OUT OF THE DARKNESS - CHAPTER 2

Ava was still wide awake when the alarm clock on the nightstand went off. She had hardly slept during the night and wondered how she would manage to make it through this day. The noise from the adjoining room had carried through the paper-thin walls all night.

She had knocked on the wall several times, asking the occupants on the other side to keep the noise down, but to no avail. Finally, she plugged her ears with cotton balls and pulled the pillow over her head, but nothing she did shut out the sound of the guttural moans and groans and squeaking bed-springs.

She had been living in this boarding house for nearly two years now and wondered if she would ever find a way to afford to move to a better place. She had long since given up her dream of marriage, a house in the country, a dog, and a vegetable garden.

Slipping out of her sweat-soaked nightie, letting it drop to the floor, she turned and saw herself in the full-length mirror. No matter how many times she saw her naked body, it shocked her. How had she become this huge pink blob? If Dr. Kelly could see her now, what would he think, she wondered?

Ava didn't know who her mother and father were and didn't know her actual birth date. It was a staff member at the Saint John Orphanage who found her after answering the doorbell at the front entrance. Looking out into the rain, he caught a glimpse of a woman disappearing into the fog and heard the whimpering sounds coming from the bundle at his feet. Quickly, he delivered the whimpering baby to Doctor Kelly.

As far as the in-house Doctor could tell, she was a newborn baby in good health. A beautiful baby, he thought and judging by her colouring, of Irish descent like himself.

The fact that she was wailing loud enough for the entire staff on the second floor to hear, was a good sign. Her pulse was strong and steady. There were no signs of hypothermia. It was apparent she had not been left in the cold for long.

She had beautiful eyes that reminded him of his wife's eyes. Immediately he was overcome with a sea of emotions and memories so bittersweet they brought tears to his eyes. He knew he would love and protect this child until the day he died.

It was the twelfth day of October 1890 when sheets of rain fell from the sky and danced and skirted across the orphanage grounds through a veil of grey fog, that Doctor Kelly issued a birth certificate for this precious child.

Without a moment of hesitation, in the blank space provided for the child's name, he wrote Ava Kelly, the namesake of his dearly departed wife.

There had been a time, many years before, when he had been a successful doctor with a private practice. He had met and married the women of his dreams. They lived in a house they had designed together. He couldn't imagine life any other way. He felt he was truly blessed. Then one day, it all came to an abrupt end.

He had been out on a house call, tending to the needs of a pregnant patient when his wife, without warning, nearing the end of her first trimester, miscarried. In the days following, she went into septic shock, and he, with all the tools of his trade and the latest medical technology, was unable to save her. She died cradled in his arms with his tears on her face.

It seemed God had forsaken him, denied him the one thing he wanted more than anything from life: a family. After all, hadn't he lived a life of purity, working long and hard, aspiring to be the best that he could be, abiding by the ten commandments?

During the year that followed, he sold his medical practice. What good was all the medical knowledge and procedures he had learned in medical school when none of it had been able to save the woman he loved more than anything in the world? Her dying words were of her love for him and her regret for not being able to give him a child. On the day of her death, his will to help others also died.

He continued to live in the house they had built together. He could not bear the thought of leaving it. Her spirit was still there in every nook and cranny.

So there he sat day after day, reliving the life they once shared as he fell deeper and deeper into a depression. He dreaded the nights where sleep only brought a reoccurring dream of his failure to save her.

To avoid this dream, he spent many sleepless nights waging war against what he now perceived to be a cruel, vengeful God as blasphemy spewed from his lips like thunder.

It was his anger that finally brought him out of the depression that had consumed him for so long. It was that anger that restored his will to live. It was that anger that lifted the fog from his mind, allowing him to see what he must do.

With the money garnered from the sale of the house and medical practice, he figured he had enough money to live comfortably for a few years.

After much scouting, he found a penthouse flat on Queen Street in the heart of the city. It was a large flat with bay windows overlooking the harbour at the foot of King Street. A stairwell in the hallway led up and out onto the roof of the building where, on warm sunny days, he spent many hours watching the tall ships in the harbour come and go.

He loved this Loyalist city, Saint John, and all it had to offer, especially King Square, situated at the head of King Street high over the harbour. That Square became his favourite place to spend his idle hours. There amid the countless Maple and Willow trees, gardens, monuments, and fountains on the many walkways laid out in a pattern like the Union Jack flag, he would sit people-watching while he contemplated his future.

The City Market was his second favourite place to spend time. He would go there on his way home from King Square. It ran a city block between North and South Market Street. There he could buy locally grown produce and merchandise brought in by the Tall Ships from around the world.

The next few months were a much needed time for emotional healing, as with each passing day, he found his desire to be of service to others, returning. No longer did he wish to spend his days lolly-gagging in King Square of dilly-dallying in the City Market; he had done it so often, it no longer brought him the same pleasure it once had. It was time to move on with his life. But what was he to do? Perhaps he would buy or start a small business, something where he could provide a needed service to the city.

It was almost a year to the day after moving to the city while scanning through the Saint John Telegraph-Journal newspaper that he spotted in the obituaries a very familiar name. Oh my God, he thought as grief, regret, and guilt washed over him. Doctor Andrew McLeod, the in-house physician at the Saint John Protestant Orphanage, the man who had been his mentor, had passed away.

Doctor McLeod had been like a father to him, had paid his way through medical school. And what had he done in return? He had thrown it all away.

Now, he realized just how selfish he had been. In his time of grief, he had shut that wonderful man out, had broken every promise to get together with him. Shame on me, he thought as tears slid down his face.

He spent the rest of that morning recalling the life he had shared with that great man and wished he could turn back time. But time, he knew only went in one direction: forward. And, that , he knew is what he must do...move forward. The self-pity party was over. He would bring honour to the legacy the Great Doctor had given him.

The Great Doctor had always told him that God worked in mysterious ways. So, God Willing, he would return to his childhood home at The Saint John Orphanage and continue the work of his mentor.

Now all these years later, he stood there cradling in his arms that beautiful child named after his wife. As he looked down at her, he thought to himself: Yes! God surely did work in mysterious ways.

The orphanage that had been home to him, in his youth, was now and would forever be his home, and the staff and orphans were and would forever be his family, and the child he held in his arms, was, his gift from God.

As days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, baby Ava's endless wailing finally subsided. No longer did she back away from the human touch, especially from the arms that reached down in her crib in the evening when everyone was in bed and gathered her up and held her against his warm chest.

Oh! How she loved being rocked by him in the old Victorian rocker close to the window where the streetlights outside gave just enough light to see in the otherwise dark room while he sang Rock a Bye Baby to her until she fell asleep.

By the age of two, Ava was a high-spirited little girl with black curls and strikingly beautiful blue eyes. All who knew her could not help but love her. As one caregiver proclaimed, her smile could melt an iceberg.

Many had come to the orphanage during the early years of Ava's life in hopes of finding the perfect child and finding just that in her, were turned away upon hearing of her incurable heart condition.

In actuality, this condition did not exist. It was a falsehood perpetrated by the good Doctor himself the day he unwrapped that rain-soaked bundle of wool and found what he had longed for all those years. He, who had never remarried, he who had chosen instead to devote his life to these orphans.

Yes! He knew what it was to be an orphan. His family had come from Ireland to escape the Great Famine in Ireland, only to die from a Typhus outbreak while quarantined at Partridge Island.

Now at the age of forty-three, he was a happy man fulfilling his life's calling. He was a man who had against all the odds, made his way in the world.
~~~

After bathing and brushing her teeth and combing her hair, Ava rubbed Vaseline on the inside of her ample thighs.

They were red and raw from rubbing together on the long trek to work in the heat. And, It looked like this day was going to be another scorcher, so she tucked the jar of Vaseline in her tote-bag. She then took the cotton dress she had washed the night before from the make-shift clothesline that stretched across the room and slipped it over her head. Already it was sticking to her body as she tugged and pulled at it to get it over her ample bosoms and hips.

From the nightstand beside the bed, a framed photograph of Doctor Kelly stared at her with a look she perceived to be as pity. Turning her back on him, she slipped her pudgy feet into a pair of sandals she hoped would hold together until she could afford to buy a new pair.

She could smell the bacon and eggs Mrs. Hatfield was cooking in the kitchen, and quickly left her room, locking the door behind her as she scurried to the dining room. Mrs. Hatfield was a great cook, but it was first come, first served, so Ava made sure she got there before anyone else.

She grabbed a plate from the warming wrack and heaped it with four fried eggs, five sausages, six pieces of bacon and, a mound of hash-brown potatoes. Then she topped it off with four slices of toast from the warming oven. All that, plus two glasses of orange juice, she managed to down before the other boarders began to show up. After a few friendly greetings back and forth, she cleared her dishes from the table and put them on the kitchen counter, then made her way to the front door.

The minute she stepped outside and on to the sidewalk, she knew she was in for another godawful scorcher of a day. Already she could feel the heat rising from the pavement through the thin worn soles of her sandals.

By the time she got to King Square, she was sweating.

"Keerist," she mumbled between laboured breaths as she wiped wet stringy strands of hair from her face. No sooner had she done that, then her eyes began to sting from the salt in her body-sweat that had gotten into them. Without thinking, she began to rub them, but this only made them hurt more, and not only that, now her vision was distorted.

"God," she thought. "If this keeps up, I'll be as blind as that old bat up there on the hill. There she sits like a Queen in a mansion with all her bags of money. And I, the one who kisses her rosy red arse and waits on her hand and foot, lives like a popper in a dump. There she is with a perfectly good car that's of no use to her, while I walk til I nearly drop in this scorching heat. God! Where is the justice in this world"? Don't you think it would occur to her to let me live with her in that big old house and let me have one of those six empty bedrooms? God only knows I've dropped enough hints. Oh no! that old bat conveniently loses her hearing whenever I try to bring that subject up. Well! her day will come, mark my words, her day will come!"

All these thoughts ran through her mind as she made her way to the foot of King Street. By the time she turned on to Prince William Street, the inside of her thighs felt like they were on fire.

"If only my legs weren't so fat, she thought. If only Doctor Kelly hadn't come down with tuberculosis".

With salty-tears, mingled with anger and despair, she pushed onward.

The truth of the matter was (as she knew in her heart), she had no one to blame but herself. Yes! The new in-house Doctor had exposed the lie about her having a heart condition making her desirable for adoption. And yes! The holier-than-thou family that adopted her used her as a work-horse. And yes! They had used food as a weapon to control her. And yes! She had nearly starved to death. And Yes! The master of the house had repeatedly molested her during the four years she lived there. But she was out of there now. Now she was the one in charge of her life. And with that realization, she vowed to lose all the excess weight that was dragging her down.

After crossing the viaduct, she came to the foot of the road leading up to Paradise Row and began the long trek up. She wondered how in the name of God, she was going to make it up to the top.

"One step at a time, one step at a time," she repeated over and over as she moved higher and higher above the city.

By the time she reached the top of the road, she was exhausted and drenched in sweat.

"I'm almost there," she thought, as she turned left onto Paradise Row.

After another five minute trek, she stopped at the foot of the four landings and 48 stairs she needed to navigate. Holding on to the rod-iron railing, she looked up at an old mansion that had seen better days.

By the time she mounted the first dozen steps to the first landing, she had to stop to catch her breath. Sweat was running down the inside of her upper thighs. She sat down on the twelfth stair, spread her legs apart, lifted her dress enough to let the hot air out. But it brought no relief. Any hope of finding a cool breeze on this sweltering day was impossible.

After a few minutes rest, she made it to the top of the second landing. Again, she sat down and looked down at the city below. She had never realized before just how beautiful this city was. Even the South end, where she lived, looked beautiful from up here, She thought.

One step at a time, one step at a time, she repeated out loud as she finally scaled the last landing. For several minutes she sat there waiting for her pulse rate to return to normal.

Using the material from her dress, she wiped the sweat from the inside of her thighs. From her tote bag, she took the jar of Vaseline and applied as needed. Then standing and turning toward the house, she caught a flash of movement in the porthole window. She new this window was where the attic of the house was.

It wasn't the first time she had seen this. She had suspected for some time that Annabelle was spending a lot of time in the attic.

"What the hell is she doing up there," she wondered? "One of these days, I'll find out," she vowed as she made her way to the front door.

FOR THE CONTINUATION OF THIS STORY...GO TO CHAPTER 3

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