"All right." Gently, he released the hand, setting it on the bed, and found his way to the crack of light coming in between the curtains. He pulled back one side and light flooded the room, spilling onto the bed. "Is that all right?" he asked.
"Yes—yes, fine."
Edward went back and sat down. "Henry," he said, taking his hand again, "Henry—I came in to say goodbye. I'm leaving, this morning."
"Do—do you--" he stopped, coughing. "Do you have—to?"
"Yes. –Yes, I think so." Henry coughed again, and Edward reached for the glass at his elbow. "Do you need some water?"
"Yes—pl—" he coughed again, but Edward lifted him gently and tipped the glass, taking it away after a sip or two but keeping him upright until the coughing passed. "Thank you," whispered Henry, when Edward put him down. There was a pause of silence, and then he said, "I'll miss—you, old friend."
Edward rested his hand on Henry's brow again. "And I will miss you, " he replied. “More than you know.”
"I—I won't—be here—when you come again."
Edward held his hand tightly. "I know," he whispered. "I know, old friend." He took a heavy, broken breath. "It has been—an education."
Henry smiled. "It—has."
Edward patted his hand, squeezed it once more, and let go. "Goodbye," he whispered, knowing now that it would be forever.
"Goodbye."
He turned, and found the door.
"Edward—"
He turned back, though there was nothing to be seen. "Yes?"
"Will you—send Daisy in?"
"I will."
In the hall, Edward found his way to Daisy's bedroom, where his small bag sat already packed by the door. He took it and went into the kitchen, where she and Joey were washing vegetables. "Daisy," he said, and found that his voice did not contain the pleasantness he had intended.
She turned and hopped down from the little stool. "Yes?"
"Will you give me a kiss before I go?"
She hurried across the room. "So soon?" she asked.
He smiled, wan, and felt something twist in his gut. "Yes, I'm afraid so."
Her pixie face fell, but she tugged at the bottom of his jacket and he bent down so that they met, nearly nose to nose. "All right," she said. "I will miss you." She gave him a small peck on the cheek.
He returned the same, and then hugged her, on an impulse. "I'll miss you, too, darling," he said. "Now go on in and see your Daddy—he wants you."
She nodded, solemnly, and departed.
Edward stepped over to Joey, who did not turn from the washbasin. He hesitated, and then put a hand on his shoulder. Joey scrubbed furiously, trying hard to hold in the small sob that came out anyway. "It's hard," said Edward. "I know."
Joey dropped the vegetable he was holding and clenched his fists, tight, breathing stiffly. "I'll be all right, Mr. Malley," he managed. He fumbled again for a beet.
Edward was silent a moment. "Go on after her," he said finally. "It's not right for a child to be alone with a thing like that."
Joey looked at him finally, blinking. "You think—I wouldn't be no bother?"
"No. No, not at all."
Daisy stepped cautiously into her father's bedroom, feeling suddenly all her smallness, which was not something that she usually noticed much. "Daddy?" she whispered, going to his side, and her voice, too, was small. He moved his hand a little, and she bent over and put her head on his chest, tucking her arms around his shoulders on either side. He put his hand on top of her head and closed his eyes, letting out a breath.
"Daddy--" she whispered, "Daddy—you have to go now-- don't you."
"Yes, monkey." He felt another presence in the room, and looked up to see Joey enter quietly. Their eyes met, and he closed his briefly, in approval. Yes. This was right.
Joey moved, and sat down on a chair a little distance from the bed. Waiting.
Henry kissed the top of her head, and then her face, when she looked up. "I love you." He said it knowing that he could never say it enough, never say it in a way that would show the full measure. "I love you, Daisy," he said again.
She pressed her cheek, warm and full of hot blood, against his, and he could feel the silky hotness of her tears. "I know Daddy, I know. I love you too. Goodbye, Daddy... Goodbye... I love you..."
He felt his heart slow and his head suddenly light, felt himself slipping, gently. For a moment his heart beat faster and he knew she was—and then no more.
Edward held the flask of whiskey between his knees. He couldn’t see it clearly, but he knew the glint of silver well. His hands shook. He found himself painfully short of breath.
Then, beneath him, he felt the carriage jerk as the horses faltered into a trot and then a walk. Angrily, he opened the carriage door. He craned his head out towards the driver's seat. "Why are we stopping?" he demanded, without his usual courtesy.
"Someone's riding after us, sir—trying to catch up, I think."
Without success, Edward strained his eyes back the way they had come. "All right," he snapped, and slammed the door shut again. He shoved the flask under the seat and waited, and soon soft patters of slowing horse hooves sounded outside the carriage. He stuck his head back out, and then fumbled for the latch, stumbling out to the ground.
"Darling!" he cried. "What in Pete's name are you doing here?" She began to dismount, and he put his hands around her waist to lift her off.
"Are you going to the train station?" she asked.
"Why—yes, darling, but—"
"Good. I hope you don't mind if I come with you." Without further explanation, she led her horse around to the back of the carriage and tied him up, giving him a lengthy lead. When she came around to the side again, she was toting a small leather suitcase. She climbed inside the carriage and sat down.
A moment later, Edward followed, sitting down across from her. "Darling..." he said.
She looked at him. "I'm going away to school," she said. "Daddy signed the papers for me."
"Darling, are you certain you want to do this? What about your Pa and Joey?" Edward couldn't quite believe she was really there.
When she spoke again, her voice cracked, but she went on, strongly. "I'm sure," she said. "I said goodbye to them, and beside that, I'll be coming home during breaks."
"All right," he said, wonderingly. He stuck his head out a window. "Let's go!" he called, and a moment later the carriage jolted to a start. "Where is this school?"
"In New York."
He was silent for a moment. "Well—my word," he said at last. "Do you know, that's exactly where I'm bound? We'll be cabin mates all the way on the train."
She smiled, a little. "I'm glad," she said.
They sat a while, bumping back and forth some, and Daisy watched Edward. He took off his glasses and began to wipe them with a corner of his cotton shirt that he pulled out of his trousers. His hands were shaking. Finally, she climbed over so that she was sitting next to him. She looked up into his face, and he looked down at her.
"Uncle Edward?" she asked.
"Yes, darling?"
"Can I cry in your lap?"
He wrapped his arms around her, laughing softly, tearfully. "Of course, darling, of course."
Chapter Sixteen
One fine spring day in Oklahoma in a small town called Green Hill, a girl carrying a bouquet of pink flowers climbed a small rise. At the top of the rise grew an immense oak tree, and in its shade there was a graveyard. Most of the stones were old and decaying, as was right for an old graveyard, but a few of the stones were newer and it was these that the girl was drawn to. She stopped in front of two, bedded side-by-side. The first was a kind of tall, squarish block topped with a little angel that looked more like a fairy than anything. The second was simple, flat and rounded at the top and bearing only a name and two years.
The girl sat down, spreading her skirts around her feet like a pool of cool, clean water, and leaned her back against the second stone. It was not straight in the g
round, but tilted a little already so that it was comfortable to lean on. She put the flowers down at her side, and as they touched the ground they spilled out of the neat little bouquet she had made, and one even flew off into the wind.
"Hello, Daddy," she said, looking up at the tree and the sky. "I know it's been a long time, but I don't think you’d mind. I know you are happy here, but I wanted to come back, just this once, to tell you things." She smiled, thinking for a moment of how to begin, and began to speak.
I finished school—oh, four years ago, I guess. I wanted to come back and teach here, where Pa and Ma were, but they wanted me in the city, and then I heard that Pa was gone, and so I went. I'm very happy there, Daddy, and I love the children, all of them. They are so beautiful they make me want to cry. Most of them are poor, and that makes me even happier that I went, because they need me.
A funny thing happened to me, Daddy, nothing I would ever have imagined! I was in a restaurant one morning, because sometimes I don't like to make breakfast, and I was sitting at the counter because there was only me. I was waiting, having coffee, and a man walked in and sat down next to me to order. I said "Good morning," and I saw that it was T. J. Harper, the son of the railroad man. He looked at me, in a kind of funny way, and said, "Good morning, Miss." After that he picked up a paper to read while he waited. He was wearing a suit, and his hair was slicked back and so black I thought maybe he'd put coal dust in it.
After a while, the lady brought my breakfast, and I started to eat. Right in the middle, he looked over and asked me, "Miss, why are you here alone?" And so I told him and he said something else, I don't remember—and we started talking. Well, of course after a while I thought it would be the proper thing to introduce myself, and so I did. He said, "Pleased to meet you, Miss Peterson." I waited a minute for him to give his name, but he looked at me in that funny way and said, "Don't you know who I am?" And so I said, "Well, of course I recognize your face, but that is only a face, and I can't really know who you are by looking at your picture in a paper, can I?"
And he looked at me and laughed, and then, Daddy, he stopped and caught my hand and said, "Miss Peterson, will you marry me?"
I looked at him and I said, "Certainly not, Mr. Harper."
"Why?" he asked me.
I laughed at him. "Why should I?" I asked. "I've only met you twenty minutes ago. Why do you want to marry me?" I thought he must be joking, but he looked so very serious.
"Because you're beautiful," he said, "and no man should need any more than twenty minutes to discover you're the most enchanting woman on earth. Believe me," he said, "you think I'm crazy, but this is the first time I've ever done anything like this in my life. I've never known anything like I know I want to marry you."
"You're a very nice young man," I told him, taking my hand away, "and very charming, but I'm afraid I can't marry you."
Daddy, I did feel bad for him—he seemed so desperate, all of a sudden. "Why not?" he asked, his dark brows creasing together. For a moment or two, he reminded me a little of you.
"Well," I said, "I don't want to marry a rich man. I'm quite happy where I am."
"You could stay where you are!" he protested. "I'd come live with you—anything."
"I'm sorry," I replied, "but I just don't want to marry a rich man. At least, not one who was born that way."
He looked a little frantic. "I'll give it away," he said. "Every last penny. Today."
"I'm sorry," I said again, shaking my head. I could not help but smile. "But I still could not marry you, because you would still be a rich man, on the inside. And you would be bitter with me, because I made you give it up."
This time, he looked near to tears. "Please, Miss Peterson, is there any way—anything I could do so that you would marry me?" His hands were open, and every now and then they moved forward and back, with his words, almost as if he were going to touch me, and then remembered himself.
"Let me think a moment," I told him. "If you will let me finish my breakfast, I will try to think of something."
"All right," he said, a little calmed. "All right."
So I sat there and ate and thought, with him sitting there trying not to look at me, because he did not want to disturb my mind. At last, I finished, and said, "Mr. Harper, if you were to give up your money now—everything, even your inheritance and your very name, and live for a year out in the world, and make your own way—"
"Then you would marry me?" He was very eager, I assure you.
"No," I said, and his eagerness turned to a kind of anxious frustration. "Then," I said, "you might begin courting me, and if I fell in love, then I would marry you. So you see—all you would get is a chance. Not even a guarantee."
"But," he said, his voice now quite bordering on tears, "do you like me?"
"Well, I do not think I can know you very well, after only twenty minutes—"
"But?"
"But I do like you, so far."
"And you will not consent to see me before I give up everything, just to find out if you like me all the way through?"
"No. You see, I imagine you will be a very different person, at the end of the year, and I may not end up liking you at all, even after twenty minutes."
His face fell. "But—you would—give me a chance?"
"As much as any other man."
"How shall I find you?"
I did not even then believe that he was serious, and so I took out a pencil and a little piece of paper I had in my handbag, and I wrote my name on it and the school where I taught. "There you are," I said, giving it to him. "I suppose in a year I will still be teaching there, because I like it very much. If I am not, I suppose you will have to find me."
And with that, I bid him goodbye and went to my school, where I was indeed very happy. I had a fine time telling my story to a few of the other lady teachers, but I soon forgot him, although every once in a while, at night, mostly, I would remember and smile.
I never imagined that the next year, he would arrive one morning upon my doorstep.
It was certainly him, although he looked very different. His skin was darker, tanned, and his hair was poorly trimmed. His clothes were no longer new, and instead of a very trim suit he had on trousers and a faded cotton shirt with suspenders.
"Why," I said, "it's you, Mr. Harper!"
He shook his head. "No," he said. "My name is Andrew St John, now."
"Mr. St John, then," I said, inviting him in. In my mind, though, I was puzzled. "Mr. St John," I said, "wasn't it in March that I first met you?"
"Yes," he said.
"But now it is the end of April."
He looked, to me, as if he were quite weary, and from his pocket he withdrew the paper I had given him those thirteen months ago. "This city is very large," he told me. "There are four schools named after Saint John, and it has taken me a month to go to each and convince the headmistresses to tell me if you work there, and even longer for me to convince her to tell me where you live."
"Well," I told him, smiling, "you have found me. Would you like some tea?"
The girl leaning against the gravestone laughed, lightly, and played with one of the flowers between her fingers, picking off the petals. "I don't know if he was charming—before, I mean. But he is very charming, Daddy, and a good, honest man. I love him more than anything, and that is why I married him."
She turned suddenly, to look at the stone, her eyes filling with tears. "I miss you sometimes, Daddy," she said. "So much. I wish you could be here." She traced his name in the stone with her fingers. "I'm so sad, Daddy, but happy too—I don't know. I came here to tell you everything and—and to tell you that I am going to have his baby. I wish so much that you could be here, to hold it when it comes." She laughed, tearfully, wiping her eyes. "I haven't told him yet, but he will be so happy—Daddy, I know that if you were here you would be afraid for me, afraid that I will die, like my mother, but I am not afraid. There is something inside me, something so wonderful I can't say in words. I kn
ow—somehow—everything will be all right."
"Daisy-girl!" There was a call from the bottom of the hill, and she looked to see her brown-skinned man start up. He ran, though the hill slowed him, and when he got to the top he was panting. "What are you doing up here, so long?" he asked, grinning with each breath.
"Just—talking," she said. She smiled, and there was love in it.
Josephine Bhaer is a sixteen-year-old dreamer. Her favorite books are Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry, and Courting Greta by Ramsey Hootman. She sincerely hopes you enjoyed this book – but whatever your opinion she hopes you’ll take a moment to put it into an Amazon review.
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