Read Online The Godforsaken Daughter by Christina McKenna - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christina McKenna
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it’s the best place to get the toes done.”
“I’ll bring up the tea in a minute,” Ruby said—into empty space, for already Ida was gone, bag and all, up the stairs like a prairie province tornado, leaving behind a pong of scent in the air and a pack of Jacob’s Fig Rolls on the table.
Soon, from overhead, came the sound of muffled greetings and a door closing. Then a thought struck Ruby. This would be the ideal time to go up to the attic and investigate Grandma Edna’s case. The door to the mother’s bedroom would be shut for the best part of an hour—the pedicure, four cups of tea, and a week of gossip having to be gotten through—therefore she would not be seen coming and going on the stairs.
Thinking ahead—the case would be locked, no doubt—she went out to her father’s old toolbox in the shed and found a pair of sturdy pliers. She secreted them in her apron pocket.
A few minutes later, she bore the tea tray up the stairs. She was about to enter the bedroom, but halted when she heard the name “Jamie.” She put her ear to the door. Her mother was speaking.
“. . . and if she didn’t put him out of the field . . . me promising it to him on the phone a couple of days before.”
“Away with you, Martha! Put poor Jamie McCloone outta the field . . . and him so lonely now without his dog and all.”
“Oh, Ida, you don’t know the half of it. She ran out of the house like her backside was on fire, shouting at him.”
“God, and what did Jamie do?”
“Well, I’m sure he was very shocked at her . . . but after a bit they shook hands . . . So he must have been all right about it . . . Then got on the tractor and left. I was so affronted. But you know, between you and me, Ida, I said nothing to her. I’m afraid of her betimes. What she might do—”
“God, d’you think she might attack you, Martha? ’Cos if that’s the case I could have a word with Dr. Brewster, about gettin’ her in.”
Ruby’s grip on the tray tightened. She knew that “gettin’ her in” was code for having her committed to St. Ita’s mental institution.
“Well, hopefully it’ll not come to that. Don’t know what’s got into her since Vinny died . . . I’m afraid in my own house. And when May and June come home at the weekends, it’s like the Divil himself gets—”
Ruby steeled herself. She pushed open the bedroom door, immediately killing the conversation. The room was shrouded in Ida’s cigarette smoke. Both women looked her way, surprised faces confirming their guilt.
“I’m going upstairs to clean the windees,” Ruby said, setting the tray down stiffly on a table beside Ida.
“God, isn’t Ruby such a great help to you, Martha,” Ida said, flicking her cigarette in the ornate trinket box she carried about with her as an ashtray. “Sure where would you be without her?”
“Oh, she does her best,” the mother said, unable to meet Ruby’s eye, “but she can be a bit of a handful at times, Ida.”
“Well, you miss the farm work, don’t you, Ruby? Must be hard to get used to women’s work in the house.” Ida lifted the teapot and poured. “But y’know, if you met a nice fella, a nice farming fella, you’d be made, now, wouldn’t you?”
“Ruby’s not interested in men. Not the marrying kind. Never has—”
“There’s water in the kettle if youse want more tea,” Ruby cut across her. “But you’ll have to get it yourself. I’ve things to do.”
She left the room, shutting the door sharply, snatches of that overheard conversation still fresh in her mind. “Put poor Jamie McCloone outta the field . . . and him so lonely now without his dog and all.”
Well, that makes two of us , she thought. He’s lonely because he’s on his own and I’m lonely because I’m not.
Chapter eight
T he attic was reached by a flight of stairs, which gave on to a rickety landing on the third floor. Ruby felt uneasy as she climbed up, not so much because of what she might
“I’ll bring up the tea in a minute,” Ruby said—into empty space, for already Ida was gone, bag and all, up the stairs like a prairie province tornado, leaving behind a pong of scent in the air and a pack of Jacob’s Fig Rolls on the table.
Soon, from overhead, came the sound of muffled greetings and a door closing. Then a thought struck Ruby. This would be the ideal time to go up to the attic and investigate Grandma Edna’s case. The door to the mother’s bedroom would be shut for the best part of an hour—the pedicure, four cups of tea, and a week of gossip having to be gotten through—therefore she would not be seen coming and going on the stairs.
Thinking ahead—the case would be locked, no doubt—she went out to her father’s old toolbox in the shed and found a pair of sturdy pliers. She secreted them in her apron pocket.
A few minutes later, she bore the tea tray up the stairs. She was about to enter the bedroom, but halted when she heard the name “Jamie.” She put her ear to the door. Her mother was speaking.
“. . . and if she didn’t put him out of the field . . . me promising it to him on the phone a couple of days before.”
“Away with you, Martha! Put poor Jamie McCloone outta the field . . . and him so lonely now without his dog and all.”
“Oh, Ida, you don’t know the half of it. She ran out of the house like her backside was on fire, shouting at him.”
“God, and what did Jamie do?”
“Well, I’m sure he was very shocked at her . . . but after a bit they shook hands . . . So he must have been all right about it . . . Then got on the tractor and left. I was so affronted. But you know, between you and me, Ida, I said nothing to her. I’m afraid of her betimes. What she might do—”
“God, d’you think she might attack you, Martha? ’Cos if that’s the case I could have a word with Dr. Brewster, about gettin’ her in.”
Ruby’s grip on the tray tightened. She knew that “gettin’ her in” was code for having her committed to St. Ita’s mental institution.
“Well, hopefully it’ll not come to that. Don’t know what’s got into her since Vinny died . . . I’m afraid in my own house. And when May and June come home at the weekends, it’s like the Divil himself gets—”
Ruby steeled herself. She pushed open the bedroom door, immediately killing the conversation. The room was shrouded in Ida’s cigarette smoke. Both women looked her way, surprised faces confirming their guilt.
“I’m going upstairs to clean the windees,” Ruby said, setting the tray down stiffly on a table beside Ida.
“God, isn’t Ruby such a great help to you, Martha,” Ida said, flicking her cigarette in the ornate trinket box she carried about with her as an ashtray. “Sure where would you be without her?”
“Oh, she does her best,” the mother said, unable to meet Ruby’s eye, “but she can be a bit of a handful at times, Ida.”
“Well, you miss the farm work, don’t you, Ruby? Must be hard to get used to women’s work in the house.” Ida lifted the teapot and poured. “But y’know, if you met a nice fella, a nice farming fella, you’d be made, now, wouldn’t you?”
“Ruby’s not interested in men. Not the marrying kind. Never has—”
“There’s water in the kettle if youse want more tea,” Ruby cut across her. “But you’ll have to get it yourself. I’ve things to do.”
She left the room, shutting the door sharply, snatches of that overheard conversation still fresh in her mind. “Put poor Jamie McCloone outta the field . . . and him so lonely now without his dog and all.”
Well, that makes two of us , she thought. He’s lonely because he’s on his own and I’m lonely because I’m not.
Chapter eight
T he attic was reached by a flight of stairs, which gave on to a rickety landing on the third floor. Ruby felt uneasy as she climbed up, not so much because of what she might
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