Then Martha came to Canada where she was, for better or worse, caught up in her sister’s schemes once more. Martha knew she would just have to make the best of it until she could save enough money for return passage home as soon as the time was right.
Martha raised a shaky hand to smooth the silver hair from her brow. If only she had returned to Scotland, but the right time had never seemed to come. Both her parents had passed on within a few years of her departure and her brother’s wife had made it clear that Martha had no place with them. Besides, she had always thought of herself as providing Daisy’s children with some sort of moral training which their mother never gave them. She had succeeded with some of them.
Sleep eluded Martha today. Slowly, she raised herself to a sitting position. Was it her imagination, or did her old bones creak a little louder than they had yesterday? A warm flush crept over her throat and face, a warning signal that her blood pressure was probably up again.
‘You worry too much,’ Daisy used to say. ‘You care far too much about other people, Martha, and not enough about your own pleasure. That’s your problem.’
‘With good reason,’ replied Martha. She enjoyed helping others. ‘Aren’t you ever afraid of getting caught?’
‘I don’t intend to get caught, little sister,’ Daisy would reply haughtily. ‘I’m too careful for that.’
The room swayed as Martha stood up. Her bony knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the dresser. The dizziness passed after a few moments and she took several deep breaths to steady herself.
She would have to visit the doctor again… soon. Daisy’s youngest daughter, Sarah, had been begging her to do so for several months. But Martha had to finish her self-appointed soul cleansing first. It was more important to her than life itself now.
After a brief visit to the washroom, Martha resumed her seat at the antique desk. She ran her fingers over its polished surface lovingly. She detested modern furniture, all metal, glass or plastic. It was hideous, so cold and impersonal. She recalled the oak desk Hedley had given her as a wedding gift and hoped someone had cared for it. Polished wood took on such warmth and character over the years.
Martha picked up her pen. It was time to write the final chapter. Her eyes filled with tears as she began to write and her mind drifted back to the terrible events as if it were yesterday.
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