They caught up with Father Higgins in front of the general hospital.
“Luke!” Higgins said when he saw them. “And this is your father, is it not? How pleasant to see you again, sir.” Then he turned to Luke. “You had some troubles when last I saw you.”
Luke’s face flushed. It was perfectly obvious to Thaddeus that something had gone wrong between the two. Luke’s letters had been so full of praise for Higgins’s dedicated service to the emigrants, and his delight in the other man’s friendship, but now something had soured and Luke seemed uncomfortable in the priest’s presence: an argument over some trifle, no doubt, and both of them too stiff-necked to make it up. Higgins’s words, however, were obviously in reference to Betsy’s last illness, and so he made an appropriate response.
“I’m afraid Luke’s mother has gone to her Maker,” he said. “Fortunately, Luke was with her in her last moments, and I’m sure that was a great comfort to her.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Higgins said. “Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Lewis had been ill for a number of years, and although I’ll miss her sorely, we all know she’s gone to a better place.” The niceties dispensed with, Thaddeus came straight to the point. “And now, Luke and I wondered if we might have a word with you, if you would be so kind. We’re intent on solving a puzzle.”
“Of course. I’m just on my way to Hôtel Dieu if you’d like to walk with me.”
Thaddeus felt that he had walked quite far enough that day, but the priest had already set off, so he had no chance to object. He hurried to catch up. Luke stayed a few paces behind, where he wouldn’t have to join in the conversation. From this angle, he realized that Higgins had lost weight since he’d seen him last, and that although he still walked at a furious pace, he stumbled a little after every few steps.
As soon as he was in step with Higgins, Thaddeus said, “We’re trying to find what’s left of Anna Porter’s family, and we understand that they came from your district.”
“Anna Porter? The little ghostly girl that everyone thinks is a spirit of some kind? Yes, the Porters lived in my neighbourhood, but they weren’t of my flock.”
“I understand that,” Thaddeus said, “but we’re looking for information that at first glance might appear unrelated, but which we think might be helpful. What happened the day Charley Gallagher was shot?”
He had hoped to catch Higgins off balance and expected him to be taken aback or to hesitate before he answered, but the priest immediately replied, “Of course. What is it you want to know?”
“Everyone believes it was David Porter who fired the shot that killed Gallagher, but that’s only what they’ve been told. Did you see it happen?”
“Yes, I did. There were several shots fired. No one knows for sure which bullet hit Charley, but yes, the generally accepted version of events is that David was in the best position to do so.”
This was news to Thaddeus, the fact that more than one gun had gone off.
“What happened after that?”
“Charley fell to the ground and several people ran over to him.”
“Who in particular?”
“What difference does it make?” the priest asked. “He was dying regardless of who knelt beside him.”
“I’m not sure it makes any difference at all,” Thaddeus said. “But in the interests of being thorough, I’d like to know, that’s all.”
The priest’s brow furrowed as though trying to mentally recreate the scene of that day.
“Well, there was David himself of course.”
“David Porter? He ran to the man he had just shot?”
“Yes. And Bridget Sullivan. That’s Mrs. Shanahan’s mother. She was Charley’s cousin, you see. Flynn Murphy. Connor Doyle. Florence and Pierce Mullen.”
“But not the other Mullen brother?” Thaddeus asked. “What is his name?”
The priest looked puzzled at this. “Dermot? No, Dermot wasn’t there. Why?”
“What happened then?” Thaddeus asked. “What did everyone do besides sit there while Charley Gallagher died?”
“Well, Bridget ran to get a cloth, I suppose, to see if she could staunch the wound. Flynn ran off to find Mrs. Cleary, an old woman skilled with potions and such. Pierce jumped up and began shouting at David Porter.”
“There was an argument?”
“Not so much argument as accusation. Pierce was about to go at David with his fists, but Connor grabbed one arm and I grabbed the other.”
“No one went for a constable or some other authority?” Thaddeus asked.
Higgins looked impatient. “Of course not. Had the law been summoned, everyone there would have melted away long before it arrived. No one needed that kind of trouble on top of everything else.”
“Even though someone had been killed?”
“Even so. There would have been an inquiry and the Porters would have been exonerated. It was a legal eviction. The Porters were defending themselves and it wasn’t their fault that poor Catholic Charley Gallagher got in the way of a bullet. End of story.” There was a bitter edge to Higgins’s voice born of chronic injustice.
“What happened then?”
“David Porter ran off. Connor and I made sure that Pierce didn’t follow him, then I went to Charley and administered the Sacraments. There was blood everywhere and his breath was laboured. It was evident he was dying, but at least he didn’t die unshriven.”
“And there were no consequences whatsoever for the Porters?”
“No legal consequences whatsoever,” Higgins said. “David Porter disappeared that night, which everyone took as a sure sign of his guilt.”
“Where do you think he went?”
Higgins looked impatient. “He could have gone anywhere. All of Ireland was on the move, the starving walking the roads looking for work, for food, for a roof over their heads. There were thousands of evictions, thousands of homeless families. David Porter could have gone to any other district in the country and no one ever would have remarked on the presence of a stranger.”
“Could he have come to Canada?” Thaddeus asked.
“I suppose,” Higgins said, and his eyes narrowed. “Why, do you think he’s here?”
“We don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. We’re just going down as many twisted paths as we can follow.” He gave Higgins his best smile, one that he had used many times to disarm. “We’re just not sure whether there are any Porters left at all, you see, and then there would be the question of whether or not any of them would be in a position to look after the little girl. Were they a wealthy family?”
They had reached Hôtel Dieu, and Thaddeus half-expected Higgins to brush them off and go inside, but the priest halted at the front steps while he answered.
“They had a number of acres in wheat. Not wealthy, but not desperate either.” He shrugged. “They probably sold their crop and used the money to buy passage. It’s not a popular thing to do, when your neighbours are starving, but it would have been typical of the Porters.”
Higgins took a step toward the door, and Thaddeus judged that little more information would be forthcoming this day.
“I just have one other question and then I’ll let you be about your business,” he said. “Do you know what this is? Luke found it on John Porter’s body.” He held out the scrap of green ribbon.
Higgins’s eyes widened for a moment, but he said quickly. “It’s just a scrap of ribbon.” And with that, he disappeared into the hospital.
Thaddeus turned to Luke. “Let’s walk on a bit,” he said, “and then let’s find a place to sit for a moment.” His knee was throbbing from all the unaccustomed walking.
There was a low stone wall in front of a building just down the street, and when they reached it, Thaddeus lowered himself onto it with a barely stifled groan.
“Are you all right?” Luke asked. “I guess we shouldn’t have walked so far.”
“Never mind,” Thaddeus said. “It was worth it not to interrupt the priest’s story.”
“What did you make of it?”
“There’s something he’s not telling us.”
“You think he lied? But he’s a priest.”
“No, I don’t think he lied.” Thaddeus rubbed his knee as he thought about what he had been told. “But there were some things he deliberately left out, and some things he was hoping we would infer. Fortunately for us, he isn’t very good at obfuscation. I don’t expect he’s done it often.”
“But —”
“Just shush for a moment, boy, while I think this through.”
Luke sat by his father and waited until he was ready to speak.
“First of all, Higgins knew perfectly well what the green ribbon meant.”
“I agree,” Luke said. “I couldn’t see his face for most of the conversation, but he was startled when you showed him the ribbon.”
“He didn’t, however, seem to have any idea where David Porter went. Or how he got there.”
“Someone took Charley Gallagher’s ticket. And someone used it.”
“It couldn’t have been David Porter,” Thaddeus said. “Pierce Mullen pushed him away. Higgins and the man named Connor intervened to prevent them getting into a fistfight. Who else was there?”
“Mrs. Shanahan’s mother ran to get a cloth.”
“Another man ran to get the old woman who was skilled with potions.”
“That leaves one person sitting by Charley Gallagher’s dying body.”
“Florence Mullen,” Thaddeus said. “And everyone’s attention was on the scuffle happening a few feet away. Mullen could easily have reached into Gallagher’s pocket and taken whatever was there. I think my idea that it was Mullen travelling on Gallagher’s ticket is reasonable. I just wonder why Higgins told us a tale about the Porters selling their wheat.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked. “How do you know it’s a tale?”
“Think about it,” Thaddeus said. “When was John Porter quarantined?”
“In the last week of July.”
“And I wonder, on average, how long it takes a ship to cross the Atlantic?”
“Weeks and weeks. Probably two months or so. He had to have left Ireland in late March or early April. Oh …” Luke’s eyes widened as he realized the point his father was making. “You don’t harvest wheat in March.”
“Precisely,” Thaddeus said. “So why would Higgins spin us a tale about it?”
“To explain how the Porters could afford to emigrate?” Luke asked.
“It’s not that expensive to come to Canada,” Thaddeus pointed out. “That’s why so many of them have come here, instead of going to the States. Higgins said the Porters were comfortable enough, and they’d been planning to emigrate anyway. Maybe they saved it up, or the uncle who was already here sent them money.”
“I don’t think so,” Luke said. “His letters were full of boast, but he didn’t seem to have accomplished much.”
“In any event, families far poorer than the Porters found a way to get on a ship. So the question is, why did Father Higgins attempt to confuse the issue?”
“Is he protecting someone?”
Thaddeus considered for a moment before he replied. “Maybe. Or it may be a matter of something that was told to him in confidence — something that he considers privileged information. Perhaps he knows who fired the shot that hit Charley Gallagher and wanted to steer the conversation away from any further questions.” He shrugged. “Or it may be something else entirely.”
“I don’t follow,” Luke said. “It was David Porter who killed Gallagher.”
“No,” Thaddeus said. “Everyone believed it was David Porter. That’s a different thing entirely. You know, it would be helpful if we could get someone else’s version of what happened that day. So far, we’ve really only got one account.”
“The problem is that there are so few people to ask now, and no one wants to talk about it anyway. We might try to make sense from Mrs. Shanahan’s ramblings, but with her it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t.”
“What about the girl?”
“Who? Anna?”
“No. The girl with the baby. The one we met on the way to the Emigration Office.”
“Mary? Rennie Doyle’s sister?” Luke said. “I hadn’t thought of her. And apparently Rennie’s husband was there that day, which I hadn’t realized before. But I’m not sure how much Mary could tell us, other than what her brother-in-law told her.”
“She may not have any new information about the shooting of Charley Gallagher,” Thaddeus said, “but she might very well be able to tell us where to find the Mullens.”