by C S Joseph
Chapter Five
August 13, 1918
It couldn’t have been a more dismal day. The storm has been stationed in the city almost a fortnight. Pompous men and women. Umbrellas. Top hats. I watched raindrops fluttering in the wind. The sodden flowers were bruised and flattened by the late summer downpour. Puddles of water collected on top of him and in the hole of where he would remain. I was surrounded by the color black, as I laid my father to his final resting place. I’m sure the priest said some moving words. I did not hear. I remember the sound of gravel crunching beneath our feet.
I couldn’t have been more than three or four when I walked through the cold, wrought iron gates for the first time. The gravel crunched beneath our feet, as the early morning sun shown a misty, green lawn on either side of us. A tug on my arm changed my direction, as father pulled me into the sea of damp grass. We passed dark and cold stones in rhythm, until he crumbled to his knees and released my hand.
I looked down at him for a moment and watched him place his hand on the ground. He looked up at me. I watched tears roll down his face as he asked for the flowers I was holding. My small hands passed over the bouquet, which he leaned half against the upright gravestone, half on the ground. The only time in my life I had ever witnessed him crying was as we kneeled over my mother’s grave. I do believe he died with her. He certainly never recovered from the loss, emotionally or financially.
Two young people had fallen in love and married in secret. Her parents never wanted to accept the marriage. They rejected me in turn. They had chosen a different family for her to marry into.
I would not want to be forced into a marriage. Yet, here I am, living the same situation my mother avoided all those years ago. Father arranged for my care before he passed. Arthur Dumas is a good man. He is an architect. People speak well of the buildings he designs. I wish that I loved him.
With Father’s passing, Mr. Dumas will want to move forward with the wedding plans. He has allowed me time to mourn, but I fear that I can stall no longer. I must have a home. My father’s affairs may be too complicated for me to understand, but I do know that we needed money. Mr. Dumas is capable of providing for me as required.
Father is gone, and I feel empty. I wish I could go with him to tend his patients. I remember one woman was having a terrible labor. He was so gentle with her and was able to deliver her baby. The woman was completely grateful for his help, but I could see the sadness in his eyes. No matter how many mothers he saved, he still couldn’t save his own wife.
Had I been able to become a doctor, I might have had the chance to save him. How silly of a doctor to not diagnose himself! I wish he were here. I would ask him so many things that I never thought I would want to know. I would have asked him about my mother, made him put aside his pain and tell me stories of her. I’m profoundly sad that he was not able to express his feelings while he was alive. Now I will never have the chance.
August 20, 1918
Had Father not had the pride of an obstinate cat, I may have had a different walk in life. Arthur came to see me today. He told me that he would still wish to honor our engagement. I told him I was happy of the news. On the inside, I feel as though I am dying. I never wished to marry this man whom I hardly know. Father was adamant I would be taken care of. He arranged it all. I believe the irony was lost on Father. He was able to marry for love, yet he denied me that same freedom.
Dearest Emma. I found her in the back of the house. She immediately knew something was wrong. We stepped into the powder room. I told her about Arthur. She understood. She put her long arms around me as I wept. I have never had a friend, in anyone, as I do in her. I stopped crying and looked at her. She asked if I remembered the day we became friends. Even now, I smile at the memory.
Her mother had just been hired by my father. Our new cook and housekeeper walked through the front door, followed by her daughter. I tried to look at the young girl who would be living in our home. All I could see was wild hair from behind her mother. Mrs. Hartley turned and told her daughter to stay in the entry until she returned. She followed Father to see the layout of the house. That was when I first saw Emma’s face. Her dark eyes met mine. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, and we stared at one another for the longest time. I tried to figure her out. She did not speak.
I asked her name. Emma Hartley’s voice was rough, yet wonderful at the same time. I was surprised to hear that we were the same age, because she towered over me.
I introduced myself and told her that I hoped she would like living here and that my father was a very kind and gentle soul. She nodded. She looked around the room, taking it all in. She looked as if she had never seen the inside of a house before, which was ridiculous, of course she had. I watched her. She was magnificent. She took a few steps toward me, as she tried to get a better view of the room. She had a look of wonderment on her face. Her eyes went wide, her mouth slightly open. I asked her if she liked it so far, and she found it quite lovely.
I offered to show her to her new room. She seemed unsure, but I reassured her that it would be ok since she was with me. She thanked me, and I told her that I had a feeling we might be friends. I had never spoken to anyone in this manner. I really did not know whether or not we would be friends. How can anyone know that from being in a room with someone for no more than a few minutes? But I did. I had never been so excited to meet someone until I met her.
She agreed and turned up the corner of her mouth and winked. I headed upstairs with her following me. When we arrived at what was to be her room, I opened the door. She went inside and inspected everything. Although she said the room was nice, she frowned at the small bed along the far wall. She thought that she was sharing the room with her mother. I assured her that the room was hers alone. She told me that she’d never had a room of her own before. She thanked me and added that both my father and I were very kind. I smiled at her.
We returned to the entryway, where Father was waiting with Mrs. Hartley. She instructed Emma to carry their bags upstairs to their rooms.
Father said they are part of our family now, and he is grateful they will help us fill this house. Mrs. Hartley was touched and thankful. She gave me a rather peculiar look. I only smiled back at her and watched Emma carry their bags upstairs.
My mind had gone back to that first day, as Emma pulled me into a hug and rubbed gentle circles on my back. We were no longer fourteen. I would be of marrying age in a few short months and married before then. Emma reminded me how terrified she’d been that first day, wondering how her life would change living with her mother’s new employer. “We can’t always believe the stories we make up in our heads,” she told me. She pulled me from her shoulder and looked into my eyes. ”It might not be as bad as you think.”
I thanked her and kissed her on the cheek. She went back to work, and I retreated to my room. Luckily for me, Arthur is willing to take on Mrs. Hartley and Emma once we marry. I don’t know what I would do without Emma. She is completely supportive of me. She always knows what to say to calm me down when I feel out of control.
I don’t feel that she is right in this situation. I am sure that he is quite fetching to other young women, but not to me. Perhaps there is something wrong with me. I hope I can grow to love Arthur. I hope that we will be happy throughout our lives together.
August 22, 1918
I cannot bear the hole that is in my heart without Father. I expect to see him at the dinner table, and he never arrives. I think I see him rounding a corner of the house and go to find him, but no one is there. My heart is hollow. I fear this darkness shall surround me, and I will be lost in the abyss. How do I deal with the loss of my father? He was my world.
My father dances through the sky of my dreams, while I soar around him in awe of his strength and knowledge. My subconscious begins to release him, and my hazy mind focuses as I awaken. His face is all I see, it’s his face imprinted on the canvas of my mind. I shake my head and open my eyes. I am no longer in his pres
ence. I am in my own bed. I stretch, trying to rid my legs and body of the night’s hovering and chasing after him. Slowly extracting myself from the warmth of my sheets, I make my way into the new day with thoughts of him still lingering in my mind. My daily routines are interrupted, as I wonder where he is now. I close my eyes to see his kind and loving face. My memories carry me only so far; an anchor holds me here with constant thoughts of him. I cannot move on. It has been too long since I’ve seen his smile or heard his laugh. He is gone from me for evermore. The ache I feel will never fade.
“Doctor Bogard,” I would hear people address him with his formal title, and I would feel such a bursting of pride from my chest. Now, I hear sadness in their voices. Mrs. Hartley is having a hard time as well. They have lived with us for so many years. I believe she grew to love him. I have caught her twice now, crying by herself in the kitchen. It makes me sad. He didn’t just leave me. He left us all.
Although I do not wish to marry him, I sit here frightened that Arthur shall leave me too. The war department is going to enforce the work or fight policy, and I fear Arthur may be forced to fight overseas. He has not yet joined a union to enter the labor force. If he goes, what will happen to me? I have no one on this Earth to care for me. I feel quite alone.
Arthur has been out of town for a few days. I know that the world needs an architect, but with everything going on in Europe, I worry that he will not receive the same commissions that he was getting before we were pulled into the war by President Wilson. Our wedding is to take place at the new year. I am unsure of what my life will be in the next few months. I feel as though, perhaps, I should do something. I watch Emma around the house, and she is always moving. I suppose I am always writing…or watching Emma.
She is so tall and lean, which is amazing to me. She eats more than I have ever seen anyone eat in my entire life. Her voice is changing, beginning to take on a more gruff, coarse texture. I always tease her that the dirt she cleans is making her sound gritty. I am sure any man who ever lays eyes on Emma’s beautiful face and strong jaw line falls madly in love with her. She must have secret men that she never speaks of. She is breathtaking.
It’s quite an eccentric feeling. I don’t really like the idea of her falling in love and getting married. The idea of living with another for the rest of my life seems impossible. I want Emma to live with me forever. She’s my best friend. I would be heartbroken if she were to ever leave me. I should talk with her about that. Perhaps, when she marries, she would talk her husband into staying with us. We could have so much fun all together, her husband, Arthur, and us in the same house. Imagine that! Perhaps Arthur could design a house that is big enough for two families and is attached at the middle.
Sometimes, when Arthur and I are alone, he wishes to kiss me. His dark hair falls over his face when he leans toward me. I haven’t told Emma that I’ve allowed him to kiss me. Does that make me a bad friend? I tell her everything, except when it comes to Arthur. He is such a good man. I am going to keep telling myself this. I should hope that, someday, he will light up my life and make me know how true love feels. I fear Emma would see me in a different way if I told her that I allowed such behavior.
I think I only let him because I thought that when you kissed someone, you would feel something. Feel something that made you know you were in love. I want to be in love. I want to be in love with him. I didn’t feel anything. Maybe I will try it again, and if we practice enough, I will feel something extraordinary.
September 26, 1918
Arthur returned today. We sat in the parlor and spoke at length about our future together. He seemed very eager for our wedding to take place. We discussed some of the details that I have been working out since his departure over a month ago. He seemed agreeable. Sitting in the chair across from me, he put his hand on my knee.
He told me that he had good news. I wondered what good news he could give to me. He announced that he had started building our new house. I didn’t know that we were to have a house built for us. I hadn’t quite thought past the point of what happens after the wedding. I assumed we would live here in Father’s house.
The land Arthur has acquired is far away from Portland. He tells me it is a beautiful place, surrounded by an old forest. He described a small waterfall, which feeds a creek that would just be wonderful to swim in. Construction will be close to complete by the time we are wed. Arthur’s news and warm smile should have brought me joy. I just stared at him. I wanted to leave the room.
Father’s house would be nothing but a memory to me as well. A very heavy weight pressed upon my chest. I needed to push my tears aside. I didn’t want to show Arthur my sadness. He had been gone for so long. He didn’t need to think less of me. I could see him watching me, as I struggled with words. I struggled to respond to him at all. Finally, I straightened my back. I told him that it sounds wonderful and forced myself to smile. I wonder if it ever reached my eyes. He laughed for a moment before reaching his hand to my face. He ran his thumb across my cheek.
He said the house would not be as beautiful as me. He leaned forward, and I wanted to lean away from him. His lips brushed mine before he pulled away from me. I looked at him. He smiled once again and pressed his lips to mine roughly. The boldness caught me quite off guard, but I fulfilled my duty and returned his kiss the best that I could. Not soon enough, he pulled away. He said he cannot wait until the night we wed and that he dreams of me every night. He put his hand on my thigh before he stood abruptly. He grabbed his hat and placed it upon his head. He nodded at me and then was out of the room.
I grabbed at my chest and a sob fell from my mouth. The tears started to flow, and I laid my head into my hands. I sat alone on the davenport in the front room. I heard no sound, but my own crying. The cushion beside me moved, and I felt strong arms pull me into safety. I laid my head on Emma’s shoulder. Soon, the tears began to dry, and I looked at her.
Emma had seen and heard the whole conversation. In between sniffles, I explained that I want to stay here. I don’t want to lose this last piece of my father. I don’t really want my life to change. I reached out my arms and grabbed hold of her. I held onto Emma for dear life. I didn’t expect the hug to mend what I was feeling, but somehow it did.
With reassurances that she and Mrs. Hartley will still be with me, she described us living in the woods in a magical house, where Emma will make sure that I am happy. Always and forever. Her words comfort me now. I imagine what it would be like if it was just Emma and I living in a beautiful house in the middle of nowhere, with no one to bother us. We could spend all our days together. She is wonderful. I can’t imagine my life without her in it.
I apologized to Emma for having to comfort me in this manner. She smiled at me, and I felt that familiar queerness in my stomach. My whole body felt warmer, and joy spread from my chest, outward to my arms and legs. I sat up straight and looked at her for a few moments. Her eyebrows were raised, even though her eyes were soft and welcoming. Her mouth was slightly upturned at the corner.
She had seen Arthur kiss me rather roughly and asked if I enjoyed it. Whatever that was, I would not say it brought me pleasure. I wish he would kiss much more softly, slowly. I think that would be a better way to kiss, not that I have much experience. I asked Emma how she prefers to be kissed. She laughed and said she doesn’t prefer to be kissed at all. She prefers to do the kissing.
We both laughed for a moment. Dare I write this? I looked at her and almost wished that she could kiss me. I looked at her lips. The tip of her tongue slowly ran across her bottom lip, before it disappeared back into her mouth. I fear I am starting to forget where the line of friendship ends and something else begins. I felt as if my cheeks were on fire. I looked down at my feet. I should not have such feelings.
I never admit these feelings to anyone, barely to myself. I have known ever since I met Emma that I wish I could marry her. It must be natural to love your best friend. It must be natural to wish they could be the one who is always
around.
I looked around the front room and suddenly didn’t feel as if any of it was natural. I suddenly felt dirty and sick to my stomach. Emma reached out and lightly grabbed my arm. She told me that she didn’t mean to make me uncomfortable. I shook my head and said that would never be the case. I slowly lifted my head to look at her and smiled to reassure her.
Emma moved slightly, and her knees brushed against mine. My eyes were forced to close, as I felt an unfamiliar heat start radiating through my body. She must have sensed when I started to feel dizzy. Emma said that I looked suddenly ill and asked me to lean back. The air in my lungs felt heavy, and everything went black.
I awoke a few hours later in my own bed. Emma was sitting in a chair beside me. She immediately thanked the Almighty that I was awake and asked how I was feeling. She grabbed my hand. I felt a little disoriented.
Looking into her brown eyes, I asked her what happened. Emma told me she had carried me to my room. She asked if I wanted to talk to Doctor Grimes who had already observed me. I had to admit that I’d been embarrassed by our conversation and that Doctor Grimes need not waste his time.
She studied me for a moment and rubbed my hand that was still in hers. She seemed puzzled and wanted me to confirm that it made me faint to talk about kissing. It sounded so foolish when she repeated my own words. I only nodded. My mind drifted to what I was thinking before I blacked out. I’d been thinking about inappropriate things with Emma. I pulled my hand back from hers.
Emma had never seen me kiss someone before, I reasoned. Her face softened. She chuckled and said she’s seen worse things than me kissing Arthur Dumas. I felt myself blush, almost hurt that she did not feel jealous by watching me with my fiancé. Her laugh melted the hurt away, and I gave her a playful shove. She stopped laughing and stood as if to go.
I wanted her to stay, but she had to help with dinner. She leaned forward and kissed me softly on my cheek. She whispered that she was glad I was better. Then, she was gone. I sat in the bed and couldn’t stop my fingertips from touching the very spot where her lips had just been. I closed my eyes and wished I could feel them there again.