by C F Dunn
Beth grabbed her hand. “Put it down before you kill someone!”
“But I’m a warrior,” Flora moaned.
Mum smiled indulgently. “Nanna always used this to open her letters in the morning, just as her mother did before her. It was given to her by your great-great-grandmother, and it was very special, so she wanted you to have it.”
Flora’s lower lip quivered. “Nanna was a princess too,” she snuffled. “Can you be a princess in Heaven?”
Rob ruffled her hair. “Of course you can, Bubble. You take the best of yourself to Heaven.”
“So I can take Barbie?”
Her father grimaced. “I’m not sure that’s quite what I meant, Flora.”
“No, I know,” she said primly, “but I thought I’d ask anyway.”
Rob refilled our cups as Beth opened the brown leather box. “Isn’t that Nanna’s pearl necklace?”
“Grandpa gave it to her when I was born,” Mum said, “and she always wanted my first-born to have it. You know what it meant to her, don’t you, Elizabeth?” The string of pearls, like little moons, gleamed against the silk lining. Mum stroked her hand. “There, it’s all right, don’t get upset. Do you have a hanky? I have a spare one. Now, Emma, what about your present?”
I had already opened mine, easing open the lid of the box when no one was looking and wordlessly slipping the elegant watch over my wrist. She had worn it up to the day she became ill.
“Grandpa gave it to Nanna on their wedding day and she wanted you to have it. She always knew you would find someone special one day.” Her eyes drifted to Matthew, resting briefly on his wheat-gold hair, the exact colour of her father’s, and then back to me. “Well now, that’s enough of the past. There’s the future to consider and a wedding to arrange. Have you decided on St Mary’s or St Martin’s? You’ve left it rather late; May is such a popular month for weddings. What are we going to do if the churches are fully booked?”
The change in conversation wrong-footed me. All I could do was flounder as I lined up excuses ready to be fired in our defence.
“Hang on, Mum, you don’t even know if Emma and Matthew want a church wedding.”
“Well, of course they do, Beth – don’t you, Emma?” Not waiting for an answer she rushed on. “Matthew, you’re not Catholic, are you? It gets awfully complicated, but I’m sure something can be sorted out. Oh,” she suddenly thought, “you don’t belong to one of those peculiar sects Emma used to tell us about – you know, darling, the ones who left after the Civil War and started new colonies in America.”
“No, I don’t,” Matthew said, trying to keep a straight face, “nor am I Catholic. I’m nothing more exotic than an Anglican. However, we…”
“Thank goodness for that,” Mum butted in. “Mixed marriages can work of course – Rob’s Church of Scotland, after all – but it can place an additional strain on a relationship and there are enough of those in life as it is. Oh dear, I’m prattling, aren’t I? I’m so sorry, it’s just this is so exciting after everything else.” She tailed off, smiling apologetically and making me feel even more guilty, if that were possible.
Dad replaced his cup and continued the mugging for her. “The thing is, Emma, it took months to organize Beth and Rob’s wedding…”
“Nearly a year,” Beth amended.
“Nearly a year, and leaving it this late might mean we have to make certain compromises about the venue.”
Matthew frowned and leaned forward. “Emma and I have decided…”
“… to marry in the States,” I finished, to deflect the flak from him. “I’m sorry, I meant to tell you before, but the time never seemed right. I’m sorry,” I said again, becoming scarlet. A silver spoon rattled as it fell on the table.
Mum broke the silence first. “You can’t possibly!”
Dad’s eyebrows gathered. “Daughters should marry from home, Emma. All the D’Eresby women have married from home.” He rounded on Matthew. “Young man, this is out of the question…”
“But I want to be a bridesmaid!” Flora wailed.
Beth shook her head. “We can’t afford the air tickets for all of us. I think Arch might travel free, but the rest of us…”
Dad barked over the rising commotion. “It’s bad enough you living in the States, but marrying there… this is inconsiderate of you both, especially you, Matthew. I’m sure you’re quite aware of this country’s traditions even if you are from America.”
I jumped to my feet in burgeoning temper. “Dad, that’s unfair, leave him alone. Listen…”
“What would Nanna say?” Mum quivered, dissolving into tears. “We’ve been so looking forward to this.”
Dad brandished his finger, the old tyrant back again. “You haven’t thought it through; it’s totally selfish.”
Flora began to cry and Beth tried to comfort her and Mum at the same time. Rob stood behind them, bewildered. “Why can’t they decide where they want to marry?”
“Quiet, Rob,” Beth snapped. “Emma, it’s not practical.”
“It’s your duty to your family. It’s a disgrace,” Dad scowled, leaning on his knuckles, his shoulders hunched to his ears. Matthew rose to defend me.
“No, Matthew, leave it, please,” I cautioned him. “Will you all listen…”
Flora sobbed and Alex drew up his legs, hands over his ears, and started rocking back and forth. Emotion the colour of bitter chocolate choked the air. Enough was enough.
“SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!”
Beth gasped. Alex ceased rocking.
“This is my decision, so don’t blame Matthew. He wanted us to marry here but I persuaded him to get married in the States.”
“Why, darling?”
“Because…” I couldn’t think of any cogent reason that would explain my decision. “Because I want to, Mum.” It wasn’t much of an explanation, but I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t tell them that I wanted Maggie to be there, that it wasn’t right that Matthew’s granddaughter wasn’t part of the family event and that marrying from home as I’d always wanted would exclude her because she was too ill to travel that far. I couldn’t explain that I was taking the place of her beloved grandmother, and that it was the least I could do to offer this token of peace and to lay some foundation on which to build a future relationship for all our sakes. I had found it hard enough to explain to Matthew, who at least knew the circumstances, but to tell my family was nigh on impossible. I made him promise not to tell, and he stood by the table now, struggling to keep his word in the face of the criticism being flung at me.
Mum wavered. “But your family…”
“Matthew has a family too. Besides, the arrangements have been made.”
“But…”
“And I won’t change my mind,” I added just in case anyone thought I might.
“I want to be your bridesmaid, Emma. You said I could.”
“And you will, Flora, but it will be in America, not here, that’s all. And you don’t have to worry about the tickets or anything, Beth, because that’s all taken care of.”
It was Rob’s turn to sound doubtful. He had his pride even if he found it difficult to make ends meet sometimes. “I won’t have you paying for our flights.”
“No, of course not, but the jet needs to be flown regularly, so this is as good an opportunity as any.”
My father eased his neck in his starched collar. “The jet?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“And the church has been booked?”
“All done.”
“What about the reception? And guests – what about invitations?” Mum asked.
I sat down, sensing the worst was over. Dad sat too. Matthew remained standing, his fingers tense on my shoulder. I put my hand over his. “We were wondering if you would mind helping with those? And Dad, we really would like a traditional wedding cake, but they’re difficult to come by in the States.”
His face slowly returned to its more normal buff. “And you thought we might make you one?
”
“Please.”
“I’ll have to look out your grandmother’s recipe, and there’s barely enough time for it to mature, but for you,” he relented, “we’ll see what we can do.”
Beth’s disappointment still leached from her. “We were so looking forward to organizing the food, weren’t we, Dad? Who’s going to do that now?”
I crossed my fingers under the linen tablecloth, then as an afterthought crossed my ankles as well. “Pat – Matthew’s mother,” I barely wavered at the lie, “has all that in hand. It’ll be a joint effort between you.”
“Oh.”
“What I really need help with though, Beth” – she looked up hopefully – “is my dress.”
Feathers were gradually settling back into place although, now and again, Mum shot a wounded look in our direction. Dad and Beth were finishing some of the food and packing away the bits they couldn’t eat, and Rob had gone up to check on Archie, when Flora sidled up to Matthew. She regarded him shyly, with Barbie in one hand, a pink cupcake in the other. “Matthew,” she lisped, offering the cake, “I’ve saved this one for you.”
He knelt down and took it from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, Flora, that’s very kind of you. Will you mind if I keep it for later?”
“That’s OK,” she said, “I know you won’t eat it; you never do.”
CHAPTER
10
Going Home
Matthew wasn’t next to me when I woke the next morning, nor could I find him downstairs. He had put away the bedding he was supposed to have used and by my cup on the breakfast table had left a cryptic message: gone fishing.
I was still puzzling over it when Mum came in with her cereal. She looked weary, but had lost the desperate, haunted look of the day before. “Matthew’s an early bird, isn’t he? He’d already finished breakfast when I came down this morning at about six. He’s very thoughtful, Emma, I must say – he’d put his things away.” It was her way of saying she accepted our decision, even if she didn’t like it. “It took your father years to learn to tidy up after himself. He was always leaving cupboard doors open. I feel sure it was his way of rebelling against Army discipline. I only wish he had rebelled a little sooner and got it out of his system. I found the egg rages most difficult.” She smiled regretfully.
Dad and his rages. He had raged over the colour of his morning egg, and over the brand of sausages she bought. He raged if his egg was too runny, or a mite too firm. But most of all, he raged at me. Mum bore the brunt of it, caught in the crossfire with Nanna. Together they acted as mediators, interpreters, and between them kept a smouldering peace.
Mum added milk to her bowl without looking up. Trapped in the sheltered courtyard, the wisteria unveiled its first lilac frond. Each year Nanna would say it was the harbinger of spring and we would all chorus that she said that about every spring flower. All around us were poignant reminders of her vitality.
“I miss her too, Mum.”
“I know Nanna hadn’t been at home for months, but she was always here, and now she isn’t. I’m finding that hard at the moment; it’s so silly of me. No, stay there, darling. I don’t think I can handle any sympathy this morning. I need to get back on track.” She found her hanky, holding it to her nose until the urge to cry passed and I sat back down feeling superfluous. “I’m sorry if I overreacted yesterday, Emma; I’m just disappointed. I think we were all looking forward to getting busy with the wedding arrangements and it would have made her passing a bit easier. If only she could have lived a little longer and seen you married she would have been so happy for you.” Her voice quavered. Finally she squared her shoulders and her resolve. “There now, it can’t be helped.”
No, it couldn’t. If anyone could have swayed me it would have been my mother, but I had thought long and hard over my decision and, try as she might, I wouldn’t change it now. I would, however, do what I could to make it easier for her. “I’ve been racking my brains who to invite, Mum. Any ideas?”
She needed no further encouragement and rattled through a list of names of distant relatives I had barely heard of, let alone met. “… and then there’s Cousin Betty from Lytham St Annes. She moved away donkey’s years ago. I wonder if she’s still alive? What about Matthew’s side? You’d better make me a list.”
A list. That meant committing the lie to paper. She looked behind me as I debated the wisdom of such an action. “There you are, Matthew; we were just discussing your family.”
“We’re making lists for the invitations,” I clarified quickly. He bent down to kiss me, smelling of sharp Fenland air. Mum continued writing names on the back of a gas bill. She ceased, pencil poised in transit.
“Darling, what about Joan Seaton? She was such a friend to Nanna. She sent a lovely letter – have you seen it? Here…” She went to the high mantelpiece and fished out a letter folded in thirds from behind the row of consolation cards. “Consultation cards” I used to call them when little and before I knew any better. I opened it, visualizing the spry sparrow of a woman as she unwittingly revealed Matthew’s story to me in the fragmenting realm of her home.
In writing as fragile as gossamer, she apologized for not attending Nanna’s funeral, blaming extreme age and her unwilling son in equal measure in terms that made me smile. Matthew read it with me. I let my finger rest under the address – Old Manor Farm, Martinsthorpe – and he nodded once, briefly.
“Mum, I think Mrs Seaton would find the journey to the States a bit much.”
“Oh, yes, probably.” She sat back and put her pencil down. “I’m afraid that’s going to be the case for most of the family. There are so few of us left now, and what there are, are mostly too old or ill to travel. That’s what comes of an only child marrying an only child – the slow extinction of a family. You girls are the last D’Eresbys, and I am the last Chapman. Such a shame. Still, I’ve never dwelt on it; that’s more your father’s line. Matthew, do you have the list for me?” He handed her another envelope, his graceful copperplate dignifying the scruffy edge. She read it. “Is Daniel your brother? And Joel and Harry are your nephews and Ellie your niece? Your father must be so pleased to have grandsons as well. How lovely.” I steeled myself. I could see where this was going. “Perhaps you’ll have children one day…”
“Mum,” I cautioned.
“Your father would be so pleased. Nowadays it’s quite usual, you know, to give the children the mother’s name…”
“That’s it, we’re off,” I said, standing rapidly and grabbing Matthew by the hand. “No baby talk, Mum. You promised.”
“Did I?” she was saying as we left the room. “I don’t seem to remember…”
We reached the stone-flagged hall suppressing laughter. “Are you sure you want to marry me? Just think of it – daughters are supposed to turn into their mother.”
He grinned. “Your mother’s just a bit anxious at the moment and, don’t forget, you’re half your father.”
I buried my face in my hands. “Don’t remind me. What a combination! It’s not too late to change your mind.”
He trapped me against the wall, making his intentions abundantly clear. “Oh, believe me, it is. You know how seriously I take my vows,” he said, kissing down my neck and raising goose-pimples on my arms. The smaller of the two stuffed pike frowned down on us. I pushed halfheartedly at his chest, trying not to laugh.
“Not here. You don’t know who might be watching! So where did you go this morning?” I asked as a key turned in the front door and Dad came in with the newspaper and a bunch of daffodils. Tiberius dashed past him and up the stairs, where he stopped to wash a white paw.
Matthew ran his hand through his hair. “I went for a walk.”
“Old haunts?”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s one way of putting it. And then I went to church.”
Dad took his time hanging up his coat. I drew Matthew into the sitting room out of earshot.
“Which one?”
“All Saints –
does it matter? It has different glass and the pews are new, but that’s about it. Not much has changed since I last went,” he calculated, “three hundred and sixty-six years, six months and fourteen days ago, depending on which calendar system you’re using.”
“Not that you’ve been counting.”
“I’ve had time on my hands. Anyway, I had a chance to reflect, which brings me to what I want to ask you.” He still held Mrs Seaton’s letter. He looked at it now as if it contained some great revelation – or burden. Dad passed through on his way to the next room, accompanied by Tiberius, ever hopeful for food, and Matthew waited until the door closed behind him. “Emma, I want to go home… I mean, I want to go back to Martinsthorpe – before we leave for the States, before it’s too late.” He stood there stripped of certainty, suddenly defenceless. “Please, Emma, I need to see where it happened, where it all began.”
Sometimes we cannot move forward without going back. How circumstances had changed. Mine. His. Who would have predicted it; who could have known how topsy-turvy our world would become. That little twist of fate that brought me to the same road down which I had driven four months before, and in circumstances so different that I hardly recognized the person I had been then. Only the landscape looked familiar: brown ploughed fields and blunt hedgerows, and trees ready to green. He sat quietly in the seat next to me, a moment waiting to happen.
“I’m not sure how close we can get.”
He didn’t take his eyes from the land. “Close enough. It’s about a mile and a half from the church, with farm tracks that’ll take us near the river. We can walk from there.”
He folded the map he had been studying and tucked it inside his coat pocket and resumed his familiarization of the surrounding countryside. He had become increasingly pensive as we left Stamford and joined the main road west of the town and headed towards Oakham. He barely queried the expansive new reservoir but, as we entered Oakham and drove slowly through the old centre, past the school, and through the market place where the stocks raised in him a wry smile, his expression changed as he found landmarks he recognized. We headed south, turning down the road through Brook and towards the extinct hamlet that had been his home.