Let Loose the Dogs by Maureen Jennings Read Free Book Online Page A

died moments after he had entered the world.
    Walter stood up, took another mug from the cupboard, and poured some hot tea. There was a bottle of brandy on the shelf, and he added a splash.
    “Try to get her to take a tot as often as you can,” Mrs. McIsaac had said, “do her good.” But for the past few days, Jess had had no appetite.
    He put the mug on a tray and added a dish of arrowroot pudding that Maria Newcombe had sent down. He was always trying to tempt Jess with dainties.
    Nothing had been right since the miscarriage. Jessica took it as a punishment from God. She would not allow herself to weep or show her sorrow. The hurt was pushed deep inside where it festered, the way a sliver of wood that is buried in the skin is no longer visible but infects the entire body. On the surface their life proceeded more or less as it ever had. She tended to the cottage, prepared his meals, even allowed him connection with her, but he knew she had gone away from him. It was only with Sally that she showed any true emotion, grasping the child tightly to her breast several times a day until the poor mite would beg for release.
    There were times when the unfairness of her behaviour filled him with rage. He shouted at her over trivialities; then overwhelmed by shame, he would leave the cottage and walk for hours down through the ravines as far as the harbour itself, until he could bear to face her again. But he thought he preferred even that half-life to the one they had been living recently. Jess had stopped even the most rudimentary care of the cottage; and even with her daughter, she was negligent.
    He climbed the flight of stairs to the tiny loft where he’d made them a bedroom. The air in the room was stale. Jess hadn’t been taking care of her own person either. At the moment she seemed to be sleeping.
    He placed the tray on the dresser beside the bed.
    “Jess? Jess, I’ve brought you some tea. Just the way you like it.”
    He turned up the wick on the lamp. She was lying on her side facing the wall. “Are you awake, my chuck?”
    She murmured something but didn’t greet him or open her eyes. He touched his finger gently to her cheek. She had lost weight and the bones seemed sharp, and the lines from nose to mouth were those of an old woman.
    “I’ve brought you some of Maria’s best pudding, the kind you like.”
    She opened her eyes and gazed at him. “Please, Walter, I’m tired. I’ll come down shortly.”
    He knelt down, took her inert hand in his, and held it to his lips. “Jess, you are my love, Jess. You must not leave me; I will not be able to bear it.”
    She didn’t answer but shut her eyes again, pulled her hand away, and rolled over to face the wall.
    Walter rocked back on his heels wondering whether or not he should rouse her out of her lethargy even if it meant a quarrel. Not that a barney would deter him if it brought her to life. Anger was preferable to this deadly indifference.
    He stood up. Better leave it for now.
    Lacey had lied to Mrs. McIsaac. He did, in fact, know all too well what had caused this relapse.

Chapter Eight
    T HE SERVICE OF THE M ASS was so familiar that Murdoch had stopped listening. The Latin words slipped through his mind in a meaningless flow. He had been directed to the small chapel, where there were three other communicants, all women, all with black shawls covering their heads, almost indistinguishable from the nuns themselves. On the other side of the altar, out of sight, were the sisters. Susanna’s coffin was on that side. He had not been allowed to see her body, and he’d had to say his final good-bye through the grille.
    HOC EST ENIM CORPUS MEUM .
    The priest genuflected then stood and elevated the host. At this point in the Mass, the faithful were expected to say, “My Lord and my God,” but Murdoch was silent. He was close enough to the altar that the priest probably noticed, but Murdoch didn’t care. The priest, Fr. Proulx, had spoken to him directly after