The Major's Daughter (23 page)

Chapter Seventeen

I
t was to be a house wedding. The news caught Collie by surprise. Estelle's letters had grown infrequent over the fall, and somewhat veiled, and so her request to have Collie act as a bridesmaid, to attend a wedding held in Estelle's house, perplexed her initially. Naturally the news also brought joy for her friend, and she had used the office phone to reply, leaving a hasty message with Mrs. Emhoff that of course she would attend, that she would follow up by a letter, that it was magnificent news and she was flattered to be asked to be a bridesmaid. Georgie Porgie had won the day after all, and Collie's letter to Estelle had seemed to open a gate between them, so that notes flew back and forth as before, the missives dotted with news about dresses and colors and cakes. It was a whirl, Estelle wrote. Once decided, they saw no reason to wait, so the engagement was brief and the wedding, as the enclosed invitation suggested, was planned for the first week of December. Christmas and the wedding, Estelle added in her letter, had somehow formed their own union, so that it was difficult to separate the two. They had early snow, thank goodness, and the yard and trees were white. Her papa had decided to hire two sledges for visiting guests, an old touch but a whimsical one, and Estelle stated that she felt she had decided to get married in Dickens's time, not her own. It was all rather comical and gay, and she asked Collie to arrive three days before so that she might help her keep a level head. Of course there was also the dress to fit, and hair. . . . It was all a lovely confusion.

And now she was on a train traveling to Ashtabula, of all places, on a wintery day at the start of December 1944. Collie looked out the window, her face tired and happy. The train slowed; they came into a station, not Ashtabula, and she watched the conductor swing off the train and call something to the waiting passengers. A quiet snow fell, and it looked beautiful in the afternoon light. The open doors allowed frigid air to pass through the car. Collie enjoyed the sensation of the cold resting just outside, while they remained in warmth, hurtling through the day toward the wedding.

When the train got under way again, she decided to go to the dining car for hot chocolate. She had perhaps an hour and a half to Ashtabula.

Snow fell harder outside as she found a seat on the north side of the dining car. For a moment Collie felt she traveled through a snow globe, a make-believe world. The porter came and took her order. He also left a bowl of hard-boiled eggs and a saltshaker. Collie didn't feel she could face eating an egg, and she turned her attention to the countryside, her eyes roaming.

She thought of Marie. She thought of her every day, her sweet, gentle presence like music heard at a distance. She did not allow herself to remember the funeral, the ponderous, heavy ceremony that had demonstrated no understanding of the girl. Instead, she recalled the day that Marie had danced on the log at the halfway point of their ride, her joy at singing that ridiculous song.
Mares eat oats, and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy.
She had danced and twirled on the log beside Scooter Pond, and everything about her, every molecule, had called out for joy and happiness, for adventure and promise. Collie missed her friend, that sparkling girl who met the world each day with hope.

In time, after the porter brought her hot chocolate and she had sipped the rich foam from the top and spooned out the dollop of whipped cream, she let her mind wander to August. He was out in the snow somewhere, likely Vermont, cutting large pines and dragging them through the frigid woods. She had already removed today's flower, but she pulled out the remaining strand of clover buds and spread them on the table in front of her. They were fragile; they had dried and started to crumble apart, but she treated them like valuable jewels. Each day, a flower. He had been gone for close to three months, working in a camp that had twice been relocated for greater access to timber. She followed his journey on paper, but she had not shared a word with him in all that time. She wondered, frankly, if his feelings for her had been driven out of him by the harshness of the winter work. She wouldn't blame him if they had. But for her he was still fresh, remarkably fresh, in her mind. She no longer resisted thoughts of him. It was futile to do so. And when she accompanied Henry to the various events and occasions he found for them, she could not be unencumbered. They had gone to the movies; they had gone bowling and on a picnic. But she did not love him. Her heart did not rise up for him as it did for August, for the young German's ethereal beauty; she had no control over it in the end.

The porter passed by and asked if she wanted more hot chocolate. She shook her head. When she looked out at the countryside again, they seemed to be passing through the outlying region of a town. Maybe Ashtabula, she thought. She drank the last of her hot chocolate. Her lips touching the chocolate made her think of August, the kiss they had shared. Their bodies, so long deprived, had met in perfect wonder. What had started as an innocent gesture—had it ever been innocent? she wondered now with her head against the train window—had begun to glow and smolder between them. She could not feel that for Henry; she had never felt it for any other human.

She needed Estelle, she decided. She needed her help to sort things out. It was Estelle's wedding time, of course, but Collie hoped for a moment, an hour, when they might lay out the last months since Marie's death like a game of patience. Estelle would help her turn over the correct card, make the proper play. Collie felt too tired to think on her own, too confused by her heart to know how to go forward.

 • • • 

Estelle watched the door to the flower shop from the opposite side of the street. She pretended interest in the shoe-shop window directly in front of her, Towne's Shoes, but in reality she used the reflection in the window to keep vigil. Her head felt jammed with impossible thoughts and emotions, and she chided herself for being here, being across the street from Mr. Kamal's shop, when she had a thousand chores to distract her.

What did she want? What possible good could come of seeing him? She might have asked what good was morning, or evening supper, or a well-made bed. She could not resist, or pretend to ignore the ache in her stomach, and she glanced repeatedly in the window of Towne's Shoes only to catch the square reflection of Mr. Kamal's storefront.

Collie was scheduled to arrive in slightly more than an hour. It was unfair, she realized, to spend her time here, absurdly looking in the shoe window reflection like a lovesick schoolgirl. But there it was. She saw two women, both carrying hand muffs, step out of the flower shop, their heads bent conspiratorially toward each other. For no reason whatsoever, she despised them. They were free to visit Mr. Kamal whenever they liked, while she, by her own manipulations, had made the flower shop off-limits. She was affianced, all but a wife, and she did not imagine George, or even her mother, would look kindly on fanning these old embers to life.

She pulled a small pad and pencil from her purse. She had become a great list maker with the preparations for the wedding, and she scanned the items now, hoping for one sufficiently pressing to pull her away. But she had deliberately cleared off time for Collie, and she had this forty minutes or so to spend. . . . She tucked the moleskin pad away and threw the pencil in after it.

She took one last glance in Towne's window, then simply turned and walked toward Mr. Kamal's store. As simple as that. Why make it more complicated? she asked herself. He was a friend; true, there had been feelings, but she was engaged now, and George was a fact of life, and surely she could visit Mr. Kamal without danger. In fact, she told herself, as she stopped to let a cab pass, then stepped sideways when a man pushing a wheelbarrow of ashes hurried across the street near her, it was precisely the thing to do. The wedding plans had inoculated her, she was certain, and seeing Mr. Kamal now, observing him for what he was rather than what she imagined him to be, might serve to relegate him to the past. She owed it to herself and to George, not to mention the entire wedding party coalescing around her, to set matters to rest.

She did not hesitate at the door. She pushed through, triggering a familiar bell, and Mr. Kamal, his eyes squinting slightly at the brightness of the front room as he came out from the back of the store, raised his hand to protect his eyes. The gesture made him appear old. A shopkeeper after all, she realized. She could not imagine George making such a gesture. She smiled at the newly won knowledge.

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “You have returned at last.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kamal. It's been too long.”

“Yes, for me, certainly. How wonderful you look. Positively radiant. As a bride is entitled.”

She stopped in front of the counter. His words had surprising force. A bride! How had he known? It pleased her that he knew she was to be married, that he had followed her life even when she had not included him in her affairs. Doubtless he had read the papers; he had told her long ago that reading the engagement announcements was part of his business. He often picked up jobs that way, sending a discreet card with a handwritten note that offered to be of whatever assistance he could provide to the marrying couple. Yes, she was sure, he had followed her engagement announcement.

“How can I help you today?” he asked. “Would you care for some tea? I was just putting the kettle on when you came through the door.”

“Thank you, no,” she said, “I have a visitor arriving on the five o'clock train.”

“Ah.”

“I was just passing by . . . so many errands, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

“A marriage is a great undertaking. I understand.”

“And I thought to myself, I have not seen Mr. Kamal in such a long time. I had a moment to look in, and so I did.”

“I'm glad you thought of me.”

Oh, what was she doing? Her feet felt rooted to the ground; they had sprung thick taproots, like a beech, knuckling into the ground, tearing up the soil as it grew. What a colossal mistake! She thought, suddenly, that she had always mistaken his intentions. Yes, that was clear! Maybe he had merely been polite, seeking her business, and she had interpreted things entirely wrong. She wondered, too, how conversation had always flown so easily between them. Now it felt stilted and awkward, and it was everything she could do not to turn and flee, despite the rooted feeling in her extremities.

“So George Samuels is the lucky fellow. Is that not correct? My heartfelt congratulations.”

“Thank you. It happened rather quickly.”

“So I gathered,” he said, his eyes, for a moment, betraying feelings about her abandonment. “I didn't know you were fond of him.”

“We go back a long way.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I think of him as the Eternal George. He's always been around.”

“Ah, yes, I see. That is the same as in our country. People can be promised to each other at an early age.”

“I was never promised exactly. . . . It just seemed a natural fit.”

He smiled. For an instant, Estelle saw the hurt she had inflicted on him. He, naturally, was not a perfect fit. That was clear; it always had been clear, she saw now. She allowed her eyes to pass into his. Yes, the feeling was still there, summoned at once when their eyes touched one another. He was handsome. She had perhaps been aware of it before, but now, with his brown eyes locked on her, his white turban starched and fresh atop his head, his hands spread on the flower counter, she saw he was a fine figure, a flesh-and-blood man, not merely a paper cutout she had come to play with once or twice a week. She imagined kissing him. The recognition that she might kiss him, that perhaps he wanted to kiss her, flashed across her consciousness like a bright light. How idiotic she had been! How casually hurtful! Suddenly she felt close to fainting; her head became dizzy and her knees wanted to buckle. She realized she had not eaten all day.

“I'm sorry,” she said, turning to go.