He died shortly afterwards, however, from blood poisoning, brought on from stabbing himself in the foot with a pitchfork while making a point during an argument. His wife had always said his temper would get the best of him. Forty acres of the original hundred-acre-plot had been sold off to Neill’s great-grandfather and the two families had been friends ever since.
Gilbert and Neill worked together for about an hour, speaking only to give each other directions. The fence had been repaired in the spring but was getting old and fragile, and last night’s wind had damaged it. Gilbert hoped to make do for another year before replacing it. Before pig butchering commenced, he wanted the fence fixed or he’d have a worse mess on his hands come spring.
The only sounds that registered for the men, besides the scrape of the shovel on rock and the thud of the post into the ground, was the humming of bees as they floated from flower to flower in the fields. At about three o’clock they stopped for a rest. Neill rubbed the sweat from his large face and receding blond hairline with a spotted blue handkerchief.
“Hot work. I thought that the storm would have cleared the air, but it’s still pretty muggy,” he said.
Gilbert turned to look down the pasture. The Holsteins were gathered for shade under the one large tree left in the field. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Neill leaned his shovel against a post and took makings out of his back pocket. “Want one?” he asked Gilbert.
“No, not right now, thanks.” Gilbert stooped to pick up the water jug.
Neill was taking the first drag off his cigarette when a shout reached them from below. The men turned to see their sons running towards them, both yelling something that the distance held back from them.
“Now what?” Gilbert frowned.
They waited in silence as the boys ran up to them.
Jimmy flew into his father’s legs head first. “Dadda, Dadda, come quick.”
“Jesus, what’s goin’ on?” Gilbert asked, holding the boy out at arm’s length.
Jimmy was trying to catch his breath as Tom yelled at his father, “You should see, you should see!”
He bent over, gulping for air with his hands on his knees.
“Take it easy, Tom,” Neill warned.
Jimmy finally got his breath. “Dadda, come quick, there’s a girl on the beach.” He pulled on Gilbert’s arm.
“She’s deader than a doornail,” Tom blurted out between gulps of air.
“Dadda, come quick, we’ve got to help her,” Jimmy cried. “The seagulls will get her.”
“All right, the two of you calm down and tell me what’s going on,” Gilbert said, passing the water bottle to Jimmy. “Have a drink first.”
“This isn’t another one of your stories?” Neill asked Tom.
“No, Pa, I swear…I swear it’s true,” Tom said, getting his wind back. “There’s a girl on the beach, she’s dead and all tangled up in the seaweed. We didn’t touch her.”
Tom spun around and looked at Jimmy.
“We didn’t touch her,” he repeated. “And we ran to get you and Mr. Bell right away.”
“You better be telling the truth.” Neill glared at Tom. “Don’t be taking us away from what we’re doin’ here.”
“It’s not a lie, Mr. McPherson,” Jimmy piped up. “She’s really there.”
“We’d better go down and have a look,” Neill said, stamping out his smoke with his boot.
“All right then, you boys run ahead and find the twins. Tell them to hitch up Ned to the express wagon and to bring some of those old horse blankets out of the barn. Neill and I will be along right after you. You wait right there with them and we’ll all go down to the beach at the same time.”
The youngsters took off on the run. Neill and Gilbert gathered up their tools and water jugs and started after them.
“Do you suppose they’re telling the truth?” Neill asked.
“They’d better be or I’ll tan both their hides,” Gilbert said. “But something’s got them spooked, that’s for sure. Everything washes up on the beach sooner or later. Remember me and Frankie found that man down there when we was kids? He had all his clothes still on, just missing a boot. And they never did find out who he was.”
Soon they were in the field just above Gilbert’s house and could see Avard leading Ned, the chestnut horse, out into the barnyard. Catherine and Eddie, holding the bridle, were standing beside the blue express wagon and Jimmy and Tom were running in circles around it.
“Those two are straining at the bit,” Neill observed, “worse than old Ned.”
“Eddie, you and Av run ahead and see what all the fuss is about, I’ll finish the harnessing,” Gilbert yelled when he got closer to the yard. “Go down to the point and wait for us there.”
The boys ran out of the barnyard.
“Us too?” asked Jimmy.
“No, you stay here,” Catherine said, grabbing her son by the shoulders.
“But Ma, we found her, it’s not fair.” Jimmy struggled to get away.
“You stay with your mother,” Gilbert said firmly. “We don’t need a bunch of kids running around down there.”
“But we have to show you where she is,” Tom protested.
“You can come along,” Neill said, “but you’re not going near it, whatever it is.”
Catherine grabbed Jimmy by the arm and started to walk towards the house. He kept looking back and yelling, “No fair.”
“Do like your mother says,” Gilbert ordered.
“You come in the house with me.” Catherine led him away.
Gilbert finished harnessing the horse and jumped on the wagon seat with Neill and Tom.
“Wait till you see, Pa, wait till you see.” Tom could scarcely contain his excitement.
“Sit still, you,” Neill warned him.
It took twenty minutes for the wagon to make its way along the path from the barnyard to the bank overlooking Bell’s Point.
The twins were waiting at the edge of the bank.
“Didn’t need Tom after all,” said Avard, pointing to the seagulls gathered down the beach.
“Run and get them out of there. Put the rocks to ’em,” Gilbert commanded.
“You stay in the wagon,” Neill said to Tom as he jumped to the ground.
“Aw, Pa.”
“Do as I say. No backtalk.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy crossed his arms and lowered his head in resignation.
In minutes, Avard and Eddie had chased the gulls away and stood over the spot.
“Yeah, it’s a girl,” Eddie shouted. “And you smell her before you see her.”
The sun from the cloudless sky cast shimmering light on the table top-smooth water. The crashing waves that, the night before, had tossed large pieces of driftwood ashore and cast sea spray on windows more than a mile away, were now gone. Seaweed lay like a woman’s necklace where it had been deposited along the bottom of the bank. When Gilbert and Neill got to the beach the smell hit them. Neill put his hand over his nose.
“You two stand back,” Gilbert barked at his sons.
The men bent over the figure. It reminded Gilbert of a discarded puppet, all loose and disjointed. The girl was lying on her left side, her face to the sky. Her legs were spread wide as if she had been running and then frozen to the spot. Her right arm was stretched out behind. The top joints of three of her fingers were missing. Her left arm was hidden beneath her. A plaid skirt and chemise were wrapped around her waist. She wore a black and white stocking on her right leg; the other limb was bare. She smelled of salt and rot and dead things.
“Av, get me a couple of those blankets from the wagon,” Gilbert said softly.
He covered the girl from the waist down with one of the horse blankets. Holding the other blanket in his left hand, he picked up a stick of driftwood with his right and folded the matted blond hair up over the top of her head. Throwing the stick aside he reached down again, his right hand covered by his shirt cuff and, running it over the girl’s face, closed her eyelids. There was a large clot of blood on the right side of her face. Hundreds of flies moved through it, some getting stuck and mired down. Bits of flesh around her left eye had been torn away by the gulls and something had nipped at her nose and chin. Bile rose in Gilbert’s throat. He stepped back quickly and spread the second blanket over the first, covering the rest of the body. He turned to Neill, silent beside him.
“Let’s get her into the cart and up to the barn. We’ll have to send for the sheriff.”
They carefully folded the blankets around the underside of the body as they lifted, not wanting to touch flesh, and then moved slowly up the bank towards the wagon. The girl was small but heavy and they couldn’t keep a firm grip on her. One limp arm escaped.
“What are we going to do with her, Pa?” Avard asked.
“We’ll have to put her in the barn for the time being,” Gilbert said as he and Neill carefully placed their bundle into the back end of the wagon.
“Tom, you run ahead and let Mrs. Bell know we’re coming,” Neill suggested.
“Yes, sir.”
Gilbert turned to the older boys. “And you two run over to Muttart’s and get the Captain to wire over for Sheriff Flynn,” he instructed. “Tell him that we found a dead body on the beach, and he better get out here and be damn quick about it.”
***
At seven o’clock that evening, Doctor Henry Jarvis drove his shiny black phaeton down the lane to the Bells’ farm. Men and boys milled about the barnyard or stood with arms crossed, leaning up against wagons and carts. They had already been inside the barn to look at the body but no one knew the girl. Now most of them were smoking and drinking tea from blue and white tin mugs. A few passed a flask back and forth. They looked up expectantly as Jarvis drove into the yard. Some waved their hands while others nodded in acknowledgment.
Jarvis grabbed his satchel from the floor of the vehicle and walked towards the middle of the group. He was a tall, spare man with thinning brown hair and grey side whiskers. He walked with a slight stoop which gave him a defeated look. His hazel eyes, nonetheless, snapped with a quick intelligence. A barrel-chested man walked out of the group and approached him, extending a calloused right hand.
“You the doctor?” the man asked.
Jarvis nodded. “I got a wire from Sheriff Flynn this afternoon about a body being found. I got here as soon I could.”
“I’m Gilbert Bell. I expected to see Doc Price from Charlottetown,” he said, inclining his head towards the barn.
“No, I’m the coroner for Prince County now.”
“So where’s Flynn?” Gilbert asked.
“I don’t know. I thought he’d be here by now.”
“Hasn’t been any sign of him yet. Anyway, she’s in the barn. Nobody here knows who she is. Must be from away.”
“It’s a woman then,” Jarvis stated.
“A girl more like, not very old.”
A balding, chubby man with a monocle stepped forward and extended his hand to Jarvis.
“Doctor, nice to see you again. You’ll remember me. Hezekiah Hopkins, the apothecary from North Tryon. You’ll likely need me to assist as I did before. You remember I’m sure.”
“Yes, I remember. Thank you for the offer but I don’t require your services,” Jarvis told him, moving away.
The chemist let out an embarrassed cough and retreated back into the throng of waiting men.
Gilbert stepped on his cigarette butt then loped towards the barn to catch up with the doctor. The twins joined them as they reached the far end of the building.
“We put her in here,” Gilbert went on. “We don’t use it very much, just for storing tools and milk cans. Didn’t want her in the way and spookin’ the animals. Probably put the cows off their milking as it is. Animals can smell death a mile away.”
The body was laid out on a small wooden table and draped with blankets. Jarvis placed his bag on the floor then gently pulled back the covering to look at the girl’s face.
“The gulls picked at her a bit,” Eddie said.
Avard poked him in the ribs. Gilbert shot them a stern look.
“Yes, I can see that,” Jarvis said, holding the blanket up high on his side of the table, shielding the body from the view of the others.
“You know, I haven’t had my dinner yet this evening,” Jarvis said looking at Eddie. “Maybe Mrs. Bell or one of your sisters could make me a sandwich.”
“We ain’t got any sisters,” Eddie replied, kicking at the barn floor.
“Go and tell your mother to make the doctor here something to eat,” Gilbert said, nodding in the direction of the house. Eddie was resolved to stay put. “Go on. And stay there until it’s ready.” The boy walked out the door, dragging his feet.
Jarvis lowered the blanket, picked up his brown leather bag, and placed it on the table. The metal clasp clicked open and he started to rummage around with both hands. Then he stopped and looked at Avard.
“Just realized that I’d like a nice, hot cup of tea and a few lanterns in here. It’s going to be dark soon, I’ll need lots of light.”
Avard looked at his father.
“You heard him.”
“Don’t do anything until I get back,” said Avard, bolting for the door.
Gilbert shook his head.
“Don’t let either of them back in,” Jarvis said.
“I won’t, they’ve seen enough for one day. And I’ll just step outside myself so you can get to work. I’ll bring in the lanterns when Avard gets them.”
Gilbert headed for the door.
“Can you read and write?”
Gilbert turned. “Yeah, some, why?”
“Then I’ll need you here with me for this.”
“What the hell for?” Gilbert backed up towards the door.
“I need you as my clerk to write down what I’m going to tell you. I need to have notes taken while I’m performing the examination. I’m too likely to forget something if I wait until later to write it down. If Sheriff Flynn were here I’d press him into service. But tonight you’re my volunteer.”
Jarvis took a yellow notepad and a stubby pencil out of his coat pocket and handed them to Gilbert.
“What about Hopkins out there? He knows medicine. Wouldn’t he do a better job?”
Jarvis grimaced. “I’ve dealt with him once before. He’d brag all over the province about what he saw. I don’t want him involved. Just write down what I tell you. You don’t have to look.”
Gilbert nodded and flipped open the notepad to a clean page.
“Write down the date, the time, and where we are right now, your farm, Cape Traverse, PE Island,” Jarvis directed.
The doctor removed his black topcoat, folded it, and placed it on a nearby milking stool. He returned to the table, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Tossing the blanket aside with a flourish, he bent over the girl and slowly ran both hands over her scalp, front and back, and along the top and side of her head.
“She has quite a cut over her right eye, doctor.”
“I see that.”
Jarvis took a pair of scissors from his bag and cut away the matted hair on the right side of the head. He poked an index finger into the hole.
“Looks like she got hit on the head, or hit something when she fell into the water,” he said softly.
Jarvis opened her mouth and peered inside. He poked a finger in and moved it about, stretching the face wide.
“She threw up.”
He stood upright and looked at Gilbert.
“Her lips, nose, and earlobes are eaten away quite a bit.”
“Yeah, it’s a damn shame. Like Eddie said, the seagulls got at her.”
“I closed her eyes when we found her,” Gilbert added. “It seemed the decent thing to do.”
“It was.”
The doctor reached down and pinched open the left eyelid then the right one.
“Ah huh.”
“What?”
“The right pupil is blown,” Jarvis said. “Look,” he offered, standing back and still holding the lid open.
Gilbert stepped carefully towards the table and peered into the girl’s pale face. He had forgotten that he didn’t want to see anything. This close, the smell of rot and seaweed was overwhelming.
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “What’s that mean?”
“It means that she got a good bump on her head at some point before death.”
Jarvis let the eyelid drop.
Gilbert suddenly remembered why he was there. “Am I supposed to be writing this all down?” he asked.
“In a few minutes. Good. Now.” Jarvis lifted a knife from his satchel and cut through the leather belt. He snipped the bottom of the plaid skirt along its right side seam with the scissors then tore it the rest of the way up with both hands. He lifted the body gently, snatched the garment from underneath, and handed it to Gilbert.
“Put these aside, the sheriff will likely want to see them.”
The girl’s greenish-white skin became pink in the light of the sunset streaming through the cobwebs of the barn’s tiny west window. Jarvis cut, then tore, the right side of her jacket and its underarm along the seam. He slid it off the body, then did the same with the shirt waist and chemise. Gilbert folded the sodden clothes and placed them in a neat pile on the floor.
The door handle rattled.
“Pa, let us in.”
Jarvis, pawing through his medical bag, looked up.
Gilbert tuned towards Avard’s voice.
“Pa, the door’s stuck, it won’t open.”
“That’s because I braced it shut. You two stay put for a while.”
“Eddie’s got the soup Ma heated up and I’ve got the tea, they’ll get cold.”
“Thanks, boys, just keep them out there for me. This won’t take long,” Jarvis called.
“What about the lanterns, sir?”
The doctor nodded. “Those I do need right now.”
Gilbert yelled out the door while patting his shirt pocket. “Go get those two we use for milking, and don’t forgot to bring some matches, I’m all out.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Avard, retreating.
Jarvis lifted a black cloth bundle from the depths of his medical bag. It was tied round and round with a light brown grosgrain ribbon. Studying the body, Jarvis methodically unwound the ribbon then placed the cloth on the table and unrolled it. Six small, ivory-handled blades, each held in place by grosgrain loops attached to the cloth, caught the fading light.
“My scalpels,” he said. “While we’re waiting for those lamps, here’s what I’d like you to write down.”
Clearing his throat he began, pronouncing each word slowly and stopping occasionally so Gilbert could catch up.
Outside, Avard and Eddie backed away from the barn and dropped the food and tea bundles on the ground beside the express wagon. Eddie started back to the house while Avard ran to fetch the lanterns. After they were delivered, he walked up to Neill McPherson and Rufus Dobson who were standing in the middle of the barnyard smoking. Rufus had a ring of flattened butts at his feet.
“Best you two wait out here with the rest of us,” he told Avard, resting his cigarette-free hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t like looking at a dead body at the best of times. She reminded me a bit of my sister’s girl Ruby but she’s working in Cape Breton somewheres now so it’s not her. The way that some young girls act today, chasing after men, I’m surprised they don’t end up dead more often. Still it’s a damn shame. Did your father say how much longer they’d be? Lillian don’t like to be at home alone after dark.”
“No, Pa didn’t say.”
In the house, Eddie was answering questions as well.
“What, the doctor didn’t even stop to have a bit of tea?” Viola McWilliams, the Bells’ nearest neighbour, and the twins’ godmother, commented when Eddie reported to his mother that he and Avard had failed to deliver the food. “Can’t say I’d have the stomach for it either.”
Catherine and three women who had escorted their husbands to the Bell farm were seated around the kitchen table.
“Poor little thing.” Sarah McPherson shook her head and sunk her teeth into another cranberry muffin.
“Catherine, how are you going to sleep tonight with that poor soul lying in your barn?” Beulah Hopkins asked, then continued on before Catherine could answer: “I don’t see why Hezekiah couldn’t have been in there with the doctor tonight.” She sniffed. “He’s a professional chemist and we came all this way so he could be of assistance.”
“I think it’s safe to say that the girl’s beyond a dose of physic now,” Sarah observed. Beulah sniffed again.
Catherine shot Eddie a warning glance. He turned his back on the table and bent down to pick up a piece of wood. He shoved it into the stove, then bolted, grinning, for the door.
***
“Subject is a young girl, approximately sixteen years old. Five feet, four inches tall, about one hundred pounds. Light brown hair and blue eyes. Head wound over right eye, approximately one inch in diameter and one half inch deep. Pupil of right eye dilated.”
Jarvis walked around the table.
“I’ll take those for a minute,” he said, removing the notebook and pencil from Gilbert’s hands.
He drew a circle under the handwriting, and inside that, a smaller circle which he shaded in with the pencil. He wrote the words “anterior of head” under the circles, then he handed back the notebook and pencil.
“Continuing dictation. Portions of the subject’s fingers, nose, and earlobes were bitten by fish and/or seabirds. Arms and legs scarred from time in the water. No broken bones or fractures.”
He paused again.
“Subject wearing black wool jacket and brown leather belt with a silver buckle, red, white, and black plaid skirt, white shirtwaist and chemise, one black and white striped cotton stocking.”
There was a tentative knock at the door.
Gilbert walked over, jerked the plank away, and opened the door a crack. Avard was there with a lantern in each hand. All heads in the yard turned towards the barn.
“Are they all still here?” Gilbert whispered hoarsely.
“They’re waitin’ to hear what the doctor says.” Avard shrugged.
He handed his father the lanterns and then dug into his shirt pocket for a box of matches.
“Too goddamn nosey, the bunch of ’em,” Gilbert said, slamming the door in his son’s face.
“Put one of those at the end of the table and the other on that peg over there,” Jarvis directed.
Gilbert positioned the lanterns then replaced the plank at the door and sat down on a barrel. The lanterns cast an orange glow over the girl’s skin. The pencil needed to be sharpened and Gilbert had forgotten his jackknife in the house. It was warm and humid in the barn.
Jarvis stood over the body and cocked his head to one side. Starting under the ears, he traced his hands down both sides of the body.
“Continuing dictation. Body completely out of rigor. Subject likely dead for between twenty-four hours and a week.”
Jarvis passed his hands down her chest, abdomen, and legs, then eyed the scalpels, touching one and then another. Finally he chose, then moved to situate himself over the body. He cut into the flesh along the bottom edge of the right collarbone.
“Now you may want to turn around, and get ready to take some more dictation.”
Gilbert sat back down on the barrel, faced away from the table, and waited.
Jarvis worked silently for a few minutes then began speaking again. “Cut H-incision running from…damn,” he whispered loudly.There was a long silence before the doctor finished his sentence. “Clavicle to pelvis.”
Another silence.
A strong coppery smell filled the room. Gilbert bit down on the end of the pencil. He heard liquid splash onto the floor.
“Large amounts of water present in the subject’s lungs. Removed, inspected, and replaced heart and lungs. Great loss of blood.”
For a while, Gilbert heard only Jarvis’s movement around the table.
“All right, Mr. Bell, I’m finished. You can turn around now. May I see that notepad for a minute?”
Jarvis had covered the girl with the wool blankets and tucked them neatly underneath her. There was blood soaking onto the table and the floor. Gilbert handed Jarvis the pencil and paper. “I didn’t know how to spell some of those words you said,” Gilbert told him. “I never went all that far in school.”
“Not to worry, I’ll rewrite the notes but will keep yours as well, just for the record. And I’m sorry about all the blood. Most times a body doesn’t bleed a lot. But every once in a while—”
“It looks like you butchered a pig in here,” Gilbert blurted out.
“If there’s water I’ll clean it up.”
“Let’s get some air first.”
Jarvis nodded and wiped his hands, then the scalpels, on the top blanket. He replaced the instruments in the cloth, rolled it up, and wound the faded ribbon around it. After putting the cloth back into the satchel, he ran a hand over the metal clasp, securing it. Carrying his hat, coat, and bag, he headed for the door. Gilbert removed the plank, opened the barn door, and exhaled loudly. Avard and Eddie crowded around him, and everyone waiting behind them butted out their cigarettes.
“Pa, what’s the doctor saying? Can we go in now?” Eddie asked, making for the door.
“Nobody goes inside. Stay here, the both of you.”
When Jarvis stepped out into the night air behind Gilbert, the eighteen men and boys standing in a circle raised their eyes and lanterns to him expectedly. He tipped his hat then held a blood-smeared left hand out in front of him as if to ward them off.
“I can’t say anything until after there’s been an inquest and that needs to be done as soon as possible. Now I’d like to have a taste of that soup, if I may.”
There were groans and a shaking of heads. Some curses.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. That’s all I can say at the moment.”
Eddie ran back to where the food was left on the ground. The group gathered more closely around Jarvis, their faces pale in the lantern light.
“Do ya know what killed her, Doc?” someone asked.
“Yeah, do you know?”
“I have a good idea but can’t say right now. Soon though, very soon.”
Everyone started to talk at once.
“How are we going to find out who she is?”
“Where’s Flynn, anyway?”
“Do you think she could have been done away with?”
“It’s a damn shame. What’s this world coming to with young girls washing up on the beach?”
“Well, come into the house with us, Doc,” Gilbert said. “The wife can give you some hot tea.” He raised his voice: “Flynn probably won’t show up till morning now. Those of you who want to can come in and have a cup a tea,”
Only Neill and Rufus took Gilbert up on his offer. Bill McWilliams and Hezekiah Hopkins followed them to the house in order to collect their wives. The rest made for their wagons to head home.
“Let us know if you need anything, Gil,” someone called.
“Yeah, let us know.”
“Will do,” Gilbert said and raised his hand, more in dismissal than thanks.
They walked in silence to the house.
“Your mother would have killed me if they all landed in the kitchen this time of night,” Gilbert said to Avard as he opened the porch door.
After the other couples said their goodbyes, Catherine sat Jarvis down at the kitchen table, newly spread with a starched white cloth and linen napkins. Gilbert noticed that Catherine had changed into one of her church dresses and covered it with her best apron. He grinned. For a woman, a doctor as company meant that only the best they had was good enough.
“More soup, Doctor Jarvis?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Bell, I’m full. It’s lovely, though.”
“More biscuits?”
“Thank you, but I’ve had three already.”
“What kind of pie would you like, blueberry or apple?”
“I did save a little room for the blueberry, if you don’t mind.”
Catherine went to the pantry and returned with two pieces of pie. She placed one in front of Jarvis and gave the other to her husband.
“Rufus, Neill, what kind can I get the two of you? Sarah, anything else?”
Catherine was serious tonight, Gilbert noted, not joking with Neill as she usually did. A visit from a doctor was one thing, but there was also a dead girl out in the barn. And she would have had a time getting Jimmy to go to bed. Gilbert guessed that his youngest was, at that very moment, upstairs, lying on the floor of his bedroom, looking down the heat register, listening to every word being said.
“Sheriff Flynn must have had other business to attend to,” Catherine said over her shoulder as she headed back to the pantry to cut into the apple pie.
“Yeah, we’ll likely hear from him in the morning,” Gilbert said, grasping a flowered teacup in his huge right hand and feeling like an idiot in front of the other men.
“I’d like to stay the night if it’s not inconvenient,” Jarvis said. “I need to talk to Sheriff Flynn and don’t want to make another trip out here just for that.”
The clatter of dishes ceased in the pantry. From where Gilbert sat he could see Catherine lower her head and shake it ever so slightly. Then, tucking a swatch of stray brown hair behind her left ear, she popped back into the kitchen and smiled.
“By all means, Doctor, you can sleep up in the twins’ room. One of them can stay down here on the daybed.”
“I’d appreciate it, Mrs. Bell, and I apologize for putting you out this way.”
“No trouble at all, Doctor.”
“Pa, I was wondering if maybe I should sit up with her tonight?” Avard said.
“Sit up with who?”
“The girl, the girl,” he said, blushing as everyone turned to look at him.
“Certainly not,” Catherine replied.
“Well, people always sit up with a body that’s passed away.” Avard frowned.
“Yes, but it’s a young girl, your own age, and out in a barn,” Catherine argued. “It’s not decent.”
“No, there’s no need for that,” Gilbert added.
“She’s all wrapped up, not laid out nicely as someone would be in your parlour,” Jarvis said, smiling at the boy.
“I think it only shows respect.” Avard’s bottom lip emerged.
Eddie snickered. Avard reddened again and looked at his brother with narrowed eyes.
“You’re not doing it and that’s that,” Gilbert said, “but what I do want the two of you to do right now is to run over to Muttart’s and wire Doctor Jarvis’s wife that she shouldn’t expect him home tonight.”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, good point, thanks for reminding me.”
Jarvis reached into his coat pocket and brought out the pencil and small notepad. He took a minute to write something on a yellow page, ripped it out, and handed it to Eddie. “Please forward it to Mrs. Dr. Henry Jarvis, St. Eleanor’s. And here’s a dollar to send it.” The doctor handed the boy a crisp bill.
“It won’t be that much, be sure to come back with the change,” Gilbert directed.
“Keep it for your trouble.” Jarvis spoke over their father’s words.
“Thank you, sir,” Avard said, heading for the door behind Eddie. Then he turned. “Will they still be up?” he asked.
“Muttart is awake until all hours, says his sailing days ruined his being able to sleep much,” Gilbert said. “Just bang on the door till somebody comes and opens it. They’re used to people coming to the house at all hours to send bad news somewhere.”
“Pa, don’t forget about the lanterns in the barn,” Avard reminded Gilbert before going out the door.
“Watch yourselves and come right back,” their mother called after them.
Rufus yelled at them as well. “Just wait a minute, you two, and I’ll drive you over there. Thanks for the pie, it’s getting late. Lillian will be worried.”
“Yes, we’ve got to go as well,” Sarah said, rising from the rocking chair in the corner. “Come on, Neill, morning comes early.”
“I don’t know what’s got into Av,” Gilbert said, taking his cup back to the stove for a refill after the others had left. “Imagine sitting up all night with a dead girl in a barn.”
“He’s always seen it done when somebody around here passes, seen it done since he was a little boy,” Catherine said. “It’s good of him to think of it, but it’s not proper in this case.”
She sat down for the first time since the men had come into the house. “What going to happen now?” she asked.
“Well, after Sheriff Flynn gets a look at her and I hold a coroner’s inquest, she can be buried,” Jarvis told her. “He may want to hold off on that for a few days, in case she can be identified, but it can’t be postponed for too long. The body isn’t in good shape.” He looked at Catherine. “And it will only continue to deteriorate. Flynn will probably also want to have a look at her clothes, what’s left of them.”
“They’re all right there in the barn for him to see,” Gilbert said.
“And he may know of some girl who’s missing,” said Catherine, shaking her head. “I hope he does.”
“I’ll have to talk to Reverend Silliker about getting a spot in the graveyard just in case no one shows up to claim her,” Gilbert said. “I’ll drive over tomorrow, after Flynn’s here and gone.”
“Is there anything we can do to get her ready for burial?” Catherine asked.
“I think it’s better just to leave her as is,” Jarvis said.
Gilbert nodded. “I don’t want any of you going near that body,” he said, rising from the table. “Now I’ll go get those lanterns. Don’t want the barn to burn down on top of everything else.”
“Doctor, I’ll change Eddie’s bed; he can sleep on the daybed there in the corner,” Catherine said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell.”
“Call me Catherine, please.”
“And I’m Henry, to the both of you.”
“You got any old rags?” Gilbert asked Catherine.
Catherine went over to the sink, opened the cupboard door below it, and reached in. “Will these do?” she asked, handing him the torn pieces of a large cotton towel. “I don’t need them back.”
“Good, they’ll work.”
Gilbert headed for the porch.
“I’ll come out with you,” Jarvis said.
As they walked across the yard, Gilbert diverted his steps to the barn’s main entrance.
“Wait a minute,” he said.
He stepped inside the door and brought out two galvanized buckets.
“Just need to go to the well.”
He handed Jarvis the rags. In a few minutes he was back, water sloshing from the tops of both pails. They made their way to the barn. They could smell the sickening sweetness before they opened the door.
“Smells like spoiled apples,” Gilbert said.
“The body’s breaking down,” Jarvis explained.
Gilbert placed the buckets on the floor and got on his knees.
Jarvis washed the table around the body.
“Now that she’s out of the water she’ll decompose faster,” he said. He hesitated for a moment and then continued. “Gilbert, I’m going to have to rely on you for names of some local men to make up a coroner’s jury. We’ll need to decide whom to contact tonight and get word to them first thing tomorrow morning. And we’ll need to hold the jury here where they can look at the body.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask of you and your family but I’m obliged to impanel a jury. Hopefully it won’t take any more than a couple of days.”
Outside the barn again, Gilbert put down his bucket and braced the door with a board that had been resting on the side of the building.
“Don’t want any animals getting in at her overnight.”
He shoved the plank hard up under the handle and shook it.
“Nothing can get in there now.”
When Gilbert got back to the kitchen Catherine was coming downstairs with a pile of bedding.
“Where’s Henry?” she asked, trying out the doctor’s first name.
“He stopped to see a man about a horse.” Gilbert winked at her.
“For God’s sake, if I must say it, Gilbert, don’t be vulgar.”
“All right, he’s in the outhouse.” He grinned.
Catherine put the pillows and blankets down on the chair by the stove and pulled the daybed out from the wall.
“The boys should be back soon,” Gilbert said, walking into the porch and looking out the window.
Catherine sighed. “Gil, there’s some mother out there tonight worried to death about her daughter.”
“Maybe.”
“The poor soul doesn’t even know her child is dead.”
“Don’t think about that,” Gilbert said. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”
The porch door opened.
“Getting chilly out there now,” Jarvis said, taking off his boots.
“I heard your boys coming down the lane. It was good of them to go and send that telegram so late.”
“Henry, are you sure there isn’t something we can do for that poor child? Clean her up a bit, to get her ready to be buried?”
“Catherine.” Jarvis sat down at the table again, reached for the salt shaker, and moved it from hand to hand as he spoke. “In order to find out what happened, I had to examine her. It’s not something a lady should see.”
“Oh.”
“You can give her a nice funeral and decent burial if her family doesn’t come forward. That’s the most anyone can do for her now.”
“Yes, that we can do. I’ll make sure of it.” Catherine looked at Gilbert.
“I said I was going to see Silliker tomorrow,” he reminded her.
“And I’ve just told Gilbert that we need to hold the coroner’s inquest here. That will take a couple of days, at the very most, I hope. That’s a big thing you can do for her.”
“He and twelve men are going to take over the barn.” Gilbert shook his head.
“They won’t be staying here, of course. But they will be here likely most of tomorrow and the day after if necessary. You will be paid for all of the meals you provide us and for the use of your premises. I apologize for such short notice.”
Catherine turned, wide-eyed, to Gilbert, who shrugged.
“I’d better get upstairs to bed,” she said. “Lots of baking to get to in the morning. Gilbert, show Henry to the boys’ room, please. Goodnight now.”
She walked into the hallway and up the stairs, her right hand massaging her temples.
Jarvis took the notepad and pencil out of his coat pocket again.
“All right, let’s sit here for a few minutes and compile a list of names for the jury. You, Neill, and the two little boys will all have to testify.”
At that moment Avard and Eddie came through the porch door.
“Lock that up for the night,” Gilbert commanded.
Eddie reached up and drew the bolt into the slot.
“Now, have a seat at the table, the both of you,” Gilbert ordered, “and help us come up with some names.”
***
An hour later Jarvis was finishing his transcription of Gilbert’s notes, sitting in the boys’ bedroom at a wooden table below a window that looked out over the Northumberland Strait. It was Eddie and not Avard who had come up the stairs after him, explaining that his brother had decided he wanted to sleep in the kitchen. Eddie was snoring softly almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Jarvis put down his pen and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. He wished he’d been able to make it home. Lucy and he had quarrelled again this morning, and he wanted to make it up to her. He probably should have sent that telegram himself.
It would be a few days before he was home. He’d stop off in Summerside and pick her up a little something. He had learned long ago that the way back into his wife’s good graces was through the opening of his pocketbook.
Jarvis looked down at his notes. He hesitated for a moment and then wrote along the top of the next clean page:
Subject was approximately four months pregnant. Fetus deceased but intact.
Jarvis turned down the lamp and crawled into bed. The night was still and through the open window he could hear waves lapping on the beach. He thought about the body out in the barn.
His Elizabeth would be about the same age, if she had lived. If Frances had lived. Jarvis did not think about his first wife now as often as he used to. It was eighteen years ago, three weeks after giving birth. First her and then the baby. Frances had never been strong and she had lost a lot of blood. He should have brought in another doctor to look after them. He was too close to it all. Too close and too stubborn. He would not eat or sleep, and had hovered over them. His whole world had been in that narrow bed and he had lost it.
His parents had never wanted him to marry Frances Walker. They knew of her only through the letters he sent home from Edinburgh, during his medical training. But they disapproved of her background. “Beneath you,” was how his mother, Anna, the wife of Prince Edward Island’s Chief Justice Edward Jarvis, had phrased it. So they wed before sailing to Canada, just to be sure that his mother, who usually got her way, could not come between them. Then, two years after Frances’s death, Henry married the young woman that Anna Jarvis had in mind for him all along, Lucy Harding, the daughter of an old family friend, a judge, from Gagetown, New Brunswick.
Frances’s and Elizabeth’s absence were always brought back to him keenly whenever he was faced with the death of a baby or a young woman. Tonight he thought about how he would feel if it had been his daughter who washed up some place where no one knew her, examined, speculated upon, and buried by and among strangers.
Jarvis sat up in bed and threw aside the covers. Moonlight streaked across the wooden floor. Using it as his guide, he felt his way back to the desk. He carefully reached for the lamp and turned its flame up slightly. Reopening the book, he turned to the page he had last written upon and slowly, while watching the sleeping boy, tore it from its bindings.
***
“That must be Flynn now,” Gilbert observed as he rose from the table and looked out the porch window.
“Yeah, that’s him. Likely want some breakfast, even though he’s probably stuffed his face once already today.”
Sheriff Darrell Flynn had to stoop slightly coming into the kitchen from the porch.
“Morning, Darrell. How’s Beth?”
“The little woman’s just fine, thanks.” Flynn smiled and nodded at Dr. Jarvis, who rose from the table.
“Nice to see you again, Sheriff.”
“Likewise.” Flynn shook the doctor’s offered hand enthusiastically.
“Darrell, can I offer you some breakfast?” Catherine asked, tapping a chair back with her fingernails. “I’ve got some toast and tea to keep you going until dinnertime.” She headed for the pantry.
“That would hit the spot,” Flynn replied and sat down.
“I couldn’t make it yesterday afternoon when I first got your wire,” he said. “I was just about to leave for here when some kids came flying in yelling about a fire up by the old creamery. There are a couple of fire bugs I’ve been trying to get my hands on for a while. They’ve been setting fires all over Summerside for the last three months. The little nose wipes claim they’re doing the town a favour, getting rid of old buildings. I’d love to get my hands on them.”
“Do you know who’s doing it?” Gilbert asked.
“I’ve got a pretty good idea and heard lots of rumours, but I got to catch them at it. So tell me what happened yesterday. I know that there was a body found and thought I could wait till today. It wasn’t going to get any deader, I figured.”
Catherine returned from the pantry. She placed a jar of blueberry jam on the table and carried a wire toaster containing two thick slices of bread to the stove. Taking off one of the stove lids, she laid the toaster over the open flame. When the bread was browned evenly on both sides she put it on a plate in front of Flynn and poured him a cup of tea. He bobbed his head in thanks and reached for the last piece of ham on a serving plate in the middle of the table.
“It was about three o’clock yesterday afternoon,” Gilbert began. “My young fella Jimmy and Neill McPherson’s boy Tom found her on the beach.”
By the time Gilbert finished his story, Flynn was wiping his face with one end of the tablecloth. Catherine’s mouth was a straight line of disapproval as she leaned against the oven door, arms folded.
“Here’s the boys now,” Gilbert said, turning away from his wife to keep from laughing.
Avard and Eddie had finished the morning milking and each was bringing two full pails in for their mother to separate and churn. They placed the buckets in the far corner of the porch and covered them with pieces of cheesecloth.
“Boy, you two have grown since the last time I saw you.” Flynn smiled and rose from the table. “All right, Gil, we’d better go out and have a look. Thanks for the lunch, Catherine.”
“Cath, see that Jimmy gets out of bed pretty soon so Darrell can have a word with him.” Gilbert reached for his hat and led the men outside. The twins trailed behind.
“So, Doc, what do you make of all this?” Flynn asked on the way to the barn.
“I believe that the girl drowned,” Jarvis said softly so the boys couldn’t hear. “Her lungs were full of liquid, which means she was alive when she first got into the water. Let’s keep that just to ourselves for now. The official word will have to wait until the coroner’s jury makes its determination.”
“Know who she is?”
“No.”
“So what do we have here?” Flynn asked no one in particular as they walked through the barn door.
“I’ll unwrap her,” Jarvis said, removing the blanket from the girl’s head.
“That’s good,” Flynn said, waving his hand sideways. “So here’s where the trouble is, eh?” He bent over the wound. “Looks pretty nasty,” he observed. “Was she wearin’ anything when she was found?”
Gilbert turned and pointed to the pile of clothing he had neatly placed on the floor the day before. “Right here,” he said.
The sheriff lifted each garment individually and tucked them under his arm. “I’ll take these back to Summerside with me,” he said, then shook his head at Jarvis, who had begun to unwind the rest of the covering.
“Never mind that, I’ve seen enough.” Reaching into his coat pocket, Flynn took out a toothpick and rolled it around in his mouth.
“You don’t want to look at the rest of the body?” Jarvis asked, surprised.
“Nuh, it’s pretty cut and dried from what I can tell. You said that she had no marks of violence on the rest of her, and that she had water in the lungs. This is clearly a case of drowning.”
Jarvis covered the girl’s head again. Avard made a motion forward to help. Gilbert, standing beside him, put out his right arm and shook his head.
“Yep, I see this quite a bit,” Flynn said as he stooped his head to get back out the barn door. “Young girl runs away from home for one reason or another. Three weeks ago I got a telegram telling me to be on the lookout for some young thing that went missing from the Annapolis Valley. She turned up in Halifax a few days later, whorin’ around the docks, and she’s one of the lucky ones. I mind the time—”
The twins’ eyes were wide. Gilbert shook his head.
“Huh? Oh,” Flynn said.
“Tell us,” Eddie urged.
“Not today,” Gilbert interrupted. “You two have chores to finish. The first thing I want you to do is move the last of the ice from the ice house and bring it here in front of the door.”
The boys walked across the barnyard.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Gilbert yelled after them, then turned to Jarvis and Flynn. “Have to use up the last of my ice to try to keep the smell down. Thought if I dragged the old pig trough in there and filled it with ice, we could lay her on top of it. Now, what happens next?” he asked.
“Well,” Flynn said. “I’ll write up a physical description and wire it around the Maritimes, see if anyone is missing a girl. Somebody might come forward to claim her. If we don’t hear anything in a week or so, after the coroner’s inquest, you can bury her.”
“A week or so!” Gilbert raised his voice. “I can’t have her lying around that long. A person can barely stand the smell in there as it is and I’ve got to get back to work. Can’t you take her off my hands, Darrell?”
“I’ve got no place to keep a body, especially this time of year,” Flynn said.
“This is crazy. I thought you’d be able to help us out.”
“Sorry, Gil.” Flynn spit the chewed toothpick out on the ground. “Can’t. You have to keep her here at least until after the coroner’s jury anyway. But you know, you’d be surprised at the number of corpses that no one ever claims. Why don’t you go ahead and bury her after the jury’s done with her. She’ll have to be planted sooner or later anyway, and if she has a family you’ll be doin’ them a favour.”
“I’ll go see the minister this afternoon,” Gilbert said, relieved. “They have a section in the back of the churchyard for unknowns. We can likely bury her there.”
“There you go.” Flynn slapped Gilbert on the shoulder. “Now, do you suppose Catherine has any more of that hot tea on the stove?”
When the men came into the kitchen, Jimmy Bell was sitting at the table waiting for his breakfast while Catherine stood before the stove stirring porridge. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the sheriff. His face was shiny and red from the scrubbing his mother had just put him through. His hair was wet and slicked back, and freckles stood out on his chubby face.
“Jimmy.” Flynn’s voice boomed. “I heard that you had an exciting day yesterday.” He sat down and placed a hand on the child’s right shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Jimmy responded, looking at his father.
“Just tell Sheriff Flynn everything you know,” Gilbert told him.
“Before we start, Jim, I want to give you this.” Flynn plunged a sausage-shaped finger into one of his shirt pockets, fished out a shiny piece of tin, and handed it to the boy. “For your good work yesterday. I hereby declare you an honorary sheriff’s deputy for the province of Prince Edward Island.”
“Holy smoke, Dadda, look, it’s a real badge.”
“You’re a deputy now, son,” Flynn said. “You’re obliged to tell me everything you know.”
The boy nodded his head, serious now.
“Me and Tom were on the beach looking for things washed up and we saw her. She was lying in the seaweed with her eyes open. Tom was scared to touch her but I went over to her and saw she was dead. I wasn’t scared.”
“Atta boy,” Flynn said.
“As soon as we saw that she was dead as a doornail, we ran to get our daddas. Then they came and picked her up and brought her to our barn. Can I see her again now that I’m a deputy?”
Flynn laughed.
“No, you can’t!” Catherine said, plopping a Blue Willow bowl down on the table in front of him. “Eat your breakfast.”
Flynn ruffled the boy’s damp hair. “Thanks, Deputy Jimmy. You’ve been a big help. Now I’m just goin’ to have another cup of your mother’s good tea and a piece of that pie I see in the pantry there, and then I’ll be off.”
“So you’re going to be in touch with the mainland?” Gilbert sat down beside Flynn. “See if anybody knows her?”
“Yup, first thing,” the sheriff replied, his mouth full.
***
The jury’s deliberations commenced, first in the barn and then in the Bells’ parlour. The jury members all went home for supper, but Catherine did give them dinner at noon and kept them supplied with hot tea, pie, and molasses cookies throughout the afternoon.
Gilbert started out early next morning for North Tryon. Before he jumped up onto the seat of the express wagon, he buttoned his coat and pulled the red knitted cap that Catherine insisted he wear further down on his head. It was chilly with the sun still low on the horizon. He flicked the reins over Ned’s back.
“Off we go again, boy. No chance to get any work done today.”
The road to North Tryon was lined on both sides by red and yellow maple trees. Gilbert liked this drive. It always made him think of his father, whom he used to accompany along here as a young boy. And, as his father had done years before, Gilbert usually stopped to talk to the men he saw out in their yards. But this morning he just waved and hollered “hello” or “how’s she’s goin’?”
“No time today,” he said, urging Ned to go faster past each gate.
All anybody would want to talk about anyway was the dead girl in his barn.
Alexander Morrison’s two-storey furniture factory was situated on the corner just before the right turn into the village. The lumber mill and the huge piles of wood, pulp, rough boards, and dressed planks fanned out in the large yard behind it.
Gilbert stopped on the road across from the factory, jumped from the wagon, and walked along the front of the building to where a man was standing before an open door. He was bent over the edge of a board, holding it between his legs and carefully smoothing it with a plane.
“Morning, Gil.” Lester Chisholm looked up and smiled. “What you up to today?”
“I’m looking to buy a rough box, Les. Got any at a good price?”
“Oh yeah, heard you had some trouble up your way. Buryin’ that girl, are you?”
“Yeah, as soon as I get the say-so from Doc Jarvis. These things take forever once doctors and the law get involved.”
“That they do. Do you know yet who she is?”
“No, don’t have a clue. So can I get a rough box?”
“Yeah, there’s a few you can take a look at.”
The clean smell of new wood met Gilbert as he walked through the door of the factory. Sunlight coming in through the upper-storey windows cast shafts of light over the open space, causing the fine coat of sawdust on the floor to look like winter’s first snow. Though men and boys were all over, hammering, sawing, and working at the lathes, to Gilbert, the place had a silence that didn’t come from inactivity and quiet but from the meditative movement of industry. He often thought that he might prefer this line of work to farming. At least this job didn’t depend so much on the weather.
“I said this might do. I heard she was just a wee thing.”
“She’s quite tall,” Gilbert replied curtly, angry that he hadn’t been paying attention. Chisholm selected a wooden box, as high as his shoulder, from a number of them leaning against the wall and was holding it upright for Gilbert’s inspection.
“She’s about five foot five,” Gilbert said, “so that’s a good size.”
“Hold it steady and I’ll get a lid.”
A number of lids were leaning against the opposite wall. Chisholm walked across the room, rearranged them for a few minutes, and then selected one from the back.
“I think this’ll fit,” he said, walking back across the floor with it under his arm. He placed it next to the box that Gilbert was holding up on its end. “Yeah, that’ll do. I’ll help you get it to the wagon.”
After they had carried the box outside, Chisholm went back in for the lid.
“There you go,” he said, placing it beside the box in the wagon. “That’ll be two dollars, Gil.”
Gilbert rummaged around in his shirt pocket and brought out two folded bills. “And I’ll need a receipt,” he said, handing over the money.
“Wait here.”
***
The next morning Jarvis gave them his permission to take the girl to the churchyard. The jury had viewed the body under his direction and now was holed up in Catherine’s parlour. Gilbert, Avard, and Eddie placed the body in the box. Gilbert secured the lid by winding a piece of old clothesline rope round and round the box and knotting it.
“Why don’t you just nail it down, Pa?” Eddie asked.
“Doc Jarvis said not to until I get his say-so, just in case.”
They carried the box out to the express wagon. Avard had picked some golden rods earlier and once the box was securely in the wagon, he placed the flowers on top of it.
“This gives her a bit more dignity,” he said. “Ma always says dignity is important.”
Eddie smirked and opened his mouth to respond but saw his father’s stern look.
It was two miles to the Cape Traverse Methodist Church. The people they met along the way were eager to talk. Some even asked to see the body but Gilbert shook his head.
“No time,” he told them. “Got to hurry up and get back to the farm.”
“Fools! Why would anybody want to see a dead body? What do they think this is, a Barnum sideshow?” he asked no one in particular.
When Gilbert pulled on the reins and hollered, “Whoa,” the five boys walking behind the wagon came to a halt as well and ceased their chatter.
“You’d better keep back now,” Gilbert shouted as he jumped down to greet Reverend Silliker, who was waiting at the bottom of the church steps.
“Mornin’, Reverend,” Gilbert, Avard, and Eddie called out in unison.
“Good morning, all,” Silliker responded, with the Scottish lilt that he had never lost despite the decades he had lived away from his home country.
“It’s a lovely fall day, don’t you think, boys?”
As was his practice when meeting any of his flock, no matter how many times a day he encountered them, Silliker shook hands all around.
“It’s a sad task you’ve got today, Gilbert.”
“Yes, Reverend. It’s been a rough few days, what with all the coming and going and people about.”
“Well, hopefully having the poor soul here will ease things for you a bit. And God bless you and your family for doing what you have.”
“Where were you planning on putting her?” Gilbert asked.
“In the biggest shed there in the back. Roy McWilliams cleared off the table in there yesterday. She can stay there until she’s buried. Do you need any help?”
“No, thanks. Me and the boys can handle it. All right to drive up behind the church here?”
“Certainly, just go along the path.”
“Thanks, Reverend, and maybe you can keep those kids from following us back there. This is not a sight for them.”
“Certainly.”
Gilbert was about to drive away when he turned to Silliker again. “That shed got a lock on it?” he asked.
“I had Roy install a padlock earlier today. You’ll see it when you get up there. Just close it. Roy has the key.”
Silliker turned towards the children and raised his voice as the cart started to move up the hill. “All right, boys, run along now. There’s nothing here for the likes of you.”
“Awww, we just wanted to see the dead girl.”
“Let the poor soul rest in peace. And no peeking around when I’m gone or I’ll be paying your parents a visit. Now off with you. The lot of you should be in school.”
There was kicking of dirt and some words of protest, but eventually the boys turned and left the churchyard.
Avard jumped from the wagon and let down the tailgate. Eddie pushed the box towards the back and Avard and Gilbert lifted it down.
“Eddie, run and open the door.” Gilbert nodded his head towards the shed.
Eddie lifted the latch on the shed door and opened it wide. It bumped against a wooden table. “Not a lot of room in here, Pa. It’ll be a tight squeeze getting the box through.”
“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll fit,” Gilbert reassured him. “We’ll make sure of that.”
The body rolled around as they tried repeatedly to wedge the box through the door of the shed.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Eddie said. “She’s stinkin’ to high heaven.”
“Just a bit more. Christ, how did they expect us to get this through the door?” Gilbert panted, out of breath from the manoeuvring. “That so-called caretaker doesn’t know what he’s doing, if you ask me.”
“Just one more push, Pa,” Avard said.
Finally they got the box through the door and onto the table.
“There now,” Gilbert said as he secured the padlock. “Just have to get the word to bury her.”
***
“The jury’s gone,” Jarvis announced, walking into the Bells’ kitchen at dusk, followed by Avard and Eddie. “Catherine, may I have a cup of tea, please?”
He sat down at the table and rubbed his hands up and down his unshaven jaw. There were dark circles around his eyes.
“It’s over?”
Jarvis nodded.
“So were you right?” Eddie asked. “Did she drown, like you said?”
“It appears so, and now it’s official. I just signed the death certificate.”
Catherine placed the cup of tea on the table. “And finally she can be laid to rest,” she said, and sighed.