The Memory of Us: A Novel (22 page)

“Are those for you, Jul?”

“Um, yes.”

“Kind of fancy, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’ll be getting married someday, too. Why not stock up now?”

“You’re right. It’s fun doing this together. I like this one.” She held up a white one with a neckline that swooped down to the belly.

“You’re the naughty one now, Lu.”

She giggled. “I know. But, hey, you only have a honeymoon once. The price tag is maddening, though. It’s too much to spend, especially when you won’t be wearing it for long!”

I looked at the tag. She was right—it would take most people a couple of weeks to pay for a gown like this.

“But you know, it suits you. And you’re right. You only have one honeymoon. It’s my gift to you.” I added it to my pile and picked up a second one for myself.

I selected some new silver cuff links for Father before we left, as a thank-you for letting me go today.

I slipped my bags upstairs without anyone seeing and tossed a suitcase onto the bed. I packed everything I thought I’d need for a few days, putting the lingerie on top and smoothing it out so that it wouldn’t wrinkle much. I packed two trunks with nearly everything I owned and just missed needing a third one. I called for a mover to come by on Wednesday at ten, when Father would be at work and Mother would be at her monthly Ladies’ Auxiliary brunch.

By Wednesday evening, I was all set to go.

I had put off the last task, but couldn’t procrastinate any longer.

There were two letters that I felt compelled to write.

I decided to tackle the easier one first.

17 August 1938

Dearest Lucille,

First, I am so happy about your engagement to Ben. He is such a decent and wonderful man, and you are lucky to have each other. I look forward to seeing lots of blue-eyed, dimpled babies in your future!

Secondly, I am leaving in a few days. Of course I’m leaving next week for school, anyway, but I am leaving tomorrow. With Kyle.

Don’t be shocked. Well, maybe that can’t be helped. We are getting married tomorrow. Of course, by the time you read this, tomorrow will have passed and I will be Mrs. Kyle McCarthy. (I love writing that!) We became engaged on the night of the auction.

It has been very difficult not to share this with you, especially with all of the wedding talk. I almost broke down several times but stopped. And only because it’s for your own good.

You see, we approached Father about it, and he refused us, for all the reasons that I know you can imagine. But I’m not going to let that stop me.

Anyway, I didn’t want to ask you to lie or conceal anything for us, and that is why I had to make sure that we were married and out of town before you knew. I will be back in a few days, and I hope very much that, if you’re speaking to me, we can celebrate together.

I love you, Lucille. I already know that you will understand, and you’re an angel for it. There are some difficult roads ahead. But at least Kyle and I will be facing them together.

Love, Jul

The next one was much more challenging and required many more drafts.

17 August 1938

Dear Mother and Father,

This is the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. But there is really no way to lead up to it, so I am going to get right to the point.

By the time you read this, I will have married Kyle.

There must be a million thoughts swirling around in your heads now, not the least of which I’m sure is some shock and anger. And you are justified in that. This is not what any of us planned.

You see, I have loved Kyle for over a year now, and I’ve known that if by some miracle he loved me back, that this would always be.

We wanted to do this with your blessing but were willing to proceed without it. We are not being impetuous, although it may seem so with its sudden timing. But it was in fact carefully thought out. We are both moving to London and find it appropriate on a number of levels to arrive there married. Kyle has inquired about a studio flat that is not far from school and not too far from his new job.

I beg of you to consider opening your heart to him. He is a good, good man who loves me. He wants to take care of me. He has been a gentleman with me, and it pains him as much as it does me to hurt you and to go behind your backs. Perhaps even more. I know that he will be an exemplary son-in-law, and I hope very much that you will get to know him like I do and see him in this way.

I will be back on Sunday afternoon. I can’t tell you where I’ll be because, frankly, I don’t know myself. Kyle has planned a little surprise honeymoon for us as a wedding gift. When I return, and the shock has worn off, let’s have a real discussion about this and about the future for all of us.

I love you both. I love Kyle. And you all love me. Keeping this in mind, let’s make this all work out.

Love, Julianne

It wasn’t perfect, but my hand was cramped, and it was the best I could do at this point.

I placed it on my bed in the morning, put Lucille’s letter in the post stack, and left with my suitcase. I closed the door behind me, not knowing what I would return to should I ever open it again.

Chapter Nineteen

Kyle’s truck was parked in its usual spot down the road. He took my suitcase and put it in the back.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” He kissed me on the cheek and couldn’t stop grinning. “This is it. Are you ready?”

“I have never wanted something more.”

“May I ask a favor?”

“Anything.”

“We have some time before Father Sullivan is expecting us. Would you mind if we drive out to Charcross to visit my father’s grave?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind.”

We drove out once again to the vast cemetery. This time, we knew just where we were going and didn’t stop at the church. Kyle had a pile of flowers sitting between us, and he took a handful of them with us when we walked over and knelt at the site.

I asked, “Do you think he would have approved of us? Of today?”

“I do.”

“I mean, wasn’t it his dream to see you become a priest?”

“I think it was. But he really grew to love you as you spent the last weeks with him. He even told me that you reminded him of my mother.”

“He did? You didn’t tell me that.”

“He said that you were a
cailín maith—
a good girl—and that my mother would have liked you. That’s as good a compliment as he could ever give.”

“That’s a nice thought. I loved him, too, you know, crustiness and all.”

We walked hand in hand back to the truck and made our way to Saint Stephen’s.

Before we got out, he gave me the remaining armful of flowers. They were all my favorites—tulips, calla lilies, and daffodils.

“I’ve been growing these especially for you. I was going to give them to you as they bloomed, but I decided that I’d save them for my beautiful bride should have a bouquet that equaled her.”

“I’m speechless, Kyle.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Oh, shush.” I punched him lightly in the side. “But really, they’re stunning. Wherever did you grow them? You don’t have a garden at your flat.”

“Oh, Miss Ellis was able to find a little corner of earth for me.”

I brightened up at her name.

“I have something else for you,” he said, pulling from his coat pocket a little velvet bag, which he emptied into his hand. Three rings fell out.

“Hold out your hand.” He picked up the one with the diamond. “Here is your engagement ring back. Now you can wear it always.” He slipped it on my finger, and I held out my hand to admire it.

“Here’s a small wedding band to match it,” he said, giving it a nudge on his palm with his fingertip. “We should wait for you to put that one on, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” I conceded.

“And this one,” he said, picking up the remaining ring, a larger gold band with a line of silver running along its middle, “this was my father’s wedding ring. I thought it would be appropriate.”

I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him. “I can’t believe this is really happening.” I took the rings from him and returned them to their little velvet bag, which I tucked into my handbag to be used later in the ceremony.

The wedding was just what it needed to be. Plain and uncomplicated, nothing like what my mother would have liked to plan. Once I might have wanted the same thing that she did. But that was back when I thought that the spectacle of the event was actually necessary. Now I understood love, and I knew that what mattered was Kyle and me and our commitment. I held the flowers in my left arm and kept my right one linked through his.

The vows rolled off my tongue with ease as I promised to love Kyle until death, for better or worse. Even more, I loved hearing the words “I do” as he professed them back to me. He rocked back on his heels after he said that, his joy barely contained.

My favorite words came from Father Sullivan. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Husband. Wife. New roles for us. I said the words a few times, and in their newness they tasted sweet like a confectionary. I’m sure that I was not the first newlywed to savor them.

Mr. Alden, the landlord, and Mrs. Mawdsley were our witnesses, the first beaming at us with a proud smile, and the second looking like she wanted to pull my hair out. Our marriage was now unwelcome to three people, and we were hopeful that there weren’t any more.

Kyle asked Mr. Alden to take our picture and handed him his camera. We took some of just the two of us, then some with Father Sullivan. Mrs. Mawdsley was invited to join us, but not surprisingly she declined.

With the most sincerity that I may have ever expressed, we thanked Father Sullivan for his support and his belief in us. Kyle and I were well aware of what he had done to make this happen. We invited him to join us for a late breakfast, but he insisted that the “young couple go off and get their honeymoon started.”

Not needing to be told twice, we raced out of the church at the most respectable pace we could manage.

Kyle headed east out of Liverpool. Before long we passed through Wallasey, and we recalled our day there back in December. It seemed like so long ago.

“You know,” Kyle confessed, “I almost kissed you, right in the middle of all those Christmas trees. You looked so adorable with my wool cap pulled over your ears.”

“I wish you
had
kissed me then, and I expect you to make it up to me.”

“I intend to, Mrs. McCarthy.” And we bantered on like the hour-old married couple that we were. This kind of silly love talk once made me roll my eyes when I heard it. But now that I was in the middle of it, I couldn’t get enough.

Continuing west, we passed Abergele, Conwy, Llanfairfechan, then Bangor. I thought that this might be our destination at last, as I had heard much about the university town, but Kyle kept driving.

The next town of note was the seaside town of Caernarfon, and it was here that he told me we would be spending the next three nights. But before we checked into our hotel, he wanted to take me somewhere else.

He approached the pier and waited in the queue while other cars entered the ferry ahead of us. Parking the truck on the bottom level, we walked up two flights to the outside deck. Most people stayed on the interior deck, so we were happy to find a spot where we could sit alone. The movement along the water created wind, and he chuckled at my attempts to keep my hair from flying into my eyes and mouth. He asked if I would like to go downstairs, but I declined, preferring this secluded spot.

We didn’t talk much as we crossed the Menai Strait, just enjoying the rhythm of the water. I swayed to the lullaby. When I grew cold and wrapped my arms around myself, Kyle layered them with his own.

We landed at Anglesey Island. After waiting a few minutes to let the stairs empty, we returned to the motorcar level and sat in the truck until it was our turn to disembark. The truck sputtered and whined as Kyle turned the ignition, but soon we were making our way around the other side of the strait.

Verdant and rocky, Anglesey was not heavily populated. Before long we were in an area that was even more remote. The seaside road forked, and Kyle consulted a map before turning left onto a long and skinny peninsula. As we drove through the middle of it, there were times when I could see the water on either side of me in the distance. It seemed as though we were moving along the narrow finger of a woman beckoning us toward her to learn her hidden secrets. Kyle told me that it was called Llanddwyn Island, as sometimes, depending on the tide, the thin strip of land seemed to be disconnected from Anglesey.

We passed the random lighthouse and cottage, but Kyle didn’t slow down until we reached a rolling, stony field. In the middle sat the ruins of what was once a small building. Only three sides remained standing, if you could even call them sides, as they weren’t nearly as tall as they once had to have been. One side had an open, arched space that probably used to serve as a window. The rest looked like nothing more than neatly laid rows of piled stones, haunting echoes of their former selves.

Kyle stopped the car, and I couldn’t imagine why we had come all the way for this. When I saw him pick up his camera, I searched my handbag for a little lipstick and rouge. If he was planning to take my picture, I wanted to look my best. When I’d finished touching myself up, he told me to bring my scarf, and I could only assume that he thought it might get a little windy again.

I put my arm in his and let him lead me to the ruins through paths of mosslike grass. “Where are we, Kyle?”

“This is, or it
was
, the Church of Saint Dwynwen.”

“Of who? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Of
her
. Saint Dwynwen lived in the fifth century. She fell in love with a young man named Maelon, but her father wanted her to marry someone else. She begged God to spare her from this unwanted marriage, and an angel appeared to give her a potion that would erase all of her memories of Maelon. Instead, it turned him into a block of ice. She promised to retreat from the world if God would thaw him, and her wish was granted. She founded a convent on this very spot, and her fervent prayer for the rest of her days was that all lovers would find happiness, since she did not.”

“How sad! How
lonely
for her.”

“Yes, it must have been. But years later, in the Middle Ages, this became a site of pilgrimage for lovers seeking her intercession. Legend says that there was once a pool of water here, populated by eels. Couples would throw bread crumbs in the water and cover them with a scarf. If the eels ate the bread and disturbed the scarf, it was a sign that the lover would remain faithful.”

“How peculiar. But I suppose it’s romantic in its own way.”

He laughed at that. “Well, have no fear, there are no eels here. Not anymore, at least. But I did want to bring you here, since Saint Dwynwen is the patron saint of lovers. I thought it would be an appropriate place to begin this weekend.”

Kyle’s gifts were from the heart, dearer to me than anything that could have been bought at Harrods. Who else would have thought of something like this?

“I also wanted to take a picture of you here, because you have never looked more beautiful than today.”

I arched my eyebrow, trying to imitate the way that he did it when he was trying to be funny, but I failed to pull it off. I knew that my face had to be red and my hair windblown. Surely I was miles from beautiful. But he insisted. I put my scarf around my neck, thankful that it wasn’t destined to be eel food, and sat in the opening of the ancient window. Taking his time to frame the picture correctly, Kyle snapped away once he was happy with the position. I posed nicely, but when I thought he had taken enough shots for at least one to turn out well, I made silly faces until he laughed and joined me in the window.

Sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me closer with my scarf, he kissed me tenderly.

We couldn’t stay any longer, as there was only one ferry going back today. As romantic as it might have been to have our honeymoon right then and there, it would likely get very cold and the warmth of a hotel bed sounded much more inviting.

I took off my scarf, found a jagged rock, and tied it around twice so that it wouldn’t loosen and blow away. I whispered into the ruins, “Look after us, Saint Dwynwen, that these lovers will be faithful until the day we die.”

The ferry back was even colder, and I begrudgingly agreed with Kyle that we should sit downstairs this time. I rested my head on his shoulder and nodded off as the water rocked me once again.

I dreamed of Saint Dwynwen, beautiful maiden of long ago. Her long red hair became part of the breeze, and she seemed to be shouting to me. I couldn’t hear her, so her cries became more desperate. But I couldn’t understand her warning over the sound of the waves.

It was dusk when we arrived in Caernarfon. Kyle had booked a room at the tiny Menai Bank Hotel—a charming, peach-colored bed-and-breakfast overlooking the straits. With its bay windows and pointed dormers, it looked like something out of a storybook. Being a Thursday, it looked like we were the only guests for the night, although they expected to be full tomorrow and through the weekend.

But tonight, we were told, it was all ours.

We took the key and raced up the stairs.