The Art of Preserving Love

by Robbi Neal

  Edie also knew that for a child’s hacking cough at night Wood’s Peppermint Cure was guaranteed, and for gravel and bladder problems Warner’s Safe Cure was concentrated and would restore complete health within a week. Edie shook her head at her mother’s puffy fingers. Must be her bowel; nearly all health issues, particularly those of women, could be attributed to fermentation in the bowel. She’d get some of Dr Sheldon’s Gin Pills first thing in the morning. They’d fix anything, and better late than never. She wondered at a world that could turn gin into pills, so even those who abstained from alcohol could still reap its medicinal benefits. Of course Lucy’s ill health could be ‘women’s failures’ or ‘the change’ or old age, but either way Gin Pills would be sure to do the trick. Edie took out her notebook and smiled at Missus Hooley sitting just over the aisle, who assumed she was so engrossed in the sermon she was taking notes. Edie opened to a fresh page and wrote:

  Fifth November Five

  Plan — Heal Mama. Buy Gin Pills from Connell’s Chemist

  Satisfied that she’d considered all the possibilities of her mother’s ill health and arrived at a sensible diagnosis and remedy, she glanced towards Theo sitting at the organ and was filled with pangs of an unrecognisable feeling that made her want to leap across the pews and rip Vera Gamble’s hat from her head. The hat was so small it barely constituted a hat. It sat cheekily on the side of Vera’s hair and a few coloured flowers poked out of the band; it was picnics and sunshine in that little hat. Edie looked at Theo again and then back to Vera and back to Theo. There was no doubt he was gazing longingly at Vera Gamble, who sat just a few pews ahead, her curled blonde hair piled on her head in luxurious pillows of softness. A halo of sunlight through the windows touched Vera’s hair with magic, turning it golden and glowing as though it was filled with stars.

  Edie’s heart sank as she realised her plan was in ruins.

  Three

  The Seduction

  Under the vigilant eyes of Reverend Whitlock.

  Theo turned around on his organ stool. He pretended he was considering the enormity of Reverend Whitlock’s words as he gazed out the stained-glass window. He did that so that no one would realise he was really trying to find Edith Cottingham in the congregation. Finally he spotted her sitting in a pew halfway down. She was on the end and next to her was her mother and then Beth and then her father. When he thought it wouldn’t be obvious, he twisted further around so he could properly take her in. Out the corner of his eye he saw Vera Gamble smile at him and he smiled back to be polite but his gaze was drawn back to Edith. He watched her as she fidgeted, looked at the ground, looked at the ceiling and then took out her notebook and wrote something. Obviously she was as bored with the Reverend’s sermon as he was. She crossed her legs and swung one foot out into the aisle and he caught — was it a glimpse of ankle? No, it was more than a glimpse, it was her stockinged ankle laid bare for the world to see. Theo nearly fell off the organ stool.

  He was shocked. Then he was spellbound. His emotions swirled in his chest and he grasped it tightly to stop the tornado inside him. He wanted to savour that ankle, to look and look until he was completely familiar with its curve and its softness. It was a fragile, slender thing that he could encompass in his hand. He reached out his hand to touch it, to run his finger along its arc, then he remembered where he was and quickly gripped the organ stool. He wanted to run down the aisle and claim that ankle as his own and cover it up. He felt urges that weren’t right to feel in church and quickly pulled the hymnal off its perch on the organ. It fell to the ground with a thud and the Reverend stopped mid-sentence and waited and watched, and the entire congregation waited and watched with him, while Theo leaned over, picked up the hymnal, checked it for damage and then laid it over his lap. There were stirrings in his blood that he hadn’t felt since looking at naked black women in Africa. Despite himself he couldn’t tear his eyes away and gazed blatantly at Edie’s ankle until he felt Reverend Whitlock boring holes through the back of his head. Theo glanced at the Reverend. The Reverend glared back at him and the sermon spilled out of his mouth once again. Theo felt his cheeks burn hot with embarrassment as Reverend Whitlock’s eyes settled accusingly on the hymnal in Theo’s lap.

  Theo turned his back on the Reverend and stared at the organ. He turned the hymnal over and opened it to the next hymn, ‘How Great Thou Art’, and slowly placed it back on its stand. Reverend Whitlock finished his sermon and sat down behind the pulpit. Theo struck the opening chords; the notes blurred in front of his eyes and he played from somewhere inside him where he knew the hymn by heart, his brain filled with hot blood and images of Edith. Before he knew it, the congregation had stopped singing but he wasn’t with them, so they had to wait for him to finish the last bars, which he did, thumping the keys as though he was finishing with a crescendo on purpose. After Deacon Blackmarsh gave the announcements, the congregation stood to sing the final hymn, ‘Abide With Me’, and Theo played the introductory bars thinking how lucky he was that his fingers could again dance over the keys from memory, as the notes in the hymnal no longer wrote the song, but formed the word Edith, over and over, as if they were reading his heart.

  Edie thought he maybe was looking at her after all. It was hard to tell. Just in case he was, she gave him her good side to study. She kept her head at an angle with the sun warming her cheek to a pink glow and she gave him a few minutes to admire her before she turned and gazed at the ceiling so he could see that she was thinking about God and Reverend Whitlock’s words. Then she lowered her eyes, crossed her legs and put her ankle out into the aisle for him to see. She willed him to look down and notice it, but he didn’t seem to and she wondered if all her planning had been for nothing.

  These secretive looks were seen by everyone — well, they were seen by the women, and soon the men would know because their wives would tell them.

  The women whispered, ‘Nothing will come of it. Vera Gamble has much more hope. She’s embarrassing herself, really.’ While Reverend Whitlock bellowed the final prayer Missus Blackmarsh turned to Missus Turnbull next to her and said that if Theo was interested in Too Girl then maybe he had just spent far too long in Africa and perhaps any white woman looked good to him now.

  Missus Horlick sitting in the next pew leant back and muttered that Theo might be getting on, but he still had the pick of any handsome young girl who’d be happy to marry him.

  Everyone whispered, What on Earth could he see in Too Girl?

  ‘Blowed if I know!’ they answered.

  And then they stood for the Benediction and the gossipers smirked as if they knew more about Edie and Theo than Edie and Theo did.

  If Theo hadn’t had the clout knocked out of him, he might have told the women exactly what it was about Edith Cottingham that made his heart feel as though it was going to fly away. Her lips, for example, were always curled at the ends, ready to smile. And Edie bounced when she walked, as though she was always dancing; yet when he listened to her talk she was down-to-earth and not giggly at all. Her chin was always held too high, too defiantly for a woman, and he liked that about her; she wasn’t afraid of life. To him, Edie was straightforward. She didn’t worry and fret continuously like the other women he knew, like his mother did. Edie was still so young and trusting and he felt so very tired and so very old after the war. He felt worn out and dusty, as though the slightest knock could make him crumble away to nothing. When he saw Edie he felt the warmth of her heart on his skin. It was as though she was bathed in light, as though the sun had blessed her and never left her.

  Theo had never told this to anyone because all the words got shot out of him by the booming canons in Africa. Those canons made him stone deaf for a good six months. And even though his hearing had come back, he’d had trouble with words ever since. Words came to him slowly, taking their time to form in his mind, and often by the time they were ready to be said he found it was too late, and the words died away before they found life.

  Finally the Rever
end marched to the entrance of the church like he was the king himself and the congregation began to shuffle out. It was only after Edie turned to help her mother from her seat that Theo was able to force his eyes away from her. He turned to the organ and played out the notes, the music he was supposed to play while the congregation filed out of the church. Theo’s hands kept moving over the notes but he watched over his shoulder as Edith carefully put her hymnal on her seat and filed out after her family into the pleasant midday sunshine.

  As soon as she had gone Theo abruptly stopped playing, closed the lid of the organ and quickly walked out of the church. Old Mister Tonkins, who was stacking hymnals back onto the shelves in the foyer and was unable to look anyone in the face because of the perfect stoop of his back, tried to waylay Theo in the vestibule.

  ‘Lovely playing today, Theo,’ he said, his voice worn to a failing breeze by the years. Theo shook his hand furiously, making Mister Tonkins almost topple on his toes like a wobbly toy, and kept walking instead of asking how he was getting on as he normally would. Mister Tonkins was left reaching for the shelves to steady himself.

  Theo squished past the people shaking hands with the Reverend and his wife on the church porch and looked around at the clusters of people standing at the front of the church. Then he saw her. She was standing next to Beth at the other end of the porch and for a moment it looked like she was praying.

  He saw the women muttering at her skirt and casting glares at her mother and father for allowing it. He saw the groups of men smiling and saying how much they liked the new fashion — though not for their own wives or sweethearts, of course. Theo watched as Reverend Whitlock, having shaken everyone’s hands, walked past him, and he saw Edie’s father walk up to the Reverend, take his arm and engage him in some obviously serious conversation from the look on Mister Cottingham’s face. It was probably about Edie’s hemline.

  Theo smiled; he liked the length of Edie’s skirt. He’d seen skirts that length in Europe, on his way back from Africa. The girl had gumption. He liked that. He felt he had lost all of his. In his head, he’d rehearsed what he was going to say to her. He had spent the week thinking about it. Now he took a deep breath and he was ready.

  This time the words would come.

  ‘The first Sunday of November and it’s a beautiful day, Miss Cottingham, Beth,’ Theo said as he took off his bowler with one hand and pointed to the sky with his cane, as though Edith needed direction to find the sky. He sighed with relief. He had got the words out.

  ‘It is,’ Edie agreed.

  ‘Hello Mister Hooley,’ said Beth and she surprised him by giving him a little curtsey as she looked up at him from under her lashes. He’d seen a lot of those looks from women in Africa.

  ‘What was that for?’ Edie said. ‘You never curtsey, Beth.’ Beth giggled into her hand. Beth was certainly young and pretty and Theo didn’t miss the thunderous look she got from Edie; it made him smile.

  ‘The Reverend’s sermon was inspiring this morning, don’t you think?’ Theo said.

  It was clear to him that Edie didn’t have a clue what Reverend Whitlock had said as she answered, ‘Oh yes, I was taking notes.’ He teased her by waiting for more and seeing he wasn’t going to save her she said cleverly, ‘What do you feel were the main points, Mister Hooley?’

  ‘Well …’ said Theo.

  She was watching him carefully, and he tried frantically to think of something the Reverend had said, to arrange some words in his mind, and as usual they just weren’t coming. ‘His — he, he …’

  ‘He spoke about the workers’ claims. He said that a man who doesn’t work doesn’t deserve to eat,’ said Beth.

  ‘Did he indeed?’ said Edie, her temper flaring in an instant. ‘How can he say that from the pulpit? What about those men’s children and wives? What good Christian should suggest that the children of these men go hungry? I believe in protection of our trade which will of course protect the workers, just like my father, just like Alfred Deakin. My father worked hard to have Mister Deakin back as leader of this nation.’

  And then he saw the realisation spread across her face; she had been too outspoken, too vehement, too unwomanly. Did she think that maybe he wasn’t a Deakin voter or a protectionist? He saw her face immediately lose all its light and she looked for a moment, just a splinter of a moment that was shorter than a single breath, as though she had lost her entire world. And his heart leapt into the clouds with joy and hope. She cared what he thought of her. He mattered to her. He tried to stop the smile that was forcing its way onto his lips.

  Edie looked to Beth in a panic and Beth, a quick girl whose older sisters had taught her all the tricks, clumsily pretended to lose her balance on the edge of the porch and she fell in Edie’s direction and pushed Edie into Theo.

  Edie reached out and grabbed Theo’s cane-holding arm and as she fell she flung her leg unreasonably high in the air, taking advantage of Beth’s clumsiness and giving him the opportunity to notice the shortness of her skirt and the fineness of her ankle once more.

  It was her last hope.

  He caught her swiftly.

  ‘Steady there,’ he said putting his hat back on, amused by her efforts.

  ‘Thank you, I don’t know what happened, my shoe must have caught on a stone,’ said Edie as she removed her hand from his arm. He immediately felt stung by the removal of her touch.

  ‘No, it was my fault, I fell,’ said Beth quickly, but neither of them took any notice of her.

  So she shrugged and said, ‘I’ll just see where Mister and Missus Cottingham are,’ and walked off.

  Theo scratched behind his ear. His hat wobbled on his head.

  ‘Did you kill anyone in Africa?’ Edie asked seriously. ‘It would be awfully exciting and mysterious if you did.’ Then she scolded herself and whispered, ‘Stupid stupid — too forthright.’ She looked miserable, sure she would lose him now, and his heart leapt higher.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m too forthright — just ask Missus Blackmarsh — she’ll warn you soon enough,’ she said and stared at the ground, willing it to open up and swallow her.

  Yet this was a question Theo got asked frequently by curious people who had no idea what war was. He had an answer prepared: A man does what he has to do for his country and his king. But that answer wouldn’t do for Edie. She was a person who demanded honesty. He looked down at his arms and wondered what it would be like to wrap her up in them. He knew what it was like to wrap up a naked woman, to cover her body with his own, to feel her warmth and softness, to know that a woman could make everything else in the world disappear. But he also knew that Edie Cottingham was a well-bred young woman who would know nothing of these things. She would not know these needs of men. For her men were respectable and reliable like her father. They kissed you when you were engaged to them and you set up a home together. She would know nothing about sex and its blistering hold on a man. He loved her for it. It made him feel new.

  To anyone looking on at that moment, they were a picture of misery: she waiting to dissolve into the ground and he unable to find any words to give her.

  Theo stepped closer and Edie felt his warmth envelop her and dared to look up at him.

  ‘I wonder if I could …’ Theo began and scratched behind his ear. When he could stretch his scratching no further he added, ‘A …’

  ‘A word in private?’ she finished for him.

  Theo took Edie by the arm. He led her down the steps of the porch and up the dusty street a little way, where they wouldn’t be overheard. He saw her look over her shoulder at the intense gazes of the churchwomen. Missus Blackmarsh looked as if this was the best entertainment she’d had in years; Missus Whitlock had her face screwed up like she had sucked on a lemon; Missus Horlick looked as though there was nothing between her ears and Vera Gamble looked smug and very pleased with herself.

  ‘Don’t worry about them,’ he said quietly in her ear. ‘Let them think what they will.’

  Theo walked her o
ver to a tree still struggling from the cold frosts that had come during the winter. It cast a pitiful shade that wasn’t enough for them to stand under.

  He scratched behind his ear some more.

  ‘You didn’t bring back lice from Africa, did you Mister Hooley?’ she laughed.

  ‘What? No,’ he said and thought he must stop the scratching and concentrate on getting something out of his mouth. He motioned to her to come closer and when she was close enough he bent to speak to her, his spine curving over her in an arch like the trees that arched over the road and listened quietly to the whispers spoken in the houses.

  Her breath was hot on his neck. It burnt the ends of his fingers. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I want to ask for your permission to speak to your father,’ he said almost whispering.

  She laughed nervously and whispered back in his ear, ‘Well Mister Hooley, you can speak to whomever you want without asking my permission.’

  ‘No, Miss Cottingham, you know what I mean,’ he said, looking unswervingly at her.

  Her eyes were glorious, so steady and firm. He couldn’t measure how much he wanted her — it went on forever.

  She took an enormously long deep breath as she absorbed his meaning and let it become real. He felt he was waiting forever, he could feel his heart had completely stopped and until she answered he would never be able to move from this spot under the sickly tree.