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The nursing home itself sat high atop a craggy bluff overlooking a small inlet on the Strait of Belle Isle. My arrival was greeted by shrill winds, high seas and chilling temperatures that were destined to hold the tourist traffic to an absolute minimum. Saint Anthony itselfand particularly Dormain House where Myron Bell reportedly spent his tortured hours and endless dayswas an austere and somber and uninviting world. |
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If the setting of Dormain House was intimidating, Mrs. Lancaster was just the opposite. She was a warm, round, white-haired lady of uncertain vintage who was quick to seat me in the parlor and offer me tea and crumb cake. |
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"You've come a long way, Mr. Wages," she said smiling. I had the distinct impression Mrs. Lancaster had very few opportunities to display her hospitality. |
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My previous contact with the woman had been confined to a brief telephone conversation that had in fact confirmed Myron Bell's residency and that I would be able to talk to him if I made the journey. Outside of that, I had no assurances that I was going to learn anything over and above what was contained in the text of the CBC transcript. Consequently, I was anxious to get on with it. "How is Reverend Bell?" |
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"You are fortunate," she assured me. "He |
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