Cold Pastoral

by Margaret Duley

  “It will be lovely to have them for the winter,” she said, grabbing at a safe conversational straw.

  “You won’t go back to college until after Christmas, Mary?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to go then?” he asked, inviting denial.

  “Yes,” she said faintly but firmly. If she gave way an inch the water would be over her head. For the first time in her life she felt utterly inadequate. She was slipping, and there were no footholds. Fortunately he did not notice, sitting with the light making a black shine on his hair.

  “Mary,”he said, putting the tips of his fingers together.

  A diagnosis, she thought to herself, “Yes?” she questioned faintly, laying her pencil on a table.

  Then he noticed her strangeness effecting the stifling of his words.

  “My dear, what is it? You look different. Is there anything wrong? That is beyond dear Mater.”

  Supposing she said yes, wildly. Would he console her? He would not, she thought definitely. In the emotional softness from his mother’s death he might not be angry, but he would insist on a line of conduct that shut Tim out forever. He would have to press on without her. What a betrayal that would be, reducing her to a stark Judas outline. She was the bolster for his mining, the liberation for his mind, and the note left behind from his frustrated music. Facility of speech was gone, but some answer was needed in view of Philip’s vigilant eyes. How brown they were, and what black lashes he had! How differently she was seeing him since his mother’s death. He was a good-looking man with his winged, high-tempered nose. At this moment the nostrils were calm, so she was safe from his emotions.

  “There’s nothing, Philip. It’s just—just…”

  “Of course,” he said soothingly. “It’s been a great strain for you. You shaped up magnificently, Mary. That last scene touched me beyond words.”

  Instead of being grateful she was irritated. Smooth nerves were being sandpapered. Her own dilemma made her want to blast him out of his security.

  “But, Philip,” she said quite crossly. “I loved her. There’s nothing wonderful—”

  “It was wonderful to me, Mary.”

  She had been irritable, and he did not mind. Instead he got up and sat on the arm of her chair, holding her shoulders, with his chin on the top of her head. Because she had grown up with his touch she leaned against him, remembering the sanctuary he had been before.

  “My dear, do you know that Mater has left you nearly all her personal possessions? All her jewellery except a few pieces for Felice.”

  “What, Philip?” she gasped, leaning back to search his face.

  “Yes, my dear. It shows how she felt about you. Some of her things are very good, but the settings are old-fashioned. Some day we’ll have them reset.”

  We, we, we! Her conflict flew into her eyes, making a naked display to Philip.

  “My dear Mary,” he said firmly. “I feel sure you’re upset in some way. Tell me, what is it?”

  To conceal her face she rested against his chest.

  “I’m just confused, Philip. This and that and so many rings for my fingers,” she said childishly. It was sufficient to make him laugh.

  “You feel all right, then?”

  “Have I ever been ill?”

  “Not since you drowned yourself. Your health is a delight to a doctor. When I see you I often think disease is an offence against living.”

  Did he love her because she could exist without mixtures that must be shaken three times a day?

  “My dear,” he said, cupping one cheek. She could feel hunger in his hands, not knowing how she identified it. Had she not been jolted out of childhood the day Tim went away? No matter how much she pursued her heedless youth, it receded before a widening horizon. Yet she did not know how to contain her new attributes of growth. This time she did the wrong thing by closing her eyes, permitting Philip to kiss her with lips having no relation to the kisses of the past. Very honestly she admitted there was nothing in her disliking the kiss.

  “My dear,” he said softly, “I don’t want you to feel bereft because Mater is gone. Let me try to make up for her loss. I love you, Mary. I always have, since you appeared as a frozen little waif, and I always will.”

  “I love you too, Philip,”she said helplessly.

  Did she not speak the vital truth? Did she not love him? Were not the associations of everyday, things that brought good returns? Loyalty, gratitude and remembrance of the mater’s bequest did not have to be summoned consciously to her mind. But there was September last? Then Tim had been sighing against her hair, demanding a million kisses? The way of her present life was apart from her wild-stepping youth. Tin-whistle side? She wished Tim had not expressed it in those terms. It reduced them to an Endymion world that could not find habitation in rooms. Was she a bad girl, liking many people and loving none? Again Philip was talking over her head, suggesting future plans. There would be England, London with David and Felice, then across the continent and a long stay in Vienna. She would like to go by herself, untrammelled by responsibility, gypsy-wild and free to look. The thought of a companionless flight made her jump to her feet.

  “Let’s go upstairs, Philip. I think the people have gone. I heard the door shut.”

  Again he was patient. “As you say, my dear. Felice will attend to those letters.”

  The absence of admonition and direction said he was raising her from the status of a child. It was more intensified when he took her arm, complaining she was too thin.

  “You must take a tonic,” he suggested gently.

  “I will not,”she said with definite decision. The fact that he only smiled in return made the refusal significant. He had become the suppliant instead of the mentor.

  Even though the mater was dead, and she had the weight of a problem, she found she could speed upstairs. Was she not Josephine’s daughter, leaving everything to the will of God? Philip was ten steps below, Tim was at university in Canada. Fate would decide.

  There were so many letters, one more was not noticed.

  Dearest Gretel,

  I dared write when Mother told me about Lady Fitz Henry. I knew there would be letters, and this might wander in. We’ve always had enormous luck with each other. We may not be star-crossed lovers after all, and all this winter I’ve been frightened about you and me. But I did not intend to talk about ourselves. I was shocked and unhappy when Mother wrote all the details. Of course, Auntie Minnie had the news about the hospital and how wintry it was. I can’t get her face out of my mind, having seen her so often from the beech tree. I’m sure she was a grand person because she made you so lovely. Now that I’m away I can see you better. What a day that was for me when I piped you up in the tree! Now anything that hurts you hurts me dreadfully. It has been and always will be. I know about death, dear Gretel, and the letters that come in full of little verses. I wish I was there to make you feel how near I am in this.

  Things will be different now! I wish I could talk about us, but that will have to wait, and I know you want it that way.

  Can I go on now and talk of something else? I can’t stop when the opportunity has come to write you one letter. One thing about this made me want to cry like a baby. Mother offered to let me come home for Christmas! She said she had saved some money and it was ample to take me home and back. I was desperately tempted to take it, but it was too much. The fact that she saved it says she feels Uncle’s domination over money. If he knew she had it he’d pester her until she invested it in some bond. They always seem to promise things in fifty years. I’d like one good bust in the present, before my fingers stiffen on the keys. Just one loaf round Europe and then I can take it.

  That is with you beside me.

  I could go on writing forever about life here. Needless to say I have gravitated to a musical crowd, and it helps the professional subjects. Everybody talks a lot. Mostly I just sit and listen. What amazes me is the way some fellows have their minds made up. Their way seems cem
ented, and they simply can’t get worked up over music, art or literature. It’s a crowd to hold one’s tongue with. I can see them as uncles born to plague a fellow like me.

  Then there are the playboys and the smart Alecs who like the thing out of bounds. They have a drunken way of enjoying themselves. The girls all have coxcombs and curls, and nails like the blood of bullocks. I have only to think of you to want nothing from them. Nobody could love you more than I do, dear Gretel, or remember every bit about you. It makes a fellow reel in terror that it might not go on. Darling, look at the white ship and think of your vassal.

  TIM

  The letter hurt her. She could see him so plainly, with his eyes rich with his feelings. She who liked a good pace found the way too fast. Towards herself Philip and Tim seemed so concentrated. She applauded the latter for his self-denial, consoled him for his unselfishness towards his mother; but she knew it was useless to expect him to press on without her. His mother must love him in some dumb way. Her tentative steps to ease his uncongenial career had been evinced several times. The girl wanted to look at his mother with recognition. She knew her by sight as well as the redoubtable Auntie Minnie. The former was inclined to be square and slow-moving, with a pasty face and Tim’s heavy-lidded eyes. She walked past the gates of the Place with uninquisitive eyes. Her clothes were always neat but not smart. Auntie Minnie’s were neither. She was inclined to accessories as decorated as a dessert with a cherry and a strip of angelica. Her marcel wave was knife-edged, as if a hairdresser had been challenged to make it everlasting. Always going out with her work, she walked with a bag. Her legs in motion held a hop, while her brown eyes darted inquisitively around. Tim said she read the morning paper from cover to cover, and knew the names of all the incoming and outgoing passengers. Briefly, Auntie Minnie was a nosy parker!

  The letter stored in her mind, Mary Immaculate sailed on with her chin up, causing David to remark to his wife:

  “Mary’s chin has a tilt. I wonder what it means. What is she defiant about?”

  “You see too much,”said his wife. “Perhaps some student at the college has been making love to her, and she’s slapped his face.”

  David was shocked.

  “Do you think she has followers?” he asked naively.

  “Fool!” said his wife. “You and Philip never see Mary as an ordinary girl. I doubt if she has much opportunity though. I find she takes no part in anything but the academic life. I hear around she’s a brilliant student, but never mixes…”

  “Why?” said David.

  “You’d better ask Philip, Dave dear. He didn’t want her to attend the college at all.”

  “Well, we’ll see it out this winter,” said David with a little shiver.

  “I don’t relish the thought of the eternal snows, even for Mary.”

  The girl was to look back on that winter as a harmonious season. There were four of them, and it was a perfect number for most things. Study became a cram, so as not to interfere with pleasure. They played bridge, went to cinemas, skated, read, enjoyed infinite music and saw whatever there was to see. David occasionally asserted himself, and he definitely refused to put crepe on the doorknob for his mother. After a few deep frowns, Philip went his way. He began to play and enjoy playing, making no attempt to order Mary Immaculate around. She was rock-bound in the ways of the mater, and showed no desire to spill over. Wise enough to bide his time, his conservatism refused to speak of love to a girl who was still going to school. Occasionally the air palpitated with something, quickly eased by David and Felice. If the girl herself saw signs of widening circles, she was adept in evasion. Instead of going with the tide, that winter resembled a comfortable rest on a lee shore.

  Episodes made her ponder. An evening skating alone with Philip on the flooded tennis-court. It was a night of rare beauty, white in austerity. The moon was alone in the sky, casting a blue light on the ice. The stars were niggards, withdrawn from the flaunt of the moon. About six or seven stars, thought the girl, skimming over the ice in Philip’s arms.

  Skating, they achieved perfect harmony, she having grown to a height that made her a faultless partner. To her it was the very ecstasy of motion, a rhythm, intoxicating to the body. She was just under his chin, with yellow eyes fixed on the moon. It looked insolent with aloofness, alone in cold beauty. She would like to be free and take that wide survey.

  Philip was keeping the time unmarred, by a careful avoidance of a ridge in the ice, but when he could he stared at her face. She was bareheaded, wearing a brown flared skirt and a leather coat, zipping to the throat. When the music stopped he did not release her, letting the gramophone needle scrape on. She gave a long sigh, standing easily in his arms.

  “Nice, Philip!”

  “Perfection, my dear, and what a night!”

  “Philip, I wish I was the moon up in the sky. Think of seeing everything going on.”

  “I haven’t that much curiosity, Mary. Come back from the moon. I’m uncomfortable with infinity.”

  She laughed, still staring up. Then she knew he was stirred by the sight of her face. In the cold clear night he kissed her rather slowly, surprising her with the feel of warm lips in frosty air. Hot-cold she thought instantly, remembering the morning she had licked the snow in the valley. Philip gave her a gentle shake.

  “Come back, Mary. You’re so often an enigma. Dave seems to meet you. I believe you would have been much happier if he had adopted you,” Philip’s voice needed reassurance. Instantly she came to loyal defence.

  “David happens to have done a lot of interesting things. He’s had time, you haven’t. When you have money you can pick and choose.”

  “I’d still be a doctor, Mary, if I had his money. I couldn’t be idle. All I know is having a job and doing it and returning to something that’s really my own.”

  “Nothing is really your own, Philip.”

  “I think it is, Mary,” he said, tightening his arms on his possession. “It’s the ordained way of living. A job, a roof, a wife, children…”

  “But you don’t own children, Philip. Their bodies are just about,” she said vaguely. Dare she joke about a bone of contention? “And,” she ventured softly, “they are not all full of directive thinking.”

  To her intense relief he laughed, giving her another shake. “You’ve always had your tongue in your cheek about that, Mary. Even as a small girl when I wanted to slap you.”

  “Why didn’t you, Philip?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

  “Because, my dear, even when you made me mad I loved you. Sometimes I think I started you on the wrong foot, Mary. You know why, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she said blandly. “Because I was full of fantasy.”

  “More than that,” he said gravely. “Some of the doctors went as far as to say you were—”

  “Dippy, Philip?” she asked, laughing on a high young note with her head back under his face. He could see the moon making gleams on her white, rounded teeth. “Hannah always said I was cracked.”

  “Well, thank God,” he said, laughing with her. “I was right and they were not. They said it was impossible to lie out for three days if you were normal.”

  Mary Immaculate’s eyes narrowed again. “I’m sure they’re all very wise, Philip, but could they know what effect it should have?”

  “I don’t yet,” he said with a frown. “You’ve forgotten it, haven’t you, Mary?”

  It was a foolish question. The first twelve years of a life are the sharpest in memory.

  “I’ve forgotten nothing, Philip. Let’s skate again. It’s a lovely night.”

  Frowning a little, he slid towards the gramophone. He was a man in sight of Mecca, and did not know what to concede to other gods.

  They waltzed without a word, disharmony withdrawing from their bodies. Silently in the porch they took off their boots and skates.

  Before him she ran upstairs to David in her stockinged feet.

  “Darling,” he said, reaching out a wel
coming hand, “you must be frozen. Where’s Phil?”

  “On my heels,” she said lightly. “We had a divine skate under the moon. All the witches and cats have been frightened away, and the hocus-pocus doesn’t know what to do with itself. It can’t even wander in the shadows, because there aren’t any shadows.”

  Entering, Philip heard her talking with her tongue in her cheek. David looked from one to the other, shaking his head.

  “Mary, you sound naughty! I must forgive you because you look like gardenias on ice. Come and sit by the fire.”

  “Thanks, I’m going to bed,” she said lightly. “I go to school, you know.”

  When Philip had opened the door for her he went himself, without a word.

  “M’mmm,” said David expressively. “Was that cold air they brought in?”

  ‘’I’m afraid so.”

  “She looked just as readable as the sphinx. I know that mood. Felice, has she ever told you what Mater—”