Bride Doll Read online

  Bride Doll

  Elizabeth Nancy Jansen

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  BRIDE DOLL © 2021 by Elizabeth Nancy Jansen. All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by Author Academy Elite

  PO Box 43, Powell, OH 43065

  www.AuthorAcademyElite.com

  All rights reserved. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written permission from the author.

  Identifiers:

  LCCN: 2021904145

  ISBN: 978-1-64746-739-5 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-64746-740-1 (hardback)

  ISBN: 978-1-64746-741-8 (ebook)

  Available in paperback, hardback, e-book, and audiobook

  Book design by JETLAUNCH. Cover design by Albert Bastasa.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my dear mother. She found joy in the simple things, like the fragrance of her favourite yellow roses. Mom devoted her life to loving her family, and I will cherish my memory of her forever.

  Artist Anthony Welch

  Contents

  Chapter 1: November 16, 2008

  Chapter 2: Adele and Jacque

  Chapter 3: Etta and Owen

  Chapter 4: Monique

  Chapter 5: Monique Finds Her Sailor

  Chapter 6: Flynn, Adele, and Jacque

  Chapter 7: Monique, Etta, and Owen

  Chapter 8: The Wedding Preparations

  Chapter 9: The Wedding Day

  Chapter 10: Return to the Farm

  Chapter 11: Monique Pregnant

  Chapter 12: Lily

  Chapter 13: Monique Pregnant Again

  Chapter 14: Baby Number Two

  Chapter 15: Monique and Psychiatry

  Chapter 16: Monique in Toronto

  Chapter 17: Hello Little Stranger

  Chapter 18: Back to Toronto

  Chapter 19: Lily, the Big Sister

  Chapter 20: Nia Growing Up

  Chapter 21: Nia Takes the Bus

  Chapter 22: Nia the Teenager

  Chapter 23: Nia Goes to University

  Chapter 24: Engaged

  Chapter 25: Here Comes the Bride

  Chapter 26: Nia as a Mrs.

  Chapter 27: Nia, a Mother

  Chapter 28: Infidelity

  Chapter 29: Nia Learns to Play

  Chapter 30: Nia Meets Fernando

  Chapter 31: Maria and Carlos

  Chapter 32: Wedding Number Two

  Chapter 33: Apgar of One

  Chapter 34: Nia Gives Birth Again

  Chapter 35: Nia Has Another Boy

  Chapter 36: Autism

  Chapter 37: November 16, 2008, Continued

  Chapter 38: Nia Hits Rock Bottom

  Chapter 39: Nia Starts on Her Path of Recovery

  Chapter 40: Does He Love Me?

  Chapter 41: Nia Meets Arjan

  Chapter 42: Nia’s Disclosure

  Chapter 43: Nia Finds Her Happy Ever After

  About The Author

  You have just finished reading Bride Doll.

  CHAPTER 1

  NOVEMBER 16, 2008

  Nia had delayed this well-rehearsed plan long enough. She couldn’t bear one more week ending the same way it had for the last two years. She began executing her plan by having an early dinner that night. Nia took extra care to prepare a delicious prime rib dinner with all of the fixings for her husband, Fernando. She wanted it to be just right, knowing it would be her last loving gesture despite his all too familiar foul mood.

  It was 5:30 p.m. Nia had her Jeep already packed with Mika’s favourite books, Disney movies, and his portable DVD player. Nia also brought fifty tablets of his antipsychotic medication, a large bag of Smarties, and two cans of Coke. In the back of the vehicle, she kept her own stockpile of antipsychotic meds, including fifty antidepressant tablets for her. Her chaser was not going to be a can of Coke, though. She had her favourite 1.5-litre bottle of chilled white wine to soothe her during her hopeless and desperate plan.

  Nia was well beyond her ability to endure one more sad day. At age thirteen, Mika was reluctant to get into the vehicle, knowing he would have to go back to his dreaded place, Children’s Psychiatric Research Institute (CPRI).

  “NO I, NO I, NO I,” Mika desperately cried out to communicate emphatically using his extremely limited vocabulary. This was his usual decry to returning to the place he hated. Nia knew what his reaction would be getting into the vehicle. Over the past months, she’d heard and felt his heart-wrenching cry to be rescued from that dreaded place. When she first heard his imploring words, she immediately recognized them as his attempt to find the right words, which sounded like “no-eye, no-eye”; it took her months to figure out he was saying, “NO I” as in the last letter of CPRI.

  Mika aggressively and vehemently shook his head while pulling at Nia’s face for her eyes to meet his. She needed to reassure him she understood his distress at returning to the place where he received residential treatment for his aggressive autistic behaviours. He had been there for two years, and he wasn’t getting any better. Mika’s hatred of the place negated the objectives of the treatment. Despite his high-level psychology team having identified this obstacle, there was nowhere else for this severely autistic teenager to go.

  Every weekend, he was allowed a one-night leave of absence (a brief relief, from Saturday afternoon until Sunday after dinner). Mika loved to see his mom’s Jeep drive up to his maximum-security building. Nia would see his sad face turn into a smile, and his shoulders would drop into a more relaxed state. As he entered the vehicle, he would begin his excited utterances well understood by only his mother, “I of you, ways ever” (I love you, always forever). He didn’t have the language skills to convey to his mother all the things he thought and felt, but he could script his desire to reconnect with his mother. There was always a cataclysmic emotional storm in her gut as she picked him up. She missed her son, and she loved him so much. However, she needed the help of a team of health care professionals to find a way for him to decrease his destructive behaviours and be less of a threat to his family, others, and himself. It was terrible, and she knew it’d only get worse.

  Upon arriving home with Mika, Nia’s husband always retreated to the study. With the door firmly closed, he wouldn’t have to listen to his son screaming—that would interfere with his televised hockey game. Sadly, her daughter was no longer living at home but with her grandmother. Isabella, only fourteen, couldn’t cope with Mika’s meltdowns and physical abuse. Nia had no other choice but to protect her daughter.

  Nia didn’t want to resort to having Mika confined to a residential behavioural treatment facility, but she’d exhausted all of her options. Mika was only getting worse, and he was a burden everywhere he went. His extended family avoided him out of fear. The pain was too great; Nia couldn’t bear dropping him off at CPRI one more time. He was yelling “NO I” until Nia gently whispered in his ear, “No I.” Mika stopped screaming, holding Nia’s face close to his to validate with her words, her soft voice, and her tender smile. “No I.”

  Hand in hand, they went to the garage and got into the Jeep. Nia ensured Mika had his seat belt on before he could see what was packed in his backpack. As predicted and planned, he squealed in delight at all of his favourite things in the bag. Nia noticed Mika�
�s hesitant looks as she drove down the street. She knew he was concerned about her turning in the familiar direction to the dreaded “NO I.” Mika’s face relaxed in relief as Nia turned in the opposite direction.

  It was twilight; she’d rehearsed this camouflaged nightmare more times than she cared to recount. She drove to Lobo, a tiny village outside of London, Ontario, where there was a horse farm with an old abandoned barn to park in the back. Nia’s friend, Bri, leased the pasture where her horses stayed outdoors for the winter. Nia knew no one except the animals would be witness to this homicide-suicide. The horses were unconcerned with her vehicle approaching and continued with their munching of hay. Nia turned off the Jeep while Mika cheerfully watched the horses.

  Nia walked to the back of the vehicle for the bag with all she needed to complete the plan, including an old towel. She rolled the towel like a long tube and stuffed it carefully into the exhaust pipe. After taking her bag, she closed the back and got back inside the Jeep with her son.

  Mika was happy to be with his mom, his Aladdin movie, his pop, and his Smarties. Nia cracked open the wine bottle and took long, purposeful gulps of the cool, delicious, familiar nectar of the serpent from hell. Yes, that was where she was most certainly going, but not her dear son; Mika would be rescued from his hellish life on earth. She leaned back, took another long drink of wine, and savoured the commencement of her happy place—being numb.

  Nia’s fingers reached toward the dangling keys. They almost reminded her of the mobile that danced above her children’s cribs. Mika, who was happily absorbed in his cartoon, didn’t hear the slight clang as her fingertips brushed against the keys. It took another sip of wine for the voice of warning to fade and replaced with the neutral feeling that accompanied going on a random errand. With a twist of her wrist, the engine came to life.

  CHAPTER 2

  ADELE AND JACQUE

  Adele was not a beseeching woman; there was nothing demure about her or her vocation. She was the salt-of-the-earth-type of wife to a vegetable and animal feed farmer in Northern Ontario. The geographical location of this farming life required due diligence, giving real meaning to the phrase “make hay while the sun shines,” as the growing season from thaw to harvest was only four months. Perhaps that’s why she lived with defiant determination to see that the farm yielded the very best cabbages, cauliflowers, and hay in the region.

  She was born in 1892 into a righteous Roman Catholic family from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. Adele was thought to be long past the marrying age at thirty-five when she met Jacque Gagne, who became a boarder in her family’s home on Queen Street after WWI. Jacque was born in Montreal and moved to Massey, Ontario, at a young age with his family, who owned a 100-acre crop farm. Jacque joined the Canadian Army in 1915, and after an excruciating Army career—including being wounded three times—he became a well-decorated veteran, awarded the George Cross medal in 1917. The article in the Montreal newspaper identified Jacque as a Battalion runner displaying great courage during the operation of capturing Bellevue Spur in the battle of Passchendaele. Owing to a lack of communication except by runners, he repeatedly volunteered to carry messages. He passed through hostile barrages and heavy machine and rifle fire to deliver dispositions, showing absolute devotion to duty and complete disregard for his safety throughout the fighting. Because of his courageous behaviour, despite all difficulties, communication was maintained. There was no doubt that Jacque’s descendants for generations to come would be hard-wired to be courageous.

  Following the war, Jacque needed a wife to start a devoted Catholic family who would service his religion and farming life. Like his war career, marriage was understood to be one’s duty to be a good Catholic. A marriage, and the subsequently required fornication, was only sacred in the eyes of the church if the intention was solely for procreation. The Church wouldn’t grant a marriage without the promise of children. Conforming, Adele and Jacque adamantly believed that sex without marriage was a mortal sin and anything other than a sacramental union was unorthodox and unacceptable to God.

  The spring wedding in 1925, for all intent and purpose, was rudimentary and uneventful. Jacque wanted the wedding understated and efficiently orchestrated. There was no fanfare in the ceremony held in the Our Lady of Good Counsel Church rectory.

  Adele wore her tired-looking, dark coloured Sunday best dress with an almost-matching and not-so-tattered dark brimmed hat. Adele had lived through the war and didn’t see a reason to spend good money on anything that couldn’t be used multiple times. However, she did have a prudent bouquet of pink peonies—her favourite flowers from her mother’s garden—tied up with the only extravagance of the whole ensemble: a long white satin ribbon.

  As their commitment would have it, four children were born to Adele and Jacque. Monique was the eldest. Much to the couple’s dismay, none of their offspring chose the religious vocational life. Traditionally, for such a church-fearing Catholic family with four offspring, at least one of their children was groomed to enter the priesthood or convent. Having a priest or a nun in one’s immediate family gave them an elevated social status in the community.

  Adele was good at being a farmer’s wife. She was highly focused on the crop yield and all it took to get the best quality vegetables to market, bar none. Her general approach to life was from the glass-half-empty perspective. All that was of any importance to her was money: earning it, saving it, and, yes, hiding it under her mattress. Inherently due to her wartime life experience, she never entrusted her hard-earned currency to a banking institution.

  Unlike farming, mothering was not Adele’s strong suit. She raised her children in the shadows of meeting the demands of agriculture in Northern Ontario. Affection for her children was sparse, unlike the abundance of devotion to her fields. It was Adele’s cabbages, not her babies, that held her daily focus.

  Adele and Jacque needed more farmhands to help grow their farm. They seized an opportunity offered by the Canadian government to sponsor immigrants from Latvia. These newcomers were obligated to work on the farm for one year to pay back the country’s financial investment in their passage to Canada. After one year of farm labour, the immigrants were free to find employment and sponsor their family members to this new land of opportunity.

  Jacque was kind-hearted to the Latvians and housed four men at a time under his roof (albeit in the veranda). Adele kept her family separated from the “foreigners” behind the veranda door, secured with a large butcher knife jammed into the door frame. While Adele was the prevailing provider for the farmhands, she began each day with her self-care.

  Heavy footed, Adele would descend the stairs dressed in the house dress she had worn the previous day. (Wash day was on Mondays, and a clean house dress would start on Tuesdays; the garment had to last unequivocally until the following Monday for washing). Jacque had the same regime with his farming clothes. One became familiar and unaffected by the subsequent body odours synonymous with farming life.

  Adele developed diabetes in her adult life. Her daily ritual necessitated sterilizing her glass needle for her insulin injection procedure. While the needle pieces were boiling, she made her breakfast: two slices of perfectly toasted bread spread with bacon fat (despite having freshly-churned butter in the icebox) and a whole orange. She ate her breakfast methodically while rocking back and forth in her black rocking chair. The creaking of the chair rocking and her loose dentures clicking as she chewed made for an interesting harmony. Adele wore long, cotton (formerly white) stockings hoisted over her flabby thighs, held up with thick black elastics rather than fashionable garters.

  When she finished her breakfast, her needle components were ready for the injection process. The icebox contained the multiple tiny glass ampules of insulin. After the top of the ampule was snapped off to expose the grey, permeable surface, the needle would draw up the clear substance. In the opposite thigh from the previous day’s injection site, she’d pierce her skin and administer the dosage. Once the process was over, she
pulled up her perpetually sagging stockings and proceeded with her chores of the day.

  After his daily regime of waking at 6:00 a.m. to attend French Mass on Cathcart Street, Jacque took a brief moment to drink his instant coffee and eat two pieces of perfectly toasted bread—always buttered on the concave side of each slice. To top it off, homemade strawberry preserves were spread onto the warm, buttered toast. Following this delightful part of his day, he would go upstairs and change from his church clothes into his farming attire. His morning routine concluded with lighting his pipe in his truck before driving to the fields.

  By noon, the farmhands would follow Jacque to the outdoor water hose attached to the pump house to scrub their hands before entering the kitchen for their expansive “le dejeuner.” Their typical midday meal consisted of riced potatoes, boiled carrots, green beans, tomatoes, leaf lettuce, and green onions—all fresh from the garden—along with fried pork chops followed by freshly baked rhubarb pie and instant coffee.

  A jar of Sanka was passed around to each well-fed man. Following a thirty-minute rest in the veranda, the men would proceed back outside to smoke before beginning their second and final shift of work.

  After the noontime meal, Adele would rest in her rickety old chair and sing “Alouette, Gentille Alouette” while her daughters begrudgingly washed and dried the dishes. Perhaps Adele believed she displayed her love for her family by modeling service—the practical and functional aspects of living a farmer’s life. Her primary duty was to produce a saleable commodity to pay the mortgage banker and the dreaded taxman.

  The weather for Adele was the abominable boogie man to be feared each day, as it could have profound interference with the harvest. If it was too cold in the spring, the frost delayed the planting. Too much rain or not enough rain could destroy all of the crops. Adele wanted money, a viable farm, her husband, and her children (in that order).