Stony River (51 page)

She opens the other envelope and, with a wide sweep of her arm, sends the ashes of her journal into the air where Eileen can catch them and try to make sense of her daughter's childhood should she be so inclined. James can spend eternity fathoming his role in it for all she cares.
I look at the lad and must concede the experiment failed
. She tries not to dwell on those words but they steadily leach through
her, like rainwater through layers of shale, swelling the hidden sea of pain inside her. Yet she knows he loved her and Cian. Once, she felt it in every cell. It was a love that held her through the darkest days at St. Bernadette's, assuring her she was worthy of the World and all within it.

“But you were wrong, James,” she whispers. Cian is repeating second grade this year because of a tendency to daydream, but doctors find no indication of retardation. Who's to say the lad's small head is not the very mark of his divinity?

She kneels on the cushion again, sips more of the cherry-tasting wine and watches the candle struggle to stay lit in a breath of wind that chills her ears and nose. She slips her gloves back on. What must she look like, kneeling with a string of grubby acorns and seashells around her neck and staring at a candle on an ash-strewn grave? Eccentric, she supposes, even a bit mad.

Rapunzel let loose with a thermos of wine and half a loaf of knowledge.

The wind kicks up with a musical sound and blows the candle out. She throws back her head and laughs, full-throated and free.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I GREW UP
in a town much like Stony River in an age when secrets crouched behind closed doors and it wasn't “polite” to interfere in another family's business. Children were left to decipher the meaning of adult whisperings and come to frightening conclusions.

My recollections of that repressive time informed this novel, as did the murder of a police officer when I was in high school and the subsequent crimes of his killer while I was elsewhere, growing a family and building a career. A
Newark Star-Ledger
account of those crimes in 2008 propelled me back to the era and inspired pivotal events and critical details in
Stony River
.

The novel continues and expands upon “Not Meant to Know,” the first in my story collection published in 2008. The story starts, as does the novel, with Linda Wise and Tereza Dobra watching Miranda Haggerty leave her house accompanied by two police officers. But the story focuses on Linda's first steps toward sexual awakening. Tereza runs away as she does in the novel, but Linda doesn't learn where. Linda tries to find out what happened to Miranda, but she isn't successful.

The novel attempts to fill in Linda's blanks. My goal was to produce a “ripping good yarn.” But the urge to challenge religious dogma as well as assumptions about right and wrong, sanity and madness, love and abuse crept into the exercise.

Nothing was as it seemed back then. Realizing that has been liberating.

CREDITS

I GOT RHYTHM

Written by George and Ira Gershwin.

Used by Permission of Alfred Music Publishing.

All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.

DAY-O (THE BANANA BOAT SONG)

Words and music by Irving Burgle and William Attaway.

Copyright © 1955; Renewed 1983 BMG Ruby Songs (ASCAP), Lord Burgess Music Publishing Company (ASCAP) and Chrysalis One Music Publishing (IMRO).

All Rights for Lord Burgess Music Publishing Company in the United States and Canada Administered by BMG Chrysalis.

All Rights for Chrysalis One Music Publishing Administered by Chrysalis One Music.

International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved.

Reprinted by Permission of Alfred Music Publishing and Hal Leonard Corporation.

MY PRAYER

Written by Georges Boulanger and Jimmy Kennedy.

Used by Permission of Canadian Shapiro Bernstein–Skidmore Music Co., Inc.

All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

MY HEARTFELT THANKS
to those whose wisdom and attention helped shape this book:

Adrienne Kerr, my editor at Penguin Canada, for “getting” what I was trying to say and drawing it out of me with sensitivity and skill. Agent John Pearce of Westwood Creative Artists for his faith, judicious edits and patient guidance. Copy editor Karen Alliston, whose discerning eye and intelligent mind have saved me, no doubt, from post-publication mortification. Critiquers (Is that a word?)
extraordinaire
Diana Jones, Kathryn Lemmon, Marybeth Nelson and Ania Vesenny for soldiering through multiple drafts with patience and good humor. Leanne Baugh, Susan Braley, Hannah Holborn, Susan Mayse and Nancy Swartz for reading early chapters and setting me on the right path. John Metcalf for his professional opinion and encouragement. Carman Lawrick for his unique blend of expertise and perspective. Chuck Sigmund for his knowledge of Catholic liturgy and practices in the 1950s. Lora O'Brien's book
Irish Witchcraft from an Irish Witch
(Career Press, 2005), Eblanna Raven's book
Immrama
(Cafe Press, 2006) and members of an Irish Witchcraft online community for assuring me I couldn't go too wrong with my allusions to the incredibly varied history and practice of Irish paganism. Kathy O'Connell for sharing her experiences at a Catholic orphanage. Walt Waholek, president of the A&P Historical Society, for his enthusiasm and insight into what it was like to work
at the A&P in the 1950s and 1960s. Diane P. Jaust, former Radio City Music Hall archivist, for details about the old Radio City Music Hall Easter show and her generosity in reviewing my manuscript. Mike Wolfgang, Katie Wolfgang, Lillian Dobbs and Glenn Dobbs for their continual (and totally unbiased, of course) cheerleading. Colin Dower for the unconditional love that keeps me going.