The Equations of Love (22 page)

These thoughts, unidentified but potent, flowed through Lilly. “Mummy, Mummy!” called Eleanor from the washroom, “there isn’t a bath tub, Mummy, what’ll we do?” The little girl saw with the unequivocal eyes of childhood never a bath in life again.

“Never you mind, Baby, we’ll do,” said her mother wrapped in her happiness.

Next morning Lilly, before beginning her duties at the hospital, took Eleanor to school, and the daily routine of their life began. The Matron relaxed as she discovered the trained perfections of Mrs. Hughes who moved quickly, neatly, silently. She took some credit to herself and had a proprietary feeling for Lilly and her little girl. She became, as years went by, Eleanor’s unofficial godmother.

“Mrs. Hughes,” she said one day, “I’m afraid you’ll be lonely. How would you like to come with me to the Schoolroom party on Tuesday and get to know some of the people?”

Lilly hesitated. “I’m not fussy about people, Matron. I guess I’ll stay home. When Eleanor’s in bed and I’ve tidied up, it’s kinda nice to sit beside the fire and look at the paper.”

And then one day the Matron said, “Mrs. Hughes, I have an invitation for you. Mrs. Miller down at the store asked if you wouldn’t like to go in and have a cup of tea with her on your day. She’s seen you in church. She’s a nice woman and friendly.”

And Lilly said awkwardly “I’m not one for going to tea. I got Eleanor’s school dress to give a good sponging and hang out. I guess I’ll stay home.” Lilly had never sat across a friendly table with a stranger and talked freely, for pleasure. And now it was too late to begin because there lay in wait for her the little pitfalls of speech and observance and she knew it. She was frightened.

I guess I don’t talk very good, she said to herself, and now I never will. I don’t feel easy with folks.

At the end of her day her habit was to sit down to a cup of tea with Mrs. Basko the cleaning woman before Mrs. Basko went home and before Lilly went across to her cottage and tidied up. Then how simple and easy the talk was.

“Those hot taps need new washers on,” or “I don’t think much of that new cleaning powder,” or “You know that old
man who came in with the leg? Well, he’s Andy’s grampa in the drug store.”

And sometimes in the evening the Matron slipped over to the cottage and had some tea and toast with Lilly beside the fire. Or the Matron took Lilly in her little car and they drove down to the village and went through the things in the store, because Lilly knew values. And a few times the Matron took Lilly with her to a show in the village because Lilly seemed to have so few diversions. And the talk with the Matron or with Mrs. Basko or with the farmer who brought the chickens, or with anyone else whom Lilly knew, was easy, because it was about the world that all lived in, that is to say, about the workings of the hospital, or about the village, and about the people in the hospital or in the village. It was enough. The world outside did not exist for her or, if it did, it was of no interest or significance to her. Sometimes in the evening Lilly would turn, yawning, through the newspapers, dwelling chiefly on the advertisements of the moving picture shows or of the department stores. These advertisements held only an entertainment value for Lilly. She was not tempted to buy an evening dress or a lawnmower or a linoleum rug. But these things held a valid interest as against international or political or artistic events which had no validity at all. Her eyes slid over Persia or Co-operative or Symphony, to
Sale! Specials Monday Morning!
or to crime. Crime interested her, but only to the point of speculation in a chat with Mrs. Basko who also liked crime.

It must be admitted that years passed before Lilly felt secure in the Valley, and the reality of the edifice which she had built, of which Mrs. Walter Hughes was the culmination, wavered sometimes uncertainly before the pseudo-reality of what had really been her life. So there was a reason beyond her personal gaucherie that kept Lilly at home and watchful.
When she and Eleanor had lived at Comox there was the good feeling of being at the end of a road. And so they were. This had given her an immunity. But the Valley was on a highway, people came and went, Vancouver was not far away. Up the Valley memory reasserted itself. When Lilly was invited to go to Vancouver for a day’s shopping, she declined. When the Matron suggested that she should take a holiday in Vancouver, Lilly only said “I’m not fussy about cities. I guess me and Eleanor’ll stay home.”

Every other Sunday morning Mrs. Hughes took her little girl to church, and every Sunday Eleanor went to Sunday school. Although Lilly was satisfied to see her child having friends of her own, she was as careful as she knew how to be that Eleanor would not lose what she had learned from Mrs. Butler. She watched the child’s habits and manners and, as for that, Lilly knew what good observance was in a child. But then, suddenly, something would puzzle her. Is Eleanor talking different? she thought. Is she talking kinda loud? She did not know what was wrong, but she felt that something was wrong which she could neither detect nor explain.

She would say sharply “Is that the way you’d speak to Her?”

“Her?” Eleanor would say, wondering. She had begun to forget the presence of Mrs. Butler.

“You know … Her … Madam … You don’t sound to me like you did when you was talking to Her. You should talk more quiet-like. What’s the good of me bringing you here and you playing with the other kids if you’re going to speak common.”

“Well, Mummy …”

“You do as I say. You talk like you was talking to Her, and don’t you forget. I don’t want you shouting round like you didn’t know any better.”

That was how Lilly talked sometimes to her little girl, out of the fullness of her love and out of the strength of her ignorance and her set plan. To the Matron she said “Tell her, Matron, will you, if you hear her?”

In church they sat, mother and child, well mannered, joining in the service as they should.

B
efore Lilly lost her looks there was almost the affair of Mr. Meakins.

Mr. Meakins who was the Chairman of the Hospital Board was a member of the congregation. He was, it seemed, a congenital bachelor, and had been a bachelor for so long that he supposed himself – and was supposed – to be immune from the annoyance of love. Soon after Lilly and her little girl came to the Valley, he found himself in difficulties. Every other Sunday Mr. Meakins, sitting behind Lilly and her daughter, was increasingly aware of the slim young woman whose green tweed back he studied and of the child whose bright face turned so often with confidence up to her mother. The child would tug at her mother’s sleeve. The young woman in green tweed would bend down, and with a quick serious smile would satisfy her little daughter and then return her attention to the service. This small action touched Mr. Meakins. He invested Lilly with every good quality as he looked at her slim back fortnight by fortnight. He knew that this was the young widow who was the new housekeeper at the Hospital, of whom he had heard such good reports from the Matron.

“You’re still satisfied with your housekeeper, Matron?” he said one day at the hospital after the Board meeting.

“Yes, but I’m still dazed, Mr. Meakins,” said the Matron. “I ask myself what I’ve done to deserve her. She leaves order wherever she goes. Nothing is too much trouble and I really think she’s as interested in things going well as I am. When Miss Sands was ill she even went on the ward, and last week when Mrs. Basko couldn’t come, Mrs. Hughes did her own work and Mrs. Basko’s too. And she lends a hand with the cooking when Wong goes to town. She’s a jewel.”

“A widow, I think you said,” said the Chairman.

“Yes. I think her husband died when the little girl was a baby. I gather she’s always had to work.”

“She looks very … ladylike,” suggested the Chairman.

“Well,” said the Matron carefully, “I’d call her a very self-contained young woman. She has some dignity of her own.” It occurred incredibly to the Matron that Mr. Meakins seemed interested in Mrs. Hughes.

As Mr. Meakins followed the service Sunday by Sunday, his thoughts also followed or, rather, pursued the slim woman who sat in front of him. On the Sundays that Mrs. Hughes and her little girl were at church, Mr. Meakins looked at the straight back of Lilly Waller who was Mrs. Walter Hughes, and the turmoil in his mind increased and maddened him. He could not take his eyes from the form of Mrs. Hughes, and on the alternate Sundays, when she was not there, he pictured her there, standing, kneeling, bowed in prayer – what prayer? His blood began to tell him so loudly about this woman that he was afraid that people would see, that they would hear, and that he would betray himself. He had fallen in love with a green tweed back. He became sentimental, and he knew it. I’m crazy, he said to himself, and what can I do? I can’t get to know
her, she’s the hospital housekeeper, and in a place like this … and I can’t marry her out of hand without knowing her. He pictured the girl in green and her little daughter in his square house. He made up his mind.

Blandly after church he contrived that he should pass by the young woman with the child. As if surprised he said kindly “Haven’t I seen you at the Hospital?”

Lilly smiled faintly. “Maybe,” she said.

“And is this your little girl?” asked Mr. Meakins.

Well, what do you suppose? thought Lilly.

“Yes,” she said.

“And what’s
your
name?” asked Mr. Meakins in a hearty and jocose manner of the child.

“Eleanor Hughes,” the child said shyly.

“And how old are you?”

“Going on eight.”

Lilly watched with eyes that told nothing.

Two words only he had heard from her and he was enchanted, but he was self-conscious and was afraid of becoming conspicuous.

“Well, good day,” he said heartily, and moved on.

“Good day,” said Lilly.

“Who’s that man, Mummy?” asked Eleanor as she walked with her hand in her mother’s hand.

“I think that’s Mr. Meakins,” said Lilly.

“Who’s he?”

“He’s the head of the hospital,” said Lilly, and thought no more of it, but she was pleased that Mr. Meakins had noticed Eleanor so nicely.

Two weeks later Mr. Meakins steadily watched Mrs. Walter Hughes. She had filled his mind, together with the difficulty in which he found himself. Should he pay this woman open
attention? How else could he get to know her? If he paid her open attention the Valley would buzz, whatever happened. If he found her to be other than he thought, or if she refused his attentions, and perhaps if she accepted them, the Valley would know, and he would be laughed at. I must wait, he said to himself. I must go slow. And still he watched Lilly.

Outside the church he chanced again – or so it seemed – to be at Lilly’s side (I can’t even do
this
too often, he thought uneasily). He gave her the briefest glance and turned his attention to Eleanor.

“And how’s my little friend?” he asked.

“Very well, thank you,” said Eleanor looking up at her mother as if to say “Is this right? Am I doing right?”

“Are you comfortable in your cottage, Mrs. Hughes?” asked Mr. Meakins in the tone of the Chairman of the Board.

“Yes, thank you,” said Lilly very low. Mr. Meakins gave himself completely away by a look. Well, for goodness’ sake, thought Lilly startled, but she remained outwardly composed.

“Would you let your little girl have a puppy, Mrs. Hughes?” asked Mr. Meakins. “I have a spaniel pup to give away.”

“Oh,
Mummy!
” besought Eleanor.

“We’d have to think about it, thank you,” said Lilly primly. People passed them as they stood.

“Oh, Mummy,
why
do we have to think? Oh
please
, Mummy!”

“Nigger mightn’t like it,” said Lilly. “Thank you. We’ll have to think.”

“Well, you can tell the Matron and she will let me know,” said Mr. Meakins, determined to conduct his courtship on the safest lines.

“Thank you,” said Lilly again, letting her brown eyes rest on him, and taking in without illusion the compact form of
Mr. Meakins, his reddish face, thinning hair, and the urgent moist look in his eyes which said as loudly as if Mr. Meakins had shouted “I’m mad about you.” Well, the old coot! she thought in surprise. She was stunned. “Come, Baby,” she said. She did not say goodbye to Mr. Meakins, but letting her eyes rest on him for a moment that said Goodbye and perhaps a little more, she walked on, with Eleanor turning and waving a shy hand to the Chairman of the Hospital Board who went his way, observed by several people.

“Seems like every Sunday morning I see Meakins hanging round that Mrs. Hughes,” said Mrs. Miller.

“For God’s sake, you women make this Valley into a regular goldfish bowl,” said Mr. Miller. “Can’t a man pass the time of day without you cooking up something!”

“Well, there’s no call for you to swear coming out of church,” said his wife. “I only said Meakins was speaking to Mrs. Hughes again.”

After Eleanor was in bed that evening, Lilly put the question to herself. If I wanted to, I guess I could marry him, she thought, not right now maybe, but go along quietly and mind my own business and I could marry him. Lilly, sitting by her fire, considered. She weighed the matter coolly and found that she would not marry Mr. Meakins and that she could make that apparent to Mr. Meakins as easy as easy without making talk. If there was talk, it was bad for her and Eleanor. If there was no talk, she and Eleanor would keep on very well just where they were, staying quiet until Eleanor was a big girl. And then … Lilly’s mind moved on to a new step. Well, time to think of that, but there’d have to be a new step. Right now, said Lilly to herself, disposing her forces like a general, we’re best off here. It was all very well for the Chairman of the Board, thought Lilly, to fall for a girl he didn’t know a thing about, and hasn’t even
talked to. Men do that, I guess. She thought erroneously, I guess men are a whole lot softer than women that way. If he made a fool of himself and tried to marry a girl who couldn’t talk good or mix up with his friends, it wouldn’t be good for me and it wouldn’t be good for Eleanor. We’re better right here, she said to herself again as she looked round the walls of her little room. And what and if he wanted to go to Vancouver! I couldn’t say as I wouldn’t go, but I don’t feel safe going to Vancouver. Best keep out of it, and we’ll go right on the way we are, Baby.