The Keepsake

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Outlining her story, Etta told him that she had made a written enquiry before and produced the letter she had received in reply, ‘But then I was not in possession of my husband’s regimental number nor the correct battalion, so it was understandable that there was some mix-up with the spelling of his name…’

  The adjutant frowned over the letter, then looked up at her. ‘Even so, I must apologise for the great inconvenience it must have caused you. Anyway, now that we are no longer relating at crosspurposes I might be of more assistance. On second thoughts,’ he rose and went to summon a man in the outer office, ‘let us have Private Lonergan’s company commander in, perhaps he will be able to shed light on your predicament.’

  Etta thanked him with her sweetest smile.

  The adjutant told her not to mention it and seemed most happy to chat to the alluring young woman until another entered. ‘Ah, here is Captain Palm now!’

  For the benefit of the newcomer, the adjutant gave a précis of Etta’s dilemma, Etta herself finishing with the polite enquiry, ‘I wonder if I might be permitted to see my husband today? I understand that it would be inconvenient, but as I have not spoken to him for several months…’

  But Captain Palm was at a loss. ‘Madam, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I was under the distinct impression that Private Lonergan visited you regularly. He has been issued with a pass to that effect.’

  ‘I can assure you, Captain Palm, that I have not seen him since May of last year. That is why I’m –’ Etta’s smile froze as the truth hit her.

  It hit Captain Palm at exactly the same moment. He looked slightly vexed, then dipped his head as a gesture of apology. ‘Forgive me, madam, this could be a case of mistaken identity…’

  The adjutant smiled in slight confusion at his captain. ‘No, I think we’ve established we have the right man.’

  ‘Indeed you have,’ murmured a stupefied Etta, under assault from her feelings, the most forceful of these being wrath. The swine! The dog! How she managed to keep her tone on an even keel was a miracle. ‘It is just that I was previously unaware as to the extent of his misdeeds. I had thought him merely to have deserted us.’ She gave a mirthless little bark of a laugh and shook her head. ‘I say merely, when I do not mean that at…at all…’ Her voice caught, but her eyes retained the brightness of fury as they searched the room for a way out.

  The adjutant was, by now, frowning from one to another in complete bafflement. ‘You must think me incredibly dim, Mrs Lonergan, but let us state this clearly so there is no danger of us misunderstanding one another. Your reason for being here is to make an official complaint of desertion against Private Lonergan?’

  ‘It most certainly is!’

  He nodded slowly, a hint of pity in his blue eyes. ‘Then first I must regrettably inform you that as more than six months have passed since attestation, I cannot apply for your husband to be discharged. However, I can –’

  ‘I don’t wish him to be discharged!’ railed Etta, shifting in her chair. ‘You’re welcome to keep him!’

  The adjutant patiently finished his statement. ‘Be that as it may, I shall apply to the brigade commander to withhold his pay so that you may have financial support.’

  Regaining her manners, Etta fought to moderate her angry approach. ‘Thank you, Major, that’s most considerate of you, but he’s already sending money. My reason for coming here was to see him, to tell –’ Anguish forbade her to say any more on the subject and she rose abruptly. ‘Thank you, gentlemen, for your information. I should very much like to leave now.’

  ‘But you must have an explanation from Private Lonergan!’ objected the adjutant, jumping to his feet. ‘Captain Palm will –’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you!’ Etta rushed for the door, which the captain hurriedly opened for her. The cheating, miserable wretch! No wonder he hadn’t needed to come home to her.

  ‘Then allow me to – Sergeant-major!’ The adjutant interrupted himself to call to the man in the outer room. ‘Please show Mrs Lonergan to the gate.’ But Etta’s shoes were already performing an angry tip-tap along the corridor in desperation to be out of there, the sergeant-major racing to catch up.

  ‘We shall have Lonergan in at any rate,’ said an extremely brusque adjutant to his captain. ‘And find out what’s damn-well going on!’

  ‘I can tell you that,’ muttered Captain Palm. ‘It seems our chappie has two wives on the go.’

  Marty was enjoying a moment of relaxation in the dry canteen, as usual making others laugh, this time with an impersonation of their company sergeant, contorting his mouth so acutely that the words seemed to emerge from just beneath his ear. Ah, but it was good to be able to get this response once more. There had been times when he thought he’d never laugh again.

  ‘Lonergan!’

  At the summons, he shot a frightened look over his shoulder, causing his friends to poke fun as this popular member of their group breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Christ, I thought it was him for a minute.’

  ‘Your presence is required by the Captain!’

  With not the vaguest inkling what it might concern, he rose and quipped to his companions, ‘Oh, it’ll be that medal he’s been promising me.’

  His friends mocked, though in fact there was a grain of realism in the joke. Popular with men and officers alike, everyone knew that Marty was ambitious, and despite being a clown in his spare time had been soldiering hard to gain promotion. He was quite buoyant as he left them.

  But this light-heartedness was to dwindle upon being escorted into the company commander’s office and seeing his face.

  ‘Ah, Private Lonergan!’ Captain Palm’s tone was brightly caustic. ‘I have just had the pleasure of speaking to your wife.’

  Marty wrinkled his brow.

  ‘Well you may frown! Are you not curious as to which wife I refer?’

  For a second he failed to comprehend – then the walls came rushing in at him. Etta had come here! A sweat of panic sprang up all over his body, prickling the hair beneath his armpits.

  Captain Palm sat back in his chair, his patrician face hard and knowing. ‘I can see just by your expression that you are fully aware of whom I speak.’

  ‘I can expl—’

  ‘Explain!’ The officer showed derision. ‘Please do not insult me with that well-worn phrase, Private Lonergan, it is the refuge of every wrongdoer in history, the bolthole of a scoundrel…’ He glared at the soldier before him. ‘First, what have you to say to Mrs Lonergan’s charge of desertion?’

  Desertion? His old wounds suddenly ripped wide open again, Marty was transported rudely back in time, to relive the months of anguish. He had thought them over, but here he was dragged back to the beginning…

  Joining the army had taken an instant weight off his shoulders. Yes, life was hard, but then it always had been and here he didn’t have to think for himself. He was fed at regular intervals and though the discipline was stringent it had helped him forget about Etta…for a while. But then the question of families had arisen and he had had to face it. He missed his children so acutely that the thought of never seeing them again was like acid pouring into his soul. And, remembering the good times, he was compelled to admit that he missed Etta too, and along with these thoughts guilt had begun to gnaw. He couldn’t leave her without money for the children. So he had written to her, told her where he was, and if not exactly saying he was sorry had enclosed a postal order as a token of his desire to reconcile.

  But then the letter had come back, minus postal order, as effective and painful as a blow from a teapot, reminding him how desperate things had become between them, and he had asked himself, did he really want to start it all up again? No – yes – no, because she didn’t want him or she would have come looking for him. So…that was that.

  Except that it wasn’t that, because he still loved her. Even though he had found the warm and generous Amelia, who asked nought of him, who, upon his visits, dropped anything she might be doin
g to treat him like a king, to feed him and love him…even with all this he still thought about Etta, yearned and cried out with his entire being for her, especially when his mother had written to tell him it had all been a big mistake, that man had only been giving her a lift in his car, and that Etta was out of her mind with worry over him. Yes, that had caused a pang of conscience, had made him regret his betrayal of her with another woman, regret even more stringing poor Amelia along, when all the time his body used her his heart belonged to Etta…And now she had been here, accusing him of desertion…

  He cleared his thoughts and admitted to the captain, ‘I suppose technically I am guilty as charged, sir, though I have been sending money home every week for the upkeep of my children.’

  This did little to affect the officer’s mood. ‘Yes, Mrs Lonergan did tell me that. However, she was most put-out to say the least when I unwittingly informed her that her husband had been going home to his wife every weekend.’

  Marty cringed. ‘I thought she didn’t want me back, sir!’

  ‘So you went and found yourself another! Private Lonergan, perhaps you fail to grasp the rudiments of a Christian society: your entitlement is to one wife, not two, or three, or half a dozen for all I might know.’

  ‘Sir, I just –’

  ‘Enough! You’ll have an opportunity to speak when you appear before the Colonel.’ Captain Palm glowered at him for long seconds, before ending peevishly, ‘However, I should like to have all the details at hand when I am called upon to say why I allotted your pass. I’m very disappointed in your lying to me, Lonergan. I took you for a better man.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ Marty projected suitable shame.

  ‘As well you may be! And what is all this ridiculous business with the misspelling of your name? You caused all manner of inconvenience for those trying to find you. Why sign the attestation form if it was so obviously wrong?’

  ‘Well, I did try to correct the recruiting sergeant, sir,’ Marty felt a dart of disapproval from the sergeant who stood beside him, ‘but he told me the army doesn’t like troublemakers.’

  ‘You would have done well to heed him,’ replied the captain gravely, indicating further charges.

  Marty felt sick. Even so, he chanced more rebuke to ask with a modicum of hope, ‘My wife, sir, is she still –?’

  ‘Gone home!’ The captain’s reply squashed any optimism. ‘At least I must presume so from the state she was in.’

  Etta had indeed gone directly to the railway station, for what would have been the point of tarrying? Even so, she was subjected to an excruciating wait of an hour until her train arrived, during which she could barely keep still, her feet striding up and down the platform as she asked herself furiously over and over how she could have been so stupid not to see it, picturing him with that…that thing! What else could one call a woman who stole another’s husband? Nothing else concerned her, not the fact that she had pawned all manner of belongings in order to be there, nor what others on the platform might think of her frantic prowling – she could only see Marty in the arms of another, tormented herself with the vision of him kissing, touching, loving…it made her squirm like a maggot impaled on a hook.

  By the time the train arrived she was almost ready to vomit, and the moment a man opened the door of a carriage for her, she leapt on board and flung herself into the darkest recess of a compartment, crossing her arms over her breast to signify that she had no wish to socialise, urging the engine to get a move on, and remaining sick with fury all the way to York.

  Dreading the moment when she would have to tell the children, she did not go immediately to collect them but returned to her own empty house, and, seated there in the fireless kitchen, burst into tears at the thought of how they would react. She should never have told them that she was going to see their father. How could he do this to her?

  What a fool! She had always considered him loyal, for he had repeatedly defended her against his parents, but now she realised that his support had merely been partisan; now he had found someone of more use to him he had ruthlessly abandoned her. Spurred by rage, she jumped up and began to seek any personal item of his. She found the mug he used for shaving and hurled it at the wall, gaining no satisfaction when it shattered and having great difficulty in restraining herself from smashing more valuable objects. Rushing upstairs, she wrenched open a drawer and withdrew the few items of clothing he had left – everything worthwhile had been pawned long ago – grasped the patched woollen combinations by the legs and tried to rip them apart, and, failing this, stood on them and heaved with all her might until they eventually gave at the seams, whereupon she inserted her fingers into the rent and clawed it viciously apart, tossing the two halves of the ruined article aside and reaching for another, going through the rest of his drawer in similar violent fashion, wanting to do to him what he had done to her. How dare he cast her aside like some old boot? And all the while she sweated and squealed and cursed and ripped, she was telling herself how stupid she had been to meekly accept what she had been told, to come home with her tail between her legs, when instead she should have demanded to know the address of the woman who had replaced her in his affections. Well, he might think he had got away with it, but just let him see what he had unleashed! She would go back there tomorrow and confront them! Hurling the last rag aside she dashed back downstairs and began to pick things up and put them down, searching for items to pawn so as to acquire the train fare, a jug here, a picture there, a cushion, a pan, all being noisily stacked in a pile on the table. Her wild eyes sought the room for more booty – she would even pawn the clothes in which she stood and drag him back if need be!

  But to what end? The rude thought served to interrupt her fevered searching, and Etta stood there panting to undergo more measured argument. The children might have their father back, but what about her? Oh, she would have gladly carried out her plan, would have fought tooth and nail if it meant winning back Marty’s love. But what was the point in fighting when he did not want her?

  After further sporadic eruptions of tears, she eventually sank into a trough of despair, just sat there twisting the wedding ring on her finger, the one she had only just put back. She was to remain in this same pose for most of the evening, barely stirring even when the gas ran out and plunged the room into darkness, for she could feel no darker in spirit than she already did.

  Even the next morning she continued her avoidance of the children, waiting until after school began before slipping from the house to go and collect William. A neighbour, Mrs Carter, was on her hands and knees scrubbing the pavement in front of her own house. Etta stepped into the road so as not to disturb her.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ said Mrs Carter, pausing her scrubbing to smile. ‘But I think I might be wasting my time by the look of that sky.’

  ‘Perhaps we all are,’ muttered Etta, lifting her bloodshot eyes to appraise the thick grey blanket of cloud and in doing so catching sight of the name plate on the wall across the road. Hope Street? Oh yes, hope in abundance, came her anguished, bitter thought.

  The instant Aggie saw her daughter-in-law’s blotchy face her heart sank. ‘Ye didn’t make it up then, the pair o’ yese?’

  ‘I didn’t even see him.’ Etta reached out for her youngest, wrapped her arms around his warm little body and pressed her head against his, trying to draw solace. ‘And I’d no wish to after what I was told. He’s found himself another woman.’

  ‘What?’ Aggie shot a glance at her uncle, who looked just as shocked. ‘How long’s this been going on?’

  Etta hid her face in the child’s delicate neck. ‘Quite some time apparently. His officer was under the impression that he’d been coming home to his wife every weekend.’

  ‘That stupid little –’ Aggie was furious.

  ‘I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him.’

  ‘And rightly so!’ Aggie’s heart went out to Etta, who looked most forlorn. Groping for something of comfort, she tendered quietly, ‘Will you be
having some toast with your cup of tea, love?’

  Etta shook her head. She had been unable to stomach anything, and felt sick even though there was nought to come up.

  Loath to upset her further, Aggie chose not to press for more information, waiting for it to be volunteered whilst she brewed the pot of tea. Eventually the injured party was to tell her all that had occurred, at which she pronounced with feeling, ‘God, that boy! Wait till his father hears about this, ’twill kill him.’

  Uncle Mal, who had been quiet till now, chipped in with a doom-laden prophesy, ‘Marty could be in serious trouble over this.’ When both women glared at him he added quickly, ‘With the army, I mean. Sure, I know what they’re like, he could be in for a rough time.’

  ‘Not as rough as the one I’m in for!’ Etta hurled back at the old man. ‘I’m the one who has to tell the children their father isn’t coming back. How on earth am I to –’ Her voice cracked with emotion.

  Aggie reached out awkwardly to administer a comforting stroke. ‘Don’t go upsetting them over it yet. Once Marty knows you’ve been to see him he’ll buck his ideas up. He’ll be back, you’ll see –’

  ‘I don’t want him back!’ raged Etta as if to a fool. ‘Not ever! How could he do this to us?’

  Aggie withdrew her hand and crossed her arms, looking embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, darlin’,’ she said quietly. ‘But sure, he’ll be paying for it now.’

  ‘Good!’ spat Etta. ‘Financially, too, I hope. And whilst we’re on the subject –’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll pass on any money that comes,’ Aggie assured her, but deep down her concerns were more for her son’s welfare. Marty could be facing a court-martial over this.

  Receiving no news on the matter from the culprit himself, Aggie was to remain anxious that her son could be in serious trouble, and, with another week passing without word, her misgivings were bound to increase, this leading to more than one medicinal glass of sherry.