Five Windows

by D. E. Stevenson

  “ A book! Goodness me! ” exclaimed Uncle Matt, gazing at me in surprise. “ But you’re not thinking of making writing your career, are you? That’s a precarious sort of business. No, no, David, you stick to your work. That’s your best plan.”

  “ Yes, of course,” I said. Oddly enough Uncle Matt’s warning had the opposite effect from what he intended. I had never thought of giving up my work in the office and trying to make a career by my pen—never for one moment—but now Uncle Matt had put the idea into my head and I could not help thinking of it.

  “ Stick to your work,” repeated Uncle Matt earnestly. “ Writing books is all very well for a side-line, to make a little extra pocket money, but it would be madness to depend upon it for your bread and butter.”

  “ Of course it would,” I agreed.

  “ Good lad,” said Uncle Matt, nodding. “ You’re a sensible lad, David. You always were. Not like Miles.”

  “ Miles? ” I asked. “ What has Miles been doing? ”

  “ Throwing away his opportunities,” declared Uncle Matt in disgust. “ He’s supposed to be reading Law but he’s just playing himself and wasting time. Tom was telling me about him yesterday.”

  It would have been interesting to hear more about Miles but Uncle Matt looked at his watch and rose.

  “ I’ll need to hurry,” he declared. “ I’ve to see a client at half-past two and it’s almost that now. What are you doing with yourself this afternoon, David? ”

  “ I thought I might go and see Aunt Etta.”

  “ Etta! ” exclaimed Uncle Matt in surprise. “ Have you nothing better to do than that? ”

  “ I like her,” I said defensively.

  Uncle Matt looked at me.

  “ I believe you do,” he declared. “ I believe you’re fond of the old mule. You’ll find her as daft as ever.”

  “ She’s not as daft as you think,” I said, laughing.

  Uncle Matt looked older, but there was no change in Aunt Etta—or none that I could see. When I went in she was sitting beside the fire in the same big chair. Her face was plump and her cheeks were pink and her silvery hair was parted in the middle and looped back smoothly over her ears. Somehow I had expected her to look different. So much had happened since I last saw her that it was amazing she should look just the same. It was incredible that Aunt Etta should have been sitting here in the same chair all these years like a wax-work in Madame Tussaud’s.

  “ There now! ” said Aunt Etta, laying down the novel which she had been reading. “ Fancy you coming to-day! I’ve just been reading a story about a boy called David. Isn’t that funny? ” She looked at me with her pale blue eyes and added, “ It’s nice to see you, David. You haven’t been to see me for quite a long time.”

  “ I’ve been away,” I said, kissing her lightly on her plump cheek.

  “ Yes, dear. You’re a soldier now, aren’t you? They told me you were a soldier. Who was it told me that? Oh, yes, it was Mary. Mary came to see me a little while ago and brought me a photograph of you in your uniform. She said you were in Germany.”

  “ But that’s ages ago! ” I exclaimed. “ That’s years ago. I came to see you after I got back from Germany.”

  “ Yes, of course,” said Aunt Etta vaguely. “ But really it seems quite a short time ago that you were living with Matthew and going to school, so it’s funny to think of you as a soldier. I like the photograph and I have it on the table beside my bed in a silver frame—but uniforms are not nearly so becoming nowadays as they were when I was young. Men looked so smart in those days. I think it’s a pity, don’t you? ”

  “ But uniforms are for fighting——”

  “ Oh, I know that,” nodded Aunt Etta. “ Soldiers have to wear that ugly khaki, so that they can hide from the enemy. It all started in the war against Kruger. You remember that of course.”

  “ It was long before I was born,” I told her.

  Aunt Etta was not listening. “ Duke’s son, cook’s son, son of a hundred kings … Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay … Each of ’em doing his country’s work (and who’s to look after their things?) Pass the hat for your credit’s sake, and pay—pay, pay.” She looked at me for approbation. “ Isn’t it clever of me to remember it? ” she asked.

  “ Yes, very clever,” I replied.

  “ Mr. Kipling wrote the poem—it’s a long poem all about the Absent-Minded Beggar and the dreadful things that happened to his wife and family while he was away. There were other songs too—there was ‘ Good-bye Dolly Gray ’ which was so dreadfully sad that it always made me cry—and there was one about Tipperary …” She hesitated for a moment and then added, “ But that was a different war, wasn’t it? ”

  “ Yes,” I said. It was difficult to know whether to help her to get things straightened out or just to leave it.

  “ But what were we talking about, David? ” she asked.

  “ Uniforms,” I suggested.

  “ Uniforms,” agreed Aunt Etta. “ That was it. Well, I think it would be nice for soldiers to have a smart uniform for best. They don’t have to fight all the time, do they? If they had really smart uniforms for parties—and to be married in, of course.”

  “ Yes, but you see——”

  “ You’re not engaged to be married yet, are you, David? ”

  “ No, I haven’t found the right girl.”

  “ Don’t do anything in a hurry,” said Aunt Etta, wagging a fat finger at me. “ Marriage is important and unless you found exactly the right girl you would be very unhappy indeed. I never got married.”

  “ Why didn’t you, Aunt Etta? ” I asked.

  She sighed. “ Well dear, I just … didn’t. Several gentlemen asked me of course, and Papa thought … but I said no. There was one of them … but he never asked me properly. He had no money, you see. He went away to India and a little later I heard he had been killed fighting in a battle on the North-West Frontier. James was the only one of our family who married; he was fortunate to find Mary because very few people could understand James and manage him so well.”

  “ Yes,” I agreed. As usual, Aunt Etta’s conversation was a mixture of sense and nonsense and as usual I found myself trying to make up my mind whether or not she was “ daft.” At one moment I would decide that she was—quite definitely—and the next moment she would say something unexpectedly shrewd.

  “ Now tell me what you have been doing, dear,” said Aunt Etta. “ Tell me all about everything.”

  This was a large order but I did my best to find the things that I thought would interest me. I told her about my flat and about my work at the office. She listened but it was difficult to know how much she took in.

  “ You’re very clever,” she said at last. “ I always said you were a clever boy and I was quite right. I could never work in an office—I would get the papers muddled up.”

  The idea of Aunt Etta working in an office made me smile.

  “ Yes, it is funny,” she agreed with one of her flashes of shrewdness. “ I don’t wonder you’re amused. It would take a whole week to sort out the papers after I had muddled them. Matthew says I’m hopeless at business.” She sighed and added, “ Matthew gets impatient with me when I can’t understand … and that makes me sillier than ever. It’s a pity, isn’t it? ”

  “ Yes,” I said. It was difficult to know what else to say.

  “ I like seeing Matthew of course,” she continued in a shaky voice. “ If he would just come and—talk to me quietly—like you do—but it’s always business when he comes. The moment he begins about business it’s hopeless—I get sillier and sillier and Matthew gets more and more angry—his visits—upset me——”

  “ He doesn’t mean it. He can’t help being impatient.”

  “ I can’t help being silly,” Aunt Etta said pathetically.

  It was time to change the subject so I asked her how she was. Usually Aunt Etta enjoyed discussing her health—or ill-health—but to-day even that subject was depressing.


  “ There’s something very funny the matter with me,” said Aunt Etta, looking at me anxiously with her pale blue eyes. “ I don’t know what it is but every now and then I feel very queer indeed. I feel as if everything was slipping away sideways and it was getting dark. What do you think it could be? ”

  “ It must be a horrible feeling! ”

  She nodded. “ Horrible and frightening. They don’t understand. Nobody could understand the feeling unless they had had it. Have you ever felt like that, David? ”

  “ No, but I realise it must be dreadful.”

  “ You’re a kind boy,” said Aunt Etta. “ Clever and kind …” Her voice was getting shaky again and I was very glad when the door opened and Jean appeared with the tea.

  “ Oh, here’s Jean with tea! ” exclaimed Aunt Etta. “ Isn’t that nice? You’ve brought a cup for David, haven’t you, Jean? ”

  “ Indeed I have, Miss Kirke,” replied Jean. “ And I sent out to the baker’s for doughnuts. You like doughnuts, don’t you, Mister David? ”

  It was all the same as ever. I wondered how often I had had tea like this with Aunt Etta; how often Aunt Etta had said, “ You’ve brought a cup for David, haven’t you? ”; how often Jean had “ sent out to the baker’s for doughnuts.” The only difference was that Jean now called me Mister David.

  “ I was telling David about my horrid feeling,” said Aunt Etta as she watched Jean arrange the little table for tea.

  “ But it’s better not to think about it,” replied Jean, in bracing tones. “ You know what the doctor said, Miss Kirke. He said not to think about it.”

  Aunt Etta sighed. “ It’s all very well for him. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have horrid feelings. Old Doctor Brown was so sympathetic.”

  “ The new doctor is a nice young man,” declared Jean.

  “ He’s too young,” objected Aunt Etta. “ Much too young. He doesn’t sit down and talk to me like Doctor Brown used to. He’s always in a hurry and I don’t think he cares very much. I’m just a silly old lady—not worth bothering about—that’s what he thinks——” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “ Look, Aunt Etta! ” I said quickly. “ Look, Jean has made scones! And there’s strawberry jam. It’s just like old times, isn’t it? ”

  She cheered up—as I had hoped she would. It was obvious that in spite of her ‘ horrid feelings ’ she still enjoyed her food. I could not stay with her much longer for I had to catch my train back to Haines but she was quite happy again. She was munching chocolate biscuits when I kissed her and said good-bye.

  On Sunday I went to church and sat beside Mother in the familiar pew … and I felt about nine years old. I was so filled with the atmosphere of the past that when I looked down I almost expected to see two brown, bony knees instead of a pair of grown-up knees decently clad in trousers.

  I was a trifle anxious when Father began his sermon, I had always admired and enjoyed his sermons and I wanted to go on admiring and enjoying them. Supposing he was less good than I had thought? Supposing he did not come up to my expectations? But I need not have worried; Father had not been speaking for two minutes before I realised that he was grand and, banishing all unworthy thoughts, I settled down to enjoy him.

  Father took as the subject for his sermon Paul’s Second Letter to Timothy. He did not take a text from the letter and preach from it, but took the letter as a whole and quoted various passages from it to illustrate his points. It was a human letter, Father said. We were apt to think of Paul as superhuman when we considered his life and the frightful privations he had endured for his Faith, and when we read his closely reasoned arguments. He was superhuman, no doubt, but this letter to Timothy showed his tender human heart. It was a letter from an old man to a young man whom he dearly loved. Nobody could read it without being moved by the deep affection it showed.

  This letter, continued Father, was in answer to a call for spiritual help and counsel. It was a personal letter to a friend who was finding life difficult. Father said he liked to think of Timothy receiving the precious letter, taking it away to his room and reading it over and over again—pondering upon every line. What a wise, helpful letter it was! Helpful not only for the spiritual uplift and the comfort it contained—comfort for an overburdened heart—but also helpful for its sound advice upon material matters connected with the young man’s work, upon his personal affairs and conduct.

  Paul was anxious about Timothy, as we all are anxious about those we love who are far away; and he longed to see Timothy, as we all long to see those we love. Three times in the letter Paul voiced this longing. “ Greatly desiring to see thee … that I may be filled with joy,” wrote Paul. And in another place, “ Do thy diligence to come shortly unto me,” and again, “ Do thy diligence to come before winter.”

  “ Do thy diligence to come before winter,” repeated Father. “ Paul was old and weary and he felt the approach of winter as old people still do. He felt the approach of death. He did not dread his passing for he knew that he would obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory, but he longed to see the beloved face of Timothy before he died.”

  That afternoon as I sat in the garden, and read the letter with more care and greater understanding than I had given it before, I wondered how many of Father’s parishioners were doing the same thing. I wondered how many of them were thinking kindly of the old man who had written the letter and the young man who had received it … thinking of them as real people, with hopes and fears and longings like ourselves, and not as figures in a stained glass window clad in outlandish clothes. Father had done it again; he had shed new light upon an old subject. He had breathed upon dead bones and brought them to life. I realised suddenly with a shock of surprise that my small talent for seeing things and being able to write about them was probably inherited. It was a definite gift, not just a freakish facility for putting down my thoughts on paper. The thing was in my blood. I found the idea encouraging in the extreme. It was a sound foundation.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  My precious days of freedom flew past only too quickly. I worked in the garden and walked over the hills and visited various people that I knew. Freda came to tea on Tuesday as we had arranged. She was wearing a green dress and looked very nice, I thought.

  “ I came early,” said Freda, smiling. “ I thought we could walk up to ‘ our cottage ’ after tea. I haven’t brought the twins. You didn’t want them, did you, David? ”

  This was difficult to answer. I had been looking forward to seeing Janet but what could I say?

  “ I don’t know about David,” said Mother with unusual asperity. “ Of course I wanted the twins or I shouldn’t have asked them.”

  “ Oh! ” exclaimed Freda somewhat taken aback. “ Oh, well—but you can easily have them some other time, can’t you, Mrs. Kirke? David and I are going for a walk.”

  Mother said no more but I could see she was annoyed. She had made a lot of cakes for tea and the two empty chairs stood at the table. Mother did not move the chairs, nor ask me to move them, and somehow they made conversation difficult.

  The next morning I rang up Nethercleugh and asked to speak to Janet.

  There was a little pause and then a voice said, “ Is that David? This is Janet speaking.”

  “ Look here,” I said. “ You’re very elusive. When can I see you? ”

  “ I’m awfully busy, David. There’s such a lot to do. Of course I’d like to see you sometime before you go back to London; I haven’t seen you for ages.”

  “ Haven’t you? ” I asked.

  “ It’s years and years …”

  “ Elsie,” I said. “ You’ve made a mistake in the date. This isn’t the first of April.”

  “ What do you mean? ”

  “ It’s Janet I want to speak to. You beetle off and get her.”

  “ Oh! ” exclaimed the voice with a sort of gasp. “ Oh, David—I was just having a joke with you.”

  “ All right, you’ve had your j
oke; so now you can go and get Janet.”

  “ Janet has gone out.”

  “ When will she be back? ”

  There was a little click. Elsie had replaced the receiver.

  I was angry. For some reason the difficulty of getting hold of Janet made me determined to see her—but how was it to be done? I looked for Mother and found her in the linen cupboard.

  “ Mother,” I said. “ How can I get hold of Janet? ”

  “ Do you want to see her specially? ” asked Mother in surprise.

  “ Not really,” I replied. “ But there seems to be some sort of conspiracy to prevent me from seeing her and I don’t like conspiracies.”

  Mother nodded. “ Elsie is jealous, that’s the trouble. She’s jealous of all Janet’s friends. Her one idea is to keep Janet to herself; it’s a sort of obsession.”

  “ Freda seems to be in the conspiracy too. It’s amazing! Why can’t the Lorimers behave like sensible people? ”

  “ Because they’re not sensible, I suppose. Jealousy is a dreadful thing, David.”

  “ Yes,” I agreed thoughtfully. I knew Mother’s horror of jealousy. In her opinion it was the worst of all sins.

  “ I’m very fond of Janet,” continued Mother. “ I can’t bear to see her life being spoilt. If only she could get away from Nethercleugh and go to London and stay with Barbie and Nell! ”

  “ Who is this Barbie? ” I asked. “ They were talking about her the other day. Elsie said she was horrible.”

  “ She’s a very clever, nice, interesting, amusing creature,” declared Mother. “ She has a job in London with a big firm of interior decorators and she wants Janet to go and share her flat. Barbie is just the right sort of friend for Janet.”

  “ Why don’t you speak to Mrs. Lorimer about it? ”

  “ I have,” replied Mother. “ I’ve spoken about it several times, but it’s not as easy as you might think. Barbie got a holiday at Easter and she asked Janet to go and stay at her home (it’s a beautiful place near Loch Lomond) and of course Janet wanted to go. There was a lot of argument about it but eventually she was allowed to accept the invitation and off she went. Elsie was miserable; she refused to eat and mooned about the place like a lost spirit and she looked so wretched that they wired for Janet to come home.”