The Oak Leaves (22 page)

“I do love Royboy,” Cosima admitted, “but sometimes ’tis hard. He gets into things, makes messes, and breaks things because he doesn’t know better. He’s restless much of the day, simply cannot sit still. But if he’s kept busy and watched over, he can accomplish some small tasks. He never complains.”

“How many such boys are in your family, like Royboy?” Beryl asked.

“Percy was my older brother who died.” She wouldn’t tell them the details of that death, at least not yet. She’d horrified them enough. “And I had two cousins and an uncle and two distant cousins who moved to Dublin with their family long ago.”

“Do they die younger? Is that why your older brother is gone?”

“No . . . he died in a fire. The boys in my family are healthy, except they can’t learn.”

“But you’re so smart, Cosima! How could this be in your family? Is your mother . . . ?”

Cosima shook her head. “She’s very much like me. In fact, she’s a talented artist. I did hear long ago of a child who would have been my aunt, who died of a fever. She might not have been very clever, but then women are accepted with lower expectations than men, aren’t they? I suppose we’ll never know if this . . . curse . . . can pass to women as well as men. Not if the curse dies with me.”

A long silence passed, and Cosima eyed her two friends, who looked suddenly spent, as if they’d just returned from a walk that had gone on too long. “You see now why I cannot possibly marry your brother, no matter what we might feel for one another.”

Beryl shook her head. “I don’t see that at all. It’s obvious some of the babies born to Kennesey women aren’t feebleminded. You, for example. I’m sure if you counted all of your relatives, there are quite a few who are sound minded.”

“Yes, of course, but where most families might have one or two children with some sort of flaw, my family has more than its share.”

Beryl hugged Cosima close and Christabelle quickly followed.

“Thank you,” Cosima whispered, seeing her friends’ faces lacking all horror after what she’d just told them. She brushed away an escaped tear, then with one arm around each of them, eyed them earnestly. “You’ll help me, won’t you? help me now to avoid your brother? rescue me when I think of him and help me to ignore these feelings?”

The sisters exchanged glances.

Beryl spoke up. “I don’t know what to do, Cosima. I’ve imagined you as my sister-in-law since the day I met you. I’m not sure this is enough reason to think otherwise. You should speak to Peter, tell him what you’ve told us, and decide together.”

“Reginald already told your brother about my family background,” Cosima assured her. “He knows everything.”

“He does!” Beryl said, and her brows lifted. “And he loves you anyway.”

“He’s never said such a thing—”

“Oh, please, he doesn’t have to say a word,” Beryl said.

Christabelle nodded. “It does seem to me he wouldn’t look at you the way he does if the truth bothered him very much.”

Cosima shook her head. “Neither of you is helping in the least. How can you think I might be a suitable wife for your brother after everything I’ve told you? He is the next viscount, with title and land to hand down. If he has no proper male heir—”

“And who, may I ask, can guarantee presenting a ‘proper male heir’ to her husband? Don’t you know anything of English history, Cosima? How many wives did Henry VIII do away with in search of a woman to give him a male heir?”

“And our own queen, don’t forget, inherited the crown instead of a son,” Christabelle reminded Cosima. “We all love her!”

“But I have no wish to bring disappointment to a long line of Hamiltons. I may have feebleminded daughters as well as sons. Who knows?” Cosima sighed. “And besides, I’ve seen my parents struggle. I’m not at all sure I’m strong enough to follow such a path.”

“But surely if you’re forewarned, you can manage? If you’re prepared?”

Cosima looked away. “I don’t know. I know my mother’s love, but I don’t know what it’s like to be a mother, to feel someone grow inside and hope that child might one day be a valuable member of society. People who know my family would look at me and think I have no right to bring another half-wit into the world.”

“Who determines the value of any child God gives? Obviously you love your brother; you didn’t even have to say so.”

“Of course, but what if the only children I bear are like Royboy? ’Tisn’t fair, not to a husband or myself or even to the children who might be better off unborn.”

“Oh, so we’re talking fair, are we?” Beryl asked. “I need look no farther than the slums of London to see life isn’t fair—me with my comforts and full belly at the end of each day. My dear Cosima, if good things only happened to good people and bad only to the bad, which might seem fair to us with our limited minds, then where would the Lord God come in? What faith would it take to believe in a God who doles out blessings only to those who deserve them? And who does deserve them, anyway? Certainly not me, with my loose tongue and so many uncharitable thoughts. Yet here I am, with abounding blessings. Perhaps God wants to bless you with a family. You mustn’t discount it without allowing Peter to have some say in the decision.”

Tears pricked Cosima’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She didn’t want to hear such words, words that brought hope. Hope for a life she’d tried to deny herself ever since she was old enough to know she was different.

Beryl hugged Cosima close. “I don’t know what’s right, Cosima. I’ve never met Royboy and so I don’t really know what living with him must be like for you or your mother, who faced this before you. I only know I love you as dearly now as I did a half hour ago, and I would welcome you and a half dozen Royboys if that is what you and my brother want. As far as I’m concerned, the Hamilton line could use a little flavor. We’re a boring lot, really.”

33

“Funny how we can worry about all the wrong things,” Talie said to Dana as they retrieved plates, napkins, and soda from Talie’s kitchen. The foursome was looking forward to the latest of the many take-out dinner nights they’d shared since Aidan had begun working for Luke a couple of months ago.

“What do you mean?”

Talie put a napkin on each of the plates, stacking them. “Just that we once worried Aidan’s faith might not be strong or that he might be too good-looking for his own good. But he’s a great guy.”

Dana nodded with the smile that always made the features of her pretty face glow with pleasure. “Yeah, he is.” Then she turned more serious. “But you said we were worried about the wrong things. What
should
we have been worrying about?”

“Ben.” Talie didn’t want to reveal just how good she’d been at denying all the reasons she should have been worrying about him.

“Worrying in advance wouldn’t have helped, even if you had reason to. But you didn’t. You’re a good mom, Talie.”

Talie pinched back tears. Those might be the words she wanted to hear, but they were words she hadn’t lived up to. How long had it taken her to face what she’d tried to deny?

“This has all been so hard on you,” Dana said. “For all of us, really—me and Mom too, watching and feeling helpless. But hardest on you and Luke.”

“Mom’s been trying to put on a happy face ever since the diagnosis. Believe it or not, it does help.” Talie took a deep, steadying breath. “You and Aidan coming over helps too. If I don’t keep to some kind of normal routine, all I do is obsess about how bad the future might be.”

“We’ll keep your mind on other stuff for a while. You have to think of the new baby, right? So here’s your water and Luke’s Coke. I have our pop. Let’s go join the guys and wait for the pizza with them.”

Luke and Aidan were in the adjacent family room, and Talie heard their discussion about a project from work. She envied Luke that; he had demands on his attention that distracted him from futures with a diagnosis. Everything Talie did revolved around Ben and his new therapies.

Ben was in his chair, spinning and laughing. He’d soon go down for the night—hopefully to sleep through—but Talie wanted to keep him up a bit longer. She couldn’t help but watch him more closely, looking for telltale signs of autism.

She handed Luke his drink and sat on the couch beside him.

“Sorry to interrupt your shoptalk, boys,” said Dana as she took a place beside Aidan. “But now that we’ve joined you we’ll bring the conversation around to something more aesthetic. You’ll have to come over to my place soon, Talie. I finally had that old clock fixed, and Aidan hung my arrangement. To be perfectly honest—in all modesty, of course—I should win an award for decorating on a budget. The whole thing cost less than fifty bucks, and it looks terrific.”

“The stuff you found in Mom’s attic?” Talie asked.

Dana nodded. “I also had some black-and-white photos of Mom and Dad blown up and took some color photos of us as kids and converted them to black-and-white. Then I put them inside a four-paned window frame Mom was going to toss and hung it up. In between that and the clock, I put up shadow boxes holding some mementos from one of Dad’s old trunks, and presto—a wall of family history and nostalgia.”

Talie wondered what the mementos might be. Irrationally she wondered whether taking home the trunk instead of the box with the journal might have prevented her from ever having worried about curses and delays in Ben and made everything okay. Maybe she’d just picked the wrong box.

“I don’t get into decorating much,” Aidan said with a laugh, “but I have to admit it looks pretty good. Like a museum wall, only more personal.”

Talie wanted to keep the mundane conversation going, to stave off other thoughts, other fears. But anything ordinary escaped her. She noticed Luke was quiet now too, without business to talk about.

Talie watched Ben. “You know, he seems a bit too social for this diagnosis,” she said at last. “Some of what we’ve read about autism says it’s hard for autistic kids to be around others. Ben’s not like that.”

“He doesn’t make eye contact,” Luke said gently, taking her hand. “We know something’s wrong.”

“Something—yes. Just not autism. He’s delayed, but he might still catch up.”

“He might,” Luke said. He didn’t sound convinced.

Quiet settled over the room again. Even Ben stopped making noise for a moment, as if listening. Talie wished she’d succeeded in carrying on with the small talk. Now it felt as if they were at the funeral of a loved one, sharing the face of grief.

Talie looked between Dana and Aidan, sitting on the adjacent love seat. They were holding hands.

“I suppose we don’t portray a very bright picture of family,” Talie said. “Maybe the horror side of it—a reminder that things can go wrong even if you try to do everything right. Even if you’re trusting God.”

“I haven’t seen anything that qualifies for horror,” Aidan said. “Dana and I have talked about families. We both want kids someday. She knows more about them than I do—she’s around kids every day. But I don’t think I have many illusions. Being a parent is hard, even with healthy kids. I don’t think I made it very easy for my own parents.”

Dana smiled at him. “You? I thought you represented what every father wants. A normal, productive, responsible member of society.”

“I wonder how many people think they’ve met their parents’ expectations.” Aidan shrugged. “Maybe more than I think . . . maybe not. When I was a kid my dad was my Little League coach. Man, I didn’t want him to be the coach. I thought the guys on the team would treat me differently because of him. I knew I wasn’t that great, and I thought I’d either embarrass him or, if he gave me a good position, they’d think I was his pet.”

With his free hand Aidan rubbed the back of his neck. “The very first day of practice, he called me up to the pitcher’s mound so he could demonstrate—through me—what he wanted the others to do. I was embarrassed to be the first one called. So I went right up to my dad and kicked him in the shin. Then I went back to the bench.”

Dana giggled, and even Talie felt a mild sense of shock at the admission.

Aidan shot Dana a half smile, as if still abashed by the memory. “I remember the look on my dad’s face. I might have been the first to be embarrassed, but I did a quick job of transferring that feeling to him. There were a couple of other coaches who saw the whole thing, not to mention all the boys. What were they supposed to do? If he couldn’t get his own kid to follow him, how was he supposed to get the rest of the team to fall in line? Yep, I think I let him down pretty thoroughly that day. But you know what he did?”

“What?” Dana asked.

“Nothing. Grace, I think God would call it. My dad went on as if I wasn’t the biggest disappointment in the whole wide world. He treated me like any other kid on the team. I think that was the first time I was old enough to realize he loved me, even though I wasn’t the sports-crazy kid he wanted me to be. The way God loves us, whether we deserve it or not.”

“Sounds like your dad was an example of what fathers should be,” Talie said.

“I think so. But my point is that even healthy kids don’t live up to what parents want. My dad was good at anything he tried, and I wasn’t. He wanted a sports-loving kid. He got me instead.”

“I guess nobody gets everything they want,” Luke said. “Not in this life anyway.”

Just then the doorbell rang, and Talie went for her purse to pay for the pizza. Aidan’s story might not have taken away her pain and worry about Ben, but it did remind her how genuinely she would welcome Aidan into the family if she had the opportunity.

34

The Bible says, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.” Sometimes, though, this is hard to believe. Fear can be so dark it seems to blot out all the light in one’s life.

I shall always recall tonight, for so many reasons. Each moment must be preserved here in my journal as an example of how darkness and light may come in their turn. But as my father once told me, the only constant in life is God’s love. And there is no fear in that.

This night for which I had waited so long began with the bright hope of honesty. Beryl convinced me I should at last reveal my true feelings to Peter. How effervescent it made me feel to contemplate speaking to him of the love that grew in me. My heart danced with the orchestra. . . .

“No polka?”

Cosima didn’t have to look to know who was speaking. Peter’s voice was as effective as his smile, powerful enough to make her heart go one direction and her stomach another.

She hadn’t seen much of either Peter or Reginald since the ball began several hours earlier, though her dance card was nearly full even without them. But now, finally, Peter was at her side. She knew she hadn’t smiled so merrily in the last two weeks, knew her gaze hadn’t been so eager to meet another’s, and knew if anyone glimpsed her just then, they might very well guess she took pleasure in his company as in no one else’s. But she didn’t care. She’d missed him too much to know how to hide it.

“This is one dance I’d rather watch,” she admitted. “At least tonight.”

He took a spot beside her, folding his arms in front of him. “I have been trying to welcome you since yesterday.” Like her, he still eyed the dancers. “But one thing after another has been in my way.”

Cosima had thought her heart couldn’t float any lighter than the moment she’d heard his voice. She was wrong. “I imagine it’s been quite demanding, helping to host such a large gathering.”

“My mother doesn’t usually worry over her parties, but this time she is especially fidgety. She’s had me running faster than an echo on a cold day.”

“She needn’t have worried,” Cosima said. “Everything is perfect.”

“Yes, so I and half the staff assured her.”

“I’m sure she appreciates you.”

Cosima welcomed the trifling conversation. It calmed her pulse.

“Cosima . . .”

One word, her name on his lips, was enough to send that pulse racing again. She looked at him. His voice had changed from the socially acceptable tone to something quieter, more intimate.

“I’m glad you’re here.” His voice was still soft.

“So am I.” A smile tugged and twitched at the corner of her mouth.

“Would you care to dance? Do you have any waltzes free?”

“The final of this first set before the supper break.” She was glad she’d obeyed her reluctance to assign a partner to every dance.

“Keep it open.”

She nodded.

“Peter.”

Cosima heard Lady Hamilton’s voice and guessed Peter had too, but he didn’t look away. His mother approached them from behind, and Cosima broke their mesmerized gaze at last, having sensed worry in Lady Hamilton’s tone.

“Good evening, Cosima,” she said politely. “I’ve come for Peter. Do you mind?”

Cosima watched Lady Hamilton place her hand on Peter’s arm. He bowed to excuse himself and exchanged one last smile with Cosima. After a few more waltzes, they would meet again. That is, if his mother could spare him.

Each dance after that seemed longer than the last, but Cosima floated around the floor as if angels carried her, only half listening and rarely speaking but constantly smiling.

She did not see Reginald. He hadn’t requested a single dance, hadn’t approached her all evening. She had barely seen him since he entered the ballroom with Peter some time ago. Obviously whatever fences needed mending had been mended . . . with Peter. Had he now some offense against her?

She chanced to see Beryl and Christabelle, each busy with her own steady line of dance partners. They were right, she reasoned. Right to have counseled her to let Peter be part of the decision about their future. She couldn’t deny it any longer.

When the second-to-last dance of the set ended, Cosima glanced down at her card although she knew the line was blank.

Finally.

Standing beside the wall, she perused the room for the tall figure so easy for her to find. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Heart thumping, not doubting he would come if he could, she waited and watched the other dancers take their places.

It will be wonderful to have Peter’s arms about me.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

The words spoken into her ear banished every thought except to register his presence. Peter took her into his arms, and they twirled into the midst of the other dancers.

“Berrie says you’re seldom on time.”

“Normally I admit my guilt, but this time I claim an excuse. My mother committed me to look for a guest’s lost trinket.”

She’d barely noticed, but he seemed to be leading her against the flow of other dancers, closer to the open doors of the veranda. The air coming in was dry but cool for August, and Cosima welcomed it on her shoulders.

“The dance is about to end already,” he said, “but I’d like to request your company longer to make up the time I missed due to my good deed. Do you mind?”

Cosima shook her head and they left the ballroom.

They were not the only ones outside. Couples of all ages strolled the garden lit only by moonlight or a rare torch to warn of a step. On the veranda, potted roses had been placed along the edge, and their fragrance filled the air.

Cosima breathed in, knowing she would never forget the scent . . . and would always associate it with tonight. She had never allowed herself to relax in Peter’s company before, but tonight was different. The dam had burst, the one holding back her true feelings.

The music ended, and Cosima heard the hushed rumble of conversation as those inside and some from the veranda moved through the ballroom in search of supper. Whatever the menu boasted, Cosima was sure it would be plentiful and delicious. She had no desire to join them.

“Would you care to walk a bit?”

She nodded, and they stepped down to the stone pathway leading toward the flower gardens and a vine-covered pavilion in the distance. Tall, lacy arborvitae formed a wall behind the structure, separating the pavilion from the rest of the lawns.

“Forgive me for saying so, Cosima,” said Peter, strolling beside her in no apparent hurry, “but you seem . . . exceptional tonight.” He stepped ahead and turned back to stand in her path. “I like it.”

Her laughter competed with the chirp of crickets hopping out of the way.

“I hope you’re not hungry,” he said as they neared the pavilion. “We’re missing supper.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Not in the least. I’d rather spend time with you while I won’t be missed. My mother will be busy because no one can eat until she does, so I don’t think she’ll need me for a while.”

The pavilion felt like a conservatory with its arborvitae walls and foliage-covered supports. In the center of the shelter were stone benches erected in a square, following the shape of the roof.

“Does your mother always depend on you so for the galas?”

“My mother usually allows the staff to handle the parties once she’s told them what she wants. I don’t know why she is behaving so strangely tonight, and to be perfectly honest I hope it isn’t a permanent change. I don’t mind helping, but I’m considering asking for a butler’s wage if she keeps this up.”

Cosima felt his gaze on her, watching her, perhaps pleased she found him amusing. She eyed him in return, not at all shy tonight.

“Why are you different, Cosima?” he asked gently.

That he was suddenly serious was not lost on her. She wasn’t sure what to say, wondering if she could admit aloud the feelings she’d denied so long.

“I suppose part of it is that I’ve missed you—your family—and I’m glad to be with you again.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” His quiet tone kept the feeling of intimacy intact. Though there was no one around to hear, he spoke in a low voice as if for her ears alone.

Peter raised one foot to the bench in front of them, resting his forearms on his knee. Standing close to him, she viewed his profile as he looked ahead. He mustn’t be able to see far—just the full moon winking through the branches of the arborvitae.

“I suppose Reginald told you about the argument,” he said at last.

“No. Actually, I’ve spoken very little to Reginald since he escorted me here. To be honest I’ve found his behavior somewhat distant since we arrived.”

“Just since you’ve arrived? That is what we argued about. If he’s going to marry you, he should have announced himself as your intended by now.”

“Perhaps he’s changed his mind.”

Peter shrugged. “He didn’t say that, if it’s true.”

Cosima frowned. “I hope the argument has been settled. I would hate to be the cause of a rift between two friends.”

“We’ll weather the storm. Reginald and I have locked horns before. Evidently neither one of us has learned how to avoid our disagreements.”

“He has much to weigh in marrying me, as you well know. It may take some time for Reginald to adjust to the idea.”

“You make it sound as if it would be beneath him to marry you.”

“Being an Escott doesn’t cancel out the other worries. About my family background, that is.”

“He’s not worried about that,” Peter said. “And he shouldn’t. Every family has something to deal with.”

“Not yours. I’ve never met a happier, more cohesive family.”

“We’re compatible, I suppose, but like everyone else. Good and bad in all of us.”

“Yes, it’s true there is good and bad in everyone. I was afraid of Dowager Merit because I saw little kindness in her. But after spending these past weeks in her home, I see she’s firm but fair. And she’s generous. I think she isn’t so frightful.”

“There, you’ve already started to mend that family you’re so worried about.”

She looked at him, wondering at the statement. Her father’s mother was such a small part of the troubles in her family background, yet Peter saw even this as a hopeful start.
Perhaps that’s the way optimists think.

Perhaps an optimist was the only type of person hopeful enough to face a curse and not run.

“I’m glad you agreed to come out here with me, Cosima,” he said quietly. As he leaned slightly forward on his raised knee, his face was nearly level with Cosima’s. “This is the longest amount of time we’ve spent alone together.”

The seclusion and intimacy seemed more obvious all of a sudden, with only the moon and stars surrounding them. Something she had no desire to change.

“It makes me wish I could go back,” he added. “Start the summer again and spend most of it with you.”

“We might not be able to go back,” she said, “but at least we can go forward. Differently.”

Peter stood tall again, bringing his other foot to the ground. He moved one hand as if to touch her but stopped. “I do want it to be different.” He stood closer, much the way he had weeks ago on the Bristol coast, when he’d breathed in the scent of her hair. He did so again, closing his eyes and inhaling. Cosima did not move, though she wanted to take the tiniest step forward and place herself within the realm of his embrace. “Your hair,” he whispered, “smells like honeysuckle.”

“’Tis the soap.” She was barely able to breathe with him so near. “I . . . brought it with me from my home.”

His fingers grazed her shoulder, and the contact sent a shiver across her back. Placing the tip of his finger on her chin, he gently brought her face toward his. “May God forgive me, Cosima, but I want to kiss you.”

Just as his arms went around her, her own crept up around his neck. “Then God forgive us both. I want you to.”

His lips came down on hers, covering her mouth, and Cosima thought she understood for the first time why silly girls might swoon. Dizziness overcame her, so that if Peter’s arms weren’t so tightly holding her she might have done that very thing. His mustache pressed above her lip, as inviting as the warmth of his touch. This was Peter at last—so close, kissing her as she’d dreamed of a thousand times.

“Cosima,” he said her name tenderly, as if it were a kiss in itself.

At last he pulled away, his fingers sliding down her arm to take her hand in his. He urged her with his touch to sit on the stone bench, and once she settled he joined close beside her. He still held her hand and studied it in the moonlight, discovering her skin, the lines of her palm, the veins of her wrist. Could he see her blood pounding and rushing through that vein? Could he feel her pulse wildly racing? He’d kissed her as no one had ever kissed her before, and she’d never wanted it to end.

Then, enveloping her single hand with both of his, Peter looked at her. “You cannot marry him.”

She nodded. “You’re right, of course.”

“I’ll speak to him.”

She placed her hand on top of his and held steady his gaze. “We shall speak to him together.”

He raised his hand to her chin again, tipping her face to accept another kiss. She felt his lips, smooth beneath the mustache, welcoming and unfaltering all at once. This was a powerful force, this love she felt.

God be praised.
Only a blessing such as this could overcome a curse.

Peter lifted his lips from hers but did not move away. With his face so near she studied him, much as he seemed to study her, close for the first time. God had created perfection in him, she thought. Even if he had a flaw, she couldn’t see it.

Then she saw something from the corner of her eye. A figure approaching the pavilion. Blond hair showed light beneath the moon.

Stiffening but remaining still, she said, “’Tis Reginald.”