“I won’t even have to end it,” she told Abby now. “It will end of its own accord, for without you to cover for me, how will I ever see him again?”
“It’s all for the best,” Abby said. “Please say you’ll come see me in New York.”
“I will,” Lily said, but it seemed as unreal as saying that someday she would die and go to heaven and pluck the strings of a golden harp. It could happen. It might happen. It was impossible to feel that it really would happen, at least anytime soon. Everything felt remote and distant. From the first time she had succumbed to David’s embraces she felt her life had been held in abeyance, unable to move forward or back.
Or perhaps that feeling had begun even before the affair with David; perhaps she had become suspended, like a fly in a spider’s web, the night she sat in the gallery of the House of Assembly and heard the learned men strike down the bill for women’s votes. Until then Lily had believed she was working for something, that she was part of a movement that would eventually prevail, that would change the world. Now here was the world unchanged, and Lily unable to fit into it. She had girded herself to ride into battle in a war that had not been declared, after all: her army had withdrawn from the field and she was left with armour and a useless sword.
Pretty metaphors, of very little use. She stood up. “I’d better get home. Mother said four o’clock.”
“Kiss me. And don’t forget to write,” said Abby.
Three days after Abby’s departure on the steamer for New York, Lily was shopping with her mother, who for once felt well enough to go out, in the Royal Stores. She saw Mrs. Ohman looking at bolts of cloth and went up to her, since Mother was absorbed in trying on boots.
“Did you go to last week’s WCTU meeting?” Mrs. Ohman wanted to know.
“No, Papa’s forbidden it again, after you made your grand exit the last time.”
“Well you know, you’re not missing anything. I didn’t go myself, but I’m sure it was more of the same. Mrs. Withycombe and her crusade to make the WCTU so respectable that no one dare disapprove. Whoever changed society by trying to be respectable? Name me one person.”
Lily could not.
“Anyway I don’t think the politics of my hometown will concern me much longer,” Mrs. Ohman said. “Mr. Ohman is in Montreal, looking at a business opportunity there. I’m sick of this town and everyone in it—except for you, Lily darling, and a few others.”
“I’ll be sorry to see you go, even though I’m not supposed to be talking with you at all. Papa doesn’t like your influence.”
“Your Papa and others like him will wake up someday,” Mrs. Ohman said. “I only fear it will be too late. But what about you, dear Lily? You mustn’t languish. If we can’t work for the vote we must find other work to do. And you have prospects, haven’t you? What about that nice young minister friend of yours—is he coming to town again? You know, a minister’s wife can have a great influence within the community.”
Abby was gone. Mrs. Ohman was thinking of going. David was kept busy reporting political stories: the fall election had given Premier Whiteway a majority but results were overturned in more than a dozen districts, so by-elections were being held almost every week. The end result was that there would likely be a new premier and government, and anyone who made his living reporting on politics was busy attending meetings and writing about them at all hours. He still sent notes by way of Johnny every few days, most of which Lily dutifully burned after reading.
Summer came, finally. Grey skies with cool sunshine filtered through rain. It wasn’t much of a summer, but it was July now and the days were as fine as they were going to get.
“Things happen in threes,” her mother said one day, opening the mail. Eleanor often spoke in clichés. Lily wondered was it because it took less energy than inventing original things to say. The news that things happened in threes—bad things of course; there was no need to modify the noun—was often coupled with the observation that this life was a vale of tears. The letter announced the death of an ancient great-aunt—ninety-five if she was a day—in Harbour Grace.
“Well, poor Aunt Hepsie gone—things do happen in threes, they say.”
Lily rarely challenged her mother, but she was so restless that even an argument with someone so completely yielding seemed possible. “Why, Mother, what were the other two?”
“The other two?”
“You said things happen in threes. If Aunt Hepsie was the third thing, what were the first two?”
“Uncle Tom Gill, in the spring, and then your grandfather’s storehouse catching fire.”
The storehouse, like Uncle Tom and Aunt Hepsie, was in Harbour Grace, so it hardly seemed an immediate crisis, especially as no one had been hurt. But Eleanor said she had a dread of fire, even hearing about it, since the terrible one here in town two years ago. Two years! Had it really been so long?
“Ah well, this life is a sad vale of tears,” she said, folding the letter.
“Then you must be glad Aunt Hepsie is free of it,” Lily said.
“Glad? No, I can’t quite be glad, but she’s better off, poor soul.” Eleanor stood, tucking the letter into her skirt pocket, and went upstairs. Papa was in the study; Lily was alone again in the parlour. She was reading Emerson’s essays, which she found pretty slow going. Emerson had come up in an argument she’d had with David a few weeks ago—the last time she saw him in fact—and she wanted to understand his writing for herself rather than just hearing about it second hand from him. Most of the books he mentioned she wouldn’t have dared bring in the house. Imagine if Papa caught her reading Darwin or Karl Marx! But Mr. Emerson seemed safe enough, and David had loaned the book to her, so it was like holding a little piece of him.
She had taken to writing longer letters in response to his notes. After all, he had no need to burn her letters—she could be as indiscreet as she liked, as long as she kept the letter safe from discovery between the time of writing and the time of sending.
Thinking of David, and letters, and Johnny the messenger boy, drove her out into the garden to read, though it was a bit chilly and she had to go back for a shawl. It really was not a very promising July. She thought almost with longing of the July day of the fire, how hot and dry it had been. Certainly a fire starting today would have a harder time devouring the town, with everything so damp and soggy.
Sure enough, after she’d been out there about an hour grappling with The Over-Soul, she heard, “Hsst! Miss—I got sumpin’.”
“Hush,” she said, going down to the back fence where Johnny waited in the lane. “I’ve told you to be quiet.”
“I am bein’ quiet. You got a letter for me? I got one fer you.”
Lily had written three pages to David the other day and sent it off with the boy: she never allowed herself to write until she’d heard back from him. She didn’t want to seem like some pathetic lovelorn girl, badgering him because she had nothing better to do than sit around writing love letters.
The boy passed an envelope through the slats of the fence to her. As always she shivered a little, taking it from him. Her father had never wandered out into the garden or glanced out a window during one of these exchanges but she was always aware that he might do so. If he were to appear, demand she hand over the letter, the game would be up.
Waterlily—
I know it’s not been easy for you to get away since
the butterfly has flown. But I must talk with you.
Something has arisen—an opportunity golden for me,
one I can’t pass by. I don’t know what it will mean for
you—for us. Have I said too much? The family is
away again. Can you come to that house—you know
the one I mean—on Saturday afternoon? I must see
you alone and tell you what’s happened.
– D, as in Desperation
D as in Desperation? She had told him before of the need to be discreet in letters and he had taken that as an excuse to m
ake up silly codes—“butterfly” for Abby was suitable enough, she supposed—while leaving the most damning sentence of all—“I must see you alone”—blazing on the paper. She twisted the note into a knot in her hands while she walked back and forth in grass still damp from the morning’s rain, the hem of her dress getting soaked. What kind of golden opportunity did he mean?
He wanted to meet at Catherine’s house. She had never been in that house since the first time they met there, months ago. All that time she had been living a life of sin, telling herself it would be all be redeemed when he was redeemed. Now he spoke of desperation, and of an opportunity he could not pass up.
The message came on Thursday. Where could she claim to be going on Saturday afternoon, when no one would lie for her? Lily still had no plan when she came down to dinner on Friday evening to find her father chatting to Reverend Obadiah Collins.
“Ah, here’s Lily,” said Papa in a tone that indicated she had been the subject of their conversation. “Lily, Reverend Collins came to town on today’s steamer. He’s staying ’til the middle of next week. I’ve invited him to have dinner with us, and given him permission to take you and your mother for a drive tomorrow afternoon. Mother thinks she’ll feel well enough to pay a call on cousin Sadie, so you and Reverend Collins can drive out there with her. She has a lovely garden and you young folks can have a pleasant stroll while Mother and Sadie visit.”
Saturday was the nicest day they’d had yet this summer. Two years to the day, Lily thought, since that scorching July day of the fire, the day she had met David. Today was warm, not hot, a model day for a drive out to the far western reaches of the city, where Cousin Sadie lived in a large house at Riverhead. She did have a lovely garden; the roses were budding and the rhododendrons and laburnum in full bloom. Mother looked pale and drawn but she and Sadie sat on the back verandah wrapped in shawls, discussing the shocking story in last week’s newspaper about a young woman who, against parental warnings, had been seen riding a new-fangled bicycle about the streets in company with a young man. “They’ll be wearing bloomers in public next, you mark my words,” Cousin Sadie said. She shot a sharp look at Lily as if to ensure she was not about to strip down to her drawers and hop onto a bicycle.
“Excuse us while we take a little stroll,” the Reverend said to the ladies, and led Lily to a bench at the bottom of the garden. Why, Lily wondered, was it acceptable to go for a walk with a young man but not for a bicycle ride?
“What a pleasant spot,” Mr. Collins said. “So civilized.”
“Unlike Greenspond, you mean?”
“Well now, I truly believe God has called me to work on our remote little isle, for the time being, anyway. From Greenland’s icy mountains to Greenspond, Bonavista Bay, eh Lily? All the way my Saviour leads me.”
Lily wondered if he would be able to string together an entire conversation using only hymn titles. “Anywhere with Jesus you can safely go, I suppose,” she said.
He chuckled, a dry sound like the wind passing through a heap of autumn leaves. “But I will admit,” he said, “that it is a pleasure to get into town, to drink from the well of civilization, as it were. There’s such need, Lily my dear, you would not believe, among the fishermen and their families—well, you know a little of it, for I’ve described it in my letters.”
She had not read his letters with much attention. She knew that she ought to care about the plight of the poor fishing families in the outports as much as she did about those in the slums of St. John’s, but when the concern came attached to the unctuous person of Reverend Collins it was difficult to take it to heart.
“But for that very reason there’s little out there in the way of intelligent conversation or, well, the gentler influence. My parsonage, like my life, wants the woman’s touch, if you get my meaning.”
Belatedly, horribly, Lily did get his meaning. If her thoughts had not been so consumed with David’s letter, their planned meeting at Catherine’s house and the trouble of how to arrange it, she surely would have seen that this meeting, too, was carefully arranged. When had her mother had the energy to pay a call? Why were she and Reverend Collins needed to drive Mother to Sadie’s house? Because Mother was the perfect chaperone who would understand the need to leave them alone in the lovely garden.
He was taking her hand in his. “I hope you don’t mind—I know I’m taking liberties, but our correspondence these long winter months has given me reason to hope—”
Yes, she had written dutiful letters in reply to his. Papa expected it, and it had seemed harmless enough. Surely, she had thought, he would not propose by letter. And sure enough, he had made a trip into town just to do it.
“…so I’ve dared to hope that you might, perhaps, consent to share my life and my ministry. I’ve prayed about this, Lily, and of course I’ve spoken to your father first, set your mind to rest about that. He and your mother would be sad to see you leave town, but they both believe you would be a wonderful partner in ministry. Will you make me a very happy man and agree to be Mrs. Obadiah Collins?”
She had never found the name Obadiah particularly funny before but suddenly, intoned so solemnly by its owner while he spoke of being “a very ’appy man,” it stood out as the funniest thing in what was, in some ways, a rather funny speech. Funny, that is, if it were being said on stage, by the pompous clergyman character in a farce. Less funny if it was your real life, and the man was actually sitting beside you on a bench—thank goodness he hadn’t knelt!—holding your hand in his large sweaty one.
She looked up at the verandah. Mother and Cousin Sadie were both bundled in shawls, fanning themselves vigorously. They glanced down into the garden just as Lily looked up. They knew. Mother must have told Sadie the plan. The plan everyone had known but Lily.
In the distance, a church clock struck three. Was David waiting for her at Catherine’s house?
“Reverend Collins, this is—it’s such a shock. I can’t—I mean, I haven’t thought at all…forgive me.”
“No, no, forgive me. I ought to have given a bit more warning, but—it’s so rare that I get into town, and I didn’t wish to leave such an important question to a letter. Of course you may have time to think—I assure you I didn’t assume we would announce our engagement this very day.” It was clear from his face and tone that he had assumed exactly that. He still had not let go of her hand.
Lily’s stomach clenched; she thought she might throw up. “I want to go home—I’m sorry—this has all been such a surprise,” she said. She hoped that he would continue to attribute her reaction to maidenly modesty rather than aversion. But he would have to know the truth sometime. Why not now? It was too final, to tell him a definite no and then face Papa’s disapproval.
“Of course, of course, my dear. Only tell me that you’ll hold the question in your heart and won’t leave me without hope. Can I ask that of you?”
“Oh, I don’t know—I’m terribly confused. Please don’t—I really don’t want to think about marriage at all. I don’t feel ready. I don’t—can you please drive me home?”
Mother was more than ready to leave; the visit, short as it was, had already tired her out. She hesitated, though, searching first Lily’s face and then the Reverend’s, as if waiting for a happy announcement that did not come.
As they drove past the post office on Water Street a clock somewhere struck four. An hour. All that had happened in only an hour.
“Mother?”
Eleanor opened her eyes to look at Lily.
“I’m going to ask Mr. Collins to let me off, to walk home. I’m very—I have a great deal to think about. I need some time to clear my head, and a walk would do me good.”
“My dear, I couldn’t possibly.” It was the Reverend who answered, turning back to look at her. “This far from your house—unattended…”
“Mother, please? I need an hour to myself, and it’s such a fine day, I’d like to walk.”
“Mrs. Hunt, I insist—surely it’s not safe for Lily t
o walk so far on her own?”
“She’s a strong girl, and it’s broad daylight,” Eleanor said. “Just stay to Water Street, Lily, don’t go off on any side streets.”
When the carriage was out of sight Lily immediately began climbing the steep side-streets towards Cuddihy’s Lane. She wondered how long David would wait for her. It wasn’t a long walk: she arrived at quarter past four.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” he said. “Did you walk? Is anyone expecting you?”
Lily shook her head and sank down on the settee. David sat beside her.
“He asked me to marry him,” she said.
“The minister? The one your father wants you to marry?”
“I told him I wasn’t ready, that I needed time to think. Why would I need time to think?”
“But—you didn’t say yes. You’re not coming here to tell me you’re engaged to be married.”
“No! Anyway, it was you who had something to tell me,” she reminded him.
So he told her. He tried to look sad and solemn as he talked about going away from her, but he couldn’t hide the light in his eyes or the grin that occasionally broke through as he told her about it.
“New York, Lily—think about it! All the things I’m interested in, the things I want to learn about and write about—it’s all possible there! Ideas you’d be blacklisted for even mentioning in St. John’s. Why, in New York there’d be a whole newspaper just for that one thing. Socialism, communism, anarchy even. Votes for women, equality for the races, real change for the poor. If those things are going to start anywhere, it’ll be there. And I can be there, in the middle of it, learning about it all, writing about it.”
A Sudden Sun Page 21