The Quiet Truth: a haunting domestic drama full of suspense Page 11

  Cedric didn’t go on about his own life, as Anna did. The second letter was a bit more revealing about Ella. I also cried when reading it.

  Ella O’Brien has been in the papers again. Such is the interest in her, the stories run and run with no new details. We know very little about what happened that night. She’s been before a special court sitting and you’ll not believe it, the country doesn’t believe it, she’s been given a reprieve on her sentence. She’s allowed to walk free as she’s promised to stay in the care of some order of nuns! Can you credit that? If she were a man she’d be hanged! It’s a disgrace. Something tells me that I should want to help her. As a sinner she’s in need of guidance from a higher power.

  I held the rein of my horse tightly and screamed into the loneliness. Whatever had befallen Ella was signed and sealed by now. Charlie Quinn was wandering free and was not held to any creed. Looking out onto the prairies I vowed to try to take Ella there someday. I felt her close even though she was thousands of miles away behind damp stone walls and locked doors.

  Right then and there, I started talking to her soul. I promised us both, ‘The truth won’t be quiet forever, Ella.’

  The cattle moved at their own pace and I followed. Mostly, I was alone and that was the way I liked it. Sometimes Chief came along too and we went on ahead of the herd and checked on the fences, the watering places or sometimes we left them with other workers and came back home. It all depended on the seasons, the weather and the workload back at the ranch. It also depended on what excuses I could find to be away from Polly. Gus mostly let us be.

  I got much better at tending the herd and showed willing to brand cattle flesh. If I do say so myself, I was good at the work and I thrived on the terrain.

  I wanted to tell everyone back home just how successful Charlie Quinn was becoming. All I felt was fear and guilt when I read Cedric’s letters. I had lied to him about who Randal Hamilton was. I said he was a benevolent employer. There was no mention of my involvement with Ella or in the death of Bridget Fahy. Cedric also didn’t know of the real connection between Randal and myself. Jock, too, mustn’t have had any idea of what happened on his cousin’s farm. He accepted me moving on to work on the railway and showed no sign of knowing that Fran and Selma wanted me arrested. There was no word in any of the letters about the murderer, Charlie Quinn.

  Thoughts angered, though, when I dreamt of my Ella. She was imprisoned in a convent and as I looked around at the wide expanse of freedom I owned, with the thoughts of two sexual partners on my return to the comforts of home, I cried for Ella.

  What type of existence could she have in a cold, austere convent? I couldn’t think of a place less suitable to her personality and beauty. I’m sure she was grateful for the reprieve, joyous at being away from the doctor and his family. I doubted, too, that a married woman had taken on the habit of a bride of Christ. The numbers for the holy orders weren’t falling in those days and Ella would have been just another sacrificial woman to the power of the church. Her family would possibly have paid for her keep if she wasn’t ordained. Her relations would have been glad about the lack of prison time. There was no shame of execution. This would have been considered a blessing to her people. What might Ella think of it though?

  I aim to ask her that soon. Did she enter the order willingly or was it a terrible compromise she shouldn’t have had to make in the first place?

  28

  Rhonda Irwin

  Joe’s bare feet pad over the tiles and he comes to find me at our kitchen table. I should tell him everything. Start at the beginning with our lives, as well as with Charlie’s. Would Joe forgive me my lies, like Charlie forgives his Ella? I doubt it. His hair is fuzzed up like it does when he’s been sleeping. He rubs at his eyes and peers into the gloom.

  ‘Can’t you sleep?’ he whispers, looking up the dark corridor towards Charlie’s room. Coming closer to me at the table he turns over a few pages to skim their contents. There’s a folder and a list in front of me and I wonder for a spilt second if I should try to explain my muddled mind.

  ‘My brain keeps whirring.’

  ‘And you went to sleep with Faye again. Didn’t we talk about that? You need to get your body back into a normal rhythm. It’s not healthy for either of you. You’re now wide awake in the middle of the night.’

  ‘I was shattered. It’s a long day here alone with a baby and Charlie’s story is making me very emotional.’

  ‘I’m sure it is.’ Joe sounds empathetic despite the time on the kitchen clock reading half-past three in the morning. ‘He must be nearly finished with it though?’

  ‘No. Not really. I just feel like there are more and more questions for him to answer. The deeper I go into this, the worse it gets.’

  ‘Like everything in life.’ Joe smiles and reaches for a glass in the cupboard. The sink’s tap makes a gurgling noise as water flows into the spout. ‘He was telling me a little of it while you were upstairs. He really loves Ella O’Brien, even after all this time,’ Joe says incredulously.

  ‘Some people’s love lasts.’

  Joe clumps the glass downwards. It makes a crack as it hits the worktop surface. ‘That’s it!’ he whispers. ‘You’re jealous. That’s what it is. You’re mad as hell that Charlie loves Ella despite all she did. You think that I don’t love you anymore and you’re jealous of her.’

  His face blurs as my tears come.

  ‘Am I right?’ he asks. ‘Are you going to admit it?’

  ‘Do you love me? Do you?’ I ask, wiping away a drop that has trickled to my trembling chin.

  ‘Rhonda, for feck sake,’ Joe hisses.

  ‘Do you love me? It’s not a trick question. Even after the hell I’ve put you through since Faye was born – do you still love me?’

  Joe pulls a hand through his hair. He stares and whispers, ‘I’ve never stopped loving you. When are ya going to believe that?’

  I don’t answer as I rub the back of a hand across my cheek to remove a tear.

  ‘You don’t fully believe what Charlie tells you either. And you’re jealous of his love for Ella. Pull yourself together, Ronnie. People have been through much worse and they don’t sit in the dark mooching about their bad lives.’

  ‘That’s right.’ I choke out the words. ‘That’s right, Rhonda is always the ridiculous one, the one who’s going barmy. Rhonda is the one who doesn’t believe people, she’s the one who has problems that are stupid. I’m the burden that everyone thinks has a screw loose.’

  ‘Here we go with the drama again. You always have to make things worse. You make simple sentences turn into an argument. Stop turning and twisting everything.’

  ‘I love you,’ I tell his back as he grips the sink. ‘You don’t seem to worry about my feelings for you. You don’t need reassurance like I do.’ Tears choke me slightly and flow freely now. ‘Yes, I’m jealous of Charlie’s love for that Ella O’Brien. Does that make you happy? I’m jealous as hell. And he’s considered a great man despite all the wrongs he’s done. He thinks he can just waltz back into everyone’s lives and be accepted. No matter what he’s done – he’ll be forgiven. As he’s talking I empathise with his plight and feel his anguish. At the end of the day I’m angry with myself for allowing him to manipulate me into liking him. That makes me angry too. I know that wouldn’t happen for me. I’m not even forgiven a few bad days. I’m not forgiven for losing myself for a few months and for being uncertain about things. I’ve done nothing criminal, and still I am the one begging for love and forgiveness.’

  ‘Why can’t you just give in to liking the old sod and listen to his story without all of this anxiety?’ Joe asks, turning towards me. ‘What would be awful about simply loving, listening and believing someone?’ He grips my arms and lifts me into those strong arms. He smells like our bed; warm, safe and secure. ‘I love you, Rhonda. Stop with the hysterics and let’s go back to bed.’

  The kiss is the first passionate one we’ve had in months. I don’t want it to end. />
  29

  Charlie Quinn

  Rhonda has a notepad and a list of questions. She sucks on the tip of her pen thinking of how she’s going to broach the subject of having queries now about my ramblings. I don’t have time or interest in her concerns. Friday is fast approaching and Ella will be on national TV baring the truth to the nation. I need to have offloaded most of it by then.

  ‘I’m sure you have questions,’ I start. ‘I’m conscious that our time is running short. I still have a way to go before getting to the point of all of this.’

  Rhonda sighs.

  ‘All will become clear,’ I promise, as if she’s a child waiting on ice cream.

  ‘We know that Ella was taken in by the Sisters of Good Hope. That much has found its way to the tabloids. I doubt she became an actual nun?’ Rhonda says. ‘She won’t have been allowed to take vows after all she did? Women like her might be in the laundries or offices.’

  ‘Regardless, she’ll not have had any quality of life.’

  ‘Does she deserve one, Charlie?’

  ‘Do I? Did I?’

  Rhonda doesn’t know what to say as she breathes heavily and looks out into her garden. ‘Having Faye makes me think of what she did,’ Rhonda says. ‘I cannot dwell on it.’

  ‘Ireland was a different country then,’ I say, sniffing back the sadness she brought between us. ‘Ella might have been a totally different woman in today’s world.’

  ‘I cannot see how.’ Rhonda’s lips tighten together. She’s like the rest, consumed with hate, despite the drought of facts.

  ‘Ella is brave to come forward now and I am proud that she will try to speak out. I aim to help her.’

  ‘We will all find it hard to understand how you can still stick up for her and love her, unless you know what actually happened?’ Rhonda asks. ‘When might we get you to see her, I wonder?’

  ‘I worry that she will refuse to see me.’

  ‘If she does, I’m sure that will be hurtful.’

  ‘I deserve all that is coming. I hope that she gets some understanding and peace for raking over all of this.’

  ‘Is talking helping you, Charlie?’ Rhonda asks.

  ‘It’s strange hearing that name again. I like it. I’ve missed it.’

  ‘Despite your illness and all, you were right to come home and be heard as well. That young, unnamed girl who gave birth alone in the old bathing boxes near her home has started all this Ella interest again. The poor little baby almost died and the girl is being questioned. Every time there’s a case like this, Ella gets mentioned. It’s as if she’s never going to be forgotten.’

  I nod and hold my protruding gut which is hurting me particularly badly since she started this conversation. The lack of control about where Rhonda might take all of this bothers me. I know where we will end up and I want to get there my way. As always, I need to be in charge.

  ‘I’m wondering about a lot of things,’ Rhonda says. ‘I’m thinking of Randal. For some reason I want to know about him. He stays in my mind. It’s just that you stood into the Barnardo’s boys’ photograph too after The Lady Rose docked in St John’s, New Brunswick. We’ve got it blown up larger and the small blurred head is definitely you. Randal Hamilton is the name for your position in the photo. How is that?’

  ‘I told you I stole his things and then took his name.’

  ‘Where was Randal?’

  ‘I’d broken his nose and he was told to stand out as he was bandaged up and I stood in his place.’

  ‘Oh I see.’

  ‘You’re convinced he’s important?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t worry about him now,’ I say, getting crosser.

  ‘Did you write many letters home? Why did Cedric think you’d passed away?’

  ‘I never wrote home again. I disappeared from life into the wild Canadian prairies. Neither Polly nor Olga knew my real name or my past. If more letters came to the hotel I never collected them. I felt bad for a long time that I selfishly didn’t write again. Considering what was following me, I felt it for the best. I didn’t want Cedric to know the trouble I’d got myself into.’

  ‘Have you left family behind in Canada now who might be worried? I asked you that when you arrived, you didn’t answer me. Do you want to call them and let them know how you are?’

  ‘Charlie Quinn has always been a loner.’ This makes me sad again and I start that old-man crying I’ve been doing. It forces Rhonda into putting the kettle on and tossing her notepad away.

  ‘Click on that recording device like a good woman,’ I urge her, when I can catch a breath. I sip a soothing sup of very sweet, strong tea. ‘If you’re all ears I’ll tell you about what happened next.’

  30

  Charlie Quinn

  I was only about twenty-five years old when all hell broke loose at Kelly’s ranch. I should have known that it was only a matter of time before Polly found out about Olga. I was a young buck with no sense of loyalty left in him.

  I think Olga is like me in personality. She wanted to boast about her extra-marital partnering and she couldn’t tell a soul. Olga also resented Polly’s independence in the cabin. Polly had time alone with no in-laws looming over her, more importantly Polly had time alone with me.

  There had been a few family Christmases in the big house with no issue and for years life was going all my own way. I had become complacent and uncaring about their feelings.

  It was a Christmas Eve when Polly was visited by the boss’s wife. Olga was feeling barren and stifled and she laid out the truth to Polly good and proper. Poor Polly was distraught.

  I don’t recall the many conversations I endured afterwards. I was cruel and told Polly that she’d have to make do with the situation. Polly thought she might be pregnant at that time, and the mistress’s husband was both my enemy and overseer. There was no way Polly could make a scene about any of what she knew. We also weren’t married and she’d left a perfectly good business and prospects to be stuck with me, therefore she had little choice in the matter.

  I was brutish and unkind. I was a trapped animal and all I knew was to either run or fight. Don’t they call it fight or flight? And at that point, I couldn’t flee as the snow was many feet deep, we were expected at Old Mrs Kelly’s table, and I thought I had a baby on the way. I wasn’t going to leave another woman holding the problem I helped create. Polly was relieved to hear me say that I would be responsible and look after her and the possible baby. I also made it clear that the affair would have to continue as we’d have lost everything otherwise. I explained that I would try to escape from the liaisons in the new year but I couldn’t promise how Olga would react. We were in a pickle.

  Things continued on exactly as before. Each woman was unable to speak or cause a fuss for fear of what would happen to their own situations. The tension of being found out was a turn-on for the hot-blooded boyo, Charlie Quinn.

  In the middle of all of this following chaos, Polly miscarried. I’ve always wondered if Polly lied to me about some or all of this. Who could blame her, I suppose?

  I walked a tightrope of women’s emotions and it was only a matter of time before I would fall. In the middle of that mess I felt grief for my child with Ella. I didn’t acknowledge that at the time, and there was a lot of me hidden. With that and the disappointments – I was drained and unstable.

  Alcohol started to be a bedfellow of mine when the women and the past were all too much. The whisky heated me during the cold spells and cooled my annoyance during the humid summers. Where it loosened tongues for some men, I made sure from then on that it did the opposite to me. It tightened my lips and resolve.

  I also started to hit Polly when the walls closed me in and I couldn’t get to be with Olga. It was wrong to hurt such a lovely woman.

  Charlie Quinn wanted it all. He wanted freedom, and a family. One good woman was not enough for Charlie Bloody Quinn – he wanted two. He wished to be alone and in the wide-open spaces. There was nowhere he wa
s happy and even at the bottom of a bottle he found no solace.

  On the trail or being out with the herd meant I would dry out from the drink. There were only so many bottles I could fit on a chuckwagon along with the other supplies. In ways this was helpful. Once back with Polly though, I’d overindulge in the whisky and resentment.

  It was after one of the longest trips away that I came home and slept for days from booze and tiredness. It was Polly’s screams which woke me. I had my hands about her throat. Struggling to her feet, she managed to fend me off and made for the big house.

  It was Gus and Olga who came to Polly’s aid. They didn’t tell Tom about the ordeal. They arrived into the cabin and took care of everything. I hated that Gus had the upper hand and he saw me upset. He was in charge when I was weak and I was angry at his kindness towards my Polly.

  Again, the darkness descends on the bad times in my life and I remember snippets of those terrible days with Polly. It was easier to take off again, so I did. This time when I left for months, Olga and Polly came to some sort of arrangement or understanding in my absence. When I came back that time, Olga supported Polly. She called and took us food and invited Polly away into town in the truck.

  I got jealous. They weren’t supposed to console, or find solace in each other. I preferred when they just loved me. I was excluded. In a stupid way, I felt betrayed by them both. I knew it was me who was the untrustworthy partner and yet I was playing the victim.