Chester Deidrick was the only boarder missing from the breakfast table to say his farewells. But then, he wasn’t around much. As captain of one of the freighters that came in and out of the harbor, he paid for his room and board in advance—and full price, at that—because he wanted to be assured of good meals and a pleasant place to rest his head when he got into port. To him, it was well worth the price. He could be gone for as long as three weeks at a time.
“Won’t ya be havin’ just a wee bit more of these fried potatoes, Mr. Arnaud?” Brigid asked.
“No, no. Not another thing, Mrs. Mahoney.”
“Perhaps just a bit more of this ham, then?” she said, making it her personal obligation to see to it that Robert Arnaud should want for nothing his last day with them.
“No, truly, it was a delicious breakfast,” Robert said, waving the plate away, placing his hand, palm down, under his chin, gesturing. “I’m filled up to here. I have no place to put it. I’m just hoping I’ll find some room for the farewell luncheon the gentlemen at the shipping yards are throwing for me down at MacPhearson’s Hotel this noon. Not that any of it’ll begin to compare to one of your fabulous meals. I declare, Mrs. Mahoney, you’ve spoiled me completely. I’ll be hard pressed to find another like you in Toronto.”
“Go ’long with ya,” Brigid cooed coyly, slapping him on the shoulder with her free hand. She returned to the kitchen, brandishing her platter of potatoes and ham through the swinging doors with a flourish.
A guttural, rasping sound came out of Kurt Baughman as he not so cleverly concealed a belch by clearing his throat. “We’ll be missing your company around here, Robert,” he blustered. “Probably me more than most,” he puffed, “seeing as how I’m always surrounded by a brood of clucking females. It’s been mighty refreshing having another male around and some intelligent conversation. Ain’t that right, Mama?”
Elsa Baughman’s cheeks turned pink as she nodded. “Yes, Mr. Baughman.”
Zebadiah Chadwick showed obvious affront at having been excluded from the male population that gathered around the dining room table daily. “Yup, we’ve had some real intelligent conversation around here fer a change.” Zeb glared into Kurt’s face as turned back to Robert and continued. “It’ll be sorely missed. That can’t be denied. And we’ll be missin’ all those lively stories ’bout the city life back there in Toronto, too.”
Zeb took one last swig of coffee and pulled his lanky bones out of his chair. “I’ll be seein’ to your luggage now, Mr. Arnaud. You say it’s all in the foyer?”
Robert nodded.
“Then I best be gettin’ it up to the depot. It’ll be waitin’ fer ya when yer train’s ready to leave.”
Zeb shuffled out of the room, mumbling. To the discerning ear, the last word heard before he disappeared into the foyer could have been interpreted as “windbag.” Kurt got up, peered over his fat belly at his pocket watch, and motioned to Elsa. “C’mon, Mama. Best we get down to the store.”
Elsa quickly stood, waiting beside her chair as Kurt lumbered over to Robert and shook his hand.
“Best of luck to ya, young fella. If we ever get to Toronto, we’ll be sure to look you up.”
Robert graciously smiled as Kurt pumped away. “Now, see that you do that,” he replied, hoping such a thing would never come to pass. He’d had just about enough of this crowing braggart.
Elsa gave a quick, pink–faced nod in his direction as they left the room.
Agnes Carter daintily set her coffee cup back in its saucer. “I’d best be saying my goodbyes now, too,” she said softly. “I’m due at the Post Office in ten minutes.” Her eyes rested on the composed, aristocratic face of the young man sitting across from her. “It has been a pleasure having such a fine young gentleman in our company these past few months. I wish you well in Toronto, Mr. Arnaud.”
Robert stood as Agnes and Clara made ready to leave.
“My sister’s sentiments are also mine,” Clara said. “And please, if you are ever back here in Herron’s Point, do come to see us.”
Each sister in turn walked around the table and kissed him on the cheek.
Robert knew how to be charming. Hadn’t he captivated the entire town with his charismatic personality? Why hadn’t it worked on Maggie?
He stood, taking the hand of each woman, holding them at arm’s length, looking at the gentle, open faces of the aging sisters. “It has been my pleasure to have spent so much time in the company of two such lovely ladies.” This time, he truly meant it.
Now that the others were gone, Maggie came into the dining room to clear away the remains of the breakfast dishes.
She knew she’d have to face Robert before he left. It had been all she could do to stay clear of him these past two weeks. Awkward, to be sure, but in her own way, she would say her goodbyes. Then he’d be gone.
Robert leaned against his chair, watching Maggie’s beautiful face as she stacked the dishes on a large tray. She looked so young and vulnerable with her long, auburn hair tied back in a pink bow that way.
Clinking china smothered the silence between them. He finally broke through it. “Maggie, I’m going to miss you. I know you’ve been avoiding me these past few weeks, and I’m truly sorry if I’ve offended you. But you must believe me when I say I meant you no harm. My heart rules my head sometimes, and I act like an emotional fool. I hope we can part as friends.”
Maggie had listened to these contrite words before. Each time she’d thwarted his advances, she’d heard them. But two weeks ago in her bedroom, he had gone too far. He wouldn’t fool her with his shallow, puerile words, the way he’d won over Mam—and everyone else, for that matter.
When Maggie looked up, her green eyes pierced him, filling him with desire. He’d never known such craving for a woman, not even Helena, who would become his wife within the month—but no one in Herron’s Point need know about that. It was difficult to be near this ravishing creature without wanting to possess every part of her; unthinkable that he would never see her again. Still, it must be. Life must go on as it had been planned out for him: a good marriage between two influential families. There was no turning away from that.
“I think it best we forget the whole incident,” Maggie said, half smiling. “I do want to wish you a safe journey—and a good life.”
She looked at the young man facing her. He had used just the right amount of pomade to keep every light–brown hair in its proper place. He was the picture of refinement in his gray morning coat and black–striped trousers. A burgundy cravat and diamond stickpin set off his immaculate white shirt—every inch a gentleman. At least, that’s what she’d once thought until that incident two weeks before. The word “gentleman” no longer applied.
“I still have some loose ends to tie up at the shipyard this morning,” he said, “so I’ll have to be leaving, now. I find it difficult to accept that I won’t be seeing you again.” His face was doleful as he approached her. “Do you think we could kiss goodbye and part as friends?”
“I think a simple handshake will do,” she said coolly, extending her arm to halt his advances.
The warmth of her hand was more than he could bear, heating him with a burning desire to grab her in his arms.
It was at just that moment Brigid chose to come through the door. Entering from the kitchen and realizing that Robert was about to leave, she rushed over and took his face in her hands, kissing him soundly on the cheek.
“I’d not be wantin’ ta miss givin’ ya that before ya take yer leave,” she said. “And don’t be fergettin’ to stay in touch. You’ll be rememberin’, you’re invited to spend any part of the Christmas holidays as our guest?”
Brigid could say goodbye, but she had no intention of letting go, and she felt that anyone would be a fool if they didn’t see that Robert was crazy about her Mary Margaret. Things couldn’t have worked out better if she’d planned it herself. He’d be back.
“We’re goin’ to be sorely missin’ havin’ ya around,” she sighed.
Unlike his usual self–assured manner, his diffidence was obvious as he backed away toward the foyer. “I…won’t be forgetting any part of my stay here.” He glanced quickly at Maggie’s dispassionate stare. “Everyone has been more than kind.” For one awkward moment he was at a loss for words, then smiled at them both. “I’ll keep in touch.”
Maggie heard the screen door slam behind him. It had the sweet sound of gone.
Equipped with rags, cleaning supplies, and a bucket of hot, soapy water, Maggie went upstairs to the guest room he had occupied for the past two months. It was a large, gracious room in need of airing and a good cleaning to ready it for the next occupant.
She opened the two windows at the front of the house. A cool morning breeze wafted in, engaging the delicate lace curtains in a gentle dance. The windows afforded a wonderful view of the lake as she stood for a few moments gazing over the rooftops of Commerce and Water Streets. Lake Erie was calm, playful waves bouncing golden splinters of sunlight into the air. Far to the east, she could see the Point, with its long arm jutting out into the water; three freighters rested in its harbor. Straight ahead was the long pier at the bottom of Center Street, occupied by some fishermen intent on catching tonight’s dinner. If she stretched high enough on her toes, she could see the roof of Tim’s house at the far western end of Water Street. Her days were always happier when she knew she’d be seeing him. He’d be coming tonight at seven.
Okay, Mary Margaret, quit your dawdlin’. There’s work to be done, she told herself, mimicking Mam’s words, knowing this is what she would hear if Mam were around to catch her standing there. How many times had she heard her use that expression? Thousands, maybe?
She immediately got to work, stripping the bed so it could air out the last remains of Robert Arnaud.
It took the entire morning to dust and scrub, wax and polish. When she was done, she stood back to admire the beautiful room. The windows and mirrors gleamed. The washstand, with its white china bowl and pitcher, had been scoured of any remains of Robert’s facial hair. It was time for lunch.
When she returned to the room to make the bed, the day had become quite hot. She immediately put down the windows and drew the shades to block out the heat of the day and protect the carpet from disastrous fading. The room had the clean smell of furniture polish and strong pine soap.
She was just smoothing the sheet when she heard the screen door slam. At first, she thought it was Clara, coming back early from visiting her sick uncle up over the ridge. But hadn’t she said she’d be gone most of the day? The rest of the boarders were off working, and Mam was gone with Father Chuck for the afternoon on some errand of mercy.
Muffled footsteps climbed the thick burgundy runner on the staircase. Her heart quickened when she recognized his heavy step coming down the hallway toward the room that had been his.
She hid her apprehension and turned to greet him. “My goodness, Robert, you’re a surprise. I expected you’d be on your way to the railway station by now. Zeb took your luggage up there hours ago. Did you forget something?”
His tall frame filled the doorway. A lock of his fine hair hung on his forehead, totally out of character. His mouth was twisted in a simpering grin, and his eyes were glazed over, staring right through her. The strong odor of alcohol assaulted her senses.
Why is he looking at me like that? My God, he’s drunk.
Instinctively, she felt fear. “Did…did you have a nice farewell luncheon?” she asked, trying to humor him.
“Oh, it was jush fine,” he grinned, slurring his words. “In fact, it was so mush fun, I thought I’d come back here one more time. I found myshelf mish…mish…missing you already.”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll miss your train?” she asked. The blood had drained from her face, but she managed a weak smile.
“Hell, no. Got plenty’a time. An hour at least.”
His eyes covered her body like an obscene thought. His intense tone became less garbled. “Just thought I’d come back and keep you company for a bit. Couldn’t get those green eyes of yours out of my mind. Kept thinking about them all through lunch.”
He looked like he was going to cry. “You know I’m going to miss you, Maggie. I just want us to be friends.”
It was difficult for Maggie to comprehend him this way. He’d probably had too much to drink at the farewell luncheon. Maybe far too much, but he was no longer slurring his words. He didn’t talk like he was drunk, just weird.
She had to get him downstairs and out on the porch, into the fresh air.
“Well, I’m pretty busy right now, Robert.” She leaned down and picked up the sheets from the floor. “I’ve got to get this linen down to the laundry. Why don’t you wait for me on the porch? It’ll just take a few minutes to finish with my work here. Then we can sit on the swing and talk.”
“All I want is just one kiss goodbye,” he said, making a move toward her. “Honest, Maggie, just one little teensy–weensy kiss.”
He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him. She clung to the laundry as she would a metal shield, but he was strong. His hands were all over her. His stinking mouth came down hard on hers, hurting her lips. His tongue was in her mouth, sickening and vile. She couldn’t breathe. She felt she was going to throw up.
Finally, he released her, staggering toward the bed. “I have to sit down before I fall down,” he giggled. “Guess I just had too much to drink.” He put his head in his hands. “I don’t seem to do anything right where you’re concerned. Seems I’m always telling you I’m sorry for something.”
Remembering his past lamenting over bad behavior, she was hoping that would be the extent of it. She turned and faced him, collecting enough breath to speak. “Robert, you really do have to go. Aren’t you worried you’re going to miss your train?”
If she didn’t know better, she could almost feel sorry for him sitting there, so forlorn and dejected.
He tried to get up and began to teeter. She reached over to help him keep his balance, then froze with terror.
His face was wild. Spittle formed at the corners of his twisted mouth. Snatching the laundry from her arms, he pushed her to the bed.
She let out a yell.
He was on her, heavy, strong, tearing at her clothes as she kicked and clawed. He struck her hard on the face, making her ears ring and her head reel with pain. Grabbing her two hands in his one strong one, he put his forearm across her throat to keep her head down. She could barely breathe.
“You little bitch,” he snarled into her ear. “You’ve been wanting this from the first day I came. Always smiling. Teasing. Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. So anxious to please. I’ll bet you know how to make that beau of yours happy. I’ve watched the two of you. Now it’s my turn.”
His panting voice was cruel. The weight of his body was intense as he used his leg as a wedge to push her legs apart. Holding her down, he groped and fumbled with one hand until he had torn away her cotton dress. He was pawing her breasts, kissing her, then prying and probing with his fingers, groaning obscenities. He was like a madman, intent on satisfying an appetite that had obviously not been assuaged by eating, but intensified by drinking his lunch.
Maggie was helpless. With his arm across her neck, her screams came out as whimpers.
He forced her legs apart with his knee, and she could feel the hardness of him as he entered her. Using both hands to hold her down, he arched his back, thrusting as hard as he could, his face distorted with the ecstasy of animal passion.
The ripping, searing pain was excruciating. Only the empty rooms in the house heard her screams. She passed out.
Except for the ticking of the alarm clock on the nightstand, there was no movement. The house was silent. She opened her eyes and knew he was gone.
Her whole body ached and burned; she moaned in an effort to get up. There was blood on the clean sheet she had put on the bed not thirty minutes before. She ripped it off.
It hurt to walk. Dazed and bewildered, she made her way to the downstairs bathroom to wash out the stained sheet. Somehow, she knew she could never let Mam or anyone else see it.
Soaking the sheet in the washbowl, she filled the tub with hot water, stripped off her tattered, blood–stained clothes, and got in. The water burned her tender skin, torn and bleeding, her breasts bruised and bitten, yet somehow the water soothed her.
She scrubbed with soap, hoping to wash away the memory, the filth, the painful, sacrilegious horror. She crawled out of the tub and dried herself. She must hurry before anyone came home. They shouldn’t find her this way.
The mirror revealed a dark purple bruise emerging on the left side of her face. This was a nightmare, but unlike some others she’d had, she knew this one would not go away. She would tell no one of her shame. Tim must never know.
Wrapped in a towel, she went into her own small room to dress in clean, fresh clothes. She wanted to get under the covers and hide, stay in bed, but she knew that was impossible. She must finish her work.
She took her tattered clothes and burned them in the fireplace in the kitchen, making sure only ashes remained. Everything must appear as it always did. She didn’t know how, but she would have to see to that.
Whimpering like a wounded animal, she forced herself back upstairs and into the bedroom she had so lovingly cleaned. It took all that was in her to finish making the bed.
When all was in order, she went outside to escape the cold, ominous silence of the house. She needed the warmth of the sun.
The abhorrent, shameful pain she felt overshadowed any physical discomfort she was experiencing as she leaned against the pillar on the front porch. As she gazed blindly at the lake, a strong shudder overwhelmed her. It wasn’t the kind of shudder caused by exposure to a cold gust of wind, or even the shudder of fear when one is threatened by the unknown. This shudder began at the very core of her being, its tremors invading every corpuscle, every living fiber, as though trying to unloosen and rid her of the self–loathing and disgust that were so deep inside.
She had been defiled, but she must have done something wrong. Why else would this have happened?
The only existing reality was that horrible, filthy memory. There was nothing else. Impulsively she wanted to run down and plunge into the lake, cover herself again with cool, sweet, cleansing water, and wash it all away.
She could barely walk down the steps. Sitting down, she put her head on her knees, wrapping her arms over her to hide from the light. She was desolate, lost, alone. The only Maggie she had ever known was gone.
When Mam returned home later that day and saw the terrible bruise on her face, Maggie explained it away as an accident. She’d tripped over the laundry she was carrying to the basement and had fallen down a whole flight of stairs. True to her character, Mam scolded her for being careless and clumsy.
Maggie had to excuse herself immediately after dinner. She could go no further.
“Mam, I don’t think I can do the dishes. Would you mind, just this one time? I must have hit my head really hard, and I’m beginning to feel sick all over. I really have to lie down. If Tim comes to call, please tell him I don’t feel well.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, bolted into the bathroom to throw up, then dragged herself to her room, shut the door, and threw herself on her bed.
Blessed sleep came, but not for long.
The nightmares soon began.