Perdita (15 page)

I told her that she had seemed a little better of late and that we were
hopeful.

“Your mother and I were friends at one time,” she said. “When we were young
girls.”

I looked at her in surprise, for I had no such knowledge of their acquaintance. Then Mrs. Stewart turned her face toward me and uttered rather strange
words.

“We both swore to one another that we would marry for love—and we did.” She hesitated. “And then he died, and I forgot my
promise.”

I could see two large tears forming in her eyes. They spilled over onto her lashes and hung there so eloquently. I knew, then, that her heart was breaking and that she was a terribly unhappy
woman.

I pressed her hand, saying nothing. The door from the house swung open suddenly, and she turned to me and whispered hoarsely, “Don't you forget such a
promise.”

Old Mr. Stewart appeared with George, and I could feel her body stiffen instantly; the teardrops disappeared. I know not how, but it was as if they had evaporated and her features settled into their usual expression. In that moment I saw that she was still a very beautiful woman, but her face expressed nothing but the icy exquisiteness of its own
form.

Mr. Stewart scowled at me rather ferociously, and George took my elbow as if to draw me back and away from a bitter exchange about to take place. On an impulse, I bent over and kissed Mrs. Stewart's cheek and her beautiful lips curved in gracious forgiveness of my impetuosity—but I knew that she was already gone and that some other entity had returned to endure her
husband.

I walked with George through the garden, and he deposited me silently at Dr. McTavish's gate but would go no farther. I searched his face, and I saw a great sadness cross his features—it was such that my own eyes filled with
tears.

I felt I had no right to intrude upon his pain, and so I lowered my eyes and walked away from him without a
word.

September 1

I shall never remark upon Claude's lethargy again! Indeed, I had no idea of his power and swiftness until this evening, and I will ever be grateful to Mr. Samuels for sending him to us. I shiver even now to recollect the experience. There is no doubt in my mind that Captain Howarth is an evil man and that he is a disgrace to his
uniform.

I have not told Tad or Uncle Gilbert of what happened, and perhaps I will not have to, for I am afraid of what course of action they might pursue. Surely it is best to leave events as they have unfolded. But I am quite certain that Captain Howarth will no longer molest me with his presence lest he risk a repeat of Claude's ferocity. I fear also that Claude has left him disfigured, but surely it is only as he
deserves!

This evening I had to return a small boy—a child who had wandered into our garden—back to the fishing camp. It was just after supper, and the poor fellow had been crying profusely. He was sure that he would be severely punished if ever he were to find his mother again. Auntie and I tried to soothe him. We gave him a ginger cookie and some milk, and this seemed to make his travails all the more worthwhile, for he soon became quite cheery and between mouthfuls told us all about his family and their adventures at the camp. He seemed to have so many brothers and sisters that I was not certain that he had even been missed. I proposed to escort him home, and Auntie A. assented as long as Claude accompanied
me.

At first Jeffie—for that was the little boy's name—was quite intimidated by Claude's enormousness and hid behind my skirts, afraid that his massive jaws would swallow him up in a single gulp. By and by, I coaxed the boy forward, and I placed him on Claude's back as we took the path down to the camp. Jeffie started out by insisting he hold on to my sleeve, but by the time we reached his tent, he was riding like a wrangler and urging him onward with his heels. Claude, however, had had quite enough of his passenger—for it was a good half-hour walk—and he unceremoniously dumped Jeffie at his mother's feet and left her standing, speechless with fear, at the entrance to their cooking
quarters.

I was quite amused by all this, but soon repented because the poor woman had been quite frantic as to the whereabouts of her littlest one, and it was only with some effort that I quieted her shrieks. But it seems that I was not quick enough, for before long several women appeared banging pots and pans and asking with some urgency where was the bear. I must say that Claude showed remarkable foresight in disappearing into the bush, and it was Jeffie who was left to explain that he had ridden on a great beast that was a dog and a bear all at
once.

The women were distant to me, and I could not blame them, for I had enjoyed this little bit of mischief—though I was to regret it only minutes later! I whistled to Claude, and I heard a great creaking and crackling of dry sticks in the woods, and then I set off back up the path assuming that he was behind me in the growing
darkness.

It was a cool, clear evening, and the wind had risen so that the trees tossed around me in a stormy, surging sea. I had my back to the water and was but ten minutes or so away from the camp, when an intense shaft of light lit up my path and I turned expecting to see someone with a lantern. It was the moon appearing from behind the clouds, and it cast its full and brilliant light on the path before me. I stopped to admire it, and it was then that Captain Howarth stepped out of the woods and stood impeding my way
forward.

I gasped and froze. I thought perhaps that he had seen me earlier, though I had not discerned him, and that this was no chance encounter. He waited for a few minutes, eyeing me ominously, and there was a strange tension in the man's form, as if he were a steel coil wound tightly and ready to spring. I looked about for Claude, but I could not see
him.

At last he said, “Good evening, Miss
Brice.”

I did not like his tone, for it seemed faintly mocking to me, but I swallowed and nodded, my heart pounding and a strange, unfamiliar fear freezing my
limbs.

“I shall walk a ways with you,” he said, and took my arm
roughly.

I mustered my wits and withdrew my arm fiercely and turned upon him a look of what I wished to be utter disdain. He laughed a low, unpleasant laugh, and then, after glancing around as if to assure himself of our isolation, he faced me and placed his hands upon my shoulders, working them slowly up to my neck. Then he put his thumbs on my throat, just below my chin, and applied a slight, almost caressing pressure. I felt the man's raw strength in his hands, and he seemed to be intent on provoking some reaction in me. I felt that if I screamed he would strangle me on the
spot.

I became very
still.

“Yes, just stay quiet, just as you are,” he muttered, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts like an animal panting. Then, with his hands still around my neck, he moved his face close to mine, and I could feel his breath upon my face. I closed my eyes, not knowing what to do, thinking that once his hands were released from my neck, I might try to
escape.

I have no doubt of what ill he intended for me, but it was Claude who saved me. With a low growl, he leapt suddenly out of the woods and tackled Captain Howarth with all the force of his big body, knocking him down onto the path, and there he tore into his neck and shoulder with his great jaws. The man writhed beneath Claude's huge form, but he could not lift the dog off him. I turned and ran up the path as swiftly as my legs could carry me, and then I heard Captain Howarth's screams behind me. I was sure the dog was going to kill him, and so I called to Claude frantically. He reluctantly backed away but continued to snarl at Captain Howarth, whose face was wet and covered in dirt. He lifted his arm to his mouth and wiped blood from it, his form prostrate and breathing
heavily.

“Call him off, call him off,” he shrieked at me, and Claude crouched as if to resume his
attack.

I called Claude's name again and again and whistled urgently. Finally he came to me. I ran all the way back to the cottage with Claude at my heels, leaving Captain Howarth bleeding in the pathway: but I made sure to turn back at the hilltop, unsure as to what to do if he were indeed dying. I saw him rise and then lean heavily against a tree stump. I did not linger, but made my way home with as much haste as I could
muster.

At least he is not
dead…

I will have to tell Tad. I see now that I must. Might he not bring harm to another? I will just bathe my eyes and tidy my hair; and I must give Claude a drink of water and clean his face for I am sure that Captain Howarth's blood must be upon
him!

September 2

It has rained and rained for the past two days, and the wind has been fierce. I have stayed inside and have made much progress with Dr. McTavish's papers. They are now carefully organized, and I have gently extracted from the doctor a description of what he envisions for his book. I believe now that I can help him complete it, and I have even been so bold as to suggest an outline of chapters for the text. I believe that my training in composition will be of some assistance, for Dr. McTavish has bits and pieces of all kinds of fascinating facts and observations, but he seems to lack a sense of the overall organization of his book. I have discovered that it is not that he is untidy; indeed, he seems to know where everything is. And how he remembers what he has worked on from year to year is quite a miracle, yet he does! No, I have decided that it is more like going into a room that looks cluttered but really just reflects the sensibilities of an eccentric. I must help him make “his room” look like a book, and I believe that I can be of service to him in this respect. I suspect, too, that he likes the fact that I do not scold him for his disorder, though sometimes I grow exasperated and think longingly of the efficiency that an Auntie Alis would bring to his
library.

I am also enjoying my drawing very much. Dr. McTavish has already taught me a great deal, and he has urged me to take up sketching just to train my fingers and, as he says, to turn my thinking to visual forms. He is most pleased with my progress, and I have learned a great deal about mixing colors and the differences among all the various types of brushes and how they can be used. The work Dr. McTavish does is very different from George's painting, for his birds are quite lifelike and he is extremely diligent as to the detailing of the plumage and
color.

I saw George today from the doctor's window; he was standing out at the Point, looking at the waves in the rain. He seemed quite meditative, and so I watched him for a little while, wondering what he was thinking. Then, on an impulse, I took up a pencil and tried to sketch his form amidst the intermittent sheets of rain with the wind tugging at his coat. I had barely started when a figure in white, whom I took to be Miss Ferguson, joined him and seemed to entreat him to turn about and come back to the house. At first George seemed not to heed her, and then I thought that I saw him put his arm around her waist and go with her back to the
Lodge.

September 4

This afternoon, Tad drew me aside after he had arisen. Auntie Alis looked to Mother while I made the tea, and he told me that Captain Howarth is no longer stationed in our
area.

I hardly dared to look at him, for I did not wish to show him my relief. Still, the image of Captain Howarth shrieking under Claude's attack disturbed me, and so I asked after his injuries. Tad gave me a stern look and said that it was none of our affair, and so I did not pursue further conversation with
him.

Auntie A. asked me what had made Father's countenance so black, and I told her everything—more than I had told Father. I cried a little as I told her, but it did me good. But then she became Auntie again and set forth all her arguments about why a woman needed a husband. I only half listened, but I did not object as I usually do, for if I am truthful, there is something in me that is drawn to the idea of a husband. If a man truly loved me, then I think I would find the grace to accept his tender care, but I could never acquiesce to any authority masquerading as
protection.

September 6

First the rain, and now three days of the most dreadful heat with barely a respite in the evening. It has tried everyone, even those with the best of tempers, and we all seem to be at sixes and sevens with one another. Allan told me that I have been quite cross with him, and so to make it up, I announced that we would abandon our work and take a long hike up the
shore.

This hike is a bit of an annual event, for each summer we walk just a little farther than the previous year's trek. Both of us are convinced that the shore will eventually lead us to some extraordinary site, but it just repeats itself in a seemingly endless series of points. We always pretend that we have come to the last one, only to reach it and see the same pattern appear
beyond.

I packed a hearty lunch with all of Allan's favorite treats: Auntie's gingerbread, jam and bread, and a thick wedge of ham. We set off well after breakfast—Tad was still asleep when I left—and we took Claude, who seems to be the only one unruffled by this hateful heat. The flies have been dreadful, and so we did not take Dewi, who is tormented so awfully by their sharp bites. Claude rolls himself in the mud by the pond, and though we will not allow him in the house because of this acquired filth, I must admit that it seems to keep him free of flies. Poor Dewi—I don't think we could ever convince him to give up his coveted place on Mother's bed, and so he shall just have to suffer through this torpid weather with flies and
all.

Allan and I must have walked for two hours when we stopped exhausted, both covered in perspiration but feeling so much better for our activity. Allan was soaked through, and my skirt was quite wet also, for there are several spots where one has to climb around pieces of the escarpment that jut out into the Bay in order to make one's way to the next inlet. But the heat was such that it was not long before we were dry enough to make our
picnic.

It turned out that Allan had been sampling our lunch for quite some time—indeed, I had seen him out of the corner of my eye—and that our gingerbread supplies, in particular, were severely diminished. I pretended to be cross, but no one was fooled except Claude, who came and licked my hand with a great series of mollifying sighs and whimperings. We both laughed and laughed and then teased Claude for being such a big, foolish
creature.