In a Field of Blue

by Liviero, Gemma

  “How is your mother?”

  “She is well enough,” I said, the meaning behind the words perfectly clear to someone who knew much about our situation.

  “And Laurence . . . still taking full advantage of London life?”

  “I rarely see him, but I imagine so.”

  The mention of his name seemed to bring out a certain fear in me, as if he might appear at any moment to complicate further the already sensitive and perplexing situation unfolding at Lakeland Manor.

  “I need to advise you that just recently Edgar’s name has been added to His Majesty’s officially published war records; his name was inadvertently left out of the publication initially as you know, and for reasons no one can actually tell me,” said Roland. “This confirmation of the death as killed in action means of course that Laurence is one step closer to his claim for the estate.”

  I knew this change was coming and dreaded it. Mother had delayed it long enough with her grief. Laurence’s control was not what anyone else wanted, but it was according to the law and my father’s will, which made it binding that everything would succeed down the line. There were others who executed differently, but I was still part of a rigid beneficiary system that my father had not had a lateral mind to alter.

  I handed him the copy of the certificate, about which he asked a number of questions and, with such a sharp mind, was able to needle most of the information from me, even the parts I did not wish to reveal. Roland assured me that he had “opened many a closet” during his profession and would not be shocked by anything. Upon our parting, he advised he would pursue more details on my behalf with a sense of urgency, given the matter was delicate.

  After another three days of rest, Mariette was sitting up without any difficulty, and the child, who had been sleeping in the room next to Peggy’s, rushed in excitedly and climbed the bed to reach his mother. The night sweats had disappeared, and her appetite was slowly returning. She hugged Samuel, though she placed some distance between them, with the fear she might still pass on the infection.

  She looked flushed, perhaps embarrassed to be in night attire with hair unkempt.

  “I hope you don’t mind me being here again.”

  She did not respond to this and thought hard about something else.

  “You were here one night. I remember. I hope I didn’t say anything strange. I was quite weary.”

  “No,” I said, deciding against reminding her. “There is more color about you today.”

  “Thank you again for letting me stay. I think I was quite delirious the day I attempted to leave. But I will attempt it again as soon as I am able. In the meantime, I will dress for the day. I’m feeling ready to face the world again.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should say anything else at that point, in particular about her talk of departure. I stood up and spied the silvery lake and, above that, miles of powder-blue sky. It was paradise here, and I longed to share it then with someone who might appreciate it as much as I did. I reached for the door and felt a sense of lost opportunities if I did not say something. I turned back to see she was watching me curiously.

  “If I may be so bold as to suggest that there is no need to leave in s-such a hurry,” I said, stammering, perhaps too eager to speak the words. “You are welcome as a guest here until we can come to some arrangement. I would like you at least to stay here until your strength is returned.”

  She smiled coyly down at her hands.

  “Thank you. I would like that. We would like that.”

  I nodded and turned to leave again.

  “Do you doubt me?” she asked.

  Her question took me by surprise. Despite my growing feelings for her, I still did not have an answer that would satisfy her.

  “There is one thing that would help me win over my mother.”

  “It is the marriage certificate, non?”

  I smiled then. Was I so transparent, or was she especially canny? I suspected both.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Could you please pass me my bag?”

  I retrieved her leather travel bag, and she reached toward the papers at the bottom. She paused suddenly, and I thought briefly that she had seen that its contents had been disturbed. I was about to own up to it when she pulled out the paper and handed it to me.

  “Thank you,” I said, replacing the bag she passed to me and tucking the folded document into my shirt pocket, hoping that Mother would accept what appeared the likely truth: Samuel was Edgar’s son, but at the very least, Mariette was Edgar’s widow.

  “Was there anyone else in attendance?”

  “Yes, my father, Jerome Lavier, several months before he died.”

  I felt it wrong to question any further at that point. What she had told me was of little help to any investigation concerning the marriage, but as I left the room with the image of her sitting nestled amongst the cushions on the bed, her being here felt right, as if the transition of her arrival had never occurred. Everything about that moment felt as it should. I walked with lighter steps along the hallway to find Peggy and the child in the kitchen, Samuel swinging his short legs carelessly from a chair. He had grown used to us, his eyes not darting toward anyone who entered a room, but his thoughts comfortably elsewhere.

  “Samuel, how would you like to see the horses?”

  He nodded, but as we stepped toward the stable, he looked around him furtively: “Are there bears?” he asked in French.

  I admit I was yet to understand the fears of a child, of images they might have seen and perceived as real.

  “No,” I said. “We have sent them all away for good.”

  He was not convinced and stood still.

  “Samuel,” I said, “what’s the matter? Who’s telling you these things to scare you?”

  He shook his head. He perhaps did not wish to say.

  “Well, you truly don’t have to worry about anything that might harm you here. I grew up here, and in all my time never once encountered a wild animal that would hurt me.”

  He took another look around him, satisfied, and continued more sure-footed than before. I had not engaged with the boy, had rarely spoken to him, and he had been reserved, perhaps even a little frightened of me. And more so of Mother, I daresay; even more so than of bears.

  He smiled and said that he had been with Bert to watch him brush the horses in the stable, and he had even seen me riding one. And it was as if a person had suddenly emerged before my eyes. Now relaxed, he chatted to me about his time with Bert as I walked him first to the chicken coop, to spy for eggs, and then toward the stable.

  I asked him then if he missed his home, but his expression became solemn, and he chose not to answer. I asked also if he knew of his father, to which he said nothing. I guessed perhaps it had been difficult for Mariette to talk about a man he had never met, and especially since he was so young. I thought, daydreamed even, that it might be something I could discuss with him later on. I had so much to tell him about Edgar.

  He told me in young speak—lots of words but few details—about the train ride and the boat ride to get here. Though he spoke in French, he knew the English word for horse and many others, and I was very impressed with the intelligence of the boy.

  “Can you tell me a little bit about your home?”

  He shrugged, then looked at me shyly.

  “Do you miss it?”

  He shook his head, rubbing his foot back and forth on the ground like a horse eager to gallop away. He seemed reluctant to talk further or maybe just bored. Inexperienced as I was with children, I distracted him with other things. I explained how my brothers and I used to ride and race and that I have a scar where I fell from a horse and tore my thigh. He seemed intrigued by such stories, and I regretted telling him, quickly reassuring him that I was on a very fast horse and the horses we had now were gentle.

  He was at first fearful and would not step near the horses, but finally I coaxed him. I lifted him to place him on Sheriff, whom I trusted with my life,
and I walked them both around the paddock.

  I couldn’t help but compare the features of the boy and Edgar. He had a very pointed chin, unlike Edgar, a darker complexion, and a narrow frame, but there was also an uncannily haunted expression that Edgar carried, where one never knew whether he was listening to them or not, but in fact he was carefully dissecting every word. I thought about what my brother might have done with Samuel; he most certainly would have taught him to row, sail, and ride.

  It was quite dark by the time we left to return to the house for dinner, and the child was whisked away by Peggy to be taken to visit his mother again. Though Peggy didn’t speak French, she spoke the universal languages of arm movements and voice tone, which a child always understands. I could see that a close relationship was quickly forming.

  Finding Mother in her rooms with a headache and the curtains closed, I advised her very briefly of the steps I had taken with Roland to examine Mariette’s claims. In the dim light, she squinted at the certificate I presented her and paid particular attention to Edgar’s signature, before waving it away. She was feeling too poorly to study the document at length, but examined it long enough to have gleaned its potential for validity. I also suggested to Mother that Mariette and the boy stay at Lakeland until the conclusion of the investigation. “A presumption of innocence until proven otherwise,” I said, to which my mother, quick-witted as she was, said, “Or the reverse.” She did express feelings of concern that Mariette had been so ill. She could at least find common ground there. Peggy had filled her in, I believe, on everything else, and perhaps it was Peggy who had softened her the most.

  The following day, much revived, Mother sought out the boy and asked if he would join her for lemonade on the terrace. Was this a trick, I wondered, to get him to reveal something? Only a week ago she had wanted him gone. But she seemed brighter, perhaps due to better health. She had powdered her face, applied some color to her cheeks, and Peggy had pinned up her hair into a style that she loved. She engaged Samuel in conversation and asked Peggy to bring her several children’s books we had read as boys, and Mother sat and pointed to English words and asked him to repeat them. I spied the pair from inside and found Mother to be quite delightful when she was in this mood. She was a good teacher, something I had not realized until that moment. Both patient and careful, she kept the boy enthralled with her explanation of the pictures.

  When I returned an hour later, she had paper and pen, and Samuel was writing words.

  “You can keep it,” she told him about the picture book he favored most, and I caught Samuel walking around the gardens with it and reading the words out loud. He was so taken with the book, and fearful it might disappear for good, that from that moment it was rarely out of sight, and in the afternoon when I took him to see the horses again, the book was tucked safely under his arm.

  The next day Mariette felt well enough to eat a full meal and met with my mother and me for breakfast in the dining room. Mariette dressed, arranged her hair, and put on a beige belted dress that had belonged to my mother. Mariette’s well-worn clothes needed cleaning, and Peggy in the meantime had provided her with dresses that Mother had grown tired of.

  The gathering was a little uncomfortable at first, our meal eaten mostly in silence interspersed with my explanations to Mariette about farming methods and her queries about the history of the property and comments about the kindness of Peggy and Bert and Samuel’s newfound love of horses, before running out of things to say.

  “You speak English very well,” Mother said to Mariette, but made no further reference to the first day when Mariette pretended otherwise. With Mariette’s embarrassed bow of the head, my mother’s point had produced the effect she sought.

  “Mariette,” my mother said after an awkward silence hovered above our partly-eaten boiled eggs and toast. “I am led to believe by my son and my housekeeper that there is merit in what you say, and you should be aware that we are attempting to validate your claim by various methods. The marriage certificate appears legitimate enough. But do you have any family left . . . anywhere, who can prove that you were in a relationship with Edgar? That the child is his?”

  It was blunt, and I would have stepped in to answer for her; however, Mariette seemed unruffled.

  “As I told Rudy, I have no family remaining. The war left little evidence of anything.”

  “Quite,” said Mother, also unperturbed. “If I am to give you the benefit of the doubt that you are indeed my son’s wife and the child is my grandson, I have to ask, what is it that you want from us? Did you plan on living here? I have to be very honest with you. We don’t have money to spend on extravagances anymore, and I’m not even sure that we can afford to house and serve you in the manner that Edgar would have wanted.”

  I saw Mariette swallow anxiously. My mother was imposing, and I felt a little of Mariette’s anxiety myself, desperate that she would give a winning answer. I might add that my mother always got to the point of things. She never shied away from hard questions or difficult decisions. I had to admire her assertiveness and will at times in this world of ruling men.

  Mariette put down her knife and fork and looked directly at my mother.

  “Madame,” she said softly. “I loved your son. He was good to me, and I felt it a duty and an honor to present you with his own son. I could not go through life denying you of ever meeting him, and trust me . . . to come here was not an easy decision. As for your concern, I am not here to take your money, nor press upon you for hospitality, especially as I have no need for extravagances. But I do hope that you will recognize Samuel, who is an innocent thrust into an uncertain environment from birth and who will never truly know his father as I had the fortune of knowing him. I can tell you that your son was devoted to you, and I do remember him being unsure about writing to you, whether the truth about war would upset you. What to tell you of the damage that was done to his body then barely recovered by the time he was sent back to fight again. I can only tell you that the last time I saw him, he was battered and eager to be done with it all to return to you. He said that when he thought that he must be strong, he would think of you and remember the unwavering faith you had in all that he did.”

  I had been so focused on Mariette that by the time I had turned to Mother, I was alarmed to find that her watery eyes and quivering lips had betrayed a lack of composure. I refrained from asking if she was all right, as I could see that she was attempting to maintain her self-control and would have objected to any fuss. She put down her fork, which had been in her hand, a now useless implement, and picked up her serviette to dab first at her mouth. She blinked several times.

  “Thank you for your candor,” she said, and commenced to stand. I, too, began to rise to help her, but she waved me away.

  “Tell Peggy to bring the tea to my room, please, Rudy.”

  I nodded.

  She walked from the room, and Mariette looked dismayed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It seems I’ve upset her a second time.”

  “No, Mariette, you have reached my mother’s heart,” I said, smiling, for the words had reached me, too.

  We finished the rest of our meal quickly in silence, and I escorted Mariette to the kitchen to collect Samuel; then we sat on the front terrace near the entrance gardens to watch Bert feed the ravens that bobbed across the lawn. His “friends,” he called them. Samuel ran toward Bert while Mariette called out to him to walk slowly. The birds fluttered skyward as the boy approached, but once at Bert’s side, the ravens flew back down to peck at the seed he had scattered on the ground.

  I took a sneaking glance at Mariette, at her profile, at the shape of her long nose that extended from just beneath her brow to just above her small, perfect lips. She was breathtaking, and I wanted to hold her then, to tell her how I was glad she had come, how the words of my brother had given us some kind of closure.

  She turned, sun on her face, and shielded her eyes, as if she knew I was about to say something.

 
“Mariette, thank you so much for coming.”

  She smiled serenely, and I saw that her cheeks were flushed.

  Peggy arrived with a note to give to Mariette.

  Mariette opened the note, looked at it briefly, then closed it again. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable, and the pleasant feelings I had just experienced dissipated, for I feared bad news.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  “I think it is from your mother, and she is asking me to leave.”

  I was stunned. Mother seemed very different at breakfast. Could I have misjudged the tears in her eyes for something else: offense perhaps?

  “Do you mind if I read it?”

  Mariette looked at the note and my hand outstretched as if there were a chasm there that was too large to cross, before finally releasing the note, and it was then that I discovered something else about Mariette. She spoke English, but she had not learned to read it.

  I smiled and looked at her, and she could see instantly that I had become aware of her secret. Mother was taking a chance, as we were yet to hear from Roland, but I must admit the contents greatly pleased me.

  “Mother has kindly asked you to stay. She said the guest room can be yours and Samuel’s indefinitely, until we come to another arrangement.”

  I handed it back to her, and she looked at the letter. A mixture of happiness and amazement spread in equal measures across her face.

  “Is that all she says?”

  “Yes,” I said. That was my mother. Clear and to the point, and I don’t remember loving my mother any more than I did that day.

  But despite my feelings, there were still things that weighed on me as I slipped uneasily into sleep that night. Like shapes in a fog I could not yet discern.

  CHAPTER 6

  I had received a reply from my employer to say they had covered for me with existing staff but that I had only till the following Monday before they would advertise for a replacement. My days at Lakeland were quickly coming to an end, and I dreaded leaving.

  Bert was in the work shed by the stable, repairing some broken furniture, and I found Samuel beside him. Mariette had at first been reluctant to allow Samuel too far out of her sight, especially on the lakeside, so we tended to group on the terrace and gardens off the kitchen at the front of the property. But it was difficult to stop the boy from running and finding garden tools and other potentially harmful objects to amuse himself with, and he would sometimes disappear out of sight, much to his mother’s worry. I watched Mariette try to herd him back to the house without luck.