Alex : Chapter Twenty

   

                  Many Meetings

For three days Alex drifted between sleep and delirium. George told Maureen and Rebecca that they should prepare themselves for the worst. He took Peter aside and explained that Alex was gravely ill.  He did not go further hoping that the boy would understand what that might mean. If Peter did he showed no sign of it to the doctor.On the morning of the fourth day, just after nine, in a dry whisper Alex asked Rebecca for a glass of water.

He had hardly finished his first sip before demanding to see three people, Peter, Maureen and Ian Campbell. Rebecca told him to lie still and not be an old fool. What he needed was rest not visitors. Alex replied by cursing and declaring that if she would not bring them he would.  Afraid that upsetting him would do more harm than complying with his wishes she went off to fetch Peter and Maureen. She then sent Jacob into Kilmarnock with a message to Ian to come.

Alex’s bullying did not impress George. He insisted upon examining the old man before consenting to his having visitors. Maureen and Rebecca waited outside Alex’s door.  When George emerged he told them that Alex was strong enough for visitors if the visits were kept short.  “He is not in pain at the moment. The fever is gone. Where he finds his strength is something I can’t explain.  It’s only a reprieve, mind.” George cautioned.  “But while it lasts I can’t see why he shouldn’t have as normal a life as possible.”

As he lay in bed Alex thought about what would come during the next few weeks. He had three, perhaps four weeks of effective consciousness left. After that the pain would reach such intensity that the opium needed to counter it would rob his mind of any clarity of thought. Before that happened his defenses would have to be in place .

He considered calling Peter and Maureen in together. He would demand, as a favor to himself, that each accept the other as members of the same family.  It had been a pleasant image, Alex lying in bed dictating his terms, Maureen and Peter so guilt-stricken that they would comply with whatever he demanded.  It would never have worked though.  He had always found the final scene of reconciliation in Romeo and Juliet a bit far-fetched. He suspected that a Montague would have picked a fight with a Capulet on the way home from the funeral. Peter and Maureen could not be forced to like each other. Besides, how would Peter react once he knew the truth about Alex’s

condition. He would have to be told but how?  It would have to be in a way that would allow him to consider the

 McKays as friends. He could not do that with Maureen standing there pouting and feeling slighted.

When Maureen and Peter arrived Alex asked to speak with Peter first.  Maureen, about to protest that by right of blood she should have precedence, thought better of it. “I’ll wait outside uncle.”

The boy, Alex noticed, had taken on color, probably from being outside. A good sign he thought. He waited until Maureen had closed the door.

“Sit, lad.”

Peter settled himself into the large chair besides Alex’s bed. “You are feeling better now? We can go home now?”

                                “You see the books,” Alex asked him, pointing at the bookshelves lining the walls of his room.  “This is our home now.”

“No.” Peter shook his head. “I don’t like it here. We will go back when you are better, yes?”

Alex patted the back of Peter’s hand. “Lad, I’m not getting any better.”

“That’s not true.” Peter remembered the lies that Doctor McKay had told him. The doctor had told the same lies to Alex.  “You will be better.”

“Old men do not get younger,” said Alex.

“I can work. I can take care of you.”

“Aye. I know you can but I need Doctor McKay’s help as well, as I need Mrs. McKay’s.”

“No. She doesn’t like you.”

“She was angry and she did something that she is sorry for. Haven’t you ever done something like that?”

Peter remembered his shouting at Alex as the man collapsed from pain but that was different. He had not meant it as she had.

“You can’t judge a person by one moment in their life.  It’s not fair. You do as she bids. You are to help her and Rebecca and the doctor in any way that you can. You gave your word to serve me. Remember that.”

“But I didn’t give it to them,” whispered Peter afraid that they might overhear.  “I gave it to you.”

“And I’m holding you to it. You’ll bide here. You’ll mind your manners and you’ll do as you’re bid.  Now you can spend some afternoons and evenings with me but I don’t want any complaints from anyone about your behaviour. Do you understand?”

 “Yes sir.”

“Good. One other thing. I may be asking you to do some odd-sounding things over the next few days. Do I have your word that you will obey me in all things?”

Peter did not know what Alex meant but understanding did not matter. “Yes.”

“Good lad.” Alex smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t be asking you to break the law.”

“When can I see you again?”

“Soon lad. This evening perhaps. You ask Doctor McKay about it. Now go back to your chores.”

After Peter left he considered what he would say to Maureen. He would ask her to give Peter time to settle in and remind her of her promise to do something for the boy. Peter’s attack had done great harm but any feelings of contriteness on her part might offset that. His plan had one flaw. Maureen had her own priorities. 

             She remained beside the room of his door, her face down her hands folded in penitence. “Alex, I am so   . . .”

Alex waved her in. “That’s over now, Maureen. My fault as much as yours.”

“I had no right to hit you.”

“It’s all right lass. Doesn’t matter. Come in.”

Maureen closed the door and sat beside him. Alex was about to begin when from out of the pocket of her dress Maureen pulled out an old black notebook and placed it on Alex’s lap. She opened it to reveal a circlet of tissue-wrapped flowers.  “I think this is yours,” she said.

Alex peered at it through his spectacles. He should have burned those damn envelopes he told himself as he touched the dried petals. He should have burned them all months ago.

“I found the envelopes. Alex. All the things that I gave you, all hidden away.”

He stroked the dried petals as he tried to think of what to say.  Anger shook his voice. “You have no right… no right at all to go through a man’s things.”

“Why did you keep them, Alex?”

Alex’s anger faded. He had to find a way of steering the conversation towards the subject of Peter.

“Maureen . . . I wanted you . . .”

Maureen pressed on. “I was five years old when I made it. Why did you keep it?”

“It was all so long ago.”

Maureen placed her right hand in his. “I know that you love me, Alex. I am sorry for what I did but I did it because I was angry, thinking all those years that you had never wanted me. You always kept my gifts, my letters, everything except me. Why?”

Accepting the possibility that he could be found out Alex had considered various stories to tell. He had three factors in his favor. He was dying and could therefore plead tiredness or pain allowing him to keep the story short and vague. Second, Maureen would want a story that would fit with what she knew of her father. The third was that all women were sentimentalists at heart. Why would an old man keep a gift from a child? She was his niece, as dear to him as life itself. It sounded a bit maudlin but would serve as a beginning. “You’re my niece. Why shouldn’t I keep it?”

“My mother and father didn’t. Why hide it as if you were pretending that you didn’t care?”

The most irritating thing about Maureen thought Alex was that she never knew when to stop. “I didn’t want to come between you and the memory of James. An old man’s foolishness, Maureen. I am sorry for that.”

“You must have loved my father very much?”

“Aye.”

“Alex, all of this . . . ” She was about to say deception but decided that it would be impolite, “Belittling or hiding of your own emotions to protect my feelings for my father, it was all unnecessary. Why couldn’t you . . .” 

“Lass, I’m tired.”

“Just another question, please, uncle.”

Alex let out a low dramatic sigh. “Well?”

“Why didn’t you come to my wedding? I’ve never understood that uncle. Was it the illness?”

 “No, at least not entirely.”

“Then why?”

“Lass, I haven’t been out of Kilmarnock in eight years. I never leave if I can help it.”

“For your own niece’s wedding? You would have been back in two days at most.”

“And if during those two days a child died that I could have saved, what would I tell its mother?” Alex paused to place the notebook and circlet of flowers on the nightstand. “Besides would you have wanted me there?”

Maureen thought of how she had dreaded his appearing in his clumsy shabbiness, shaming her in front of George’s relations. She had also delayed the ceremony for two hours hoping that he would appear. “Yes. I did want you there. If you had explained yourself I could have moved it to Kilmarnock but you never did. You never do.”

Alex slipped a note of tired pleading into his voice. “Maureen, please. There is something else that I would like to discuss with you.”

Maureen reminded herself that she should not overtax his strength. “Of course.”

“I wanted to know, lass, what you think about Peter. You’ve had time to know him a little better now, haven’t you?”

That thing always came first with Alex. “I suppose I have.” She tried to keep her voice free of her dislike for Peter.  What else could she say? Maureen had felt his fists striking her as he had fought against whatever demons lived inside him. She recalled the pain and fear caused by his attack. The child was not in his right mind. She therefore pitied him. She could say two things in his favor. He was a hard worker. Jacob had told her that he seemed a serious-minded lad not like some with whom he had worked. Peter’s devotion to Alex seemed genuine. Still none of that changed her basic conviction. The boy remained too great a danger to keep at Kilmarnock Hill.  “He is willing enough when it comes to his work.”

“Aye, well that’s fine.”  Take whatever comfort you can Alex. “I wanted to appoint you and George as his legal guardians.You have no objection, I hope?”

Maureen did but did not say so. She remembered what George had told her about her driving Alex away when he had asked for a favor. “No. Of course not but you needn’t concern yourself yet uncle. Give yourself a few days to rest before worrying about such things.”

“Aye. I’ll rest now.” Alex closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Maureen pecked him on the forehead and slipped out of the room.  Once she was gone Alex opened his eyes. My God he thought. Once that woman gets started she never stops. He closed his eyes again as he heard Rebecca coming in to sit with him.

***  

Ian scratched his head. Why Alex wished to see him was as much a mystery to Ian as it was to everyone else in Kilmarnock Hill. “It’s not as if I’m family” he told Anna and Rebecca as he sipped a cool glass of lemonade.

“Alex always did have a strange definition of family,” Anna sniffed. She quieted at a look from her mother.

Ian found Peter sitting next to Alex reading to him from Gulliver’s Travels. Alex thanked Ian for coming. He tapped the boy’s right shoulder. “Peter go to the kitchen and see if you can help Rebecca.” 

The two men waited until Peter had finished dragging his feet out of the room.

“Lock the door, Ian.”

Puzzled, Ian did so.  “Alex . . .”

“Hush.”

Only after Peter’s feet ceased sounding on the stairs did Alex begin. He started with a question that Ian considered of questionable taste.

“How many people know that I’m dying?”

Bad luck to talk of such things thought Ian. “Alex you’re not dying. You’ll be as right as . . .”

”Don’t be a bloody fool,” snapped Alex. “How many?”

                “Well there’s talk throughout the district but it’s just a rumor.”

“It’s not a rumor, Ian.  But that’s not why you’re here. I want you to do two things for me.”

“I will if I can.”

Alex lay back. He could feel the pain returning but he did not want the opium yet. “Take a letter to Judge Strachan tomorrow.  I was going to Perth to give it to him but you’ll have to do it for me.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“There’s one other thing. Bring Paisley here.”

“Paisley?” Ian knew the man, a writer fellow who was spending the summer in Kilmarnock, not a bad type from what he had seen of him, a good judge of horseflesh.

“Aye.” Alex debated how much he could tell Ian. He would need help. Ian had to know just enough to want to help. “He works for Radek.” 

Bewildered Ian sat back in his chair and tried to think.  He could not imagine a more dissimilar man to Radek than Paisley.  A friendly sort and a regular churchgoer, Paisley was not above standing a man a drink.

“Every day.” said Alex, “he posts a letter to Kingston on the morning coach. The letters go to an attorney. A Mister George Chapman. Do you remember him, Ian?”

Chapman had been the attorney Ian had written his letter to, the letter that had brought Radek to Kilmarnock. “Aye.”

“Ask Joe Morris about the letters. I’ve also received a letter from Chapman. Paisley’s letters are forwarded to a company in New York City. Guess who the director is.”

“Radek?”

“Paisley is Radek’s spy.”

Ian stood. “I’ll have a word with Mister Paisley. He’ll be on the next steamboat out. I promise you that.”

“Sit. You’ll do no such thing.”

“But Alex . . .”

“The man has broken no law. He has a perfect right to use her majesty’s mail. Besides he may not know

anything about the boy. You’ll leave him alone.”

Ian sat looking very disgruntled. “Then why mention this to me?” he grumbled.

“Two reasons. First, Mister Paisley is our barometer.”

“Our what?”

“Barometer. An instrument, Ian, used to show a rise or fall in air pressure.  Seamen use it for predicting storms. If Paisley is busy writing his letters I know that all is well. If he should suddenly disappear, receive visitors or stop sending letters, then something is in the wind. Don’t molest him. Be friendly but watch him.”

“If you say so. What’s the other reason?”

“If anything should happen to me or to the boy, Paisley is the only one apart from you and possibly Chapman who can testify to the connection between Peter and Radek. We may need him as a material witness so treat him with respect. Now go and tell him that I’ve invited him for a visit. I’ve always wanted to have a chat with a literary man.”

“Are you certain about this, Alex?”

“I’m not certain about anything. Just do it.”

Over Rebecca’s protests Alex insisted upon meeting with Paisley. Rebecca could not understand why a man so ill should insist upon receiving a stranger.

“You don’t even know him.”

“I’ve never had the chance to meet a professional writer before. It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

“You’d think he was Mister Dickens the way you’re carrying on,” she complained as she and Peter helped Alex to put on his coat.

“You’ve always said that I should be more sociable, Rebecca. Well now I am.  Have the tea and cake brought up when he arrives.”

Still grumbling Rebecca left for the kitchen. Doctor McKay might be agreeable to this nonsense. She was not.  A man in Alex’s position should be concerned with more serious matters.

When Paisley was led upstairs by Rebecca he more than half-expected a trap awaiting him in the old man’s room.  MacTavish, having discovered that he was a spy, had decided to inflict some terrible vengeance upon him. He knew the idea to be ridiculous. MacTavish was neither a Fenian nor a miscreant. He was a dying old man who wished to spend a few minutes chatting about literature. MacTavish and his adopted son playing chess was hardly an ominous sight.

The old man seemed skeletal, his flesh so pale as to be almost transparent. Although not as feeble as when Paisley had last seen him, unconscious on the back of McKay’s wagon, it seemed to Paisley that MacTavish would not be in this world much longer. Still the old fellow seemed cheerful enough. He rose to greet his visitor, an attempt so labored that it confirmed Paisley’s belief that he would soon be on his way back to Molly. 

“Pleased that you could come, Mister Paisley. I’ve been looking forward to inviting you for a chat but other things prevented it.”

“Quite understandable sir. I hear that you’ve not been well. Nothing serious I trust?”

Alex shrugged. “The curse of old age. Have a seat, please.” He pointed at an empty chair. “You must try some of Rebecca’s ginger cake. She has always had a deft hand with sweets. Unfortunately I’m not allowed to indulge anymore but please help yourself.”

The two men chatted for a few minutes about events in Kilmarnock, the news in the British Whig, the Baldwin Municipal Act and the possible extension of the American railroad system into Canada. Alex then asked Mister Paisley’s opinion, as a literary man, about some of his favorite writers. Alex wished to know how he would compare the newer writers to those popular in Alex’s youth. Thackeray to Scott for example. Dickens, Alex considered overrated. Thackeray seemed to have a keener perception of the human condition. Had Mister Paisley done much reading of American writers, Hawthorne for instance?

Paisley munched on the cake and replied in vague generalities stating that most people seemed to prefer modern writers because they were new, “don’t you know.”

If this is a literary man, thought Alex, then I am an elephant.  He told Peter to go downstairs and help Rebecca. When Peter had gone he resumed.   “Don’t you find it difficult Mister Paisley being the outsider in Kilmarnock?  I know how closed in and suspicious a small town such as this can be towards an outsider, especially as deep into the bush as we are.”

“Everyone has been very kind sir.”

“Still, it’s not easy. I’ve always been a bit of an outsider myself, more through temperament than anything else. My son, Peter, he’s adopted. He’s a stranger here just as you are.  You might say the three of us are pretty much birds of the same feather.”

“I find it hard to think of you as a stranger here sir. I understand you were a founder of the settlement. Surely if anyone belonged here it would be you.”

“Residing in a place doesn’t always mean that you belong there. The point that I’m trying to make sir is that being an outsider can be very difficult. In the old days back in Scotland or Ireland if an outbreak of disease occurred or if a serious crime happened, the outsider would be the one to be accused. Not very fair don’t you think?”

“People being people you have to expect that. Human nature, ain’t it?”

Alex nodded. “Very much so, and human nature is very slow to change. Most of these people brought the old ways of thinking with them. Scots, Irish, neither have changed much. Now suppose, just for argument’s sake that a serious crime was to be committed in Kilmarnock, a robbery or homicide, at whom would people point?  The outsider, us, Mister Paisley.”

The cake in Mister Paisley’s mouth had lost its flavor Was MacTavish just rambling or did he have a point to make?  Paisley could not help feeling that MacTavish was trying to warn him but about what?  He smiled and wiped the crumbs from his lips. “Well, we’d better hope that nothing like that happens while I’m here.”

“Will you be here much longer, Mister Paisley?”

“Not much longer I should think. A couple of weeks. I haven’t decided.”

Alex smiled. “I’ll look forward to speaking with you again before you leave.”

  Pleading tiredness, which was true, Alex regretted that he could not continue with their little chat. Alex waited until Paisley had gone before sinking back into his chair. His body shook as waves of pain surged through it.

What the hell was that all about Paisley wondered as he rode back.  Had MacTavish been accusing him of something, all that talk about the outsider being the prime suspect. Paisley had been a police officer. He knew that community members and relatives committed most crimes, not outsiders. Anyway who was planning to commit a crime here? No one, as far as he knew. He admitted that there was more to the man than he had first thought but how much more?  That was the problem with this business. It made you suspicious of everyone.