No Greater Love (18 page)

“They’re alright, you know,” she reassured Ben. “It’s good for Phillip to let off steam, and it’s good for
George to learn that he can’t play his tricks all the time. He’ll think twice next time.”

“And what about you?” Ben asked. How could she manage them all alone? Two lively boys who were nearly men, and three other very young children. And the truth was there was no one to help her. But he had to admit, she didn’t seem to mind it.

“I love this, you know.” She said it calmly, and it was easy to believe that she meant it. “I love them.”

“So do I. But I worry about you anyway. If you need anything, Edwina, just whistle, and I’ll come running.” She kissed him gratefully on the cheek, and he watched her for a long time, as she waved, and he drove slowly back toward the station.

THEY WERE ALL SAD TO LEAVE THE LAKE. BUT SHE HAD
things to do back in San Francisco. She attended a monthly meeting at the newspaper now, with Ben, to show everyone that she was interested in what was going on, and she had to approve certain policy decisions, which was interesting. But she still felt uncomfortable in her father’s place, and there was so much to learn even for her meager involvement. She had no desire to run the paper herself, but she wanted to preserve it over the next few years, for Phillip. And she was always grateful for Ben’s advice at the meetings.

But the day after their August meeting was a hard one for her. She was working in the garden, pulling weeds, when the mailman came with what looked like an enormous parcel, from England. She imagined that it was something from Aunt Liz, and couldn’t imagine what she had sent. She asked Mrs. Barnes to leave it in the front hall for her, and when she came in later with
dirt all over her hands, and bits of grass and leaves on her black dress, she glanced at it, and felt her heart give a lurch. The sender’s name on the parcel was not Hickham, but Fitzgerald. And it was written out in the careful elaborate hand that Edwina had long since come to recognize as Charles’s mother’s.

She went into the kitchen to wash her hands, and came back to carefully take the parcel to her bedroom. And as she touched it her hands were shaking. She couldn’t imagine what Lady Fitzgerald would be sending her, and yet she somehow feared that it might be something of Charles’s, and she was more than a little afraid to see it.

The house was quiet as she walked upstairs, the boys were out with friends, and Sheilagh had taken the three younger children to Golden Gate Park to see the new carousel, and they had left the house in high spirits. There was no one to interrupt her now, and Edwina carefully unwrapped the package that Lady Fitzgerald had sent her. It had come by mail steamer, and then by train, and it had taken well over a month to arrive from England. Edwina noticed that the parcel was very light. It almost felt as though there was nothing in it.

The last bits of paper fell away, and there was a smooth white box with a letter attached on blue stationery with the Fitzgerald crest engraved in the upper left-hand corner. But she didn’t read the letter, she was too curious to see what was in the box, and as she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, her breath caught as she saw it. There were yards and yards of white tulle, and a delicately made white satin crown, embroidered in elaborate patterns with the tiniest white seed pearls. It was her wedding veil, the one Lady Fitzgerald was to have brought over when she came, and with a rapid calculation, Edwina realized that the next day was to have been her wedding day. She had tried to force it from her
mind, and she had all but succeeded. And now all that was left was the veil, held in her trembling hands, as the miles of tulle floated across her room like a distant dream. Her whole body ached as she put it on, and the tears slid solemnly down her cheeks, as she looked in the mirror. It looked just as she thought it would, and she wondered what the dress would have been like. Surely, just as beautiful, but no one would ever know. The fabric they were bringing back to the States had gone down on the
Titanic.
She had hardly let herself think of that until now, it seemed so pointless. But now suddenly, here was her veil, and all it had stood for was gone forever.

She sat down on her bed, crying softly, still wearing the veil, and opened Lady Fitzgerald’s letter,. For the first time in months, she felt hopeless and alone, as she sat in her black mourning dress, with her wedding veil floating around her.

“My very dearest Edwina,” she began, and it was like hearing her voice again as Edwina cried as she read it. She and Charles had looked so much alike, tall and aristocratic, and very English. “We think of you a great deal, and speak of you much of the time. It seems difficult to believe that you left London only four months ago … difficult to believe all that has happened in the meantime.

“I am sending you this now, with trepidation and regret. I very much fear that it will upset you terribly when you receive the veil, but it has been finished for some time, and after thinking about it a great deal, Charles’s father and I feel that you should have it. It is a symbol of a very beautiful time, and the love that Charles had for you until he died. You were the dearest thing in his life, and I know that the two of you would have been very happy. Put it away, dearest child, do not think of it too much … and perhaps only look at it once in a
while, and remember our beloved Charles, who so greatly loved you.

“We hope to see you again here one day. And in the meantime, to you and your brothers and sisters, we send our dearest love, and most especially to you, Edwina dear … our every thought, now and forever.” She had signed it “Margaret Fitzgerald,” but Edwina was blinded by tears by the end of the letter and could barely read it. And she sat on her bed, in her wedding veil, until she heard the front door slam heavily downstairs and the children’s voices in the stairway, looking for her. They had been to the carousel, and come home, and all afternoon, she had sat there, in her wedding veil, thinking of Charles, and the wedding day that was to have been tomorrow.

She took the veil off carefully, and set it back in the box, and she had just tied the lid when Fannie burst into the room with a broad, happy smile, and hurled herself into her big sister’s arms. She didn’t see the tears, or the ravaged look in her eyes. She was too young to understand what had happened. Edwina put the box away on a shelf, and listened as Fannie rattled away about the carousel in the park. There were horses and brass rings and gold stars, and lots of music, and there were even painted sleds if you didn’t want to ride a horse, but the horses were really
much
better.

“And there were boats too!” she went on, but then she frowned. “But we don’t like boats, Teddy, do we?” He shook his head, having just come into the room, and Alexis was just behind him. She looked at Edwina strangely then, as though she knew something was amiss, but she didn’t know what it was. And only Phillip saw it later, after the children had gone to bed, and he asked Edwina cautiously as they walked upstairs together.

“Is something wrong?” He was always worried about
her, always concerned, always anxious to play the fatherly role with the others. “Are you alright, Win?”

She nodded slowly, almost tempted to tell him about the veil, but she just couldn’t say the words. And she wondered if he remembered what the date was. “Fin alright.” And then, “I had a letter from Lady Fitzgerald today, Charles’s mother.”

“Oh.” Unlike George, who was still too young and wouldn’t have understood the implications, Phillip knew immediately what she was feeling. “How is she?”

“Alright, I guess.” She looked sadly at Phillip then. She had to share it with someone, even if it was only her seventeen-year-old brother, and her voice was low and gruff as she said it. “Tomorrow was … would have been …” It was almost impossible to say the words, and she turned away as they reached the second-floor landing. But Phillip gently touched her arm and she turned to him with tears streaming from her eyes. “Never mind … I’m sorry …”

“Oh, Winnie.” There were tears in his eyes too, as he pulled her close to him and she held him.

“Why did it happen?” she whispered to him. “Why?… why couldn’t there have been enough lifeboats?” It would have been such a small thing … lifeboats for everyone on the ship … and it would have made all the difference. But there were other whys too … like why the
Californian
had turned her radio off and never heard their frantic CQD’s, their distress signals going out to ships all over the Atlantic. They had only been a few miles away, and they could have saved everyone, had they only heard … there were so many whys and if onlys, but none of them mattered anymore, as Edwina cried in her brother’s arms, the night before what should have been her wedding.

PREDICTABLY, CHRISTMAS WAS DIFFICULT FOR THEM THAT
year. Or for the older ones, at least. Edwina kept the little ones so busy baking and making things that they scarcely had time to think about things being different. Ben came to visit and took the boys to an exhibition of new motorcars, and he took all of them to see the lighting of the Christmas tree at the Fairmont Hotel to help them through the holidays. And other friends of their parents invited them too. But sometimes the invitations were too painful, and made them feel more like orphans.

Alexis was still the most withdrawn of all of them, but Edwina was tireless in her efforts to help her recover. Edwina still found her upstairs in her mother’s bedroom from time to time, and she didn’t make a big fuss about it when she did. She just talked to her for a little while, sitting on the little pink settee in her mother’s dressing
room, or on the bed, and eventually, the little girl would come back to the others.

It always made Edwina feel strange being up there, it was as though it was a sacred place now, and to all of the children, it was a kind of shrine to their parents. Bert’s and Kate’s clothes still hung in the closets, and Edwina didn’t have the heart to remove them. Her mother’s hairbrushes and solid gold dresser set lay where she had last set them down. Mrs. Barnes dusted up there carefully, but even she didn’t like going up there anymore. She said it always made her want to cry. And Sheilagh flatly refused to go up there at all, even to retrieve Alexis.

And Edwina never mentioned it, but she went up there now and then too. It was a way of staying close to them, of remembering what they’d been like. It was difficult to believe that it was only eight months since they’d died. In some ways, it seemed like only moments, in others it seemed aeons. And on Christmas Eve, once the younger children were in bed, Edwina said as much to Phillip.

They had survived the holidays, their first alone, and for Edwina it had been exhausting. But she had handled it gently and well, and the little ones had hung their stockings as they always did, and sang carols, and baked cookies, and gone to church. Just as their mother had always done, Edwina had spent days before wrapping presents. And Phillip had thanked her for all of them that night, just as Bert used to thank Kate, with a sleepy yawn, and it touched Edwina as she remembered.

Ben came to visit them on Christmas Day, and everyone was happy to see him. He brought presents for everyone, a wonderful hobbyhorse for Teddy, and dolls for the girls, an enormously elaborate magic set for George, which he adored, and a beautiful pocket watch for Phillip, and for Edwina an exquisite cashmere shawl. It was
a delicate blue, and she longed to wear it when she abandoned her mourning in April. He had thought of buying it for her in black so she could wear it now, but the thought of doing that depressed him.

“I can’t wait to see you in colors again,” he said warmly as she opened the gift and thanked him. The children had all made him gifts. Even George had mastered a small oil painting of Ben’s dog, and Phillip had carved him a very handsome pen stand. And Edwina had carefully selected a pair of her father’s very favorite sapphire cuff links. She knew they would mean a lot to him, and she had asked George’s and Phillip’s permission before she gave them to him. She didn’t want to give away anything that either of them seriously wanted, but both boys had liked the idea of Ben having their father’s cuff links. He was their best friend, and he had been incredibly kind to them ever since their parents’ death and long before that.

It was a loving day for all of them. And Christmas was always difficult for Ben too. It always brought back painful memories of the family he had had six years earlier, before the earthquake. But together, they all brought each other cheer, and they ended with laughter and smiles, and many tender moments. In the end, Teddy fell asleep on Ben’s lap. And Ben carried him upstairs and put him to bed while Edwina watched him. In truth, he was wonderful with all of them, and the girls loved him just as much as the boys did. Fannie begged him to put her to bed too. And before he left, he even tucked in a smiling Alexis.

He had one last glass of port with the older ones before he left, and he went home feeling warm and contented. For a potentially difficult Christmas, it had actually been filled with blessings.

Unlike New Year’s, which seemed to be filled only with tears and anguish. Their aunt Liz arrived on New
Year’s Day, and she cried incessantly from the moment she arrived, without seeming to stop for a single moment. The black gown she wore was so severe and so grim that when Edwina first saw her, she suddenly wondered if their uncle had died and she didn’t know it. But Liz was quick to reassure her that Rupert was in the very worst of his poor health, and in an exceptionally appalling humor. He had been suffering abysmally with gout since the fall, and Liz said he was half out of his mind with pain and temper.

“He sends his love, of course,” she was quick to add, dabbing at her eyes, and crying at each remembered object and photograph as she toured the house on Edwina’s arm. And she cried even harder each time she saw the children, which completely unnerved them. But she couldn’t bear the thought of her beloved sister being gone, and her children being reduced to orphans. But it was difficult for Edwina to listen to her, because in the past eight months they had struggled so hard not just to survive, but to thrive, but their aunt Liz absolutely refused to see it. She said the children looked terrible and pale, and she inquired immediately of Edwina who the cook was, or if they even had one.