Mary's Flight

Cameron was the last child of ten born to Mary and Alfie Allbright, the sixth boy and the only one with dark hair and brown eyes. By then, Mary was showing the strain of motherhood and this last child broke her in spirit and body. One fine summer morning, she packed a small suitcase and caught the early ferry, headed for the mainland and parts unknown, leaving Alfie with a houseful of children, a bad back, and no idea where to turn.

For the most part, the village took a dim view of her desertion in the line of duty. They didn't mind her leaving Alfie so very much, but abandoning the children was considered next to unforgivable and against all the rules. A sort of day care was set up by the Women's Auxillary where the youngest children were farmed out to other families during the day and the village women each took a day to clean and cook for the family. After a few months, Alfie stepped up, designing a schedule of chores for each child, learning to manage his time and provide for his remaining family. He found work in the factory and was - after several lessons - able to cook basic meals. The girls pitched in with cleaning and laundry and the boys worked the tiny farm and watched over the younger ones. It was not an easy time but the children were kept fed and clean, the farm made a meager profit, and Alfie was able to hold his head up in the village and face down the loss of his wife with a small measure of dignity and pride. Admirable man, Miss Hilda told my grandmother, Adversity does build character, I should say.

Of all the children, only Cameron hadn't known his mother. He had no memories of her, no reminders or pictures and his brothers and sisters were forbidden to talk about her. He was a brooding and restless boy, a loner always on the prowl, always in search of something intangible and missing. The more Alfie tried to steer him away from the subject of Mary, the more persistent he became. Did she leave because of me? he asked over and over again and Alfie would shake his head and turn away, too fragile to face his youngest son's fears and too decent to tell what he thought might be a lie. We'll talk about it when you're older, he would say weakly and Cammie would grit his teeth in frustration. He was sixteen when he left to look for her, twenty-two when he came back.

In all the years that followed, he never spoke of his time away to anyone and no one knew where he had been or what he had found, if anything. He kept his silence, never married, and the mystery of his mother's flight remained a matter of speculation.

Simply put, there are not always answers to be found.