This time, when I knocked on Patrick’s door, I was less nervous. He motioned to the chair and I sat down. Then he spread his hands on the desk.
“It seems Father Frank is in a bit of pickle. He doesn’t want Brigid back here. It was a shocking scandal for the Church and he wants no part of it, especially since the archbishop is coming for a visit this summer. The fact of the matter is, he thinks if you leaves, Brigid could have a claim on the job.”
“I see.” So this was how Father Frank was spinning it.
“I understand Father Frank has spoken to you.”
I nodded, biting my lip.
“It seems you are viewed as the lesser of two evils.”
Let’s face it, I’d been called worse. “So I can stay?”
Patrick’s face was serious. “Father Frank has decided that since Cynthia lost the baby, the issue is moot.”
“So, you are saying that I can stay?”
He scratched his beard. “Yes, but by Christ, Rachel, don’t ever be so foolish again. You won’t be so lucky next time.”
“I won’t. Thank you, Patrick. And I’m sorry about all of this.”
His face softened. “Well, you made a holy mess of things, girl,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re staying.”
He stood up and held out his hand. I thought about how he’d helped me tame the grade nines, how he’d supported the French club and defended me against Sam’s father, how every single time I went to him for help, he backed me. I thought about his school socials, his beer fridge, that first day when we’d exchanged fish puns.
I stood up, ignoring his outstretched hand, and went in for a hug.
When I left school that afternoon, Brigid was leaning against the side of my car. She held her hand to her eyes, shielding them from the sun.
“Patrick says you’re staying.” Her voice was tremulous.
“Yeah.”
She bit her lip. “He says he’ll help me find another job. That a fresh start would do me good.”
“It’s good advice,” I said. “That’s why I came here. For my own fresh start.”
“Ron said to tell you he’s sorry about the notes. He’s as stunned as they come, but in his way, I guess he was trying to help me get my job back. I think he blames himself for all my foolishness with the priest.” With a sad wave of her hand, she went to her own car and drove away.
I went straight up to Lucille’s, delighted to find Biddy was there as well.
“I came for a chinwag,” I said.
“It’s grand to see you, girl,” said Lucille. “I’m just making tea if you wants a cuppa.”
I did. I sat next to Biddy on the daybed.
“So you’re staying on at St. Jude’s next year,” Lucille said, with a completely guileless expression. She handed a cup of tea first to Biddy and then to me. “That’s grand, girl. You does a great job there.”
“We’re looking forward to the garden party next month. We’re trying to choose which quilts and rugs to sell to raise money for the church,” Biddy said.
“Biddy, Lucille,” I said. “I know I haven’t spent much time with you all since I moved to Clayville, but since I’m staying on next year, I’d like to become a hooker.”
Lucille choked on her tea and Biddy blessed herself.
“What did you say?” Biddy asked.
“I mean, would you teach me to hook rugs in September?”
“We’d be delighted, Rachel,” she replied. “I’m sure you’ll pick it up right quick.”
Lucille seemed less confident. “We’ll start you off on a real easy pattern, girl.”
She might have been joking, but I decided to book a private lesson with Biddy before attending an official hooking session. I did not want to hear one more person say “not bad . . . for a mainlander.”
37
Biddy’s mention of the garden party focused my mind on the task Judy had set for me all those months ago: get the students to play traditional music at the party. Perhaps I could have forced their hand. It was a school event, they were students, and I was their teacher. But I didn’t want them to play because they were “made to.” They got enough of that already. Instead I made a few phone calls, first to Sheila and then to her brother Mike.
The following week I asked Beverley, Roseanne and Jerome to stay back to see me after school.
“It’s about the garden party,” I said.
They groaned in harmony. Beverley said, “Miss, please, we really don’t want to play that old music there.”
“Do you all know what MusiCan is?”
“Miss,” said Roseanne, “how backwards do you think we are? We watches the music videos every afternoon. While we’re doing our homework, of course.”
“Good,” I said. “My best friend’s brother is a hot-shot producer there. He’s going to be in St. John’s next week and I invited him down to hear you guys play.”
They were now listening far more attentively than I’d ever seen them do in class.
“He’s interested in all kinds of music. Of course, I would love it if you guys played traditional music for him, but it’s up to you. Mike said if he likes what he hears, he might be able to get a recording session at a studio in St. John’s.”
Roseanne and Jerome’s faces lit up, but Beverley was skeptical.
“What’s the catch?”
“You have to play traditional music with me at the garden party.”
More groans.
“One set,” I said. “That’s all.”
“But why would MusiCan come to Little Cove?” Beverley persisted.
“Because I told Mike how amazing you guys are. And because I’ve known him since he was three years old and I have lots of dirt on him.” The Holy Dusters weren’t the only ones skilled in blackmail.
The three of them laughed. “We knows not to cross you, miss,” said Jerome.
“If we does the garden party, will you definitely play with us, miss?” asked Roseanne.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“We needs Phonse, too,” said Roseanne. “He’s a legend.”
“Sure you knows he’ll do it if
