The Oak Leaves (28 page)

Cosima’s father looked at Peter. Resting his forearms on his knees, he entwined his hands together and stared a long moment before speaking. “We’ve had to face a future for our sons that no parent would choose. There were times, for both of us, that we believed joy would never be a part of this household again, not only when we realized the curse was upon us, but also after we lost our Percy. Rowena was wrong to have done what she did, even if she thought she could somehow remove the curse with her action.

“With time, though, we learned to live with the invisible scars. And Royboy . . . he is limited, that’s true, and a sad life for us to see what he’s missed. But we love him because he is the purest kind of person, one who trusts implicitly, who offers unlimited grace even when we’re cross with him—sometimes unfairly cross. In Royboy, I’ve found the grace my mother never could give me.”

He sat back, rubbed his palms on his knees, and looked away then back again. “Does he add to our lives? Not in the way most would want, but in a way that makes us remember how blessed we are to have a sound mind.” He sighed then spoke with a lighter tone. “You know, I’ve never considered myself a funny man. But in my son I have a ready audience, whether I’m witty or not. He may not be able to tell me the love he feels, but he shows it in his smile and ready laugh, every day of his life. I’d give
my
life to have him whole, but as that cannot be, I accept him as he is and wait, with my wife, for that day he will be whole. In heaven.”

For a while no one said anything, until her father continued. He looked at Peter pensively. “I suppose we could have tried to hide away our feebleminded sons, like some do. But it seems to me ’tis God who directs where a child is placed. If a soul is given to the care of a family, it is up to that family to see the blessing through the burden. Perhaps families like ours need a bit more help in the day to day, and it’s all right to seek that help. But in a way that honors everyone, even a child like Royboy.”

He stood, going to the window nearby and looking out rather than at Cosima or Peter. “You should know—both of you should know—that asylums are not the answer should you have children like Royboy. Ill fed, mistreated, shut away, and forgotten except by those who would ridicule them or wait at the viewing wall for them to do something outrageous. . . .”

“Oh, Papa!” said Cosima. “You mustn’t think, even for a moment, either one of us would consider such a thing.”

Peter stood, and Cosima watched the two men she loved most in the world face each other. “Sir, my duty as a father, should God bless me as such, would be to provide the best care to any child the Lord gives me.”

Cosima’s father nodded, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder in silent acceptance of his words.

Cosima came to stand beside Peter, and her father took a hand of each of them. “Royboy is not what any father prays for. Does not every parent look into the face of his child and think,
Ah, you’ll be the one to make the world a better place?”
He looked at Cosima and smiled. “In you, Cosima, I’ve not been disappointed.”

Cosima looked at Peter, who was silent. He offered a grim smile.

“I’ve but one real piece of advice for you, young man,” Cosima’s father said, still looking at Peter but stepping back, folding his arms before him. “As you make your decision, ask yourself what wife, what child—indeed, what part of life—guarantees happiness? Could another woman, one without a curse? I think, son, there are never any guarantees.”

41

“All and whatever.”

Talie repeated the words as she pressed in Dana’s phone number early the next morning. They hadn’t parted on friendly terms yesterday morning, but at least the cross was a reminder that God hadn’t abandoned them. Talking and praying with Luke last night had helped. Maybe Dana needed a reminder too.

The phone rang so many times Talie was afraid Dana wouldn’t answer. Talie glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. It was too early for Dana to have left for church, and there was no way she’d sleep through the ring right next to her bed.

Five minutes later Talie tried again, and Dana answered on the second jingle.

“I tried reaching you a few minutes ago,” Talie said. “Were you in the shower?”

“No. On the phone with Aidan—I still am, but I clicked over to ask if he can stop by to see Luke before church. He can be there in a half hour. Is that okay?”

“He wants to talk to Luke?”

“Yeah. So is it okay? I have to let Aidan know.” Dana’s tone was curt.

“Sure, we’ll be here. We’re going to the nine o’clock service though. Will you be coming here, too, or will we meet you at church?”

“I . . . don’t know . . . on either count. Look, I have to go.”

Then Talie heard a click.

So much for making this easy.

* * *

Aidan tapped at the door thirty-five minutes later. He was alone.

Talie had wondered if he would wait until Monday before coming to Luke for counsel. After all, if Aidan was going to follow in Luke’s footsteps, he might as well glean advice from the newest expert on marrying into a family like Talie’s. Evidently it couldn’t wait that long—either that or he didn’t want to have such a personal conversation in the workplace.

When she’d told Luke that Aidan was coming, Luke had frowned. Though he said nothing, she imagined his thoughts.
We don’t even know how to make it through a day without doubting God, and we’re supposed to be of use to somebody else?

Talie invited Aidan in and offered him coffee on the way to the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” Aidan said. “I hope it was okay for me to stop by this early.”

“It’s fine, Aidan. I understand, and so does Luke.”

Luke sat at the table with coffee in front of him. They were ready for church, even Ben. He was happy in his high chair, making noises and occasionally laughing over some unfathomable joke. He often laughed or cried without visible reason, and Talie much preferred the laughter.

“I can leave you two alone if you prefer,” Talie said.

“No, Talie,” said Aidan. “I guess I’d like your input too. If you don’t mind some frank guy talk while I spill my guts, that is.”

She found a halfhearted grin, poured herself a glass of orange juice, and sat down. Aidan took a seat on the opposite side of the table, glancing out at the patio. Summer was winding down, but the flowers Talie had planted didn’t know it. They grew tall and abundant as if life never changed except for the better.

“You know what I thought when I became a Christian?” Aidan asked.

Talie knew she was here to listen, that Aidan really only wanted Luke’s advice. But Luke didn’t respond.

Aidan stirred his coffee. “I thought with God on my side, how could I lose?”

“There are lots of promises in the Bible,” Luke said. “Not one of them offers an easy life.”

Aidan let out a breath and scrubbed his face with one swipe. “So what good is it to become a Christian? I cleaned up my life . . . stopped swearing, drinking, even sex . . . and what have I gotten in return?”

Luke cast an unimpressed gaze at Aidan. “Gave up all that, did you? Almost as much as Jesus gave up when He left heaven for a cross.”

Luke’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Aidan. He bent his head toward his knees, clasping his fingers behind his neck. “I know. I’m as selfish as they come.” He gave a brief laugh and looked up at Luke. “And you want the truth about everything I gave up? I don’t even miss it . . . well, except the sex.” He glanced apologetically at Talie, as if he’d forgotten she was in the room. “But even that has an upside. This relationship with Dana, it’s different from anything I’ve had. It’s probably the first really unselfish one I’ve been in, and it’s
better.
But now . . . I don’t know what God wants out of this. Dana’s ready to cut me off because she thinks it’s best. For me.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Luke stared at Aidan. “When you get married, do you want kids?”

“Sure.”

“Then walk away.”

Talie’s gaze flashed to Luke. Had she just heard what she thought she’d heard?

Aidan didn’t welcome the advice; Talie saw that right away. He looked offended at first but after a moment just pained. She watched him run a hand over his face again, as if to wash away the impact.

Finally Aidan looked at Luke. “I guess I thought decisions would be easy as long as I stayed on the straight and narrow.”

Luke offered no response. No comfort, no wisdom.

“I know you’re in a tough spot right now too, Luke.” Aidan’s gaze touched Talie. “Both of you. I shouldn’t be sitting here complaining about what I’m going through.”

“I don’t think you’re complaining, Aidan,” Talie said gently. “This isn’t easy on you or Dana either. It’s one of those unexpected bends in the road. Those are the worst.”

“What do you think, Talie?” Aidan asked. “Same as Luke?”

She’d vowed to stand beside her husband, to support him in all things so long as he never put himself or his desires outside of God’s will. But this? “Well . . .” She looked between the two of them, knowing it would be impossible to support Luke right now, at least fully. “Peter Hamilton didn’t walk away from my grandmother Cosima.”

“We can’t all be Peter Hamilton.” Luke’s voice was firm now—not angry but clear and succinct.

For a moment Aidan looked confused; then his brows rose. “Dana gave the journal to me to read last night.” He leaned back on his chair. “
After
telling me to cut and run. Run fast, she said, and don’t look back. She said she’d rather I left now, just have it over with and not drag it out.”

“Maybe she’s right,” Luke told him.

Talie wanted to scream, to shake both of them. Hadn’t the journal taught them anything?

Or was
she
wrong? Did she expect too much?

“I don’t think we should do anything right now,” Aidan said. “Break up or think about marriage.”

Talie wasn’t sure that was an answer either. “Dana’s right about one thing. It’ll just get harder if you drag it out and end up separating anyway.”

Luke pushed away his half-empty coffee cup. “I used to think what you thought, Aidan. If we served a good God, He wouldn’t let bad things happen . . . not
really
bad, not like this. So now we all head off to church to worship a God I suddenly doubt is good, because He didn’t care enough to spare my family from this.”

Talie put a hand over one of her husband’s, feeling his struggle as real as her own. If ever he needed her full support, it was now. And yet . . . his advice to Aidan still stung.

“You’re always telling me we can’t pick and choose what we believe the Bible says about God, Luke,” Talie whispered. “We have reasons we believe what we do: the prophecy, the history, the science, the wisdom.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed, nodding. “And it says He’s good. I guess we’re just going to have to trust Him on this one.”

“You’re right, Luke,” Aidan said with a smile growing in place of his frown. “Dana once told me sometimes obedience is enough . . . no matter what we feel at the time.”

* * *

Talie put Ben’s shoes on him. The sturdy baby oxfords were still pristine since they had yet to get much wear. He didn’t have the balance for walking, but since reading some of the literature on fragile X, she no longer expected that, at least for a few more months. She hoped he would be walking by age two.

Aidan had left for church five minutes ago. Luke and Talie went out to the garage to follow. She didn’t want to bring it up, but something inside wouldn’t let it go, no matter how she tried.

“Luke,” she said once they were in the car and on the way, “I was a little surprised you told Aidan to walk away. I thought love is stronger than fear; that’s what Cosima’s journal said anyway. You don’t believe that?”

He sighed as if tired of the topic. She was too. “Look, he wants kids. If he didn’t care about being a father, I’d have said to stick it out, no problem. But he wants a family, and Dana probably won’t want to risk having any. At least not until they can come up with an ethical way to guarantee a healthy baby.”

He was quiet then, and Talie refused to look at him. Her bottom lip quivered, but she clamped down on it to keep it steady.

Luke shifted his hands on the steering wheel, and she saw from her peripheral vision that he glanced her way. “She’s seen what you’ve gone through, Talie. Ben’s not even two years old. Raising him is only going to get harder. He’ll get bigger, but his mind won’t progress.”

He paused, and Talie thought he might expect her to say something, to concede or agree. But she couldn’t.

“You’ve said yourself you can’t think about Ben’s future,” he told her softly. “Why would you subject Dana to that?”

“But . . .” She withheld her protest. He was right, of course. Logical. Aidan was young, smart, good-looking. Of course he could find someone else.

And Dana? What was she supposed to do?

“I just can’t believe you don’t want Dana to be happy with Aidan.”

“I do want Dana to be happy. Both of them.”

As Luke directed the car into the church parking lot, Talie fell silent again. For the thousandth time she rubbed one palm over her middle, looking down as if by some miracle she might see inside and know if the new baby was all right or not. Everything was a mess, no matter which direction she turned. Unless maybe . . . up.

But just now the power of prayer wasn’t much comfort either.

They went inside, and Talie hoped to find Dana and Aidan together. They spotted Aidan by the fountain, and she joined him while Luke took Ben to the nursery. When he came back upstairs they waited to find seats until the last possible moment before the service.

Dana never showed up.

42

Lord and Lady Hamilton sent word today that they are on their way here.

Both Peter and Beryl have tried to assure me that their parents must have had a change of heart. Why else would they come to Ireland? I want to believe them, but thoughts of Lady Hamilton grabbing Beryl and Lord Hamilton nabbing Peter were the first images to cross my mind, and I must confess that they have not quite faded. . . .

Beryl’s call that a carriage was coming up the lane rang through the foyer, and just inside the blue room, Cosima exchanged glances with Peter. She saw his smile and automatically returned one of her own, but inside she quaked.

“Go outside and greet them as they approach,” Mama said. “Your father and I will wait here.”

Cosima nodded, and Peter took her hand. They left the blue room to join Beryl, coming down the stairs.

Beryl had a sparkle in her eye as her gaze caught Cosima’s. “Oh, it’ll be wonderful, Cosima,” she said. “They’ve come with blessings; I’m convinced of that!”

Cosima nodded and smiled but remained silently wary.

Outside the sun shone through an opening of oppressive, gray clouds. The Escott lane was wet and hard to manage, and the rented carriage, pulled by an unmatched pair, splashed through ruts and bounced along to stop at last before the ancient stone porch.

Cosima felt Peter’s grip on her hand tighten ever so slightly, and she looked up at him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, his eyes alight. “Whether they’re here with blessings or otherwise, our future is decided.”

“Yes, but will they want to be part of it?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we, now that they’re here?”

Footmen once again familiar on the Irish Escott estate met the carriage and performed their duties, one near the horses to prevent any unexpected movement and another at the ready with footstool and gloved hand to assist in debarking.

Lady Hamilton was the first to step down.

“Mama!” Beryl breathlessly flung herself into her mother’s embrace. Over Beryl’s shoulder, however, Lady Hamilton’s gaze went to Peter. Cosima searched for sadness and condemnation but could see no hint of either directed at Peter. She wondered if that gaze would change when it came Cosima’s way.

Lady Hamilton’s eyes did not leave Peter for what seemed a long time, and Cosima worried anew. Heavens, if Lady Hamilton couldn’t look at her . . . Then it was there, shifting from Peter to Cosima even as Lady Hamilton still held Beryl.

Lady Hamilton smiled—absent of sadness or condemnation. Just a simple smile, a little like her old self, before she knew of the Kennesey curse. Yet she made no move toward Cosima or Peter.

Christabelle exited the coach, and as Beryl shouted with glee, she released her mother to clutch her sister.

Lady Hamilton at last came to Peter and Cosima. “I’ve missed you,” she said, her voice as tentative as the look in her eyes.

Awkwardness hung as heavy as the clouds, yet Cosima sensed something different in Lady Hamilton. No longer aloof but not really herself either.

A moment later Lord Hamilton stepped down.

Peter moved forward, hand extended his father’s way. “Father.”

Lord Hamilton accepted Peter’s hand in both of his with a vigorous shake. “Son.”

Suddenly rain fell, huge droplets splattering from the sky.

“Let’s get inside,” Peter said.

Cosima turned to the house to lead the way. This was not the gentle rain that had descended earlier but an onslaught of wind and stinging rain they’d do well to escape.

Movement from the far side of the lane, closer to the house, suddenly caught Cosima’s eye. It was the muddiest portion near a corner that always took the longest to dry, where few plants would grow.

She stopped. There was Royboy, standing in soft mud amid the trimmed arborvitae, his trousers heavy with wet earth, his hands and face no longer smooth and white but covered in a thick layer of ooze. Royboy’s smile revealed a bit of white teeth behind his blackened face. That he was marred of mind couldn’t be more obvious. If only she’d rushed in, maybe they wouldn’t have seen him. . . .

She tried to turn abruptly away, not draw the others’ attention to him. But it was too late.

Lady Hamilton was aghast. Cosima looked back at her brother, unable to bear the expression on the other woman’s face any more than she could bear the guilt of her own shame. She’d been embarrassed by Royboy as never before.

She couldn’t leave him there. Where was Decla? Cosima’s mother had left explicit instructions that morning: Royboy was to be kept under a close eye. It might not have been the first time he’d slipped away, but perhaps it was the worst.

“Go inside, please,” Cosima urged, not even daring to look at Peter. Ignoring the rain that now fell in torrents from clouds ripped open in the sky, she stepped in the direction of her brother.

“I’ll get him,” Peter offered.

But Cosima turned to him with more force than she thought she possessed, her hand landing on his chest. “No.” Her lips were tight. “Take your family inside.”

“Cosima—,” he said, her name a surprised entreaty.

Hot and unwelcome tears contrasted the cool rain on her face. She looked up at Peter, certain his parents watched and heard every word. “I’ll get him, Peter. It’s my curse, after all. Perhaps it’s best your parents have met him this way.”

Then she strode forward, feeling them watching. It must be disgust filling them, making them ignore the rain drenching each and every one. She did not hurry. She no longer cared if she was soaked.

She’d failed. The profound, utter embarrassment at the sight of Royboy revealed her failure. Failed as his sister, failed as a child of the most loving and forgiving God. She’d failed as someone who could accept a future of children just like Royboy.

Shame had no place in a family of Royboys. Amid all of the unfair whispers and stares, the rumors and shunning of those in the village, she’d always clung to the comfort that God’s Word was full of acceptance for the outcasts. Clung to the knowledge she’d done nothing to deserve a curse; nor had her mother, and not Royboy. How could she have failed so miserably?

There might have been some shred of dignity left if she lived without shame.

Cosima reached Royboy, and he flapped his hands. He was evidently excited by the storm. She took one of his muddy hands in hers, wishing she could apologize to him in a way he would understand. But she knew finding the words would be as impossible as it would be for him to comprehend them.

He greeted her with one of his high-pitched utterances and pulled on her as if intent on staying in the mud and rain.

“Royboy, come inside,” she said, but his slippery hand fell easily from hers. Reaching for him again, another hand intercepted hers.

She turned, startled by Peter’s close presence.

Royboy accepted Peter’s outstretched hand.

“Come in,” Peter said gently and put an arm around Cosima, leading the way.

They were sodden by the time they stepped inside the foyer, but so were all of Peter’s family. Maids were already present, offering linens.

Cosima started to lead Royboy away. She wanted nothing more than to be with her brother and not with Peter’s family. A range of thoughts and emotions assailed her, trying to ease her guilt. If they hadn’t been so eager to condemn her back in England, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt this shame. Was this how it would be? Would she give them grandchildren she could not possibly want them to share? ones they wouldn’t want anyway?

She needed to get away, escape the feelings too strong to hide. She couldn’t look at any of them, not even Peter.

“I’ll tell someone to get Decla,” he whispered to her.

“No, I’ll take him.”

“All right,” said Peter. “We’ll all have to change from these wet things anyway and give my family a chance to settle in before we meet back down here. Perhaps we should wait and meet your parents then.”

It was too late for that, however, as both of Cosima’s parents emerged from the blue room.

Cosima eyed her parents’ faces, warm with welcome until they saw Royboy. Her father’s face seemed to stiffen before her eyes, and her mother’s became exasperated.

“Good day to all of you,” said her father, who recovered first. He stepped closer to Lord and Lady Hamilton. “Welcome to our rainy Ireland, but you know, without all the rain we wouldn’t have such an Emerald Isle, as it’s called.”

“True enough,” said Lord Hamilton, and the two of them shook hands.

Cosima tried to slip away, Royboy at her side.

Lady Hamilton’s voice stopped her. “Cosima,” she called, “is this your brother?”

Cosima felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. With one deep breath, she turned back. “Yes—just the person,” she managed to say, “not all the mud.”

To her surprise, Lady Hamilton laughed. She stepped closer. “I’m pleased to meet you, Royboy.”

“How do you do.” It was a line that had become as rote as any other in his vocabulary. He said the words but did not look at Lady Hamilton. Instead he stared somewhere in the vicinity of the wall behind her.

“There’s quite a bit of rain today,” Lady Hamilton commented.

“Rain today,” said Royboy. “Yes.”

Cosima started to pull him away again, and he seemed willing to follow.

But Lady Hamilton took Cosima’s free wrist. “Cosima—” her voice was hushed—“I’m pleased to meet Royboy, pleased to be here with you and Peter. I’ve missed you both so much, and . . . I wanted to tell you something I’ve learned.”

Cosima looked at her, curious. “Learned?”

“Yes . . . about myself. Here I am, as old as I am, and I realized I have yet another flaw. One would think I shouldn’t still be learning about myself by now.”

Cosima said nothing, wondering if Lady Hamilton could possibly be nervous, the way her hands fidgeted.

Lady Hamilton’s gaze fluttered downward. “For most of my life, I’ve had a weak faith.”

A moment ago Cosima could barely look upon Lady Hamilton. Now she studied her, trying to read behind her words. “What do you mean?”

“I suppose this is neither the time nor the place, but I find myself so eager to unburden myself I cannot wait. I must ask your forgiveness, Cosima. The Lord God has done nothing but whisper to me since the moment I began acting any differently toward you. I was wrong and unwilling to listen to the words God Almighty put upon my heart.”

“What words are those, Lady Hamilton?” Cosima asked. For once, Royboy wasn’t trying to pull away. It was as if he wanted to hear as well, although she knew that couldn’t be true.

Lady Hamilton paused. “I’ve always been so sure of what I believed.” She smiled and put a hand over her heart. “I thought I held it all in here, but found I didn’t after all. Not really. I used to profess that God is the creator of all and the owner of all. We’re here by His grace, and all we have is not really ours but His. On loan, for a time. What we’ve been given—from the possessions we have to the children we bear—are simply put into our care, not through anything we’ve done but by His generosity.”

She placed a hand on Cosima’s wet shoulder. “You see how I’ve failed in proving that faith, don’t you, dear? When it came to a test, I failed. I thought Peter was mine. Now I see that I need to trust the faith He’s given Peter, and I need to trust Him as well. Can you forgive me for my lack of faith, Cosima? A lack of faith that obviously hurt you?”

“I . . . have nothing to forgive. You acted only out of love for Peter. I understand that. I’ve tried to talk him out of marrying me as well.”

Lady Hamilton laughed. “Yes, I know! Your behavior made it so much more difficult for me to cling to all of my silly ways. You and Peter are the ones God used to remind me what faith really is: trusting that God wants only what is best for us.”

Royboy tried to squirm free of Cosima’s grip, but she held fast, only to let go a moment later when Peter joined them and Royboy stood next to him. It must be as clear to Lady Hamilton as it was to Cosima that Royboy had become attached to Peter even in the few weeks since they’d met.

Peter stood between Cosima and his mother, a curious but hopeful light shining in the brown depths of his eyes. His gaze settled on Cosima. “Weren’t we right, Beryl and I?”

Cosima’s heart soared. “Yes, Peter,” she said with a nod. “I’m happy to learn you were both
absolutely
right.”