Ann-Marie MacDonald - Way the Crow Flies

The day’s festivities are capped with Mike tying one end of a string around Madeleine’s loose tooth. He ties the other end to his doorknob, then slams the door. “Presto! That’s worth a dime at least,” he says, presenting her with the dangling, bloody molar.

Mimi is waiting for Karen Froelich to arrive before leaving Sharon McCarroll. It will be dark soon. The casserole she brought remains untouched in the oven. She has not been able to persuade Sharon, but hopes Blair will eat something when he gets home from the day’s search. It’s not right that routine should have entered into this picture to make it at all recognizable—“home from the day’s search.” As if looking for the body of his child were his job.

Steve Ridelle prescribed some pills and Elaine brought them when she came to do her shift with Sharon. Just three doses. Better she shouldn’t have too many on hand. Mimi saw the bottle by the bathroom sink — Valium.

“Works wonders,” Elaine told her.

Mimi has just turned the heat down on the casserole when there is a tap at the door. It’s a small stab in her heart to see how Sharon looks up with a moment’s hope, before the door opens and Karen Froelich appears.

Mimi exchanges a word and a squeeze of the hand with Karen and leaves — she is still not someone Mimi would pick for a friend but, as Jack says, it takes all kinds. Outside, the clouds have begun to part, revealing a star or two, but the darkness is still too complete, too close. She walks up the street toward the lights of her own house. Blair McCarroll should be home by now. They can’t search in the dark.

When she gets in, Jack rises from the couch. “I’m going over to the station. The police called off the search till Monday and Blair lost his cool.”

Madeleine is in Mike’s room, at his desk by the window. He’s sitting on his bed tying a baseball into his new glove. He has allowed her to stick a decal onto his model Lancaster bomber and told her not to breathe in the airplane glue. She sniffs it surreptitiously, then replaces the cap and ponders the snarled snout of the Lanc. Dad would have sat right there, behind the tiny plastic window of the cockpit. She picks it up and, as she flies it past the window, sees her father heading for the car. “Dad’s going out,” she says.

That means Maman is home. Madeleine remembers that she was supposed to have a bath. On her way down the hall, she pauses to hear something so unfamiliar that it takes her a moment to recognize the sound. Maman is crying.

THIS MORNING there was no money under Madeleine’s pillow, just the tooth still, with its straggly root. She said nothing; it would be churlish to complain about the Tooth Fairy when the Easter Bunny has outdone himself. She and Mike have found all the chocolate eggs, Dad has won the hard-boiled egg battle and Madeleine has eaten the ears off her chocolate bunny, able to savour the dark richness for the first time since before the exercise group last September. This morning, chocolate has been redeemed along with all of us by the sacrifice of Our Lord Jesus and the miracle of His resurrection.

Mike has just decapitated his rooster when the phone rings. Mimi answers, and a second later Madeleine sees her mother sink into a kitchen chair, then glance over at her and Mike in the living room and make a gesture as though reaching to draw a curtain. Mike pauses, chocolate beak halfway to his mouth, but Madeleine plucks out a bunny eye and eats it, her warning systems jammed by sugar.

“When?” their mother asks into the phone.

Their father joins her. She looks up at him and he bends to put an arm around her, obscuring her from the children’s view. A moment later he strides jauntily into the room. “Upstairs now and get ready for Mass.”

They obey. Madeleine wonders what is wrong. They were supposed to fast for an hour before Mass but Maman forgot. Madeleine licks melted chocolate from the palm of her hand and steels herself for the ordeal of getting into the scratchy strangulating dress of tulle with matching pillbox hat.

Madeleine thinks she’s in trouble for something when Maman says to her after Mass, “Your father wants to talk to you.” On the way home from church, in the Rambler, Mike won’t look at her. He is quietly examining a stack of baseball cards. She watches the back of her father’s head for a sign, but he is silent and still. Maman’s white chapeau with the grey silk roses is likewise inscrutable.

Mike nudges her. He is holding a card so new it still has bubblegum dust on it. Roger Maris at the bat, his signature scrawled across his Yankees uniform. Mike nods to her— it’s yours . She hesitates in disbelief, then takes the card. Mike has waited over a year to open that pack of bubble gum. It’s gold. It’s hers. Why?

They pull into the driveway and the butterflies wake up in her stomach. Mike and Maman go inside but Dad waits and says, “Let’s you and I go for a little walk.”

This can only be about one thing, Madeleine realizes as she gets slowly out of the car. They have found out about Mr. March. What she thought was so far behind her as to have been a dream has risen up whole and reeking. They have found Claire McCarroll and she has told them everything. Madeleine knows now that’s why Claire ran away. She was afraid, when Mr. March made her be the Easter Bunny, that he would put her back in the exercise group. And Madeleine knows that Claire never would have gotten into the exercise group in the first place if Madeleine hadn’t gotten out of it. It is all her fault. Her insides melt like chocolate, her thighs feel suddenly heavy. She looks up at her father and takes his hand with her small white gloved one and says, “Okay.”

Everyone is being so quiet and gentle, it can only mean that they will send her away — for how can they continue to live with her now that they know what she has done? They will cast her out of the family. They walk. Up St. Lawrence Avenue to Columbia Drive.

It’s a crisp day, but Madeleine’s dress of salmon tulle, her hat tied with a ribbon under her chin, all of it is a hot, choking mass of burrs. This is the outfit she will be wearing when the Children’s Aid comes to take her away. The sun is too bright, so much light she can barely squint to see, the buildings of the base like blinding snow across the county road. Her father puts on his sunglasses. “You want to walk over to the airfield?” he asks.

When Snow White’s stepmother wanted to be rid of her, she sent her off with a woodsman who took her by the hand. He had an axe. “Bring me back her heart,” said the Queen. But when they reached the forest, the woodsman took pity on Snow White and abandoned her in the woods. He returned to the Queen with the heart of a deer. “Okay,” replies Madeleine.

Maman said, Take Madeleine to the airfield . Then what? Put her on a plane . They cross the county road. To one side of the gates, the crows’ nest, still atop the wooden pole, bristles against the sun. It is sparser but intact after the winter, the rusted mouth of the siren protruding more rudely now. On the other side of the gate, the old Spitfire throws back the sun in sheets.

Madeleine walks into the shade of its wing and says, “I’m tired.”

“Well, we don’t have to go all the way to the airfield,” says her father.

She is relieved. It wasn’t part of the plan after all, to send her away by plane. She sits on the grass with her back against the pedestal.

“Madeleine,” says her father, “I have to talk to you about Claire McCarroll.”

She looks down. Drops fall from her eyes. She was right, they know. They know about the coat hooks and the exercises and all the bad things she has done. Too many ever to be forgiven. Her hands feel clammy, and she longs to inhale the bad smell off them before it reaches her father’s nostrils. “It’s my fault he picked her,” she says, barely audible.