Free Silent Time by Paul Rowe Page B

bony arse seemed to reply as she bent over to forage in the woodbox for a suitable junk for the fire.
    â€œThey tried sending her to the school over there,” she said, “but the poor little thing couldn’t make no headway wit it.”
    â€œOh? Why not?”
    Thomas spoke up mournfully. “Maisie, don’t ya see? He don’t know!”
    Maisie turned and looked at William.
    â€œOh? Right. I never said, did I? The pity of it is, Mr. Cantwell, the poor little thing was born as deaf as a doorknob.”
    â€œWhat did you say the girl’s name was?” asked William, as he rose from his seat.
    â€œDulcie,” said Maisie, with a light laugh. “I don’t know where she come up with that. It’s a name I never heard on the Cape Shore.”
    â€œI think it means ‘sweet’,” he said. He was thinking of poor dead
    Wilfred Owen:
Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori
.
    â€œSweet, is it?” said Maisie. “I heard she wasn’t too sweet the way she carried on in that school, but the poor thing is more to be pitied than blamed, I s’pose. That’s …”
    She turned around just in time to see William leave.
    William knocked gingerly on Leona Merrigan’s front door. People liked to use the front door to welcome an important visitor and he decided that would likely be his best approach. The faded, crinkled paint certainly made it look as if it didn’t get much use.
    â€œMrs. Merrigan?” he called. After a few minutes he heard a low croak from the other side.
    â€œYes?”
    For some reason, his own deep voice struck him as an embarrassment and he made an effort to soften it.
    â€œIt’s William Cantwell, Mrs. Merrigan, your Member of the House of Assembly. I realize we’ve never really met before and for that I must apologize. However …”
    The door came open with a sharp pull and a strip of daylight fell across Leona’s pale face. William was struck by the deep array of wrinkles radiating neatly out from each of her sharp dark eyes.
    â€œOh, hello,” he said, removing his hat. “I’m here about your daughter, Dulcie. I understand that’s her over by the brook.” William’s gaze faltered under the scrutiny of the bullet-like eyes. He glanced toward the brook and adjusted his spectacles.
    â€œYes, that’s my Dulcie,” Leona said, her voice failing a bit even in that brief reply. William thought of what Maisie had said and wondered how the years of seclusion had affected the woman. It was difficult, at the moment, to judge her state of mind.
    â€œI wonder if I could come in, perhaps for a cup of tea, so I can explain to you why …”
    She closed the door with a flick of her hand and he heard her walk away.
    He made a second, more careful knock, which went unanswered before he decided to speak again, this time quite loudly, through the door.
    â€œMrs. Merrigan, I came over here to tell you that there is a special place for children who are afflicted like your daughter. It has long been an act of public charity to send deaf students, at government expense, to the School for the Deaf in Halifax, Nova Scotia. As your government member I can help you see to it that Dulcie gets the right sort of education there, that she learns to read and write and move in the world. We can make that possible for her, Mrs. Merrigan. But you have to let me help you. Please.”
    The silence behind the closed door held, so he retreated and picked his way down the rocky path.
    Leona did not like it when men, especially men wearing suits, came to the door, especially the front door. They usually meant trouble, like the half dozen times that Arthur Duke, the little prick from St. John’s, had come out here with his men in uniform, supposedly looking for her stash of rum. She knew damn well what he was looking for, but he never found nothing, neither rum nor anything else. Nor would he ever, if