by Connie Cook
The James incident had an unexpected effect on Ruth, however. She began to worry about things she never had before in her married life. James had assumed she wasn't married because she had no visible husband. Would anyone assume that Graham wasn't married?
But, of course, that was just foolishness – fretting about vapours. Graham was in Arrowhead where everyone knew them. Or mostly everyone. Or everyone who needed to know them.
Besides, the James situation had turned out to be very easily handled. No doubt, if Graham ran into any similar situations, he'd be just as capable of handling them.
All the same, she made up her mind not to say anything about the James situation to Graham unless it came up or he asked. She'd just as soon not bother him with it.
Chapter 10
Ruth enjoyed her classes. Graham had been right when he'd said he thought it was the type of work she'd like and be good at.
When it was over, she wouldn't have been able to say that she had thoroughly enjoyed her time in Camille in general, though it was much better than she'd been expecting, and the company at Mrs. Goodhope's had been congenial enough.
But she was glad to be back in Arrowhead permanently when Christmas came. It would be the last time she lived out of Arrowhead for any length of time ever again, she hoped.
It wasn't her first Christmas with Graham, but it was even more special than the first Christmas had been. Last Christmas, she and Graham had still been adjusting to married life.
Or she had been. The subject hadn't been discussed between them, so she was never sure if Graham had needed to adjust to married life. Things seemed so easy for men, sometimes. In most ways, his life had carried on just as usual – except at a different address with a different woman cooking his breakfasts and dinners.
This Christmas, there was the splendour of being home to stay to make the season extra special.
And they had perfect Christmas weather the week preceding: frosty, sunny days and a fresh dusting of snow nearly every night. Not enough to shovel but enough to hide the dirty, worn snow underneath.
Graham had carefully planned a surprise for Ruth's first night back – something he knew she would love.
After supper, he said to her, "Get a warm coat and scarf and toque and your gloves on. We're going out tonight. You might wanna change outta that dress, too. It looks pretty flimsy."
"Graham, what on earth ... What d'you have up your sleeve? It's my first night back. I was hoping we could spend a little time together."
"Just trust me on this one, kay? We will be spending a little time together."
"Whatever you say."
"And dress warm."
"Whatever you say."
Ruth really began to wonder when they took the road out to the farm.
He pulled the car into the lane leading to the farm house and shut off the engine.
"What on earth?" Ruth asked again.
"Shhh!" he said. "Listen! D'you hear that?"
Then Ruth heard it. Bells. Sleigh bells, carried on the winter night air.
She hugged his neck.
"You didn't!"
"I didn't what?"
"A sleigh ride?"
"Wait and see," he grinned.
He couldn't have found anything she would have liked more. She had scarcely dreamed he possessed so much romance in his soul to plan something so extravagantly ... right for her first night back.
The farmer who leased her fields had a cutter sleigh and a horse to pull it. He even owned sleigh bells.
His son worked at the mill, and he and Graham were friends in a casual sort of way. Out at the dairy one time, Graham had noticed the old sleigh. It had put ideas into his head. He asked Jerry about its availability and the possibility of having him drive passengers in it sometime. Then he filed the information away in his memory for such time as he would have need of creating a special occasion.
Graham and Ruth sang,"Dashing through the snow ..." as the sleigh slid through the fresh snow with a whish, whish as accompaniment to its cheerful jingling.
And, of course, Graham kissed her.
He pulled a sprig of mistletoe out of his pocket and held it above her head.
"It's not quite a hay ride, but I hope it will do," he said, leaning in.
Ruth heart soared at the thought that he had remembered. She'd believed men didn't go in for such sentimental nonsense as remembering the occasions of first kisses and such like. But Graham had remembered.
That Christmas, they were almost certainly in the top percentages of happy couples.
Graham took a week or so off around Christmas and taught Ruth to cross-country ski. The skis were his present to her which she received a little early. Those crisp, winter outings on frigid, blue-and-white days and then hot chocolate and popcorn around the fireplace at night were some of the best times she could ever remember. She couldn't remember a present she'd enjoyed more. Or two presents. The skis and Graham's week off to spend with her.
After Graham's holidays were over, she'd take the skis by herself, driving out of town to the paths along by the railroad tracks or out to the farm where she'd leave her long, narrow tracks in the sparkling, untouched powder of her own fields.
Those were glorious days.
But her life of leisure was nearly at an end.
It had been agreed that shortly into the new year she would start her job in the sawmill office. She was looking forward to it and fearing it all at the same time. She'd be working for Graham mostly. But Mr. MacKellum was Graham's boss, and she still wasn't entirely sure where she stood with Graham's parents.
She needn't have worried, however. If Guy MacKellum was aware of the rupture between herself and his wife, it never affected his treatment of Ruth. He was the same to her on the job as he had been since the beginning of the marriage when whatever other plans he or his wife may have made for their son had to be shelved. He was, on all occasions, the type of man who is naturally kind with that kindness that costs little. Being kind to Ruth after her marriage to his son cost him little, and so he was kind to her.
He could also be intentionally kind with a kindness that costs more. Ruth had cost him something, and still he was kind to her.
In her work, he soon discovered that she gained him much more than she cost. She saw what needed to be done and did it. Well and efficiently though quietly even if it wasn't part of her job description. If the coffee pot was empty, she made a new pot. If the bathroom needed cleaning, she cleaned the bathroom. If letters needed filing, she filed them.
The regular secretary, Dorothy Madden, had an inflexible nose that went out of joint easily, so Ruth had to be careful not to tread on toes, but no one was bothered when she cleaned bathrooms or tidied file drawers.
Until she tried to bring some order to the shelf containing the fiscal records.
"Just leave that, Ruth," Mr. MacKellum said when he came into the office and saw her on a stepping stool, straightening books on the shelf in the back room. "The bookkeeper can get to it. He's funny that way. He doesn't like anyone to try and put method to his madness. I suppose he knows where everything is, even if no one else can find anything back there,"
It wasn't said harshly, but Ruth was embarrassed for overstepping.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, flushing. "I just thought it wouldn't hurt to put the books in order according to year. I saw that there were some out of order, but I shouldn't have ... I wasn't going into anything, just straightening around."
But that sounded defensive rather than apologetic, so she apologized again, and that was one apology too many. Which sounded like guilty conscience speaking. Which she didn't have. She hadn't been snooping. She'd been straightening. But she could just imagine how her reaction had made it look. And, of course, she'd had to go and try to fix it which only made it worse as such attempts usually do.
For such a tiny incident, it stayed with Ruth for days, bringing the sting of shame to her cheeks every time she thought of it.
If Mr. Mac
Kellum thought any more about the minor happening, he never showed it.
It was so very minor, and happily it was the worst thing to happen to Ruth on the job in her work at the mill. Most of her days there were uneventful in the extreme.
Ruth soon forgot about the embarrassing episode herself. She had something else to think about those days. At first, it was just a dream – a sweet dream but just a dream. Then days went by and became weeks, and dream became near-certainty.
Then she went for a visit to Dr. Moffet, and near-certainty became certainty.
Graham was thrilled, too. The timing was good. They were settled and secure. Why shouldn't they have a baby?
There were happy hours spent late at night when they should have been sleeping, planning their plans.
He'd be stuck with a "Haskell" somewhere in his name, Graham said. (Graham was sure it was a "he"). All the MacKellum men for three generations past had been stuck with a Haskell. If she hated Haskell as a middle name, he could have two middle names. But what else should they call him? What were names she liked for boys? How about Samuel? Samuel was so solid, and it had such a nice ring. But what were names he liked for girls? They shouldn't be caught flatfooted if it wasn't a he.
Or maybe it was painting the baby's room. What colour should they paint it? Blue, of course. But what if it wasn't a boy? Well, better blue than pink. A girl could sleep in a blue room, but no self-respecting boy would be able to fall asleep in a pink room. They'd be up all night if they had a pink room and no girl to put in it. Well, not pink, for sure. But what about yellow? No one could find fault with yellow. Or what about green? Green was the nicest colour there was, Ruth thought. But green was no better for girls than blue (Graham's opinion), and blue was the nicest colour there was, so it might as well be blue as green. They compromised on blue that night.
Then, the next night they'd compromise on yellow or green. Amazing how long it can take to paint a baby's room when there are two choosing the colour for it and doing it in the middle of the night when they should be sleeping.
But the room never did get painted blue, green, or yellow (or pink). Just as quickly as the sweet dream had become certainty it turned into dust and ashes.
After it was all over, it was barely discussed between Graham and Ruth. That was just how these things went sometimes, they supposed. What was there to say? There were no more plans left to be made.
"At least we didn't tell anyone. We won't have any explaining to do," Graham said, looking out the window as they talked. It was hard to know where to turn his eyes for a few days afterward. He was afraid of what he might see if he looked directly at Ruth. It was their first sorrow together, but it wasn't really their sorrow, and it wasn't really together. It was his sorrow and her sorrow.
Ruth supposed it was better they hadn't told anyone. As Graham said, they wouldn't have to listen to excited congratulations only to offer painful negations.
And yet. And yet, was it better? Was it better to wear her motherhood invisibly? Part of her wished for the world to know that Samuel Haskell MacKellum had once existed. Or still existed somewhere. But not inside of her. Not anymore.
Graham knew of him, but only she knew him. And when only she had known him, even if only in the form of a sweet dream, with no one else in the world outside of herself and Graham even knowing of him, it took something away from the solid and uncompromising existence that he had surely had. If others knew of his reality, it would have meant that he had left his tiny mark on the world if only briefly. Perhaps it was the reason why, in later days, she told me about the existence of Samuel Haskell MacKellum.
And where was he now? That was the recurring thought. The one she mulled over at night, trying to fall asleep. What happened to people who hadn't lived long enough even to develop personalities all their own? What would they be in the other, that better, world? They'd be themselves, but what did that mean? Maybe they were simply the people they were meant to be but had never quite become on this earth, just like the rest of everyone there. That was the conclusion she came to. But what was Samuel Haskell MacKellum meant to be? She wished she'd been able to know a little more of him.
She woke herself crying one night. She'd been dreaming, but she couldn't remember about what.
She tried to stifle the sobs. She didn't want to wake Graham, and he wasn't a heavy sleeper.
Something woke Graham in spite of the sobs being stifled.
He heard them and reached for her to hold her.
"Shh, shh! What is it? Was it a bad dream?"
Ruth couldn't speak, but she shook her head. She wasn't crying about the dream, that much she knew.
"Is it about the baby?"
Ruth still couldn't speak, but she didn't shake her head or nod. She just kept trying to stifle the sobs. She understood Graham's helpless frustration at not being able to share in her experience and not being able to reach her from his. She wouldn't have let him know she was crying if there had been any help for it, but no one has control over her reactions in the middle of her sleep.
"Shhh, shhh," he kept repeating. "It's gonna be okay. There will be other chances."
But he wasn't a chance. He was Samuel.
"There will be other babies," he said.
But Ruth wanted to know and to hold that one, even if he had only been a sweet dream to her. She wanted a dream she could hold. And she wanted that one. There might be others, but there wouldn't be that one.
* * *
There must have been some womanly instinct that told Graham's mother to treat Ruth with more tenderness after that time. Though they'd told no one about the baby, Ruth felt the difference in her mother-in-law's attitude toward her after her miscarriage. There was no tangible reason for it. Maybe, without noticing, she'd changed toward Graham's mother. Maybe the common bond of motherhood had drawn them together in some inexplicable manner.
The breach was not completely healed at that time, however. There was the desire on the part of both at that time to understand and respect and love each other, but in relationships, as in all other areas of life, there is a sizable gap between design and implementation. Ruth and her mother-in-law tried hard but weren't entirely easy together. Probably because they tried hard.
In time, the breach was completely healed, but that breach-healing came at a terrible cost.
Chapter 11
The days were beginning to take on their spring length. Winter darkness was loosening its hold on the world. At least on the northern hemisphere.
But other than the additional daylight, early March wasn't noticeably thinking any thoughts about becoming springtime by the twenty-first of that month. The frequent snowstorms that recurred throughout the true winter months continued to plague Arrowhead into the first weeks of March.
"Snowing again. Looks like it might be a heavy one," Ruth said to her husband, looking out of the office window into the mill yard.
"Hmmm," he said, his mind elsewhere. "Ruth, where did Dad go? He left more than an hour ago and didn't tell me where he was going. It's not like him to take off during the middle of the day. I need to ask him something about these figures."
"I don't know. I saw him leave, but he didn't say anything to me about where he was going. Maybe he had to take your mom to an appointment. Maybe he had to go pick something up. I dunno."
"It's odd. It's not like him not to tell someone where he was going."
"Well, maybe Dorothy knows."
But Dorothy didn't know. Mr. MacKellum had told no one where he was planning to go or what he was planning to do. Maybe he hadn't known where he was going or what he was going to do.
By the end of the work day, there had been no reappearance of Mr. MacKellum. Graham and Ruth both found it strange, but Ruth decided he'd come down with something very suddenly and had gone home to bed. It was 'flu season, after all. The strangest part was his not saying anything to anyone about where he was going, but there was some reason for it, no doubt.
* * *
; Ruth and Graham were in the middle of supper when the phone rang.
"Never fails," Graham grumbled.
"Hello?" Ruth answered it.
"Is Guy there? I'd like to speak to him, if I could," her mother-in-law's voice said.
"No, he left work early, and we haven't seen him since. I assumed he went home," Ruth answered.
"Is Graham there, then? I'd like to speak to him, please."
Ruth couldn't make out much from Graham's side of the conversation except the clear fact that Graham's father hadn't come home from work.
"Your dad didn't go home when he left work?" Ruth asked Graham when he hung up the receiver.
"Apparently not," Graham said shortly. He was already putting on an overcoat.
"What're you gonna do?"
"Mom's all worried about him. Honestly, I'm a little concerned, too. It's just not like him. I'm sure there's some explanation, and no doubt he's fine, but he may have driven off the road in that snow. I'm going out to drive around and look for him."
"I'm coming with you," Ruth told him.
"No need. Why should both of us go out and get cold and wet?"
"Because you could use an extra pair of eyes. It's dark. It's snowing. You need to watch the road. We don't need two of you off the road. I can look for his car, and you can drive."
There was sense in what Ruth said, and Graham saw it, but there was sense in Ruth staying in, too.
"You should stay here in case someone telephones to say they found him. Mom's going to call around to every other place he might be. She said she'd call back here if she heard anything."
"Well, we'll try calling her as soon as we get home if we don't find him. I'd have no way of getting a hold of you, anyways, so you'd still be out driving around. I might as well be with you."
Graham didn't answer her which Ruth took for permission to get her coat and boots.
It was miserable driving. The slush on the roads conformed the tires to its will. Graham had sold his pickup and bought a car in that first year of his marriage, and now he regretted it. The car was not good in the snow. Graham squinted against the heavy, wet snow pelting the windshield and crept along, fighting continuously with the steering wheel against the pull of the slush, while Ruth scanned the dark countryside out the passenger window and the front windshield.
