More in Anger
Page 1
MORE
in
ANGER
ALSO BY J. JILL ROBINSON
Saltwater Trees
Lovely in Her Bones
Eggplant Wife
Residual Desire
Copyright © 2012 J. Jill Robinson
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems—without the prior written permission of the publisher, or in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Robinson, J. Jill, 1955-
More in anger : a novel / J. Jill Robinson.
EBOOK 978-1-77102-031-2
I. Title.
PS8585.O35166M67 2012 C813'.54 C2011-907121-5
Editor: Janice Zawerbny
Cover design: Michel Vrána
Cover images:
Wasp: Ale-ks / istockphoto.com
Wallpaper: tommaso lizzul / shutterstock.com
Text design: Gordon Robertson
Published by Thomas Allen Publishers,
a division of Thomas Allen & Son Limited,
390 Steelcase Road East,
Markham, Ontario L3R 1G2 Canada
www.thomasallen.ca
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of The Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program.
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $20.1 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada.
We acknowledge the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative.
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.
The author gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of the Saskatchewan Arts Board and the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.
12 13 14 15 16 5 4 3 2 1
for Steven and Emmett
HAMLET: What, look’d he frowningly?
HORATIO: A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
HAMLET (1.2.231)
OPAL
PEARL
VIVIEN
MORE
in
ANGER
OPAL
The diamond in Opal’s engagement ring glinted and sparkled as she sewed the skirt of her satin wedding dress, as she stitched the tiny seed pearls and faux orange blossoms onto her wedding veil. Every once in a while one of the ring’s claws caught on the veil’s netting, and Opal carefully released it. Engagement rings had become the latest fashion in 1913, and though she was not prone to pride, Opal had loved the ring the moment Mac presented it to her. Unaccustomed to wearing rings, she had been aware of the diamond’s presence on her hand ever since he slid it onto her finger, its inherent coldness and hardness, and how it didn’t give way when it pressed against her skin, or cloth, and everything that wasn’t harder than itself. The diamond, just shy of a carat, was set on a very plain and narrow gold band etched finely and subtly with lines. The claws that tightly clutched the diamond were white gold, the round stone remarkable, Mac said, for its clarity and quality; it was, she thought, as clear as invisible must be. She looked at it often, held it up to the light.
Her fiancé—she loved the word—had now been gone from Winnipeg just over three years. Fortunately, she had discovered some pleasure in missing him; she found she enjoyed the yearning. She liked to sit alone, longing for his return, and imagine how their time together might be in the married years that lay just ahead. Coming closer every day.
Part of Mac’s ongoing intrigue for her, she told herself, was wondering what lay beneath that hard, seemingly cold surface. She suspected a hot spring of affection and regard would be revealed once they were secured to each other by God, and after they became more accustomed to one another, more at home. She touched her cheek. Then, surreptitiously, her breast. He has chosen me, she thought happily. Me, instead of all the other girls in Winnipeg. In Scotland. In Canada. Me! “On June 9, 1915,” she announced to herself in a whisper, her needle paused in the air, “Miss Opal Elizabeth King will be officially married to James ‘Mac’ Macaulay, solicitor for the Canadian Pacific Railway in Calgary.” How happy she was. Finally, at twenty-five, she was going to be a wife.
Opal had met Mac Macaulay on May 10, 1909, when he walked through the door of the law firm where she worked. She remembered the day clearly, because it was the day she began wrestling with the new typing machine and she had black ink all over her hands and on one of her best white blouses. What a devilish contraption! The machine was supposed to make everyone’s life so much easier, but the instruction book made no sense and the salesman was long gone.
It was snowing, but the last few days had been warm enough to soften the ground, so there was mud everywhere, thick gumbo mud that stuck like clay to the bottoms of boots, leaving tracks she would have to clean up again and again. Standing there with snow on the shoulders of his greatcoat, Mac spoke with a Scottish brogue so strong it took several repetitions before she understood that he wanted to meet with one of the partners, and she introduced him to Mr. Tupper. Mr. Macaulay was a serious-looking fellow, not tall, slight, with a straight, sharp nose and brown hair combed to one side. He nodded politely to her and attempted a small smile.
It was a totally different man who came out of Mr. Tupper’s office an hour later. In spite of his obvious distress, he did remember to close the front door as he left, allowing her one final glimpse of his face, which was wet with tears and so black with emotion that it shook her badly. Several months later she dared to ask him what had happened. Mac had quickly learned from Mr. Tupper that it was English, not Scottish, law that was used in Canada, so in order to be called to the bar he would have to repeat his articles. This was particularly bad news for him, he told her, because he had just completed three years of articling in Edinburgh—twelve arduous hours of labour required daily, paid the equivalent of a dollar every two weeks, and wretched living conditions, which were all he could afford. He would tell her that he had made a vow to himself when he finished those hellish years that he would never again suffer like that—and now look what had happened. But thankfully, Mr. Tupper had offered him a job, and the conditions of his articling here were much better. Within weeks, Opal observed that the desperation in Mac’s eyes had subsided, fading into a kind of grim determination, where it stayed.
At first Opal was shy around him—he seemed to take everything so seriously—but slowly she grew to like how he spoke, and how after several months had passed he relaxed enough that he sometimes teased her in a gruff, somewhat peculiar way that unfortunately was not always kind. But she forgave him: maybe that was how one joked in Scotland. His displays of humour were rare enough in any case; normally he remained extremely reserved, but impatient as he made his requests of her at work. And he remained difficult to know, though to all appearances he held the same high moral ideals as she.
Opal convinced herself early on that she and Mac were a good match, and she secretly liked to believe that God had directed him to her—all the way from Thornhill, Scotland, to Winnipeg, Manitoba, and then to that particular law firm on that particular day—and that His plan for them both was simply unfolding as it should. All she had to do was to be patient and have faith. Every night in her prayers she thanked Him, and every morning in her prayers she thanked Him again.
After a year or so Mac began to attend her church—Zion Methodist—and to walk with her from time to time for short distances if their paths should cross. She was not surprised, and she was pl
eased; His plan for them was unfolding. Eventually her patience paid off. Yes, she said to Mac after two full years had passed since that day in May. She would be glad to call him Mac instead of Mr. Macaulay when they were away from the office.
Opal was invited to the ceremony when Mac was called to the bar. She was so proud of him, and by then so deeply in love. But her heart was aching, too: he would be leaving Winnipeg. The Canadian Pacific Railway had invited him to work for them in Calgary. Because of the land boom in western Canada, speculation in the province had soared, and the CPR was of course heavily involved. In January 1912 the CPR had created the Department of Natural Resources and opened its Alberta offices, and they indicated that they wanted Mac, and they wanted him as soon as possible. He would start work for them on his thirtieth birthday, April 15, 1912. But what about her? she wanted to ask him but hadn’t dared. He hadn’t said a word about her. About her and him. Though they had become closer. He had held her hands. He had given her looks that suggested more than mere casual affection. He had come over for dinner many, many times, and enjoyed the company of her family. As he left their house, he always seemed warmer himself, and happier. What was to happen now? It was up to him.
At the farewell dinner the firm held for him, Mr. Tupper praised Mac, saying, “Macaulay is on his way to being a top-notch lawyer.” And Mac’s career prospects certainly pleased Opal’s parents. Her father had observed approvingly, “Without question, that fellow is going places. No lack of inner fortitude. Sharp, shrewd, and suspicious. Attributes you need in the law. Note that,” he added to his eldest son, Reg, who had just entered law school himself. Opal’s mother, Georgie, head bent over the cross-stitched fireplace screen she was working on, nodded in agreement. “No one will ever put one over on that man.” Opal’s younger sisters, Lillie and Pearly K, just grinned from ear to ear as they always did whenever Mac’s name came up.
Opal had hoped, even expected, that Mac would propose marriage to her before he left, but her prayers went unanswered. In fact, he didn’t even kiss her goodbye, so caught up she supposed he was in the adventure that lay ahead for him, and overseeing his luggage’s delivery to the baggage car, as well as his trunk full of books. Mac was distracted; he was excited about his new job, Opal said, sobbing against her mother’s breast all the way home from the station.
But he hadn’t abandoned her completely. He wrote to her, or to her and her family, once every two weeks, while Opal restricted herself to writing to him every Sunday night. In his first letter he mentioned how he had indeed celebrated his birthday by starting work, and that it would remain forever in his memory because it was also the day the Titanic went down—the news of the sinking was on Mr. Walker’s desk when Mac went in that first day.
Opal took great care with her letters: Mac had made it clear that to him, language served a purpose, both in and out of business, and words beyond the conveyance of useful information reflected a “frivolity and excess” he found generally repugnant. In his opinion there was no point to much of anything or anyone that was not useful, which made it difficult for Opal to relax enough to write with confidence or pleasure. It wasn’t only the how to write to him she found hard, but also the what. As a result she became terribly anxious each time she sat down, and sometimes went through half an inch of paper just trying to begin.
A year and a half later, Mac had returned to Winnipeg for a visit, and finally—finally!—he proposed marriage. They were standing together on the bank of the Assiniboine River, where they had been sharing a picnic that had taken her days to plan and prepare. Mac took both her hands in his and told her in an unlawyerish voice that shook with nervousness that he cared deeply for her and hoped they could forge a life together. And then he had knelt, getting grass stains on the knees of his trousers, and taken the ring out of his jacket pocket. “Will you marry me, Opal Elizabeth King?” he had asked. “Oh yes!” was her immediate answer. He had bruised her mouth when he kissed her, hard, and then pulled away again. The intensity of his kiss knocked her off balance, and rendered her speechless for several minutes—an intensity as great as the subsequent coolness when, after reciting Robbie Burns’s “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose” from memory, he walked off alone along the riverbank. It was as though he had merely forgotten—or was it had become?—himself for those few passionate moments, and then remembered how he wished to remain viewed by his future wife, his fiancée, and the world. But in her opinion he had shown her a piece of his heart; she knew he cared for her deeply even if he was so cautious about its expression.
Miscellaneous Shower for Bride-to-Be
Miss Opal Elizabeth King was the recipient of many pretty gifts at a miscellaneous shower given in her honour on Sunday afternoon. The reception room where the guests were welcomed was decorated with purple lilacs. In the tea room, lily of the valley centred the table where Mrs. Edward Poskitt presided over the tea cups. Miss Rose Greenham cut the ices. Little Miss Elsie Trick attended the door. The gifts were placed in a smartly trimmed basket which Miss Elsie presented to the bride-elect.
Her life since the announcement of their engagement was filled primarily with the topics Mac abhorred, and employed the very kind of language he had no use for, so at first she had been uncertain how much to tell him about all the showers and parties when she sat down to write. She had wanted to include him in what was going on in his absence, and had made one or two attempts to tell him about the festivities in their honour, conveyed in words that would suit him, but she soon gave up. Anyway, he told her flat out in his first response that he was genuinely uninterested in these “female activities.” She had despaired at his blunt words. Her mother consoled, “Men sometimes have strange opinions on what is important. Other things occupy their minds.” And Mac hadn’t been completely brusque with her, had he? Well, yes, he had. He had said she could keep the stories for later—to tell her daughter, he said. So she wrote about the weather, and the family hardware store, and what her brothers had caught or shot, and left out the showers and dresses and flowers, and was careful not to open her heart too much.
Yet she continued to wish that he wrote back more often, and that he might occasionally add even a smidgen of romance, or some indication that he missed her. And that his letters weren’t quite so full of legal anecdotes and weather reports. Phooey! Thankfully, she had plenty of thoughts of her own to fill her head. There was so much in the way of preparation for the wedding, so much in the way of showers and parties, and she was at the centre of them all. Just planning what to wear occupied considerable time.
Kitchen Shower for Bride-to-Be
The Misses Nettie and Ruby Lough, 129 Sherbrooke Street, were hostesses at a kitchen shower this afternoon given in honour of Miss Opal King. A wedding ring hung from the chandelier, pink and white carnations centred the table, and four vases of lilies of the valley decorated the table corners. The Misses Lillie and Pearl King, and Mrs. R.F. Lough attended to the wants of the guests.
Opal Elizabeth was the eldest child of Georgetta and Reginald King, proprietors of King Hardware at 666 Main Street, Winnipeg. The Kings had seven children: Opal, 25, Lillie, 23, Reggie, 21, Pearly K, 19, Farley, 17, Melville, 14, and little Jimmy, 12. Lillie had just finished her third year at university. Reggie had entered law. Farley was finishing high school and working at the hardware store. Melville and Jimmy were both still in school, though Melville, who had never been quite right in the head, seldom made it into the classroom and likely wouldn’t make it through another school year. His favourite pastime was picking fights with Pearly K—they were like oil and water, their mother said—though Pearly K was in no mood to fight with anyone these days. She’d left home on the train to make her way in the world with a government job in Ottawa, but within a month the MP she worked for had made inappropriate advances, and she had come back home. Since then she spent most of her time locked in her bedroom crying and writing poems she wouldn’t share and that Melville tried unsuccessfully to find.
Georgie was fro
m what Reg referred to as a “good family” in Truro. She considered herself a progressive woman, and her husband liked to say that she was “a woman of remarkable intelligence and vision,” while he himself, being from, he said, lesser Oshawa stock, felt lucky to have married her.As far as Opal knew, only one issue had ever caused a serious disagreement between her parents, and that issue had first involved her. Georgie believed that her daughters had every right to be at university if the desire was there and the means were available. As that was the case, she expected Opal, as the eldest, to go first, and Opal badly wanted to. But Reginald King said no. He tried to explain. Education beyond the basics for women was a waste of time. He couldn’t name a friend or acquaintance who thought otherwise. He loved his daughters dearly, but he was a businessman. “You don’t invest in something that isn’t going to pay you something in return,” he told his wife. “You’d be thought a fool. I don’t sell things in the store that are no use to anyone, now, do I? We’d be out of business in no time if I did.” However, he added, in an attempt to smooth waters that were clearly roiling, his intention was that their three lovely daughters could and would be as happy as he could make them. He would make sure of it. All three were attractive and bright, and they would marry well. “Therefore,” he said—holding up his hand to stop the objections about to burst from his wife’s lips about daughters not being crates of nails or screws—“they do not need to go to university.” The wiser choice was spending the money sending Reginald to study law, and then perhaps the other sons—excepting Melville, of course—should they evince a desire to do other than continue in the business with him, which he hoped Farley would do, and perhaps little Jimmy too, later on. Melville would always have employment stocking the shelves, sweeping and generally helping out. Meanwhile, Reginald had had a good year and the girls could get one or two extra new dresses each, and more new shoes, and the sorts of gewgaws girls liked.