by Will North
April 17, 1999
sixteen
ALEC WAS AWAKENED BY VOICES in the hall. He had slept later than usual. The sky outside was overcast. There was a knock at his door and Fiona ducked her head into his room.
“Meaghan and I are going to church this morning, and then I have some papers to sign at the Gwynedd Council offices. Want to join us?”
“Come here, you,” he whispered.
She looked quickly over her shoulder and slipped into his room, dashing to the bed. She was fully dressed, but he pulled her down atop him anyway, slipping his hand beneath her full print skirt and running it up along the back of her thigh.
“Stop that,” she mumbled into his chest. “We’ll get caught!”
He let her go.
“Wherever you are is where I want to be,” he said. “Give me a moment to shave and I’ll be right down.”
When he reached the kitchen, both women were ready to go. Meaghan was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and her suit jacket. He noticed she was wearing her mother’s black flats and that, in turn, Fiona was wearing her daughter’s heels. She had the car keys in her hand and a cardigan draped over her shoulders.
“Whatever happened to the ‘breakfast’ in bed-and-breakfast?”
“You’ll live.” Fiona chided.
They walked out to the barn and Fiona gave her daughter the keys. “Alec, you sit up front with Meaghan; you need the leg room.”
Alec would have protested but Fiona had already slipped into the backseat. Meaghan backed the car out, put the car in first gear, and they sped out of the farmyard as if launched by a catapult. As they twisted down the curling farm lane toward the road, Alec said, “Your mother teach you to drive?”
“How’d you know?”
“Hey!” Fiona said as she leaned forward and punched him in the shoulder.
“Because you both drive like professionals, of course,” he said, rubbing his arm.
St. Mary’s Church proved to be a small stone-built structure with a squat, crenellated clock tower. It was tucked into a grassy courtyard close to the center of Dolgellau. After Meaghan parked, the three of them walked through a small graveyard crowded with headstones, all of which seemed ancient. Alec wondered whether parishioners had simply stopped dying several centuries ago.
They entered the church by a side door and found the sanctuary empty.
Alec leaned toward Fiona and said, “I think I’ll just wait back here.”
Fiona nodded and the two women walked up the central aisle of the nave and slipped into a pew near the altar.
Alec had always felt oppressed, rather than uplifted, in churches. He considered himself a Christian, and sought to live by the tenets of the faith, but its politics left him cold. Now, though, he was struck by the airy austerity of St. Mary’s. He picked up the parish newsletter from a stack on a table by the door and learned that although the current church dated from only 1716, it was built upon a twelfth-century foundation.
He sat in a rear pew and looked around. The thick walls were plastered and largely undecorated. They were punctured by deep-set, elongated stained-glass windows surmounted by sturdy, rounded arches. The nave had a barrel-vaulted timber ceiling that was supported not by stone piers but by narrow wooden pillars that seemed almost too delicate to bear the weight. He didn’t know a great deal about Anglicanism; he’d always thought of it as a version of Catholicism where priests got to marry. But this simple church had none of the ornate trappings of Catholicism; it could easily have doubled as a Quaker meetinghouse.
He wondered how religious Fiona was and realized there were so many things he didn’t know. At the front of the church, Meaghan sat with her head bowed, but Fiona simply leaned her elbows on the back of the pew in front of her, chin cupped in her hands, and stared fixedly at the altar. After several minutes, Meaghan looked up and touched her mother’s arm. Fiona responded as if she’d been startled. She rose immediately, stepped into the aisle, took Meaghan’s hand. As they walked back up the long nave to where Alec waited, he could see Fiona had been crying.
Outside the church, the weather had improved. There were patches of filmy blue sky between scudding clouds. They walked back through the graveyard to the car, got in, and headed toward the town center.
“Look,” Alec said, “you two certainly don’t need me at the council office and I’m dizzy with hunger. Why don’t you drop me at the coffee shop. I’ll meet you there when you’re finished.”
“Good idea,” Fiona said. “I’m afraid we haven’t looked after you very well this morning.”
Alec smiled. “I enjoyed St. Mary’s, truly. But now I’d enjoy a scone.”
They paused at the Cozy, Alec jumped out, and Meaghan roared away. As before, the place was packed. Still, Brandith hurried over, ushered him to a table, and promptly sat down opposite him.
“Oh, Mr. Hudson, we’ve all heard about poor David’s accident. Terrible, it is. But what a mercy you were on the mountain and found him before it was too late. How is he?”
Alec wondered how long it had taken for the word to spread. Minutes probably.
“He’s doing well, Brandith; he should be coming home sometime today.”
“Fiona must be so relieved. Now, what can I bring you this morning?”
“A pot of tea and one of your fine scones, please.”
Brandith bustled off and one of the other ladies in the shop soon returned with his order. He poured a cup of tea and looked again at the parish newsletter. It was the usual mix of announcements, schedules, brief mentions of weddings and funerals, and ads placed by parishioners. Off to his left he heard someone whisper, “That’s that American fellow who saved David Edwards, you know.” He looked up and realized many of the people in the shop were looking at him. Suddenly, Brandith appeared again and plumped herself down in the chair across from him.
“Now you tell our Fiona,” she said as he ate, “that we’ll all be looking out for her. I’ve already arranged for some folks to bring food around later this afternoon and someone will be looking in every day.”
“That’s very kind, Brandith, but I’m not sure ...”
“Not a word of it,” she said, holding up a hand. “We all love Fi and David; it’s our duty to help however we can. And you, well, I suppose you’ll be heading back to America now your work here is done.”
“Well, I suppose ...”
“But you’ll always be welcome in this town, Mr. Hudson; we don’t forget people we care about.”
Brandith was fairly sparkling with neighborly affection, but Alec suddenly felt as if he were suffocating. He looked at the clock on the wall in the rear, gulped the tea in his cup, and rose quickly.
“I am so sorry, Brandith, but I’ve lost track of the time and I’m late. I hope you won’t fault me for rushing off like this. Will this cover the bill?”
Brandith rose as well, looked at the money he’d slapped on the table, and nodded. As he rushed for the door, she called after him, “Be sure you come to see us next time you’re in Wales!”
He waved as he slipped out the front door.
Alec got to the next corner, stopped, leaned against a dark slate-stone wall, and gulped air. As he recovered his composure, he realized that it wasn’t the fact that everyone in this small town knew everything about everyone else that had gotten to him, or that they were massing in support of Fiona and David, their beleaguered neighbors. He found that soul nourishing and beyond anything he had ever known. No, what had sent him fleeing Brandith’s shop was a sudden recognition: there was no place for him in that warm, communal embrace. People were grateful for what he had done, they wished him well, they hoped he’d return again, but now they expected him to be on his way.
It stunned him. He and Fiona fit together so easily, so naturally, and so passionately it had never occurred to him that he might not fit in her world, that he might be a source of scandal, that his presence in her life might erode the comforting certainties that gave her a sense of belonging in and t
o this valley—this valley she loved so deeply.
A horn startled him. He looked up and saw that Meaghan had stopped the red car at the curb directly in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed. He climbed into the passenger seat. Fiona leaned forward as Meaghan pulled out into the street and asked, “Are you all right? You looked a bit like a lost tourist back there.”
“I suppose I did.” The image settled over him like a shroud. He asked how the meeting had gone at the council.
“The hospital social worker had briefed them on David’s condition, as she said she would. They had all the paperwork ready. Of course, we’ve had dealings with them in the past, what with the poisoning and the chemical sensitivity. The home care staff are sending around an assessor in an hour or two to determine David’s needs. People complain about the council’s bureaucracy, but we saw none of it this morning, did we, Meaghan?”
Meaghan kept her eyes on the road but smiled. “Well, I don’t suppose it hurt that the new head of that office is another of Daddy’s distant cousins ... Might explain why she was there on a Saturday, too.”
Alec smiled, too, but inwardly winced. It was another example of the town rallying to care for one of its own ... and of his own marginality.
When they got back to the farm, Owen was waiting for them.
“I hope you won’t mind, Mrs. Edwards ... ,” he began as they got out of the car.
“Owen?!” Fiona said to him, hands on hips.
“Sorry ... Fiona. Anyway, I took the liberty of making myself some tea and the phone rang. I thought it might be you, so I answered it.”
“And ... ?”
“Well, it was the hospital. They’d like you to come collect David. I hope I haven’t overstepped ...”
“For God’s sake, Owen,” Fiona teased, “I’ve asked you to take over the farm; I hardly think answering the phone is a transgression!”
Owen smiled, then turned. “Afternoon, Meaghan; how are you this day?”
Meaghan had been leaning against the car, watching this affectionate exchange between her mother and the young man. She had her head tilted to one side, the way her mother did when she was puzzling something out. A quiet smile formed on her lips. She realized, not in a lightning flash of recognition, but gradually, like a tide advancing slowly on a beach, that Owen Lewis was exactly the “good and kind and solid” sort of man her mother had spoken about just the night before.
“I’m well, Owen. How are the lambs?”
“I’m just off to bottle-feed a few of the orphans. Like to come?”
She glanced at her mother, saw her nod almost imperceptibly, and said, “Yes. I’d like that.”
Fiona walked toward the house and Alec followed. Once inside the door, he grabbed her hair in his fist, pulled her toward him, and kissed her fiercely and deeply until they were both breathless.
Fiona thought the tears in his eyes were tears of happiness.
The phone rang in the front hall. Fiona hesitated momentarily and then broke free of him to answer it. When she returned a few minutes later, she looked distracted.
“What is it, Fi?”
“The home care assessor; she’ll be here in an hour,” she said, her face furrowed in thought.
“This is difficult,” she said finally. “Meaghan and I need to go to Aberystwyth to fetch David. The car only seats four comfortably and, on the chance that we might need assistance from a third person, I think it should come from Owen. David knows Owen, whereas your presence might confuse him.”
Again, Alec felt the world closing in on him.
Fiona saw his face darken. “Please understand, darling. I know it’s unfair, but please understand.”
It wasn’t that Alec didn’t understand, it was that he didn’t want to. His calm, clear rational mind, upon which he had relied for decades, was in complete agreement. But his heart was in rebellion.
“Of course I understand.”
“Plus, I need someone here when the assessor arrives. Would you be willing to take her to David’s cottage, show her around, and see what she recommends?”
“Fi, I don’t even know where it is.”
Fiona looked at Alec and suddenly realized how much of the landscape of their respective lives was uncharted still. Passion was not enough. Only dailiness could make those landscapes known. She ached for that dailiness, for the certainty of him, for the comfort of the passage of time shared.
“Of course you don’t. Come, I’ll show you how to get there.”
She led him past the barn and its outbuildings to a grassy lane that ran between high stone walls, explaining that the former hay barn was beyond the far ridge to the west, near the farm’s western boundary. On the way back toward the house, they stopped at the barn where the orphaned lambs were penned and heard Meaghan laughing. She was holding two baby bottles, each of which had an insistently hungry lamb attached. The lambs lunged at the bottles the same rough way they nursed at the ewes. Owen was leaning against the pen, smiling. The scene should have pleased Fiona, but she was swept by a deep sadness instead: why hadn’t she and Alec met when they’d been Owen’s and Meaghan’s ages? She thought briefly about the life they might have led, then pushed those thoughts aside.
“Owen, I wonder if I might ask you to come with Meaghan and me to fetch David?”
Owen glanced at Alec, and Fiona noticed.
“Alec has agreed to stay here to wait for the care assessor from the council.”
“I’m happy to help,” Owen replied.
“Thank you, Owen.” Then, to no one in particular, perhaps to herself, she said quietly, “We should be going,” and drifted out of the barn toward the house.
seventeen
ALEC WATCHED THE CAR DISAPPEAR down the lane. It would take them an hour to reach Aberystwyth and an hour to drive back. In between there would be dressing David in the fresh clothes Fiona had taken him, handling his discharge paperwork, and maneuvering him to the car. After what he’d been through and the days he’d spent in bed, David would be weak. However long all these steps took, Alec knew that in a matter of a few hours their lives would be changed. Precisely how remained to be seen. But Alec felt hollow in the pit of his stomach and he knew it wasn’t hunger. It was fear. There had never been much Alec feared, whether due to confidence or foolishness he’d never quite known. Perhaps both. But ever since Gwynne had died so suddenly, there was something he was afraid of. He was afraid of loss. And he was afraid of it now.
He’d just entered the kitchen when the crunch of tires on gravel brought him out of his fear. He walked through the house and opened the front door just as a plump woman of indeterminate age with short salt-and-pepper hair was about to knock.
“Good afternoon. You’d be the home care assessor, I imagine?”
“I would be. Emma Jones,” she said, thrusting out her hand. “And you would be ... ?”
“Alec Hudson, friend of the family. They’ve gone to collect David—Mr. Edwards—from the hospital in Aberystwyth. Mrs. Edwards asked me to show you around.”
He stepped out of the front door, and Miss Jones seemed confused.
“Oh, I guess you don’t know. David doesn’t live here at the house.”
“Ah yes,” Miss Jones said, bending over to rummage about in an overstuffed briefcase. She pulled out a thick file folder. “I seem to remember: chemical sensitivity or something, right?”
“Right. David has his own quarters. I’ll show you the way.”
As they bumped up the farm lane, Miss Jones nodded to herself and mumbled, “Yes, now I see the difficulty.”
“Difficulty?”
“Oh, sorry. You see, we don’t usually get requests for intensive home care unless the patient is quite elderly. I was confused when I saw how young Mr. Edwards is—well, not confused, you understand, but surprised. But now it’s beginning to make sense. His wife couldn’t possibly keep an eye on him all the time way out here, now could she?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Alec agreed as they pulled u
p before the renovated hay barn.
It was a simple and very old stone-built, gable-roofed outbuilding, but Alec noticed that the oak windows and roofing slates were new. When he and Miss Jones stepped inside, both were surprised at how modern the interior was and how comfortable the space seemed. Miss Jones set her briefcase down on the kitchen table and surveyed the space approvingly. “Wouldn’t mind living here myself,” she said.
There was a stainless steel galley kitchen against the wall to the right and a pine table and two chairs just inside the door. To the left was the sitting area, with two leather easy chairs set before a new-looking stone hearth. One of the chairs was turned to face a television. At the back of the cottage, in what seemed to Alec to be a new shed addition, were David’s bedroom and bathroom. The floors were bare wood, but two washable throw rugs softened the austerity. The stripped-down, almost Scandinavian simplicity of the decorating was all, of course, on account of David’s chemical sensitivities. And the place was spotless.
“Before this accident,” Alec explained, “David could still do some of the farm work. Fiona brought him his meals. Now, well, I don’t think we know exactly what David will be capable of doing.”
“I take it there has been some brain damage,” she said, looking at her file folder.
