Sara’S Lullaby

By W. Bennett

In 1895, the OGrady family is forced to flee Ireland. They arrive in the town of Ardara, in Canada, where they purchase a small hotel. Their turbulent marriage produces one child, Michael. He in turn sires an illegitimate daughter, Sara. Both Sara and her baby are murdered.

In 1969, summer student Mattie Armstrong arrives in Ardara. He rents a room in a boardinghouse, which happened to be Sara OGradys old bedroom. He soon discovers that her spirit still resides there. Sara reaches out to Mattie for help in finding justice.

Its 1999 and the boardinghouse is now a B&B. Mattie has returned with his wife, Trisha, and their marriage is in trouble. They take a room, Matties onetime bedroom. Over a span of twenty-four hours, he tells Trisha of his time spent there and how Saras spirit had reached out to him. His telling, along with subsequent events, uncovers the real villain behind their dying marriage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781532012938

W. Bennett

Other works of fiction by the author: The Carriage House; Eleanor Savage; Absolution Denied; Sara’s Lullaby; Flight of a Boat Tail; Tales for the Yuletide. Mr. Bennett lives near Gananoque On.

Book preview

Prologue

Sara O’Grady was a simpleton. A crueler portrayal could not have been affixed to any child, but it was the one used most often to describe that particular little girl. Superstitions and backward beliefs held that her infliction resulted from the sins of those who had produced her.

Sure’nd that’s why that child came into the world the way she did, poor little darling, saddled with slowness of mind through no fault of her own.

True enough. And what would you expect when you consider the O’Gradys and the way they behaved.

Aye! And only Satin and God Himself knows who her real mother was. But I’ll tell you this: If she was bedding down with that Michael O’Grady then she couldn’t have been much.

My thoughts exactly.

And those grandparents of hers, now there was a pair bound for hell if ever there was. But in a way, I suppose, her dull mind came as sort of a blessing. At least she was never able to fully realize the wickedness of her own family.

True! But she did seem happy enough, in her own plain way.

Aye. That she did.

And so the gossip went. And children, being what they are, were doubly quick to notice Sara’s condition and were just as quick to taunt. Na, na, simple Sara they sang in nursery rhyme fashion. Had they not heard their own parents say that Michael O’Grady’s daughter was a simpleton? Her impediment became a vicious gruel for young minds to feast upon.

But tragically, it was not the way in which she died that created her legacy, but the terrible choices she had made for herself along the way.

Poor little darling, dying the way she did. ‘Twas like she was sent straight to the fires of hell through no fault of her own.

Aye! And considering all else, I believe she’s now looking for justice, and won’t rest until she finds it. But make no mistake; someone will burn in hell for what was done to her. Her death was no accident.

It certainly was not! And of course, we all know who the guilty party was, now don’t we?

Oh, indeed we do! Indeed we do!

Part One

1

The Return

August, 1999: It was not the journey itself that Mattie Armstrong found difficult, but the mental preparation required to undertake it. How well he remembered that September day, so many years ago, when the last vestige of the village vanished from his rearview mirror. From that day onward he had kept the memory of what had taken place there locked away in an unused compartment of his mind, but by returning, he had willingly unleashed those memories. Regardless the reasons behind his return, a five hour flight, followed by a two hour drive, and there he was, back in the same village, in the very room where it all began.

Sitting quietly on the side of the bed, studying his image in the dresser mirror, he couldn’t help but wonder; whatever became of the wild youth that once stared back? His dark hair now thinned and laced with strands of white, his sparkling brown eyes dulled by time, his five-foot-ten frame a little shorter, heavier, less muscled. But over all he had avoided most of the horrors of aging; the sagging gut, the red face, complete balding, a duller mind. He at least found some comfort in that.

Concentrating instead on the scenery outside the bedroom window, oblivious to the small changes that had taken place since last he was in that room, getting to his feet, he went over to the window and stared vacantly at the world outside, his mind lost in another time.

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Check in time at the Rose Trellis B&B was one o’clock. Mattie Armstrong and his wife Trisha arrived in Ardara at ten that morning, far too early for check-in. With three hours to kill Trisha shopped while Mattie drifted aimlessly about the streets of the touristy village.

Recalling the last time he was in Ardara–-some thirty odd years ago–-he was expecting to find great changes, but was amazed at just how little things had changed. All the buildings and streets looked remarkably familiar. In fact, except for a little face-lifting on storefronts, very little had changed. Even the town’s population remained stagnant at eight hundred souls, give or take. However, tourism had replaced agriculture as its lifeblood. Where Chevy, Dodge and Ford pickups once lined the streets on Saturday mornings, taking on their weekly supplies of household goods and livestock feed, now Hondas, BMWs, Toyotas, SUVs of every make and model vied for limited parking slots along the streets, their owners strolling from craft shop to gift shop searching for some unique little piece that would inevitably end up at yard sales later on.

Mattie even recognized a few of his old acquaintances, visionless individuals who lacked either the nerve, or the gumption to move on. Fortunately none of them recognized him. But then how could they? Back then his hair was long and tied in a ponytail, a gold stud in his left ear, a Willie Nelson sweatband across his forehead. It was the time of the Hippie, of anti-war demonstrations, a time when youths screamed for change but weren’t quite sure what that change should look like.

And of course, his old Volkswagen Bug, his pride and joy, the one he had driven all the way from Vancouver, The Party Machine he called it. It was the time of Flower Power, Woodstock, free loving, beer and marijuana, the protest music of Bob Dylan, John Lennon, and CCR.

That morning he took a short walk out to the Catholic cemetery, a place of peace and reflection, a ten minute stroll beyond the town limits. It was as though an invisible force had pushed him in that direction, to a headstone with O’Grady blasted into its granite face. And when he arrived there he sat on the grass to meditate, not about heaven and hell, not about dying and the hereafter, but about the people who were buried there, all of them strangers to him but one, people who were dead and gone before he was even born, and yet, people who had influenced his life so profoundly.

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Trisha Armstrong couldn’t believe that she had allowed herself to be talked into making the trip. It was one-thirty in the afternoon by the time she arrived back at the bed and breakfast. Her husband had already brought in their luggage and had signed the registry. Pausing momentarily at the bedroom door, breathing deeply and exhaling through pursed lips, she took a moment to study her husband of twenty-six years. He was a good man, a responsible man, a man she was about to hurt deeply. She knew that something had been troubling him for quite some time but never bothered to ask him what. And there he stood, staring out the window, oblivious to her very presence, lost in his own world.

Mattie, she said, her voice flat and indifferent.

No reply.

"Mattie–-Hello!"

Huh, he said with a start, coming out of his thoughts and turning to face her. Oh, Trish! I didn’t hear you come in. The new owners must have fixed that squeaking board at the top of the stairs.

Mattie, what in the world are you talking about?

Nothing, he whispered, waving off her question. Nothing that would interest you.

Throwing her sweater and a package onto the bed, I see you’re off in your own world again, she said, almost as an afterthought.

How was shopping? he asked, rejecting the urge to come back at her.

Oh, your typical tourist town. I got a little something Susan might like, but other than the scenery, there really isn’t much here worth looking at.

Not glitzy enough for Trisha Armstrong, he wanted so badly to say, but held his tongue.

This isn’t working, Mattie, she said with a sigh. The truth is; I never should have agreed to this getaway. In fact, spending a full week in this place would be like a prison sentence to me. I want you to drive me back to the airport, so that I can catch an evening flight home.

"You want to leave–today?" he stammered, having trouble believing what he had just heard.

Yes! she repeated calmly, "today. Not a week from now, but today!"

We just got here, for god sakes.

Yes, and I want to leave. You can stay if you wish, but I’m going back home. I’ll be damned if I’ll spend a whole week in this town. There are far more productive things I could be doing with my time than wasting it in this backwater tourist trap.

Trish, he pleaded, doing his best to remain calm, I arranged this trip so that we could spend some quality time together. Our marriage needs a time-out. Don’t you even care whether or not we survive as a couple?

She looked away and left his question hanging.

Well, that’s it then, he said, his voice trailing off. Your answer couldn’t be clearer.

I’m sorry Mattie. I truly am. And yes, I do want our marriage to survive. That’s why I agreed to come with you. But for me, personally, it was a waste of time. I know that your heart was set on this getaway, but it’s just not working for me.

Mattie remained motionless staring at his wife, his expression one of total disbelief. Trish, I want you to explain something to me: How can a person love their work more than their partner of half a lifetime? How is that possible? Tell me, because I can’t image such a thing?

Mattie, it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s just that I have my own needs.

Obviously those needs are greater than your love for me, he came back at her. Just for curiosity sake, I’d like to know who–-or what–-I’m second-best to?

Mattie, please don’t be like that? It’s hard to explain.

Don’t even try, he said, giving her a rejecting wave of his hand, but I’ll tell you this much; if this is your idea of love, I hope you never start hating me.

Mattie, she said, her frustration showing, believe me when I say this: I never wanted to hurt you. It’s just that my company means everything to me. It’s my reason for living. I crave the hustle and bustle of the office, and here I am, stuck on the other side of the country in this bed and breakfast. And with nothing to do! You promised me that it would be a wonderful little getaway, but I don’t find a damn thing wonderful about it.

Mattie Armstrong had begged his wife for the better part of two months to accompany him on a little getaway. He believed that if they could only be alone for a time that it just might rekindle the dying flames in their marriage. Even though she had fought the idea from the very start he had begged her so passionately, lovingly, that she eventually gave in. Now he knew that it had all been for nothing. She refused to even to give it a chance.

Mattie was no fighter, and seldom raised his voice, but Trisha could not mistake the tension building in his tone. For the love of God, Trish, couldn’t we just spend a few days together and forget about your goddamn business? There was a time when you liked being away from your job and the kids. There was a time when you loved being alone with me.

You don’t have to remind me of that, Mattie, she said, dryly. "But situations and circumstances change. I’ve changed. The world has changed. I now want something more than just a comfortable lifestyle. I need to be the best that I can be."

In 1980 Trisha Armstrong had formed her own real-estate company: Pacific Dreams Reality Ltd. Before that she had been an agent for a large reality company. She proved a natural and her sales topped all the other agents. Previous to that she was a file clerk for a school board. Back then she spent her time behind a desk, typing and filing, slowly going brain-dead in the process. Mattie had begun his teaching career at the same school and that’s how the two met. Within a year of their meeting they moved in together, and when Trisha became pregnant, they did the right thing and got married. She gave birth to a girl they named Susan. Two years later a boy came along. They named him Mark. Four years after Mark’s birth, and knowing that his young wife was miserable in her job, Mattie talked her into taking a reality course. He has regretted it ever since.

Jumping to his feet, he began pacing in the centre of the room, frustration growing with each rotation. I don’t believe this is happening, he said through tight lips. "But, I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a total surprise. You’ve been sleeping in your own room now for the last five or six years. I bet you can’t even remember the last time we had sex? And I call it sex because it sure as old hell wasn’t lovemaking. Why don’t you just admit the truth, Trish? You can’t stand the sight of me anymore. Hell, he added bitterly you haven’t wanted me around you in years, not since you started your own business. It’s like I’m now an embarrassment to you."

"Stop right there, Mattie Armstrong, she snapped, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. We’ve been down this road too many times already. My company has nothing to do with our marriage difficulties. You blame all our troubles on my company, and I’m getting sick and tired of it. Pacific Dreams is not the real culprit here; it’s change. I have changed! The world has changed. But you want to keep things they way they once were. Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen, so you’d better start accepting things the way they are now."

Funny though, he came straight back at her, "our marriage difficulties–-as you so conveniently put it–-never existed until you got to be Miss high-and-mighty. We never had these difficulties back when you worked for a paycheck. The only thing that has changed is the fact that you’ve become too big and important for your own family. And me, like a damn fool, I was the one who encouraged you in that direction. Come to think of it, at the beginning, I worked harder than you did to get your company up and running."

I remember all the work you did for me, Mattie. And I appreciate it. I truly do. And you don’t have to keep reminding me of it. But there’s no way that I’m returning to the way things once were. In fact, I’ll do whatever it takes to make Pacific Dreams bigger and better. It’s true, I do love my company. It’s what makes me get up in the morning. It’s what drives me.

Well, it’s certainly nice to hear that you’re capable of loving something. Mattie remarked bitterly. "Last year was our twenty-fifth anniversary, and how did we celebrate? One lousy night in a hotel room in Seattle, and you were on the phone for most of that time. I wanted to take you to Hong Kong; to New Zealand; to Australia; but, oh no, you couldn’t be away from your precious company for that long. And what about last Christmas? It had always been the one day when we could be together as a family. So how did the kids and your dear husband celebrate Christmas? Alone! You just had to show that property to those Asian clients. You weren’t even there when we opened our gifts in the morning. And then, you came home at nine o’clock that night, micro-waved a plate of leftovers, took a bath, and went straight to bed–-alone."

Mattie, in case you’ve forgotten, my business–-which you seem to despise so much–-happens to pay the bills. Aren’t you forgetting where we live now as compared to that little apartment when we first got married? We sure as old hell wouldn’t be living in Shaughnessy, the top rated area in all of Vancouver, if I sat home on my ass and watched the soaps.

"Ooh yes! Shame on me for forgetting that we now live amongst the chosen few. How wonderful that makes me feel."

When you’re born poor like I was, she came back at him like an attack dog, which you were not, you’d have a different attitude toward life.

In case it slipped your mind, he returned to the attack, our family was not rich either. We weren’t poor, but certainly not rich. True, I never went without a meal, but I don’t remember the family having any extra cash either. And something else that conveniently keeps slipping your mind. For eight years I was the sole breadwinner in the family, and we lived quite well. And back then you seemed quite happy to be a stay-at- home-mom. Most women would have been envious of the life you had with me. And although my pension is not all that great, it’s still money that goes toward paying bills.

Trisha had no answer.

And yes, he surged on, "so we now live in Shaughnessy. Big deal! Me and the kids were happy to stay where we were. It was you who wanted to put on the dog and move in with the rich and famous. But in the end, Trish, there’ll come a day when you’ll ask yourself, ‘was it all worth it’?"

Throwing her hands into the air in a surrendering jester, desperate for the battle to end, she rushed into the en suite and slammed the door behind her. Mattie dropped back down on a chair beside the window to brood. Once again their attempt at compromise ended in a bitter stalemate.

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I’m curious, said Mattie, the moment Trisha exited the en suite. Earlier on you mentioned that you loved your company.

Let’s give it a rest, Mattie, okay? I’m tired of all this.

I will gladly change the subject, he promised, if you answer me this one question? If you love your company so much, then why are you allowing it to kill you?

"Kill me? What on earth are you talking about?"

The heart problems you’ve been experiencing lately, he said, staring her down, not giving her time to think. Well, Trish, he needled on, just how many sixteen-hour days do you think you can handle until it knocks you down for good?

Still she wouldn’t answer or look at him.

Quite by accident, he went on, I happened to read a message left on the answering machine. And don’t accuse me of snooping, because I wasn’t. The message was from a Doctor Newman, Cardiologist. It was his secretary and she was setting up a time for your first appointment. Trish, there could only be one reason for you seeing a cardiologist.

My blood pressure is up a bit, that’s all, she mumbled, still avoiding eye contact.

Our family doctor could have dealt with high blood pressure, Mattie said. She could have put you on medication. Millions of people take drugs for high blood pressure. Cardiologists are called in when there’s already a problem, not when there might be a future problem. Trish, you already have heart problems, don’t you?

I’ll deal with it, she snapped. Besides, it’s none of your business.

Perhaps after our divorce papers are signed it will no longer be my business, but until that day arrives, I believe your health is still very much my concern.

"No, you’re wrong, she swung around and glared at him. It’s not your business now, nor will it ever be your business. I’m my own person, and I take care of my own problems."

Or perhaps you’ve found someone to replace me? Is that it, Trish? Are you seeing someone else?

"Don’t be so stupid," she hissed.

That’s no answer! It’s a simple question, so why don’t you answer it. Are you seeing someone else?

Mattie, for god sakes, she exploded. "Don’t be ridiculous. If there is one thing you could never rightly accuse me of is being a cheat. I work! That’s what I do with my time. How in the world would I find the time to have an affair even if I wanted to have one?"

You found the time once, he came straight back at her in a controlled voice, and not all that long ago either. It was with your young office manager, Mervin Little. I know that it happened when you and he attended that reality convention in San Francisco. The next morning, after you two got back home, I walked into your office and good old Merv, always friendly and outgoing, couldn’t even look at me. It couldn’t have been any plainer than if he had strung a banner across the office declaring ‘hey everyone, I got it on with the boss’. And what really clinched my suspicions was when you insisted on taking me out for lunch that very same day. You never had time for lunch before, but suddenly you had lots of time. But hey! Mattie went on, doing his best to sound lighthearted about it all, if a young guy is looking to advance his position in a company, what better way than sleeping with the boss.

His unexpected revelation had caught her completely off guard. Mattie, she jabbered, how could you…?

Don’t try bullshitin’ your way out of it Trish. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. Some people are good liars, but you’re not. Besides, you were far too slow reacting to my accusation. You’re guilty, so just admit it.

An ice bucket and bottle of whiskey–-a bottle purchased by Mattie in Vancouver, and brought in his luggage–-was sitting on the dresser, along with two glasses. Trisha poured herself a stiff drink, the bottle rattling against the glass as she poured, her husband’s accusation showing. She then dropped two ice cubes into the drink, splashing whiskey onto the dresser. Downing half her drink in a single swallow, still unable to face her husband, she then sat down on the edge of the bed.

You just said that our marriage is finished, she answered while staring at the floor, "so now you have grounds to end it officially. And you can do so with a clean conscience. It only happened once, but then, I guess once is all it takes to smash the trust in a relationship. And it was my fault entirely. I invited him up to my room for a nightcap. It didn’t happen in his room, it happened in my room. I could have stopped it, and to this day I don’t know why I didn’t stop it. Nevertheless, I allowed it to happen."

Rather daring for you, Trish, inviting a man up to your room. But then, I suppose the chance for a middle-aged woman to have sex with a good looking young stud doesn’t come along all that often.

"It wasn’t like that at all, she lashed back, her face red with shame. It just happened!"

Fine! I understand. I’m not blaming or judging you, he said dismissively. What’s done is done.

But why are you taking it all so calmly? she asked. I don’t understand why you’re not furious with me? Any man who loved his wife, the way you claim to love me, would be livid. And why hadn’t you mentioned this a long time ago? Why bring it up now?

Mattie gave an indifferent little shrug but said nothing.

I only beg one thing of you, she went on, after the atmosphere had settled out, that you do not confront Mervin over this. I want you to remember one thing; he has a young wife and two little children. It was just a stupid mistake, and we were both very ashamed of ourselves in the morning. We both had too much to drink. Regardless, I wouldn’t want that information to leave this room. And if it will make you feel any better; I’ll gladly admit that I’m a slut. I deserve it. The fault was all mine. Now you can end what’s left of our marriage without any feelings of guilt.

Ha, laughed Mattie. "On that score you’re dead wrong, my dear wife. You are not the only one in this room who did a stupid thing. I fell by the wayside once myself. And not all that long ago, either."

Trisha head shot up, stunned by his revelation.

"Oh, yes! It’s true, he confirmed. It happened shortly after our failed twenty-fifth anniversary getaway. You see, Trish, after I had figured out that you had cheated on me, I didn’t feel anger as much as I felt like a failure. For the longest time I couldn’t shake the feeling of being inadequate, of being less than a man. I never confronted you about it before–-like, as you say, any red-blooded husband would have done–-because I was afraid of where it might lead. The truth is this; I was afraid of losing you.

But, he pushed on, "as I was about to confess, my infidelity took place about a week after getting back from Seattle. I went driving around Vancouver with no particular destination in mind. I stopped in at a bar for a drink at one of the downtown hotels. As you already know, I’m not much of a barroom type of guy, so I can’t even explain exactly why I stopped there in the first place. I suppose it was just that I needed to do something out of the ordinary. I was also pissed-off because I had made a nice supper for you, but you had called earlier to say that you’d be late getting home. Surprise-surprise! Anyway, instead of eating the meal I had cooked, I threw it all in the garbage, and went for a drive.

"It was early, so there were only a couple other customers in the bar. I hopped up on a barstool and ordered a beer. A Canuck’s-Duck’s game was about to get underway on the TV that was over the bar. I figured it was as good a place as any to spend a night alone. I needed the distraction because the feeling-sorry-for-myself-blues really had me down.

I had no sooner taken my first swallow of beer, when a young woman jumped up on a barstool beside me, and we started talking. I’d say she was about twenty-eight, maybe thirty, brunette, a classy dresser, a couple pounds overweight, but not all that bad looking. She knew a bit about hockey, which made her easy to talk to. She told me that she was a Women’s Wear Executive and that she was staying at the hotel. As we talked–-and I don’t remember just how it all came about–-but it wasn’t long before we both understood in what direction this newfound friendship was heading.

I told her that I hadn’t eaten yet–-which was true–-and neither had she. So she joined me for dinner in the dining room of the hotel. I remember the bill was almost two hundred dollars and I gladly paid it. We polished off a cocktail before the meal, and a bottle of wine with the meal. For dessert, she suggested that we eat it in her room. Of course, you can pretty well figure out the rest without me giving all the lusty details. I left her room at around one o’clock that morning. When I got home I found you sound asleep in your bedroom.

And did you feel rewarded? Trisha asked, sounding more curious than angry. Did you feel as though you had gotten even with me?

Actually, I can’t remember ever feeling that low before in my entire life, he admitted. But it wasn’t so much about getting even; I think it was all about trying to feel like a man again. How she felt about it, I couldn’t say. Nor did I care. All I know is that I left her room feeling more like a piece of shit than a man. He then smiled and added, I suppose I should have asked her to rate my performance, because I knew that it wasn’t her first time to pick up a guy in a bar. She was the pro, and I was the amateur.

Well, you do surprise me, said Trisha, her voice growing tighter with each word spoken.

"Why? Because you discovered that Mister Goody-two-shoes–-as you once called me–-was not that good or incorruptible as you once thought?"

Something like that, she admitted. In the past I was always envious of you; how your students looked up to you; the respect you received by everyone who knew you; the accolades heaped on you at your retirement party. It was like being married to a saint. I suppose that’s why I felt so terrible about cheating on you. And now, to hear that you are actually fallible, why, it’s almost refreshing.

"Refreshing! I rather believed you would hate me after hearing what I just told you?"

No, she said, giving his statement a serious moment of thought. "After my own shortcomings, I don’t believe I have any right to hate, or to judge anyone else. I know that if I would have behaved myself in San Francisco none of this discussion would be taking place right now. If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine."

That being said, Trisha jumped to her feet and entered the en suite. Mattie heard her lock the door with a loud click. Knowing his wife, as well as he did, he knew that his confession had shocked and hurt her deeply. By nature he was not a mean-spirited man, and at that moment he found himself wishing that he’d held his tongue.

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I’ll drive you back to the airport first thing in the morning, he told his wife, the moment she exited the en suite. "I believe your agents can keep things going until you get back. And once you’re safely on the airplane, I’ll come back here by myself."

She looked at him with pinked eyes, eyes that had recently shed tears. You will?

I certainly will. Oh, and don’t worry about tonight, my dear wife, he added sarcastically. "When I turn the lights out I promise to stay on my