Before the Dawn (5 page)

“And did you?”

“What?” Alice reached for the boot she’d thrown; she felt fear. “What do you mean?”

“Surely one was more comfortable to believe than the other.” He stared out the window. “Maybe I was dead.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You don’t know what it was like.” He hunched his shoulders, and Alice almost wanted to touch him.

“No,” she said.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“No.”

She took off his other boot.

George stood up with slow, aching movements. His feet looked thin and forlorn in his regulation Army socks, his toes curling as if to hide themselves. “I’d like to be alone, please.” He sounded like a little boy.

“All right.” Alice turned and left quickly, and it took her a moment to realize the sensation flooding her, making her feel dizzy and strangely alive. It was relief.

She wanted to go to her bedroom, but she knew Katherine waited for her, would even expect her. She never disobeyed even her mother-in-law’s implicit commands.

Katherine stood in the drawing room, the tea things lying cold and untouched. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“George wanted to be left alone.”

“And you just left him?”

“He wanted to be alone.”

“He said he wanted to be alone,” Katherine corrected, and Alice silently acknowledged this was true.

“I can’t read his thoughts.”

“You don’t want to.”

Alice decided not to say anything.

Katherine pursed her lips. "It's going to be the most difficult for you, Alice. You've had everything your way before this."

Alice laughed, and the sound surprised her. “Oh, have I?” she said. “I didn’t realize.”

“I made a mistake. I should not have left you to yourself.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You have acted like one. You have allowed me to treat you as one.”

“And that is my fault?” Alice demanded.

“And mine.” Katherine rested one hand lightly on her shoulder.  "You must be cold, in that dress.  Perhaps you should change."

"If you like."

"It's not what I like, my dear. It was merely a suggestion." She removed her hand.  "I have spoiled you, Alice, in letting you do as you please. The time for that has past now, I’m afraid.”

“No doubt it has.”  

Katherine did not miss the irony, Alice could see that from the small smile that flickered and then vanished. "You don’t think I’ve indulged you. Very well. Still, I can quite imagine what life was like for you, before you came into this household.  Living alone with your father, granted every whim, surrounding by admiring young students... well! It would be enough to turn any girl's head, and then some."

Alice gazed at the floor. There was enough truth in Katherine’s words for her not to need to respond. "I left my father’s house six years ago,” she said after a moment.

Katherine was silent; Alice watched the hand on the grandfather clock tick a full two minutes.

"You must give him time, Alice,” Katherine said. “You must give him your devotion.” She paused, her hands twisted together. “Do you still love him? The truth.”

Alice gazed at Katherine’s fingers. They were veined, bent, old. When, she wondered, had they become so? When would hers? “I don’t know. I can’t remember. And he’s different now, anyway.”

“Then you must learn to love him,” Katherine decided. “There’s no other choice, really, is there? At least not one either of you could tolerate.”

These words seemed so bleak that Alice could only nod. “He needs your love, even if he pretends otherwise. Remember that.”

Alice nodded again.

“Why don’t you change for dinner.”

It was a dismissal, and Alice obeyed.

She crept up the stairs, to her small bedroom, and saw that all her things were still there. She touched them, ran her hand over the back of her silver brush, and shuddered.

In the mirror her face was pale, the freckles on her nose standing out in relief, her eyes wide and scared. She made a sound of impatient disgust and turned away. 

Alice changed her dress and slipped out of the room, skidding to a halt when she saw George, dressed for dinner, coming out of their old bedroom.  He looked so much like his old self, she felt jolted into remembering, into feeling.

He held his arm out. "Shall we?". There was almost a smile on his face and Alice went forward with a little spurt of joy, linking her arm with his.

"I can almost imagine it's 1914," he said.

"So can I." Perhaps they could just pretend. Perhaps it would be all right then. With quick deliberation, she laid her head on his shoulder.

George flung her away.  "Damn it!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Alice cried, her hands to her mouth. “I didn’t know.”

"No. No." He clutched his shoulder, then dropped his arm as if by force of will, and straightened his jacket. His face was white. "Don’t."

They stood there in silence, George’s face averted, Alice’s fist still pressed to her lips. Finally she inched next to him, and with his face still turned away from her, they went down the stairs.

Alice wondered if she'd hurt him badly.

Katherine nodded as they came down together, and George Senior started forward with the same heartiness as the gardener.

"Well, well! Well."  He nodded, his head bobbing up and down as if he could not control it. "It is good to see you, George."

George shook his father's hand.  "Thank you, sir." His manner was so stiff and formal, Alice almost wanted to laugh.

The memory of how he had been, the flickering remnant of his smile, was still close enough to know this was not the truth.

Katherine led the way into the dining room, set with the good china, her smile firmly in place. Her husband rubbed his hands together with expectation, murmuring, "Good, good. Looks to be a tiptop feast."

Alice stared into her cream of watercress soup. It was green and watery. She forced a small spoonful down. She wondered if anyone would talk, and if so, what they would talk about.

Did they used to talk? She had vague memories of laughter and clinking glass. Perhaps it had never really been like that. Time dulled the edges of memories, faded them as old photographs until you only saw what you wanted to see.

She looked at George, openly, for he was not looking back at her. He was silent, eating methodically, and for all the notice he took there might have been no one else in the room at all.

Yet once, she had loved him.

"Perhaps tomorrow you can join me in the office," George Senior said when the silence had gone on far too long. "Reacquaint yourself with the place, after all."

"Perhaps in time," George agreed politely. "I don't think I could walk the distance, at the moment."

George Senior smiled. "We'll take the car, then."

"Perhaps next week, my dear," Katherine said.

At the end of the meal, her father-in-law beckoned to George to take some port in the library. George shook his head.

"Perhaps another evening. I'm afraid it's been a very long day, and I must go to bed."

"Of course, of course," George Senior said quickly, and, after a sharp look from Katherine, Alice stood up.

"I'll come with you."

"There's no need."

She could not sit back down. She did not want to endure Katherine’s silent, ringing accusation. Stiffly Alice moved towards George, following him out of the room.

She watched as he began his laborious progress up the stairs, one hand on the newel post. "James could help you."

"I don't want help," George said, his voice ragged with effort. His hand gripped the banister, his head bowed.

“There's no need to be so unpleasant," Alice said, and George laughed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought I was being the model of civility."

"Is that all I should expect from my husband?"

"You told me you wanted nothing."

She caught her breath. She felt something, a longing, a desire. She did not know what it was for, yet she extended one hand. "George, please. I know it’s been a long time, and you’ve had such a journey…”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me. You'll excuse me if I go to bed now. I'm dreadfully tired."

Alice watched him climb the last few stairs. "I could help you," she offered after a moment, the uncertainty in her voice painful to both of them.

"You don't want to, Alice, so why ask? Spare us both."

She heard his stiff, measured walk to the bedroom, and then the audible turning of the lock.

“Go after him.” Katherine stood behind her. Her face was in shadow, yet her eyes blazed. “Go after him.”

“How can I? He’s locked the door.”

“Then make him open it.”

Alice imagined herself hammering on the door, picking the lock, or worse, cajoling. “I can’t.”

“You don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t.” She struggled to sound reasonable. “I’m not going to press. He’s only been back a day.”

“You’ll lose him, then,” Katherine said. “You’ll lose him, because he’ll slip away. He wants to, he’s trying to make you leave him alone, don’t you see that?”

“I see that!” Alice’s voice rose to a sharp cry, surprising them both. Katherine was silent; Alice stood, fists clench, her breathing ragged.

She waited till Katherine had returned to the drawing room and her own breathing had evened. Then she climbed the stairs and walked to George’s door. She pressed her hand against the old, smooth wood. She could hear nothing; it was terribly silent.

‘George?” she whispered, quietly enough so there was the chance he wouldn’t hear her. “George?” The silence frightened her. She crept away.

It was past midnight when she woke with a start, the room in darkness, lit only by a sliver of moonlight. An unearthly sound rent the air, a howl of pain and misery.

George was screaming.

Alice stumbled out of bed, her hair in her eyes, and grasped the door handle. She wanted the sound to stop; she wanted to get away from it.

In the hallway, Katherine stood in her nightdress, her long, grey hair loose, her eyes wide.

“You must go to him,” she told Alice.

“I can’t!” Fear seized her. She shook with it. “I can’t.”

Katherine’s face was calm. She pushed her hair back, smoothed it with deliberate movements. “You are his wife, Alice. I am only his mother.”

Alice stared. “I don’t know what to do.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

The screaming had stopped. Alice heard ragged breathing, a strangled sniffling.

“Alice.” Katherine’s eyes pierced her. She realized then how well her mother-in-law must have known her. “Choose.”

Alice walked to the door as if blind.

“George?” She turned the knob, and to her surprise the door opened.

She entered the room, their old bedroom, her hand still clenched on the knob. George was huddled on the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest.

He looked at her, tears streaking his cheeks. The mask of indifference had been wiped away, and his face was a plea. “I have nightmares.”

Alice spoke through numb lips. “They’re just dreams. They’ll go away.”

“Close the door.”

Alice closed it. George turned away from her. “How can you bear it?” he asked in a dull voice.

“Bear what?” Alice took a breath. She felt light-headed and strange. She moved forward.

“Being married to me.”

“Why…” Alice paused, her mind groping with this new truth. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m a shell.” George looked at her, a terrible emptiness in his eyes. “A shell of a man. Sometimes it feel like there is nothing inside of me, and that is almost a relief.”

This, at least, was something she could understand. Alice nodded. “I know how that feels.”

“What do you do?” George asked. He looked at her almost hungrily. “What do you do, when you can’t bear feeling it all?”

“I stop. But that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before you came home.” Alice knelt on the edge of the bed. Her heart was beating fiercely, yet she felt calm. “Let me help you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how. I could love you.”

“Can you remember?”

“Perhaps.”

George gazed down at his thin, pale hands. The cuff of his pajama top had fallen back and with a piercing shock Alice saw jagged scars on his wrist. “Could you love me, Alice? Even now?”

He held his hands out, and Alice, as if she had always known what to do, drew him to her. He nestled against her like a child and after a startled moment, she stroked his hair. She did not know what would happen.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I can.”

In the hallway she heard Katherine’s door click softly shut.

NOW THAT YOU'RE HERE