OUT OF THE DARKNESS CHAPTER 2
Chapter 2
Erin and the Good Doctor
Erin was still wide awake when the alarm clock on the nightstand went off. She had hardly slept the night before and wondered how she would make it through the 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 those guttural moans and groans and squeaking bedsprings coming from behind the wall.
She had been living in this boarding house for many years now and wondered if she would ever find a way to afford a better place, having 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 big pink blob? If Dr. Kelly could see her now, what would he think? She wondered. But she felt in her heart he was probably in heaven now.
Erin didn't know who her mother and father were or what her actual birth date was. She was left at the entrance to the Saint John Orphanage when she was a baby. Had it not been for the continued ringing of the doorbell and Peter, the staff member who responded to it, she might have perished. Looking out into the rain, he caught a glimpse of a woman disappearing into the fog and heard whimpering from the bundle at his feet. Quickly, he delivered the whimpering baby to Doctor Kelly.
After examining her thoroughly, the in-house Doctor concluded the child was a newborn baby in good health. Judging by her colouring, he thought she was of Irish descent, like himself. The fact that she was wailing loud enough for the entire staff on the second floor to cover their ears was a good sign. Her pulse was strong and steady. There were no signs of hypothermia.
She had bright 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 on a day when sheets of rain fell from the sky and danced 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 Erin 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, married to the woman of his dreams, living in a house they had designed together.
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.
He felt God had forsaken him, denied him the one thing he wanted more than anything in life— a family. After all, hadn't he lived a life of purity, working long and hard, aspiring to be the best 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 giving 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. There he stayed, day after day, reliving the life they once shared as he fell deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit of depression. He dreaded the nights when sleep only brought a recurring 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, gradually turning his depression into anger. And it was this anger that finally restored his will to live and lifted the fog from his mind, and allowed him to see he had become a prisoner to his past—chained to a house that reminded him constantly of a life that no longer existed. And it was this anger that finally set him free from the hell he had been living in.
With the proceeds from selling his 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 core of the city of Saint John. 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 and all it had to offer. He especially loved King Square, situated at the head of King Street high over the harbour. That Square became his favourite place to spend his idle hours on the walkways laid out in a pattern like the Union Jack flag, where he sat on the benches, watching people meander among the beautiful trees and gardens, surrounding the fountains and monuments.
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 from around the world, brought in by the Tall Ships.
The next few months were a much-needed time for emotional healing, during which his desire to serve others was gradually rekindled. He no longer wished to spend his days lolly-gagging in King Square or dilly-dallying in the City Market. He had done it so often that 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 in line with a service he could provide to the city.
It was almost a year to the day since he had moved to the city, while scanning the Saint John Telegraph-Journal for business opportunities, that he spotted a picture of a familiar face and name. Oh my God! he thought as grief, regret, and guilt washed over him. Doctor Andrew McHugh, the in-house physician at the Saint John Protestant Orphanage, the man who had been his mentor, had passed away.
Doctor McHugh 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 is what he knew he must do now, move forward. The self-pity party was over. He would bring honour to the legacy the Great Doctor McHugh had given him.
The orphanage, as he found out, did indeed need a replacement for Dr. McHugh. Within weeks, he was settled back in his childhood home, but no longer the orphan from years ago, but the in-house doctor, committed to the work his mentor had started.
Now he stood, all these years later, cradling this beautiful child in his arms. God did work in mysterious ways, he thought to himself. 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 Erin's endless wailing finally subsided.
No longer did she back away from the human touch, especially from the arms of Dr. Kelly, who reached down in her crib in the evening when everyone was in bed and gathered her up and held her against his warm chest.
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. She loved it when he sang Irish lullabies to her until she fell asleep.
Many had come to the orphanage during the early years of Erin's life in hopes of finding the perfect child, and would fall in love with this high-spirited little girl with raven-coloured hair and beautiful green eyes, and a smile that could melt an iceberg, only to be turned away upon hearing of her incurable heart condition. In actuality, this condition did not exist. It was a lie fabricated 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.
Yes, He knew what it meant to be an orphan, having been the only one in his family to survive an outbreak of typhoid fever that killed over 600 immigrants who inhabited Partridge Island between 1847 and December 1852. His family had immigrated to New Brunswick to escape the Great Famine that had swept through Ireland, killing over a million people, only to die of typhoid in a strange land 2 years later.
Now, all these years later, Erin, after bathing, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair, rubbed Vaseline on the inside of her ample thighs. They were red and raw from rubbing together on the walks to her various clients' houses during the heatwave.
It looked like this day was going to be another scorcher, so she tucked the jar of Vaseline into her tote bag. Then she 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 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 and left her room, locking the door behind her as she hurried to the dining room. Mrs. Hatfield was a great cook, but it was first-come, first-served, so Erin had to rise early to get to the breakfast table before the other boarders.
There, she grabbed a plate from the warming rack and heaped it with four fried eggs, four sausages, four slices of bacon, and a mound of hash-brown potatoes. Then she topped it off with two pieces of toast from the warming oven. She managed to down all that plus two glasses of orange juice before any of the other boarders showed up. After a few friendly greetings to the other patrons, she cleared her dishes from the table, placed them on the kitchen counter, and headed for the front door.
The minute she stepped outside onto 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 as she wiped the stringy strands of hair from her face.
No sooner had she done that than 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 distorted her vision.
God, if this keeps up, I'll be as blind as that crazy bat on the hill, she thought.
“There she sits like a Queen in her ivory tower, expecting me to kiss her rosy red arse while I live like a popper in a dump. She, with that fancy car that's of no use to her, while I walk until I nearly drop in this scorching heat. God Almighty, 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. But no, that crazy 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 she mumbled to herself as she made her way to the foot of King Street. By the time she turned onto 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 herself onward. The truth of the matter was, as she knew in her heart, she had no one to blame but herself. Yes, it was true that the new in-house Doctor had exposed the lie about her having a heart condition, making her available for adoption. A few families had taken her on a trial basis, but brought her back as they said she was too high—spirited and too hard to handle.
She didn’t want to be adopted; she wanted to stay in the orphanage until Dr. Kelly recovered and came back, but that never happened. At the age of eighteen, the orphanage had found her permanent employment through a work program—releasing her from their legal obligation—she was no longer a ward of the province.
Suddenly, her life had been turned upside down. The holier-than-thou Christian family that gainfully employed her immediately took her to their farm across the border, in New Hampshire, used her as a workhorse, used food as a weapon to control her, and nearly starved her to death, and the Mr. had on more than one occasion raped her out in the barn. The Mrs., having found this out, had beaten her severely with a horse whip. She still wore the scars. But she had survived, escaped, and reclaimed control over her life. With that realization, she vowed once again 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 ahead. How in the name of God, she wondered, was she going to make it up to the top?
“One step at a time, one step at a time,” she repeated 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.
Annabelle’s house sat on the ridge above Paradise Row, as did the rest of the mansions on that street.
Each had stairs leading up to their front entrance—many, many stairs, as Erin knew all too well. If one were to follow Paradis Row to its end, they could enter the homes through their back entrances, thereby avoiding having to climb the stairs. This, however, was not for anyone on foot, as Paradise Row in length was a fair distance; that entrance was for those who lived in the mansions, those with their fancy cars.
By the time she mounted the first dozen steps to the first landing, she had to stop to catch her breath.
After another few minutes, she stopped at the foot of the second landing of the 48 stairs. Holding on to the rod-iron railing, she looked up at an old mansion that had seen better days. Sweat was running down the inside of her upper thighs. She sat down on the stairs, spread her legs, and lifted her dress enough to let out the hot air, but it brought no relief. Any hope of finding a cool breeze on this sweltering day was impossible. After a few minutes of rest, she made it to the top of the next landing.
Again, she sat down and looked down at the city below. No matter how many times she had seen it at this height, she was still dazzled by its beauty. 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 and sat there for a minute to catch her breath.
Using the material from her dress, she wiped the sweat from the inside of her thighs. Then, taking the jar of Vaseline from her tote bag, she opened the lid and applied the ointment as needed. Standing up and turning her body toward the house, she caught a flash of movement in the porthole window. She knew this window was the attic window. It wasn't the first time she had seen this.
What the hell is she doing up there? She wondered. “I'll find out one of these days,” she vowed, then, reaching into her tote bag, found her keys and headed for the front door.
CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 3
Comments