Blackberry Winter

by Maryanne Fischler

“What a nice surprise! What are you doing down here?”

  “I wanted to tell you that I’ve been to see Dr. McGinnis today. I did what you said.” She wasn’t looking at him and her voice sounded weak.

  “What is it, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, she says everything is fine. I have a prescription for some pills. Everything is fine.” She was obviously upset.

  Brian carefully took her into his arms, “Sweetheart, please tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the whole process. I don’t like being looked at, and I don’t like being poked at, and I don’t like that you wouldn’t tell me what to do. You kept saying ‘you could do this’ and ‘you could do that’ but why couldn’t it be ‘we could do this’ or ‘we could do that’? I don’t know anything about sex. I didn’t understand half of what you said, and I was too embarrassed to tell you how little I know. I realize this doesn’t make any sense, one minute I’m complaining because you try to run my life, and the next minute I’m complaining because you won’t tell me what to do. But I really don’t understand a lot of this.” She paused for a moment. She was still in his arms, the differential in their heights put her carrying on this conversation seemingly with his tie. She added, “I think I’m angry with you.”

  “I think you’re angry with me too, and I think you’re right to be angry. I made some assumptions that I shouldn’t have made. You’ve tried to tell me so many times about how little you learned from your mother, and how sheltered you’ve been, and I didn’t get it. We both have to work on this. I’ve got to learn not to make assumptions, and you’ve got to learn to tell me when you don’t understand. Darling, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  That evening, Brian started all over again. This time they were sitting close together on the couch. He did not speak at all clinically as a doctor would to a patient. He started with very basic things, keeping in mind that there was no sex education at all when Emily went to school, and none in her home. The ignorance of her youth had been followed by a deliberate sheltering of herself. She never went to movies with an R rating, she never read anything that might have any sexual content.

  He spoke very softly and asked her questions to make sure she understood. He began with basic anatomy. Rather than a scientific lecture on human anatomy, he explained her own body to her as no one had before, as well as his own. He explained the reaction his body had when she touched him in certain ways, and he told her what was happening in her own body when he touched her. He explained exactly what would happen when they were married and consummated their union. He explained in very simple terms the process of conception and how it is prevented. He kissed her and stroked her face occasionally as a way of punctuating his remarks, turning a description of the act of love into an act of love itself.

  He recalled to himself a comment that Paul had made a year before about how it was easier for men to make love than it was for them to talk about making love. There was truth in that observation. There would be nothing easier for him at that moment than to set aside his values and take what he so desperately wanted. But talking this way, describing such things, was very difficult, and he only undertook it because he knew how important it was for her to understand. After the various descriptions and explanations were done, he said gently, “Now, there’s nothing you can’t ask me. There’s nothing I’m not willing to discuss with you. Never be too embarrassed to ask me about something you don’t understand.”

  Emily had been listening very carefully. When he asked her questions as he went along, she fought back her embarrassment and answered with the terms he was teaching her so that he would know that she was learning. But on another level, she was a step away and watching this lesson take place, listening not so much to words as to the incredibly patient tone of his voice, seeing the gentleness of his manner. Her reaction when it came originated from that part of her perception.

  “I’ve never had a conversation anything like this before,” she said with a kind of wonder in her voice.

  “I know, I should never have assumed that you knew all of this.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I’ve learned a lot, and I understand things much more clearly than I used to, but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s you. You’re the kindest person I ever met. You’re so patient and understanding. I’m going to like being married to you.”

  “I’m going to like being married to you, too.”

  Chapter 2

  “Emily,” Brian said on one Saturday as they were packing boxes in her apartment, “I think our nice little wedding is growing under my mother’s management. She called last night to say that they have the guest list down to about a hundred. She asked again if you’re sure there isn’t anyone you want to invite. I told her you were sure. But still, where do you suppose she got a hundred people?”

  “She and your father are no doubt prominent people in the town. They’ll want to invite their friends. I don’t see any harm in it. You’re their only son, and this is the only wedding your family is ever going to have. Your mother has put a good deal of effort into this. Let them enjoy it.”

  “You’re being awfully nice about the whole thing. Oh, and she says she can’t find a florist anywhere in Vermont who knows where to get stephanotis.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” There was a wistfulness in her voice that caught Brian’s attention.

  “Does that matter?”

  “No, of course not, it was just a whim. It’s sort of a long story. When I was a little girl there was a lady in our neighborhood who was sweet to me. I would stop in her yard on my way home from school and she would give me cookies and tell me stories about her life. I thought at the time that she was about as old as God, but I guess she was about a hundred. Miss Margaret Hathaway was her name, of course she was really Mrs. Hathaway, but that’s not how we Southerners do it. She was married before the turn of the century, and from the way she told it, her wedding must have been one of the biggest social events in Raleigh that year. She wore a magnificent silk dress, yards and yards of it. She showed it to me once. It had turned all yellow with time, but it had incredible sewing on it, intricate patterns of beadwork and lace. I’d never seen anything like it. She had sixteen bridesmaids, and they all wore a color called ‘ashes of roses.’” Emily paused and smiled at the memory.

  “She could have had any flowers, roses, orchids, anything. But she said she preferred to go out to the side of the drive way that led to her home where wild flowers of all sorts grew and cut for herself a bunch of white stephanotis to carry down the aisle. She said that even though she was marrying and moving to her own house, she would never forget her home if she carried those blossoms and savored their scent. She told me that story so many times, and every time it was like magic. I could smell the sweetness of those flowers. Perhaps it’s really the sweetness of that old lady that I remember.” Emily’s mind had been in some far away place, and now she remembered herself and laughed a little. “Goodness, how silly I’m being. Being a bride has made all good sense go right out of my head.”

  Aloud, Brian’s response was simply, “I think it’s your right as a bride to be at least a little silly. And besides, it becomes you.” Internally he resolved that if he had to move heaven and earth, come May twenty-second Emily would carry a bouquet of white stephanotis. He considered it a debt that he owed to Miss Margaret Hathaway.

  The Sunday feasts throughout the spring became respites from the flurry of the rest of the week. Emily’s things were being carefully packed into boxes so that she could have everything moved out by the first of June when her lease would be up. There were numerous phone calls from Vermont concerning the details of the wedding. Emily spent a lot of time talking to Louse McClellan, and remarked at how much paper work there was in such a simple thing as moving across town and changing your name.

  It was a rainy, dreary afternoon toward the end of March and dinner had been a rather unpleasant surprise i
n the form of a casserole that somehow managed to magically turn chicken into rubber, sort of a reverse miracle. It was a good afternoon to enjoy the company of friends.

  “What shall we talk about this time? Politics, religion, international affairs?” Brian asked.

  “I think Paul should say,” Emily suggested, “Anything is fine with me as long as its not weddings or moving.”

  The psychiatrist had recently seen the movie classic Moby Dick. There were questions about the story that presented themselves to him because of his profession. “Why is Ahab a classic figure of tragedy?” Paul had a way of asking a question so that you had no idea whether he didn’t know or he knew but wanted to see what you would say.

  Brian grinned and said, “Because he only had one leg? No, that can’t be it. I remember from English Lit that a tragic figure is one with a single horrible flaw of character. Maybe Ahab was tragic because he spent his whole life looking to get even with a dumb animal.”

  Emily answered more thoughtfully, “I don’t think the whale was just a dumb animal. I think it personified evil.”

  Paul asked her, “Then you think Ahab was tragic because he encountered and was hurt by the force of evil?”

  “No, I think the tragedy was what he allowed the evil to do to him. He became obsessed with revenge. Think about what he said. He pledged himself to hunt for the whale all the way to Perdition’s flame. Think about what he said when he was near death, ‘For hate’s sake I spit at thee; with my last breath I stab at thee.’ What a horrible motivation for anything! The whale took Ahab’s leg by force, but Ahab gave Moby Dick his whole life by choice. He could have become a rich whaling captain, instead he ruined his life chasing after evil. He died for nothing, as he had lived for nothing. That strikes me as tragic.”

  Paul was ready to pounce with another question, “So you think Ahab had a choice? What if he didn’t? Maybe being the man he was, he was destined to do what he did.”

  This time it was Brian who answered, “There is always a choice. As long as we live, our destiny is fluid, we choose which motivations we act on. Ahab chose to act on his hate. He chose death over life. No one ever has to do that. Even if you believe in destiny, we don’t live knowing what our destiny is, so we make choices.”

  Again Paul had a question to pose. “If the whale was evil, shouldn’t Ahab or somebody have stopped it? Aren’t we supposed to fight evil?”

  Emily figured it must be her turn, “You notice it wasn’t a fish, it was a whale, a big whale, the biggest creature on earth. It was a lot bigger than Ahab, a lot stronger. He could never have defeated it on his own. He would have had to have a fleet of ships. We aren’t called upon to wage war on evil by ourselves, we can’t beat it alone. It’s bigger than we are. We have to have a lot of help.”

  “But what if there isn’t anyone else, what if we’re alone and are confronted by evil and have to fight it or be destroyed by it?”

  Brian knew immediately what Emily would say. It was the profound truth that lay at the heart of her faith. It was her dearest truth, the theme of her favorite music, the moral of her favorite tale. She said simply, “But that’s not the way it works. When we fight against evil for the sake of righteousness, we’re never alone. ”

  They arrived at Emily’s apartment in time to hear the phone ringing within. She fumbled with her key, opened the door, and ran across the room to pick it up. She was a little breathless when she spoke.

  “Hello? Oh, it’s you.” Obviously, it was not a caller she wanted to hear from. “What do you want? ... Well, I’m sorry, but maybe it’ll be good for you... Look, why don’t you get some professional help...There’s certainly nothing I can do for you.” The look on her face changed, her anger mounted and then took on an element of fear. Finally she hung up the phone without saying another word.

  Brian asked, “Is there something wrong?”

  “That was my brother again. He lost his license. I believe he was more upset about not being able to drive his pickup than he was about his wife leaving him. He got sort of abusive, so I hung up.” Her voice reflected a combination of nervousness and annoyance.

  “You know, I don’t think I’m going to like my brother-in-law very much,” Brian commented with feeling.

  “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll never lay eyes on your brother-in-law. I have no intention of telling any of those people when we get married, and I certainly won’t tell them my new phone number. If they got wind of the fact that I was marrying a doctor, they’d think the road from Raleigh to here paved with gold. If they don’t know your name, they’ll never be able to track me down, and I can be rid of the lot of them. He’s got his nerve, threatening me.”

  At that Brian’s concern escalated. “He threatened you? What did he say?”

  “Oh, he just made vague remarks about how you can still drive without a license as long as you don’t get caught, and he knows where I live. He said something about teaching me a lesson in family loyalty. He’s just spouting off.” Emily was not sure how serious her brother’s no doubt drunken ravings were, but she didn’t intend to worry Brian about it.

  “Raleigh’s about two hours from here, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes, about that, why?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt anything for you to stay at my place for a few days. I’d sleep a lot better if I knew you were in the next room.”

  She found herself wishing Brian didn’t even know her brother existed. “This is silly. He was probably just drunk, he usually is. I’ve got a ton of things to do around here. You needn’t worry, really.” She was not as nonchalant about being threatened as she pretended to be, but wondered if it was a good idea to always be running to Brian when things came up that she wasn’t sure she could handle.

  “Emily,” Brian began with a deep sigh, “I’m a tired old man. Humor me. Come and stay through the weekend. It can be the first Easter morning we ever spend together. You don’t think I’d behave like anything less than a gentleman on Easter weekend, do you?”

  And so it was that Good Friday morning found Emily kissing Brian good-bye as he left for work. She had the day off and resolved to spend it “playing housewife.” Truth to tell, she knew that Brian was such a fastidious housekeeper that there wouldn’t much housework to do. She thought of making a fancy dish for dinner, but she recognized that he was also a better cook than she was. She was inspired to do something appropriate to the day, and so set about making hot cross buns.

  The little spicy rolls were just coming out of the oven when the doorbell rang. She peeked out the kitchen curtains to get a look at who was calling before she went to the door, and was surprised to see Paul’s Mercedes parked in the drive.

  “Well, this is a nice surprise,” she began, but stopped short. Paul always looked like he just stepped off the front cover of a gentlemen’s fashion magazine, and came in for a lot of teasing from Brian and Emily for it. But not today, not unless the newest fashion was to be the slept-in look. “Come on in,” Emily said with a puzzled look on her face.

  As he crossed the room to sit down, Paul said, “I called your place and you weren’t there, and I knew you weren’t working today, so I thought I’d try here.”

  Emily’s look of puzzlement deepened, “So you’ve been looking for me. What can I do for you?”

  Paul didn’t answer, but instead stood up and asked, “Do you suppose there’s any coffee around here?”

  While he sipped his coffee, she put the icing crosses on the buns and offered him one. As he sat munching, she watched him quizzically trying to get some clue as to what was going through his mind. He noticed she was doing it and smiled.

  “If you ever decide to become a psychiatrist, you’re going to have to learn to stare at people more subtly,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean to stare. I guess I’m just a little concerned. You look like something’s bothering you.”

  Paul stared at the table in front of him for a moment before answering. “Sometimes my job reall
y stinks. This is one of those times. I just wanted to spend some time with somebody normal.”

  At this Emily chuckled. “And you couldn’t find anybody like that, so you came looking for me.” After a pause, she continued more seriously, “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’d be glad to.”

  As if rousing himself from a daze, he stood up and said briskly, “Good. Let’s go out for lunch.”

  It was about the last thing she expected him to say, but for once Emily chose not to ask herself the question “How would that look?” and instead accepted the invitation. They drove to the downtown area and had lunch in a trendy cafe/bookstore that featured lots of sprouts and spinach on the menu. It was a bustling, cramped place, but it had a sort of cozy charm.

  After they ordered, and the food arrived, Paul said, “So the big day is five weeks from tomorrow. Are you getting nervous yet?”

  Her answer was immediate and obviously heart-felt. “I was born nervous; I’m several stages past nervous and into the panic-stricken range by now.”

  Paul smiled and looked thoughtful. “I didn’t have you pegged as the cold feet type. I thought once you made up your mind to do it, doing it would be the easy part.”

  “It’s not marriage that’s causing the panic, it’s the wedding, and moving, and all these changes happening at once. And things haven’t gone quite the way I thought they would. The rosy glow of being engaged that I expected has been less than rosy and far from glowing.” She went on to discuss her troubles at work, the nasty phone calls from her brother, and the bumps along the trip to the altar that she and Brian had experienced. “There’s been this feeling sort of lingering in the back of my mind that things are all just a little off, like those puzzles you do as a child titled ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’ You’d think by now I’d have learned that once you start letting things happen to you, you can’t expect that they will happen the way you want.” After a moment, she said, “Poor Paul, you wanted to spend time with somebody normal, and you wound up listening to my troubles. What about your troubles?”