Chapter Fourteen
The telephone was silent for the remainder of the school term, although a package arrived before we started our final exams. It contained a shiny, roughly carved peacock, with its tail framing its body, and a note that read:
I hope this takes away some of the gloominess of buying a gas mask. Here is something that I carved for you for your birthday. It reminds me of the brooch that you wore when we went to Wallasey.
All my best, Kyle
How was a girl to focus after something like that? The peacock fit in my hand, and I held it for hours every night until the lacquer started to wear.
I passed my finals and performed better than I had anticipated. Perhaps I had a knack for nursing after all. I made the rounds with all of my patients, as it was unlikely that I would ever see them again. By the time I returned, they would have either recovered and returned home or passed away.
I stayed on for an extra day to do some shopping and say good-bye to my friends. Abigail’s father was a darling and arranged for a diplomatic car to take us to the train station.
The countryside raced past me as I got closer and closer to Liverpool.
It was heavenly to be home. Everything seemed more vibrant than when I had last left. Of course, that had been in the winter, so everything was dead. But now, my studies were behind me for months, and Lucille had written that she was in love. I couldn’t wait to hear more about that. And, at some point, I would surely see Kyle.
Father was caught at work and couldn’t get home right away. One of the warehouses had been vandalized. A homemade pipe bomb had been thrown through a window, and while it didn’t explode, he’d had to call out the authorities and clean up the shattered glass. He insisted it was the work of “those vile IRA Catholics,” despite a lack of proof and a general feeling in town that they weren’t a current threat. I visited with Mother for a while and then went for a walk in Newsham Park. The crisp air felt liberating. I picked up a stick from the ground and mindlessly brushed it up against the spindles of the iron fence. I loved the sound that it made. Ping, clank. Ping, clank.
In the distance I heard the telltale noises of exhilarated children. As I rounded a bend, I saw that they were little boys, all rushing toward the lake, carrying model boats. I followed them, smiling, across the grassy lawn to a bench to watch their races.
The boys—and some girls, I discovered—were running about, thrilled that the summer break had arrived and their traditional pastime could resume once again. I had missed out on the particular delight of participating in the races—my mother thought it a silly boy’s game and one that was beneath me. But I used to watch them from my window and envied the way they abandoned themselves to the fun. On nearly any summer day, you could find the children here sailing their boats. Many of the toys were homemade. The family’s discarded trinkets would be raided for anything that could be used as parts for a boat and a sail.
How easy it was to be a child, your days spent in the sunshine playing with friends and constructing little playthings. Sitting on the bench, I realized that I was getting older. My studies were challenging. There were no simple answers to anything. It was no longer, “Will my boat hold up in the water?” It was “He loves me; he loves me not.” At least for me. Abigail and Lucille both knew that they were loved.
Adjacent to the model boat pond was a wider lake. This one contained life-sized boats, with couples rowing in the idyllic setting, intoxicated by young love. I noticed that I was not the only girl sitting alone, looking down wistfully at the edge of the lake and hoping that her reflection would not forever be a solitary one.
What I did not see was someone coming up from behind me. Suddenly, a pair of large hands covered my eyes. I jumped, startled.
“Guess who?” The voice was unnaturally low, disguising the identity of its owner. But my body had its own suspicions as my heartbeat quickened.
“Father Christmas?”
“Wrong season.”
“The man on the moon?”
“Wrong time of day.”
“I give up, then.”
He released his hands, and I tilted my head back. Even upside down, Kyle was unmistakable.
I leapt to my feet and nearly threw my arms around him, but stopped myself just in time from charging across the boundary of our friendship treaty. Not that my smile didn’t give me away. I was secretly pleased to see in his expression a mirror of my own.
“Kyle!” Even my voice betrayed me.
“I didn’t know if you were speaking to me anymore.”
“How could you ever think that?”
“I didn’t hear from you after that last call. I thought that I might have insulted you with the peacock.”
“Insulted me? No, I loved it! In fact, it’s sitting at my bedside. Lucille is going to get a kick out of it. She’ll say that you must know me well. But I apologize. I got caught up in finals and didn’t get a chance to write back.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you liked it.” He put his hands in his pockets and tilted back on his heels. A lock of hair fell below his eye, and I wanted so much to smooth it back.
“I did. And thank you. I hope that you keep up woodworking, because you’re very good at it.”
“Well, now, if you were Catholic, I’d be sending you to the confessional!”
“At least I knew what it was! I’d say that’s an accomplishment, and better than I could do. In fact, why don’t I commission you to make me a model boat so that I can race it with the children?”
“That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” His fingers brushed my arm as he invited me to sit. We both gazed at the smaller lake and smiled at the children, a useful distraction, but at last we turned to each other.
“So, what are you doing here?” I bit my lip, pondering. Did I dare hope that he was out looking for me?
“I suppose the same that you are. Just enjoying the day. My father is getting worse, so I’m going to work at your house today in his place. But I couldn’t help wanting to take a walk here first.”
“My house?”
“Didn’t your mother tell you? I suppose she was pleased with our work at Christmas, and she hired us to help in her gardens on Mondays.”
“No, she didn’t tell me.” I wasn’t going to insult him by saying that issues of hired help were trivial to her, and it was unlikely that she would ever bring that up in letters. Nor did I tell him that Monday had just now become my favorite day of the week. “Anyway, I’m glad you decided to walk out here. And I’m sorry about your father.”
“He has some good days, but he’s definitely weaker than he used to be. Since I got home a few days ago, I’ve been cooking and cleaning for him. I even darned his socks!”
“Well, you’re a regular housewife.”
“Not exactly. Dinner was burned, I left streaks on the windows, and I poked myself with the needle.”
I smiled at the images but could sense that he was just being humble.
My attention was drawn back to the happy couples in the boats. I longed to be sitting out there with Kyle, talking and courting, laughing, stealing a kiss. When I looked over to see him staring at the scene as well, I scooted in a little closer to him in the event that his thoughts matched my own. But he jolted to his feet abruptly and took a step back.
“Well, I told your mother that I would be there at ten.”
“Yes, yes,” I managed to say, covering my embarrassment. “She loathes tardiness.”
“I can only imagine. So, with that, I’m not going to risk life and limb.” He gave me a little wave and started back toward the house.
“Wait, Kyle!” I stood up.
“Yes?” he said, turning back to look at me.
“Um . . .” I said, stammering. “It was nice to see you again.”
“You, too, Julianne. I’ll see you around.”
For the next couple of weeks, I kept myself occupied with friends—Lucille, Blythe, Rose, Lotte, Maude. Blythe’s brother had opened a fi
sh-and-chip stand next to the Mersey River, and we frequently gathered on its banks to watch the cargo ships go by. Much had happened since the last summer, and we struggled to keep the gloom of an impending war from dampening our conversations.
Perhaps my perspective was coming from my own pain, but it felt as if everyone we knew had either married or fallen in love. With the exception of Lotte. She hadn’t found someone that she could stick with for more than a few weeks and was occupying herself with fictitious wedding plans for our friends. I thought that anyone who went out with Lotte purchased a one-way trip to boredom.
As I feared, this thread of conversation made its way to me. I told them that I enjoyed dancing in London but that my studies kept me from getting serious about anyone. They weren’t satisfied, but they let me off the hook—for now. Only Lucille knew the truth, and she avoided making eye contact with me.
I stole away one afternoon to visit Charles. I hadn’t seen him since getting that telegram from Kyle. Despite Miss Ellis’s assertions to the contrary, he looked pale and was noticeably thinner. Only the eyes of someone who had been away for so long could be appalled by the subtle differences.
“Do you really think he’s all right?” I whispered to her, as if he could hear us.
“I do see what you mean. All I’ve noticed is that he seems short of breath when he comes in from exercise, but I didn’t think much of it until you said something. I’m not a doctor, though, dear, and I haven’t heard that they’ve been worrying over him.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I received her assurances that she would keep a special eye on him and let me know if she could find out more.
I would have come more often to be with my brother, but my calendar found me mostly accompanying Mother on social calls. If she knew that Charles hadn’t been well, if she ever received any updates from Bootle at all, there was never any sign of it. There was, however, ample evidence of her continued preoccupation with my well-being. The health of my future prospects seemed to be in dire need of repair after my ill-advised dismissal of Roger. Or so she insinuated. On two successive Mondays, she dragged me away from the house, dashing my hopes to casually visit with Kyle while he worked in our gardens. Instead, we visited Mrs. Sheldon, whose grandson was visiting for the summer. It became alarmingly apparent that she and my mother were conspiring to bring us together.
Now that I had been away at school, I planned to assert more control over my life. I was determined that on the next Monday I would stay home, even if I had to feign illness. Before Mother could hunt for me, I set out for the gazebo on the far side of the estate, wearing a white eyelet dress that had hung in my closet since last year. I carried with me a tray of cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea I’d had Betty prepare. I placed a rose-colored doily on the small round table and completed the setting with the second cup I’d hidden in my handbag and some judiciously chosen daisies from Mother’s flower beds.
As though on cue, I spotted Kyle approaching along the ivy-covered brick wall and pulled out a book of poetry to read. What a pretty picture it all made.
Yet Kyle only nodded politely as he walked by, shoulders drooped, exhaustion permeating his features. A pungent smell trailed him, and I recalled Mother saying that she hoped the winds blew away from the house, as he would be laying fertilizer on the lawn today.
I called after him, offering him something to eat, which he accepted hungrily. Barely a word passed his lips beyond a “Thank you” and a “Good to see you,” and he returned to work before the tray was empty.
I stood up, indignant, and the lace-edged napkin fell from my skirt. I followed him across the grounds, hands clenched, disregarding the manure that caked up on my new shoes.
I confronted him as he bent over to pick up a rake. “What is wrong with you?”
He swooped up, surprised, and I had to step back to avoid the rake’s sharp tines.
“Watch out, you could get hurt!”
“Hurt? Oh, I’m not worried about being hurt by a stupid old rake.”
“Is everything OK, Julianne?”
“Why are you angry with me?” I blurted. Blood pulsed wildly through my body, and I had never wanted to kiss him more than at this moment.
He looked me up and down, out of breath, and then grinned when his eyes landed on my feet. “I don’t think those will ever be the same.”
I looked down at my shoes, which were covered in unimaginable filth, then met his eyes with a matching, though hesitant, smile. “I—I had to see what was wrong.”
“Here, let me help you.” He took a few steps to a tap and washed his hands, then he gestured for me to hand him my shoes. Bracing myself against the wall, I took them off one at a time, and he rinsed them for me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the water would do nearly as much damage as the manure. They were silk.
After realizing the hopelessness of their condition, he handed them back to me. “Why would you think I was upset with you?”
“Back there.” I pointed toward the gazebo behind us. “You hardly spoke to me.”
He sighed and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Oh, Julianne . . .” He moved closer to me and traced the side of my hand with a touch so light that I could barely feel it. Our eyes locked and we stood paralyzed, his head tilted down toward mine. “I could never be angry with you.”
“Then why are you upset? Why didn’t you speak to me?” I turned my hand just slightly, linking one finger through his. Somehow I managed to remain calm despite the avalanche gathering inside me. His finger tightened around mine, and we lingered there until a distant car horn from the park snapped us back to the reality of our situation and we stepped apart.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you. In fact, seeing you here is the best part of my week. It’s just—it’s my father. I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“He coughs all the time, sometimes with blood, and he’s losing weight. He won’t see a doctor. He said that they couldn’t save my mother and they can’t save him. I brought one in anyway, but my father threw a paperweight at the poor man, and he ran off faster than the devil from holy water.”
“Oh, Kyle. What can I do?”
“I’d tell you if I knew, but I don’t think that anything can be done.”
He leaned against the redbrick wall and slid down to a crouch. He ran his fingers through his mop of curls, then covered his face with his hand. I moved to him and placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Let me give it a try.”
He looked up at me with only a whisper of hope. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a nurse, or at least I will be. But I’m not entirely inexperienced. Why don’t we see if he’ll let me in?”
A hesitant smile grew on his face. “I enjoy your friendship too much. I’m not going to lose that by exposing you to a cantankerous old man who hurls things at unwanted guests.”
“I dodged that rake rather deftly, I think.”
He glanced over at it and back to me. “You did now, didn’t you?” He stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. I touched his arm, and he stood still.
“Kyle, I’m serious. Why don’t you let me see your father? That’s what friends are for.”
I could see the thoughts doing battle in his head until at last he said, “All right. You can go. Once.” He held a finger up as if to drive home the point. “But if he’s inconsiderate to you, that’s it. I’ll not have your pretty little head cracked if he launches something at you.”
“I think my pretty little head can handle it.”
“I think so, too.” He reached out to stroke a strand of hair that lay on my shoulder, holding on to the end thoughtfully before turning away and walking back to work. He called back over his shoulder. “If you’re available tomorrow, I’ll pick you up at nine, just outside your gate.”
“It’s a plan.” To hell with whatever else was on my schedule. I was not going to let Kyle down.
The morning arriv
ed cloudy and overcast, in direct contrast to my feelings, which were soaring at that prospect of seeing Kyle for a second day in a row. I met him at the edge of the estate. Not that it mattered. Father was already off to work, and Mother remained in bed, claiming a migraine. I don’t think she even heard me leave.
He came around to the passenger’s side to open my door. His actions were thoughtful but automatic. His own mood perfectly matched the weather, and I felt guilty for looking forward to spending the day with him under such unfortunate circumstances. I prepared myself for the task ahead, and in no time I was equally pensive.
We barely talked on the way there. It allowed me to pay attention to my surroundings. In all the time I’d spent thinking about Kyle, I had never thought about where he lived. He drove into town, and as we approached the railway station on Ranelagh he pulled over next to some flats and parked. When he’d come around to open my door, I stepped out hesitantly. The buildings were all made of gray concrete, with laundry hanging from lines stretched across the street. Children gathered on the narrow pavement to play with marbles, and I heard shouting coming from an upstairs window. It was so different from Newsham Park, and it made me sad that someone with such a lively spirit lived in such an unfortunate place. One after another, two trains screamed by, rattling my nerves and drowning out every other sound. No wonder he spent so much time working. I would prefer the sanctuary of beautiful gardens, too, even if they weren’t my own.
Pulling a key from his pocket, he opened the front door of the building. The hallway was long and dark. We walked up three flights of steps, Kyle climbing ahead of me, still lost in thought. I supposed he was distracted by the purpose of our visit—which was no doubt true—but when he spoke, his words revealed something else.
With a shrug, he said, “Well, it’s not Westcott Manor, is it?”
Suddenly I understood. Kyle was embarrassed for me to be here. Did he not understand? Did he not realize that my life had been turned inside out since I met him? Did he not see that it didn’t matter to me where he lived?
“It doesn’t need to be.”
The Memory of Us: A Novel Page 14