Mercy of St Jude Read Free Page B

the Hanns. Gerry is thankful for that. He does not want to discuss Mercedes. He knows how his mother feels about her, even when she pretends otherwise. And that’s fine; she has her reasons for disliking Mercedes, just as Gerry has his for feeling the opposite. Their relationship was something he could never explain to his mother, ever since that September morning in Grade One when Mercedes asked him to read from the catechism. When he’d finished, she smiled directly at him. “Here is a gentleman who can read already,” she said to the entire class. From that moment on, Mercedes had treated him as a person distinct unto himself, no preconceived notions or forgone conclusions. No last name.
    Out of the blue, a profound sadness washes over him. Mercedes is gone. He will never again sit with her over tea and discuss politics or work or, as in later years, family. They will never again share the pleasure of a new old book, the careful opening of the front cover, the search for written notes or autographs. The first time he was in her house he’d been mesmerized by the wall of shelves overflowing with books - some new, some old, some, even to his young and untrained eye, precious. He hadn’t touched them. He’d been content to study the spines and breathe in the odour of old leather and dusty paper. He hadn’t known a person could own so many books.
    â€œThere, now that’s a scoff in the making.” Sadie wipes her hands on her apron. “Bet you haven’t had a good feed since you were home last, what?”
    Looking at the satisfied smile on his mother’s face, Gerry wishes he were hungry. All he really wants is a cup of good strong tea and a moment’s peace. But there’s little chance of getting that now, not if he wants to keep his mother happy. And that’s a job he’s spent a lifetime doing.

2

    1999
    With Sadie safely out the door, Annie heads to the kitchen for a cup of tea. A tray of Lucinda’s sweet buns waits on the counter, ready for the oven come breakfast time. The cinnamon scent reminds Annie of watching cartoons with her older sisters on snowy Saturday mornings, the kitchen warm from the heat of the wood stove, the windows etched with ice. After licking every last bit of icing from their plates and fingers, she and Beth and Sara would swap pyjamas for snowsuits then head to the graveyard with their sled. Cemetery road had the steepest incline in St. Jude. Fortunately, it was also the least travelled by car. With all three of them piled on one sled, they would gain speed quickly. On a good day, they’d have to jump off before they reached bottom or risk crossing the road and ending up under the wheels of a car, or worse, over the cliff and into the ocean. Beth would swear Annie to secrecy, warning her that if Lucinda found out, she’d take away the sled for good. Beth and Sara are married now and live nearby. Annie sees them when she’s home, but they’re busy with their own families. She doesn’t want to interfere. Her two younger sisters, Mary and Karen, are only ten and seven and have been sent to bed. Annie would like to feel closer to them but, having lived away for five years, she hasn’t been around them enough tomake a meaningful connection.
    Annie is surprised to see her uncle, who’s just home from New York for his sister’s funeral, sitting at the kitchen table. “Uncle Joe, what are you doing here?”
    He takes a small glass of brandy from Lucinda. “There’s my little Annie.”
    â€œI thought you were tying one on with Jack Griffin tonight?”
    â€œI was that, but Jack went and got right maudlin on me, carrying on about Dad and Paddy like he always does, talking to Paddy like his ghost was there in the room. Old fool finally passed out.” Joe empties the glass and laughs. “Talked to myself for a bit but I was no better company than Jack. So I come here to say goodbye to