The Memory of Us: A Novel (7 page)

Priest:
“Et Filii . . .”

Boy: “He’s calling on the intercession of the Trinity.”

Priest:
“Et Spiritus Sancti.”

Both: “Amen.”

The words confuse me, and I cannot breathe. I do not know what is real, what is my imagination. The Latin. The English. The then. The now. The priest. The boy. The voice. They’re the same. They’re the same.

Chapter Six

The interior of the first-class cabin was unexpectedly shabby, and came with an apology from the porter, who said that this particular Pullman car was being taken out of service for refurbishment next month. Had Mother been sitting in my place, she might have threatened to write a letter to the president of the rail line. But I neither cared nor responded, and instead sunk into the green velvet seats with their unraveled gold embroidery, leaning my head against the window as I closed my eyes. The pane was cool against my flushed skin. This summer had been one of highs and lows, infatuation and disappointment. I was ready to leave that behind, and looked forward to starting school in London.

The train lurched, and I sat up straight. My seat faced the rear of the car, and no one had taken the one opposite me. I was relieved, as I was in no mood for making small talk. I watched the people who had come to see the passengers off. They trickled back in to the Lime Street station, and I thought I saw the back of Mother’s hat as she left with Lucille. Father had said good-bye back at home before heading to a meeting with some flower importers from Amsterdam who wanted to store their bulbs in the warehouse.

The abandoned, chateau-like building that bordered the station came into view as the train gained momentum. It had once been the celebrated North Western Hotel, but was now four years closed. Its gray slate roof towered five stories above me, and its windows were darkened from disuse. I felt a pang of empathy with the old landmark. Its exterior preserved a stately deportment, while I could only imagine the secrets that the now-vacant rooms must hold.

There were appearances that had needed to be sustained for the remainder of the summer, but I, too, was empty inside. Kyle’s admission had haunted my soul ever since he had spoken it.
I couldn’t risk falling for you any more than I already have.

We left the barn moments after that, the nighttime world around us gleaming in the renewed light of the moon now that the storm had swept past. We walked the rest of the way to my home in silence, with Kyle following me at a distance that deterred temptation. He spoke only when we’d reached the gate to the redbrick manor. “I’ll stay to see that you get in safely. Look after that knee.” After just a few steps I glanced back, but the shadows of the trees at the gate cast him into darkness, and I could no longer see him.

For days, I didn’t come out of my room, telling everyone that I was ill. It was easy for them to believe. I’d come home, dripping, chilled from the rain. Mother had Betty make some chicken broth, and she also sent up tea with lemons. It was a common remedy for her complaints. Although she added bourbon to hers surreptitiously.

Little did she know that there was not a cure-all for my kind of ailment.

Father came to my room to check on me several times, but I feigned sleep. To add to my heartache, I was sorry that I’d been unfair in my description of him to Kyle. We might have seen things differently, but we were close, and he was good to me.

Do I or don’t I?
That was the question I wrestled with, hour by hour, as I recalled the evening—our easy way of conversing, how liberated I’d felt with Kyle. My true self unveiled. Then I remembered those moments after he’d confessed his feelings, in which we had sat in silence, immobile, on the precipice of a scandalous decision. I felt shackled in my own body as I resisted my desire to lean in and kiss him, to show him what he would be missing. It wasn’t too late, I told myself. Surely, there were hidden places on the grounds of Bootle Home where I could call him over and convince him to choose me.

Yet, if I truly cared about him, I couldn’t be so selfish.

In the event I weakened, I could count on Lucille to keep me in line. She’d been eyeing me in an odd manner ever since the auction. Something was certainly awry, and knowing me as she did, she had probably figured it out.

And her inevitable, concerned admonishment would have been correct.
What was the punishment for stealing from God?
I didn’t want to find out.

So, whether my motivations were altruistic or merely the fear of divine wrath, only one answer was possible. I had to let him go.

It wasn’t so easy. Now that it had been in my grasp, I saw love all around me. Couples hand in hand in the park. Couples dining out together. Couples at the cinema, sharing popcorn. They were everywhere, and I just hadn’t noticed before. Their happiness mocked my resolve, and I responded by avoiding Kyle at all costs.

I chose to visit Charles on weekdays, when I knew Kyle would be in Liverpool. Yet, as the days on the calendar dwindled and my departure for London grew imminent, I allowed myself one final Saturday visit. I couldn’t bear to leave without seeing him one more time. But I wasn’t going to let him see me. I took Father’s Kodak from the closet in his library and hid it in the zippered compartment of my handbag.

“Yes, yes, Charles,” I said and shooed his hand away as he tugged my sleeve. He murmured something that must have been an invitation to see his plants. I was immediately consumed by guilt. My brother was a victim of my distraction, and I promised myself to make it up to him by staying a little longer. Still, I couldn’t focus on him. I peeked out of the window, desperate to avoid discovery. The curtains had a rough texture, like a brocade. Gold and red. I rubbed them in the palm of my hand. Funny, I hadn’t noticed them before. But, patient in my surveillance, I saw details all around me with new eyes. The cobblestone path below was laid in an offset pattern and the iron gate was adorned with a scrolled
B
that was so elaborate, you could barely tell what it was.

At last Kyle appeared down in the gardens. His unkempt white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and his forearms and neck glistened from the sweat of hard work. He had a melancholy look about him, and it only made my ache for him more pronounced. I wanted to run outside, to abandon every promise I’d made to myself. To tell him that I was here, that if he had fallen for me, he could have me. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the sill and debated my next move. But then, his mouth slanted slightly upward, forming a whistle. I wondered what tune was on his lips.

I pressed the lens of the Kodak right up against the glass to avoid a glare, wrapped the body of it in the curtain, and snapped the picture before he could see me. I hoped that it would turn out well, because I wasn’t going to chance another one.

With my heart pounding, I took a breath and turned away from the window. I picked up one of the plants.

“My, my, Charles. Look how they’ve grown.” I set it back and hugged him until he pushed me away. He didn’t understand that I was leaving for a long time. Would he miss me? Or was each day the same to him? So often I wished I knew what went on in his head. I kissed his hands and fled the room, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe my eyes.

As I passed the reception desk, Miss Ellis came around and said good-bye to me with that tragic expression that had made a home on her face. “We’ll miss you, deary. You write to us and let us know how you’re doing.”

“I will. And thank you. Thank you for everything.”

I embraced her tightly, my partner in crime. She represented much of what had become special to me here.

“He’ll miss you, too, you know.”

I didn’t know if she meant Charles or Kyle.

After a couple of hours, the train slowed into the station at Crewe. I pulled a compact out of my handbag to powder my nose. My eyes were red, and I blinked several times to wet them. Stretching my arms, I reached for my bag and exited the cabin.

The porter took my hand to help me down the steps. “And where are you heading today, lass?” His voice had a Scottish lilt.

“London. Victoria station, please.”

“Aye, that’ll be Platform Four. Just go down a ways on your right. We’ll have your trunks delivered.” He glanced at his gold pocket watch and pointed to the left. “You’ve got just under an hour before it departs, and there’s a café inside the hall over there.”

I did not care to sit in a busy station, preferring to be alone with my thoughts. “May I just go straight to the train and board now?”

“Right you are, lass. It should be open. I think they’ve just cleaned it.”

“Thank you. I do prefer that.”

I handed him a few shillings, and he tipped his hat as I walked away.

The Crewe station was familiar to me, having made this transfer many times with Mother when we went to London to go shopping for a few days. Its large, angled ceiling was supported by a crisscross pattern of iron and glass, displaying none of the elegance of the Liverpool station, with its arched features that softened the industrial setting.

A train pulled into Platform Six as I continued on, sending billows of exhaust into my face. I turned away and coughed, and put my hand over my nose until I reached the Pullman that would bring me to my new home.

The porter at Platform Four was more perfunctory than the prior one, and I helped myself into the cabin. This one was immaculate. The velvet on the wide and comfortable seats looked as if it had been upholstered yesterday, and tables between the seats were reflective enough to see my face.

My stomach rumbled as I wandered to the adjacent dining car, which proved even more stunning than the first-class compartment. The starched ivory napkins were folded into perfect peaks, and the crystal goblets were spotless. The leather seats were adorned with beaded brass trim, and the lacquered wood paneling featured etchings of Greek gods. Mother would have loved this, and I let a little smile escape.

I slipped into a chair by a window and was met immediately by a steward who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Good afternoon, Miss. What may I get for you?”

“Some tea and roast with pudding, please.”

“The kitchen will not be ready for hot food until a few minutes before we leave. But we may have some cold items already prepared.”

“That will do. Whatever you have. Thank you.”

He left as silently as he had entered, and then returned with a plate of egg salad sandwiches cut into triangles. I must have looked dejected, because he apologized.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I had hoped that the cucumbers would have been delivered by now, but as they were not, I brought these. If you are able to wait for half an hour, I will be able to bring something different.”

“No, this is fine.”

“Good, then. I’ll have your tea out shortly.”

I had not cared for egg salad sandwiches since I was about seven years old and had become sick after eating one at my grandmother’s house. I’d successfully avoided them until just a few weeks ago at the picnic at Reynolds Park. I sighed and recalled the day for which my mother had harbored such high hopes.

Mother had been fidgety leading up to my outing with Roger Kline. She’d muss my hair as she walked by me, brush it back with her fingers, and frown. She took me to her jewelry cabinet and made me try several combinations of earrings and brooches until she was satisfied. When Roger arrived to pick me up, she stood and watched from the turret window, holding a handkerchief in front of her face to conceal the thin smile that I knew was there.

Mother had bought for me a blue dress with white polka dots, green buttons, and trim. My wide-rimmed white hat was banded with a matching blue fabric. As the day was warm and breezeless, there seemed no danger of it blowing away.

The drive was short, and my conversation with Roger was limited to the kinds of polite inquiries that flow like a report on the facts of a person’s life. What do you think of the weather? Where did you go to school? What did you think of the festival? Do you have any siblings?

Thankfully, we arrived just as Roger asked that one, as it pained me every time I denied the existence of my brother. But neither could I think of including him in the secret that only Lucille and Kyle knew.

Once out of the Packard, I led us on to safer pleasantries. “My, it is already crowded.”

Roger took a basket out of the backseat. “Yes. The weather is good for it. I hope you don’t mind, but I told some fellows that we’d meet them in front of the mansion.”

“That would be lovely.” I forced a smile and took a blanket from the car.

We strolled past children playing ball and sweethearts getting close on benches. I turned my head to hide the tear that was trying to escape. At last, we passed the roundabout tulip garden and found most of the people who had been at the festival.

“Jules!”

“Anne!” It was good to see a familiar face. In fact, I recognized most of the girls, if not from personal acquaintance, then at least by the memory of the frantic primping that had preceded the auction.

“Golly, Jules—just everyone is talking about how much money you raised.” She leaned in to me conspiratorially. “And what a catch—Roger Kline! We’re all just swooning with jealousy! He’s going to make something of himself someday, you just wait and see.”

My smile was becoming more practiced, and I found it easier to put on. “Yes. How fortunate that it worked out that way.”

“Well, you have a good time. I’m here with Ralph Henry. His pop’s a milliner. Ha! Maybe I can get a discount on a new hat or two.” She waved as a man with pinstriped trousers and red braces over his white shirt beckoned her on. “Ooh, I’ve got to go. We were going to try our hand at croquet, and I think they’ve just finished setting it up. See you around, Jules.”