The Narrow Gate

By Janet Roberts

"The flaw in this family is that we love unequally and sometimes not enough."

Elise Delcroix left the small town she grew up in eleven years earlier, angry, hurt, and vowing never to return. As a child she'd felt entitled to the best of her father's love and attention, resenting his favoritism toward her half-sister and half-brother. Only her immigrant grandfather had showered her with the devotion she felt she needed. Furious when family suspicions turn toward her, rather than her brother, over a questionable bank transaction, she leaves home for New York and remains estranged from her father until his death.

Set in the green, rolling hills of Western Pennsylvania, The Narrow Gate is a powerful and tender novel about coming home and a family that must face its own flaws to find a way to heal. First Place winner of the 2017 TAZ Award for Fiction from The Author Zone, this novel is a heart-warming and moving experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682221440

Janet Roberts

In Janet Roberts' books, you’ll often find someone spending a bit of time by a lake, river or ocean somewhere in the world. Born and raised in Erie, Pennsylvania, on the Great Lakes, she loves an endless view of water for as far as the eye can see. Janet graduated from Temple University with a degree in journalism. After working as a journalist and later as a paralegal, she obtained her masters in communications from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania. Janet began writing fiction and poetry as a child and never let go of her dream of publishing a novel.  Although her current job as a security awareness program lead has meant moving to a variety of cities, she often returns to her Western Pennsylvania roots in her writing.  

Book preview

Chapter 1

Elise

Elise Delcroix was coming home after eleven years for the recognition and retribution she knew she deserved.

It was dusk. The sun tipped across the hills to play softly and lightly upon the old red-dog road, now devoid of the coal slag that gave way to that euphemism. An enormous slate dump, no longer emitting the smell of rotten eggs as it had in the days when the interior smoldered incessantly, stood as a reminder that the green hillside was once blackened and stripped of its beauty. Even now, the tiniest of saplings wouldn’t brave the old mining residue. The road passed beneath the teetering chute of the old coal washer crossing high above it, used in its day to send freshly mined coal to be cleaned of soil and rock. It was another era when the men of No. 9 Mine worked here.

The sleek, silver Lexus IS08 hugged the winding curves of the road quickly, knowingly, despite the length of time that had passed since its driver ventured this way. Elise laughed nervously as she passed under the coal washer at ten miles above the speed limit, succumbing to the ancient fear she’d always harbored that it would fall. It was a ridiculous notion that rose up in her, causing her to press harder on the gas pedal, and then faded as she slowed her car down. Although only thirteen miles southwest of metropolitan Pittsburgh, she felt as if she were entering another world altogether. It was the land of her childhood, and it jumped out to both welcome and admonish her with every arc of the road and rolling pitch of the hills she now navigated. Her hands were moving the steering wheel, yet the car seemed to travel on its own. Perhaps she just could not accept that those instinctive movements still lived so easily within her memory.

Elise shifted her large body in the soft leather seat, seeking comfort that would not come. She was not a particularly fat woman, although that changed now and again as her weight fluctuated, but at nearly six feet tall and built like a linebacker, she did not fit easily into a world that worshiped economy of size and weight in its female members. She’d purchased the Lexus two days earlier when she decided to come home. It accommodated her comfortably, and it would show them that she was a success, that she had done better than they had expected of her. In this, as in all else, she was determined to show this town which of her father’s children was worthy of respect.

Elise knew her current discomfort didn’t come from her size or the curve of the road but from the mix of emotions lodged squarely in her midsection like the onerous weight of a meal gobbled down in haste at a cheap diner. A decades-old sign welcomed her to McDonald. She passed the stately homestead of John N. McDonald, the town’s founder, and knew she was home, back in the belly of the southwestern Pennsylvania valley that had greeted her at birth and raised her up until the day they all turned on her and she left, vowing never to return. Life felt so large, unwieldy, and unfair back then. Now everything in McDonald looked small and humble to an eye accustomed to the expansiveness of New York City and her trendy condo in Riverview, on Long Island.

Elise turned left off Main and headed up Fannie Street, the ancient brick road rumbling under her tires and vibrating her body from end to end, filling her with the unique, lulling Circadian rhythms of her youth. Nowhere else in the world could she go to create this exact experience. It returned her to the back seat of a dozen different cars, driven by family members shuttling her from one home to another. And, as she’d done in her childhood, she now hummed along tunelessly with the sound of the street, its cadence moving through her bones, her memories, and her heart, until it dropped her in front of a plain, gray house with a sagging front porch. Its swing was long gone, the flowers in the front lawn drooping and half dead. Noelle Delcroix stepped out onto the porch, a drink in hand. Elise turned off the ignition and, with a sigh, got out of the car.

Well, look what the cat drug in. Noelle’s words slurred.

Hello, Mum, it’s nice to see you, too, Elise answered.

You’re not here to see your old mum, are you? Noelle said. I know why you’re here.

He’s my father, Elise said. I owe him this much.

You’re wondering what you’ll get, Noelle snorted.

Let’s not fight, okay? Elise pulled a suitcase out of the trunk of the car. They asked me to come. Dad won’t disappoint me.

Noelle eyed the car and her daughter, and then turned around and headed back into the house without another word.

Chapter 2

Eugenie

I’m slower these days. As I bend to lift the lid of the cedar chest, its hinges creaking softly, I have to do so gradually, careful to maintain my balance. In one week, I’ll turn seventy-five years old. I’m generally spry, but my lower back has been giving me a lot of trouble lately. I find myself tipping off center a bit here and there. I told Emil just last month that I’m a classic car in need of a front-end alignment. It felt good to make him laugh in his condition. Maybe this change in my mobility is less the weathering effect of time and age and more the result of losing another child. It’s pitched my life at such a crazy angle that it makes standing upright a dizzying feat matched only by trying to bend over. Julia said ingesting a bit more food might help, and Philemon said maybe too much wine was the problem. As if my unmarried twin daughters, with no children of their own, have an inkling of what I’m feeling. Good thing Julia didn’t search my desk and find the flask I hid behind the box of thank-you cards. I would never hear the end of that. She’s a good soul, my Julia, but a bit overbearing at times.

Mom, this isn’t healthy, she said yesterday when she saw my half-eaten sandwich alongside a half-empty bottle of a particularly lovely Argentinian Syrah.

None of your business how I manage pain at my age.

Still, Mom… Philemon picked up where Julia left off. It was more annoying than endearing the way they so often spoke as if they were one person.

None of your business. Do I make myself clear?

Now, I’ve managed to lift several blankets and pictures, and I’m near the bottom of the pile inside the chest. There it is, still in its cherry-wood frame. The bride is smiling, eyes a bit glazed, and the groom stiff, his only softness the sadness in eyes as green as the darkest grass carpet, lost in the shadows of a forest of fear. That day, I’d thought of the bride as no more than a trashy, low-class drunk who wasn’t good enough for my son. In that, I’d been just one voice in unison with those of my children, friends, and neighbors. I’ve softened a bit since then. Not much, but time can heal some wounds.

My anger on that wedding day and afterward often brought me to an unpleasant crossroads. My beloved husband, Jules, gone eleven years now, had robbed our son, Emil, of his youth and his ability to marry for love by forcing him to marry Noelle. And now the product of that disastrous union was coming home. Elise, my granddaughter. For whom, I’m ashamed to say, I’ve always harbored an unnatural aversion that has gnawed at the soft underbelly of my psyche and run amok with my belief that I can and do love all babies unconditionally, especially my own. I blamed those dark feelings about Elise on my dislike of Noelle and mentally flagellated myself for years for extending my resentment of the mother to the child.

Then, one day, Emil vanished, seemingly overnight, to the jungles of Vietnam, as if such a dangerous, violent place was preferable to the claustrophobic trappings of his marriage. And Jules insisted Elise must come to live with us.

No granddaughter of mine will live in poverty, he said to me.

Really? What about Nova?

Yet another situation where I took responsibility because Emil did not.

You have two granddaughters, and they’re both poor.

Only one, Elise, will come to live in this house.

Because her mother’s a drunk? Or because she’s white?

I’m not having this argument again. Either you’re coming with me to get Elise or you’re not.

Even now, I bite the inside of my lip in frustration as I did then. If only Jules had been able to love our children and grandchildren equally, things could have been different. As he suggested Elise come live with us, a silent scream like the pitched sound of the eagle in free fall had risen up from my belly, pushing to be heard, forcing me to face Jules and the shame of my private feelings.

What if I say no?

I’m the head of this household.

This is a marriage, not a dictatorship, Jules. But I knew I would have to compromise or both Elise and my marriage would suffer the consequences.

You don’t love her. Jules had an accusatory tone that was hurtful.

Not true. I just don’t see Elise with rose-tinted glasses.

Like I do?

Yes.

You play favorites too, Eugenie. It’s Nova you adore.

And who you won’t acknowledge.

As much as I’d loved that man, through six children and all our years together, I could never understand how he turned his back on Nova because her skin color was a darker hue than his own.

Elise loves Nova, Jules. If you want her to live here, then Nova will be a part of her life and ours.

No, Jules said.

Yes. Either you agree to this or Elise stays with Noelle.

I rarely defied him openly, angrily, and his face registered the shock. Usually, I used softer persuasion, letting my feelings be known so that he would compromise to make me happy. Jules had been furious, but he finally nodded his head in assent, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

I’ll go get Elise, he’d said. Noelle wants her freedom more than that child.

But not more than she wants money, I told him. She’s collecting from the army, Emil, the welfare system…all because she has custody of Elise. Noelle’s her legal guardian. We can’t just take her.

I’d turned away from him then, resting my fingertips on the rim of the kitchen sink, closing my eyes for seconds that seemed like minutes. When I opened them, it was to see a bright-red cardinal chirping from the tree just outside the window. But I’d turned to watch Jules instead, as he contemplated the problem before him. We stared at each other for a long, tense minute before I spoke again.

I’ll call Noelle and ask her if Elise can come here on the weekends, I said. We’ll start like that and see how it goes.

All right, Eugenie, but I don’t like her living with an unfit mother.

If we see enough to create the proof we need to obtain custody of Elise, then we’ll do that together.

I can still feel the sense of relief that rolled up from my stomach to my heart that day. It came with another feeling about Elise that overtakes me now as I stare down at Emil and Noelle’s wedding photo.

It’s the belief that life is easier when my granddaughter is absent.

I’d accused Jules unfairly for years, both silently and verbally, of being the one to show favoritism to some of our children. Yet, given more time, would I have apologized to him as I should have? I’ve never admitted this to anyone but myself, but sometimes I just dislike certain people while I love others beyond all reason. It’s doubly a blessing and a curse.

I’d reached for the phone on that long-ago day and begun dialing Noelle’s number, determined to stop resenting Elise. Every child is a blessing, I told myself, even if I could not quite love them all with equal depth and strength.

I wonder if that particular blessing has pulled into town by now.

Chapter 3

Elise

Elise hadn’t intended to wander down to her old childhood home in Turntable. But by mid-morning, Nova had not returned her calls, and Noelle was driving her crazy with her drinking and her insinuations that the family still blamed Elise after all these years. Time had passed. Things were back to normal in McDonald. And Elise believed that would be proven at her father’s funeral. So she’d headed out, walking the familiar streets, and ended up here, at their old house on the tiny strip of company homes once inhabited by miners and railroad workers.

Now she stood on the sidewalk in front of four tired-looking tenement houses, struggling against memories good and bad, that she’d put behind her long ago. The click of a door latch and the squeak of a pair of old hinges startled Elise, and she looked up to the porch of the home she’d once shared with Noelle.

Watcha doin’? The boy who stood half in and half out of the door looked about ten, with smudged clothing and unkempt red hair. After eyeing her for a few seconds, he stepped outside. The door, its screens loosened in the corners, banged behind him as he shuffled his bare feet across the porch, green eyes surveying her cautiously.

I used to live here. A long time ago, Elise answered.

Didja like it?

Sometimes.

No you didn’t. He sighed as if disappointed that once again Elise, like other grown-ups, had lied to him.

You’re right. I didn’t. Jeetyet? Elise smiled, surprised at how good it felt to let the Pittsburgh way of speaking roll so easily off her tongue. She’d worked hard to sound like a native New Yorker for years.

No. I’m hungry. He looked tired and scrawny. He was bringing back some bad memories.

Where’s your mum? Elise asked. You have any food in there?

He just shrugged his thin shoulders, indicating with a small shift of his head that there was no food.

I’m going to go get us some burgers, and I’ll be back soon.

He stared at Elise, hope and disbelief rolling over his tiny face.

What’s your name? How old are you?

Winston… My mum named me after a pack of cigarettes. Just call me Bub. Everyone does. I’m nine. Winston-Bub gave her a tentative smile.

He seemed small for his age, undernourished. Elise knew he’d lived a thousand lives and a hundred sorrows in his short years. She looked across the park at the houses on Lincoln Street. Same view she’d had as a kid. Same big Delcroix home where she belonged and yet did not belong. How would it be the day after tomorrow when she had to see all of them again? Should she test the waters today? Elise turned back to the boy.

Thirty minutes, Winston. I’d rather call you Winston. Time me. I’ll be right back.

She headed to Main Street and ducked into a small diner there, ordering two burgers with fries and two chocolate milkshakes to go. Elise knew any normal person would call social services right now. They’d wonder who would leave a nine-year-old home alone with no food and the door unlocked. But she knew Noelle and any mother like her would do it. And she knew social services wouldn’t really help much anyway. Besides, in spite of it all, he probably loved his mother. Just like Elise loved hers. He would grow to resent her, unable to show her love, but deep down, he would always wait for her to come home and make his world stable and right. Just like waiting for a Christmas that never comes. The burger would be no more than a band-aid from a stranger, but Elise had had plenty of those in her time, mainly from Ralphie Scruggs, her neighbor and only friend in those days, and his mother. And she’d had the Delcroixes just across the way, up to their ears in food and money and judgments—dispersed randomly but more often than love, in her opinion.

All except Grandpa Jules. He’d loved Elise unconditionally. He’d filled the void. She could still feel the pain of his passing, still feel their eyes on her, their silent judgment that the stress of what they felt she’d done had caused his heart attack. She’d told them then that it was the stress of their accusations against her, the stress of standing up for her all those years against their disapproval, that had been too much for him.

Elise knew she’d said a lot of unkind things to her family back then. And they’d returned the volley. But over the years since she’d left,

Reviews for The Narrow Gate

[sheiladeeth_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

“Life is messy,” in Janet Roberts’ The Leaf Queen. People make judgements without knowing the details, and decisions without knowing the consequences. Guilt and pain ensue. But the story’s threaded with the promise of hope, unfurling slowly like an Irish dawn filled with light and shade. Even wrong relationships can have beautiful consequences. And the sins of the parents don’t always define the paths of the children they bear.Compelling multi-dimensional characters, haunting back-story, and a lyrical writing style make this a truly enjoyable read. Part Maeve Binchey, part modern American, the story blends Catholic angst, family ties, rebellion, romance and creativity into a novel that ties its loose ends beautifully without being manipulative. I really enjoyed it.Disclosure: I got it on a deal and I offer my honest review.

[pamelabarrett · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

There is a lyric in an old rock/blues song that goes “if it wasn’t for bad luck, I would have no luck at all,” well that is Dina’s life story in the Leaf Queen. From her childhood onward she just can’t seem to catch a break. When we first meet her, she has left her hometown in America and moved to Ireland. While there she falls in love with the worst guy for her and he breaks her heart. Then she gives birth to his child and gives the baby up for adoption which breaks her heart again; and this is in the first few chapters. When Dina returns to America she tries to start over and goes to be with her sister CeCe, the only family she has left. CeCe is more stable but has unresolved issues from their childhood. I know this sounds dark and depressing but it is a story about healing. Dina is smart, artistic, sensitive and talented but emotionally stunted, and anyone, including me, who has made bad choices will relate to her. The author has done a great job taking us into Dina’s thought process, and also in telling the story through different characters. Only one thing kept me from giving this novel a 5 star rating and that was an incident that happens towards the end, because I wondered if it was necessary? No spoiler alert because I’d like to know what other readers think. I’m giving The Leaf Queen 4 stars for the writing, and a good story. Finally, I have just one little warning about some sexual content.

[somethingblanc · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This book reminded me of The Coal Miner's Daughter. This book was a very confusing read. The style of writing is good. The backwards and forwards between the past and the present through me sometimes. The main problem I had with this book was the numbers of characters introduced too fast. I had no idea who anyone was and by the time I began to realise who was who, the story was over. In one paragraph, someone mentioned, a husband, a son, a daughter in law and a granddaughter. It was way too many characters to try and get a handle on. Perhaps a slower start would've been better. The story itself could've been better. I would've preferred to find out that she was innocent.