Begun by Time

by Morgan O'Neill

  “He loved you dearly,” Catherine whispered.

  “And I him, but neither so much as he loved, eh, loves ye, lass. May I come inside?”

  “Of course,” she said, trying to pull herself together. “Yes, do come in, Major.”

  “Call me Angus, please.”

  When they entered the kitchen, Poppy was placing coffee mugs on the table. He smiled, and Catherine made introductions.

  Duffy squirmed, and suddenly Catherine realized she didn’t want the dog’s name brought up. She wasn’t ready for humor. “I’ll just put the dog in his crate,” she mumbled, and quickly left the room.

  When she returned, Poppy was telling Angus about their planned activities regarding the pub and Scotland Yard.

  “May I come along?” Angus asked. “I dinna have any other plans for the day. I’ve a need t’ do something, and that will be a good place to start.”

  Catherine readily accepted his offer, and as soon as they were done with breakfast, the three of them were off. Everyone remained quiet as they rumbled along on the train. Once they emerged from the Underground, the gloomy skies did nothing to lighten the mood.

  The streets were deserted as they made their way to the narrow alley that housed The Crook. As soon as they turned in, they all stopped short. The pub was dark, and they saw an official police sign posted on the door. Crime Investigation. No Entry Allowed.

  Catherine stood stock-still. Crime Investigation. The words hit her hard. She felt hopeless and filled with dread.

  “Come on, then. There’s nothing for us here,” Angus said. He turned her away from the pub, and they quickly left the alleyway.

  Scotland Yard proved no better for gathering information. Since it was Christmas, there was only a skeleton staff working, and the clerk who manned the front desk had no idea about the investigation.

  Tired and dispirited, the three finally arrived at Nigel’s home. Neighbors and friends of the Brandons stopped by with food and condolences. Poppy intercepted and thanked them at the door, while Angus stayed with Nigel. Her dad and Aunt Vivian put lunch on the table to be eaten as hunger struck, and Catherine and her mother made phone calls.

  Endless, heartbreaking phone calls.

  Chapter Thirteen

  New Year’s Eve, 1945

  Catherine opened her eyes. It was the morning of her wedding day, or rather, her non-wedding day.

  She felt strangely unemotional, distant. She pushed back the covers and got out of bed. The cold air in her room quickly chilled her as she shoved her bare feet into slippers and donned her robe.

  Where are you, Jonnie?

  Her wedding outfit hung from a hook on her door. She stared at it, numb from a week of pain, heartache, and the unknown.

  Are you alive?

  A light tap on her door, and her fingers, stiff with cold, made her realize she’d been blindly staring, thinking, wondering for quite some time.

  Catherine heaved a sigh and opened the door.

  Her mother stood there, dark circles beneath her eyes, looking as worn down as Catherine felt. “Dad got up early to fix us all a nice breakfast.”

  Breakfast? She didn’t want food.

  “You do remember everyone’s coming by for an early supper?”

  Catherine nodded. “It will be horrid, everyone weeping.”

  “Nobody wants you to bear this alone, especially not tonight.” Her mum gently touched Catherine’s cheek. “You mustn’t become bitter, darling. You mustn’t. It will taint your whole life. Be strong for Jonnie’s sake. We all know his fate was not his choosing, so please, honor him by holding tight to the joy he gave you, all the wonderful memories. Allow yourself to cry until the tears run out. Don’t bottle them up. Cry, darling.”

  The ice encasing her heart shattered. Jonnie…

  Lily nodded. “Don’t be ashamed. This is a day for tears.”

  The pain was unbearable. Catherine gulped in air and, with a great, anguished sob, she folded into her mother’s loving embrace and wept.

  …

  Vile, despicable hope flared when Catherine heard the rap at her front door. She had come to loathe feelings of hope in the week since Jonnie left their lives. Every knock, every phone call, every glimpse of a uniform or rumble of a baritone voice, and every single one of Duffy’s mad dashes to greet callers, set her heart to thumping, to leap with hopeful joy, only to be sent plummeting once again into the black void of pain and grief.

  She heard her mother answer the door. Another neighbor come to pay their respect? No, she could hear Poppy and Susan greeting her parents. Her “wedding party” had begun to arrive.

  She sighed and glanced at the clock. 2:40 p.m. She and Jonnie were to have been married at six.

  She fought tears as she stood in front of her mirror, wearing her wedding outfit—which she’d spent so much of the last few months bringing to life—and realized she never wanted to see it again. It was a mockery, her hopes and dreams dashed. She pulled it off and balled it up, intent on throwing it away… But no, that would be selfish. Clothes of this sort were too precious to destroy on the whim of a broken heart. She would donate it—better yet, she’d give it to her aunt to donate in Brighton, so there would be little possibility of her ever seeing it worn by a stranger. Yes, that would do.

  Another knock, and she could make out Mirin’s voice, followed by Angus’s strong brogue. I must go downstairs. How am I going to get through this?

  She carefully hung the suit in its travel bag, then dressed in a more casual blouse and skirt. She picked up Duffy from his basket, hugged him, and descended the stairs with him nestled in her arms. The poor thing had been uncharacteristically quiet since Jonnie’s disappearance, but the moment her foot touched the bottom step, he began to squirm, and then leapt out of her arms, yapping loudly.

  Paws barely finding traction, he hurtled himself into the lounge, and a startled exclamation told her his destination was Angus McDuff’s lap.

  When she entered the room, little Duffy was jumping about, licking his namesake’s face, and anxiously squirming about.

  “He remembers you,” Catherine said.

  “I dinna see how,” Angus replied, while trying to keep the frantic ball of fluff at bay.

  Confused, Catherine retrieved Duffy and scuffed the fur behind his ears. “But, Jonnie named him after you, so I assumed you were there when he purchased…” The look on Angus’s face stopped her in mid-sentence. “You see, Jonnie named him Mr. McDuff, because he said the two of you looked remarkably alike. ‘Hairy with short legs,’ were his exact words.”

  For the first time in days, Angus smiled. “Aye, Jonnie had a way wi’ words. He was—er—is quite the kidder, but accurate, nonetheless.”

  Everyone nodded, yet avoided one another’s eyes as Catherine’s mother and aunt called them to the dining room for supper. The conversation was reserved and sparse, and it was late by the time supper ended. Soon after, Mirin and Susan made their excuses, pulled on gloves and coats, and left for home.

  Nigel followed suit, and Angus went with him, having pledged to stay with his best mate’s father until his leave was up, in order to give him some stability and peace of mind.

  Poppy was the last to go, and after she pulled on her coat, she took Catherine’s hands in hers.

  “Thank you,” Catherine said.

  Poppy kissed her cheek. “If you need anything…”

  The mantel clock interrupted, and together they paused to count until the last chime sounded. Twelve.

  They gazed at each other. The New Year. 1 January 1946. Somehow, that made her separation from Jonnie seem all the more horrible. All the more real.

  Poppy hugged her, but said nothing. There was nothing to say, after all.

  They simply held each other and wept.

  Chapter Fourteen

  9 October 1946

  Catherine put the teakettle on the small, portable burner in the staff room to brew up some tea. She had been working full time in her father’s dental pract
ice since the spring and felt settled in. She was proud of the efficiencies she’d brought to the office, and though she no longer had the bubbly personality she’d once had, she knew the patients and staff liked her.

  She took the cozy off the teapot, rinsed out the remains of that morning’s brew, scooped in a fresh batch of tea leaves, and got out a cup.

  The work also diverted her from getting too moody. Her tight-knit group of friends had dispersed, possibly forever. Poppy had taken a job in a local bank, while Susan was back in school at a women’s college, working toward a teaching degree. Mirin had met and married a wonderful man over the summer, and she was already expecting.

  She delighted in their successes, but struggled to keep comparisons, the what-ifs, from overwhelming her thoughts.

  Her questions about Jonnie remained unanswered. After The Bishop’s Crook reopened, Mr. Lloyd emerged a changed man. Angry over the way the police treated him, as well as the bad publicity, he refused to talk to anyone about the incident. She’d sent notes pleading for a moment’s conversation, but to no avail. And now, nearly a year later, she had to keep reminding herself that dwelling on it no longer served any good purpose.

  Everyone else in the office was out on lunch break, so when the front doorbell jangled, she hurried out to see who it was.

  “Nigel, how lovely to see you,” she said.

  He entered, carrying a parcel, and gave her a faint smile. She noticed he looked pale, and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow. Sunday dinners together had become a ritual since Jonnie’s disappearance, and lately he’d lost weight. She’d simply attributed it to depression and anxiety, since she was suffering the same effects in her own body, but now she wondered.

  “Please, do sit down. Is everything all right?”

  “I’ve something for you, my dear,” he said, then coughed.

  They sat side by side on a waiting room couch, and he kept the parcel on his lap.

  “I’ve not been feeling well of late, and it occurred to me it is high time I tidied up my affairs.”

  Alarmed, Catherine placed a hand on his arm. “Nigel, are you ill? Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I have, and he’s asked that I get out more, go for walks, spend time with friends, and the like.” Nigel shrugged. “He doesn’t abide with the notion a man may perish from a broken heart.”

  Catherine hugged him and then took his hands and looked earnestly into his eyes. “I think your doctor may be barmy, or he’s led a very charmed life. I certainly believe it to be possible, because I’ve felt brokenhearted since the day Jonnie disappeared, too.”

  Nigel nodded and ran a trembling hand across his face. “In any case, my dear, I thought it would be best to give you this.” He placed the parcel in her hands without a word of explanation.

  She untied the string, then folded back leaves of plain wrapping paper.

  The scent of Pears’ soap.

  Her hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped. “Oh, Nigel, no. No.” Tears wet her cheeks, then dropped onto the paper and Jonnie’s carefully folded RAF coat, gloves, hat… Everything he’d been wearing—and left behind—on that dreadful day. “I can’t—why, why are you giving me this?”

  “I won’t be here forever, and he may yet return,” Nigel explained. “He needs to know… Needs to know I haven’t—didn’t forget him.”

  “Oh, Nigel, of course you haven’t.” A thought occurred to her, and though it wrung her heart, she knew it was the right thing to do. She quickly took hold of her engagement ring and twisted it off her finger. She put the ring in Nigel’s hand and folded his fingers over it. “I can’t keep this. It’s a family heirloom. I shouldn’t have kept it this long, but it only just occurred to me.”

  Nigel sucked in a sob and pressed it back into Catherine’s palm. “No, my dear, he gave it to you, and you shall keep it. There’s no one left to hold it for him. Should he come home—when he comes home, you may give him everything.”

  Catherine gazed at the ring through her tears. Should she put it back on? No. If Jonnie ever did come back, he could put it back on her finger himself. She would keep it in a box until that day came.

  Nigel rose and swiped a handkerchief across his face. “He’s my boy, my dear boy, and I will take my love for him to my grave. Wherever he went, he didn’t go willingly, of that I’m sure. His heart was—is—as big, as true as his mother’s, and he would never do anything to hurt a living soul.”

  Catherine stood, hugged the coat to her chest, and wept. “I know. I know. He was the very best, Nigel. The very best.”

  Suddenly, Nigel took her by the shoulders, his gaze intent. “Is the very best. Is! Don’t ever think otherwise. He’s somewhere, and he’ll find his way back, don’t you doubt it. But I sense I’ll be gone, so you must keep these things. Always. Promise me. When you see him again, you must tell him I never doubted him. Not for a minute. And tell him I love him dearly, and together, Rose and I shall watch over him from beyond the Pearly Gates.”

  With Jonnie’s coat caught between them, Catherine and Nigel hugged and let their tears fall.

  “I promise, Nigel. You have my word. But please, please don’t you leave me, too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  New Year’s Day, 1947

  Very little seemed to have changed. Catherine, Poppy, her Aunt Vivian, and her parents spent the first anniversary of the wedding that never was together in silent companionship.

  Poppy had met a special man, but insisted, bless her heart, on being by her side. The past year had not been easy for Catherine. Scotland Yard still had no idea what happened to Jonnie. Nevertheless, she’d found the strength to forge ahead, while the past, and Jonnie, remained ever by her side, in her thoughts. The pain of his loss, thankfully, was less harsh now than it had been—most days.

  After breakfast, her mother packed a basket of food for Nigel. They would spend the afternoon at his home, as they did most Sundays. He’d claimed to be too ill to spend last night with them, and Catherine understood, but she was concerned, too. She called Angus and asked that he go over, to provide what comfort he could to the lonely, devastated man.

  When they arrived, Angus greeted them at the door, his expression grim. “He wasna lying when he claimed ill health. He’s taken a turn over the past week, and I fear he’ll no’ recover this time.”

  “Should we call a physician?” her mother asked, her hand at her throat.

  “Nay. The doctor has just come and gone, and given me drops to administer for the pain. He says the old man’s heart is failing, but nay t’ worry, as the passin’ should be comfortable, although not far off. For now, Nigel’s alert and resting well, and wishes t’ see each of you, but most especially Catherine,” Angus explained. He looked at her, his gaze filled with sadness. “He’s right anxious t’ speak wi’ ye.”

  They hurried into Nigel’s darkened bedroom to find him propped on pillows and looking weak but calm.

  Catherine sat beside him and took his hand.

  Nigel smiled. “Hello, my dear. I’m so glad you’ve come. I didn’t have the heart to tell you I heard Rose call to me on the morning of the twenty-eighth,” he said, a soft light glimmering in his eyes. “She told me our time apart was coming to an end. It’s been nearly two years, and I’m glad of it.”

  Catherine leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Please, Nigel, I can’t bear it if you leave me, too.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll bear it just fine. She wanted me to tell you something. She said you must rest easy in the fact that Jonathan loves you still.”

  Confused, Catherine realized Nigel’s medication must be causing delirium. She patted his hand and leaned in to kiss him once more, assuming their conversation to be at an end.

  Nigel shifted with difficulty, swallowed, and then returned his gaze to her. “When you see my son, you must tell him I love him.”

  Catherine nodded, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Of course you do, and I will, I promise I will tell him.”

  “T
hank you.” His whole body seemed to relax back into the pillows.

  “Nigel?” Catherine whispered near his ear.

  He didn’t respond, so she gave him a moment to gather his strength before she tried again. “Nigel?”

  His eyes fluttered, but failed to open.

  “Nigel…” Catherine paused to swallow the lump in her throat and gather herself. “Nigel, please give Rose our love. Tell her we miss her.”

  A faint smile played across his lips, and Catherine was relieved to know he’d heard and understood.

  As the day ticked away, Nigel rested, and everyone kept a quiet vigil. Catherine refused to leave his side or let go of his hand.

  Finally, hours later, just as dusk crept into the winter sky, Nigel Brandon took a gasp of air and then became utterly still as his final breath trickled back out of his lungs, unneeded.

  Catherine let out a shaky sigh, folded Nigel’s hands together on his chest, and closed her eyes. Someone touched her shoulder and she knew Angus and her parents were close. The knowledge gave little comfort.

  With Nigel’s passing, the Brandons were gone. All gone. Her shoulders slumped. She covered her face with trembling hands and wept.

  Later that night, she held Duffy in her bed and tried to sleep. The pup started to dream with little yips, his paws twitching. Catherine hugged him tightly.

  Her precious dog. Her only remaining link with Jonnie.

  Part Two

  Chapter Sixteen

  20 November 1947, the Mall, London

  The gloom of London’s skies belied the bright hope of the crowd. In the freezing air, Catherine Hastings stood shoulder to shoulder with revelers outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, everyone awaiting the appearance of Princess Elizabeth and her new husband, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh.

  Gazing at the empty balcony, Catherine felt a twinge of jealousy; they had married for love, and their future dazzled, beckoned.

  Love. She sighed, the pain still there, ever there, yet more distant, a ghost of remembrance. A ghost…like Jonnie.