There was nobody else in the dining room. Abby emerged from the kitchen, her cheeks red and brushing stray strands of hair off her face with the back of her hand.
‘Ah, you’re with us again, Mister Owens,’ she smiled.
‘I must confess I fell asleep, ma’am.’
‘A bath and a sleep, Mister Owens. All to the good.’
‘I’ve put you by the window, Mister Owens. You’ve got the place to yourself tonight.’
‘You mean you’re doing all this cooking just for me, ma’am? You shouldn’t have bothered.’
‘Amy and I had to eat anyway, Mister Owens. And anyway, I like cooking.’
‘You’re doing the cooking along with everything else, ma’am?’
‘Stephen has the night off. Not much point in us both being here with just one guest. No, it’s fine, Mister Owens. It isn’t a problem. Everything’s just fine.’
‘Well, would you and Amy like to join me, ma’am? Not much pleasure in eating by yourself.’
Abby’s eyes brightened.
‘Well, you know, Mister Owens, Amy’s had her food and she’s just about ready to go to bed, but if you didn’t mind, I’d be pleased to join you. As you say, there isn’t much pleasure in eatin’ by yourself.’
‘I’d like that very much, ma’am.’
‘So if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes. I just need to see her settled.’
‘Take as long as you like, ma’am.’
‘You could help yourself to something from the bar while you’re waiting, Mister Owens.’
‘Thank you ma’am. I might just do that.’
52
Abby brought out soup and they sat opposite each other in the candlelight. The flame of the candle was reflected in the glass of the window. She had opened a bottle of wine and the liquid was crimson in their glasses.
‘You must be devastated about losing your wagon, Mister Owens. Your equipment. All those photographs.’
‘To be honest ma’am, I don’t know what I feel. My mother used to say that everything happened for a reason. Yet, I seem to have been struggling against everything that’s happened. My god, I railed against my wife dying. And now this. But it makes you wonder. Maybe it is all happening for a reason.’
Abby took a spoonful of soup. She had beautiful lips and her skin looked creamy in the candlelight.
‘A strange thing happened to me today, Mister Owens.’
‘What was that, ma’am?’
‘This morning – when I woke – the pain, the pain that I’ve felt ever since my husband died, it wasn’t as sharp as it has been. Oh, he was the first thing I thought about, of course. How can you not when there’s that empty space in the bed beside you? But the pain – instead of being like a dagger – it was more an ache.’
She had been looking at the flame of the candle but now she looked at him. She picked up her napkin and touched her lips with it.
‘Oh, you probably think I’m talking silly, Mister Owens.’
‘No,’ he said, and there was urgency in his voice. ‘Please go on.’
She put the napkin back in her lap.
‘It was like I’ll always feel this ache, but that’s alright. My body has – well, become used to it, I guess. Just like a physical pain that you get used to. So maybe it’s that I’m not going to notice it quite so much any more.
It’s not that I’ll forget him. Of course, I’ll never do that; not after everything we did and what we shared. And Amy will always be there as a kind of result of the wonderful times we spent together. But now I see that this was his destiny. From the day he was born and began his journey, that’s where he was heading. And nothing I could have done or not done could have changed that. I can just count myself lucky that I shared some of that journey with him.
That feeling – this morning – it was a good feeling, Mister Owens. A very good feeling indeed.’
‘I wonder,’ said Gilbert, ‘whether this is what people mean when they say that time heals – that eventually you get to the point you’ve reached and the pain becomes as you’ve described.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘Of course, who’s to say it will last? Tomorrow I could wake up and find I am back where I started. But even if that happens, I suspect this won’t be the last time I feel this.’
She smiled.
‘Even if I get little dashes of this feeling, then eventually it should take hold, don’t you think, Mister Owens?’
‘I do indeed, ma’am.’
‘Here, let me take your bowl.’
Abby took the soup bowls and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a little while later with two plates of roast beef, gravy, roasted potatoes and greens.
‘Normally, a lot of the produce I serve at this time of year is from my own garden,’ she said. ‘But the soldiers cleaned that out. So we’ve had to buy all this.’
Gilbert was amazed at how resilient she was.
‘So do you think you’ll love again, ma’am – if you don’t mind me asking?’
She had begun to cut her meat.
‘No, I don’t mind you asking, Mister Owens. Let me put it this way. For certainly the first year after George died, I just felt empty, like a shell. Of course I had to continue to run this place. And I did. Looking back on it now, I can’t imagine how I did. People came in here and I smiled and served them and did all the things I had to do, but I was like a machine. My heart had been torn out. These people were shadows. Ghosts. I little cared who they were, what they were like and whether they came or went, as long as they paid their bills.
But now – only in the last few days really – I’ve started to feel that I would like to take an interest in people again. After all, I think you’ll agree – there are a lot of interesting people in the world.’
A picture of Roberto came into Gilbert’s head. He smiled. How was the crazy Italian doing in the army?
‘There are indeed, ma’am.’
‘And I’m in a good place to meet them here. It’s not like I’m stuck on a farm outside of town in the middle of nowhere.
So will I love again? Who knows, Mister Owens? I know I shall not love as I did with George. But love wears many different faces. Every love is unique. So who knows if I shall find love again? But I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of people Fate will bring to The Farmers’ Inn. And that is a new development for me, Mister Owens. And a welcome one, can I add?’
Gilbert poured more wine into their glasses.
‘And may I be so bold as to ask what kind of man you would like to meet, ma’am?’
‘Well, I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest – but now that you ask. To begin with I don’t think I’m too bothered about their looks. Well provided, that is, that they’re not pig ugly or fat or smelly. That wouldn’t do.’
‘No, ma’am,’ said Gilbert, smiling.
Her eyes met his and she continued.
‘I’d like them to be strong,’ Mister Owens. ‘Strong in every way. Physically strong but also strong of character, if you know what I mean?’
Gilbert thought of Roberto again. Gilbert thought of himself. He had been strong of character once. Without that how could he have stayed with Sarah?
‘I do, ma’am. I know exactly what you mean.’
‘And then, Mister Owens, I just want someone who will cherish me.’
She took a sip of wine and smiled at him.
‘It’s not too much to ask really, is it?’
‘Not too much at all, ma’am, I would have thought.’
Abby took a forkful of food, ate it and then said, ‘And you Mister Owens, will you love again?’
Only this morning, had somebody asked him the question, he would have dismissed it out of hand. Now, tonight, for some reason, it didn’t seem quite so ridiculous.
‘I’d like to think that I would, ma’am.’
‘And how would she have to be, Mister Owens? Describe her to me.’
‘Well ma’am. She’d have to pass the Romeo and Ju
liet moment test.’
Abby looked puzzled.
‘And what, pray tell, is that?’
‘You know the play “Romeo and Juliet”?’
She nodded.
‘Well, I like to think that every time Romeo saw Juliet’s face – in a crowd say, or when he had arranged to meet her, that a wave of joy, of happiness, of pleasure just swept through him.’
‘I see,’ said Abby.
Gilbert shrugged.
‘So that’s a Romeo and Juliet moment, ma’am. And that would have to happen every time I saw her.’
‘Is it possible?’ she asked.
‘You tell me, ma’am. What’s your experience been?’
She looked past him as though at something a great distance away. She nodded slowly.
‘Yes, I think it is possible,’ she said.
Then she looked at him again.
‘Okay, that’s the Romeo and Juliet test. Is there more?’
‘There’s more ma’am.’
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘She would have to be fun-loving, ma’am.’
Gilbert had a picture of Sarah lying on her belly on her bed. She was wearing just her drawers and stockings and they were discussing what they would do the next day. Shortly after that they would have made love. They were always making love. Whatever else there had been, their lovemaking had always been perfect and fun-filled and joyous.
‘Okay, fun-loving,’ she said.
Gilbert thought for a moment.
‘And finally, ma’am, when I saw her but she was unaware of me – for example, if she was looking in a mirror fixing her hair or her face, and I saw her from behind – I would just want to feel a warm glow of love and pride. I would want to come up behind her and put my arms around her and kiss her neck and never let her go.’
Gilbert looked at Abby. She was smiling.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I guess I got a bit carried away some there.’
She reached across and touched his arm.
‘Not at all, Mister Owens. I thought that was really beautiful and I know exactly what you mean.’
She had made an apple pie for dessert and they had it with cups of coffee. They had both gone silent but there was nothing awkward about the silence.
‘You cook with the hands of an angel, ma’am,’ said Gilbert. ‘This pastry is delicious.’
She thanked him and then said, ‘Mister Owens, there’s something I’d like to ask you.’
‘Ask away, ma’am.’
‘I really don’t know how to say this, but I hope you’ll understand.’
Gilbert wondered what it could be.
‘I was wondering, Mister Owens – if I could sleep with you in your bed tonight.’
Gilbert was suddenly panic stricken. He would be like he had been with the girl in Urbana.
‘Ma’am, I ––’ he began.
‘Mister Owens, please understand, I’m not asking you to make love to me. It’s just that I feel this terrible – oh, I don’t know what to call it – maybe skin hunger. And I should so much like to have somebody in bed – just for one night, to wrap myself around, to feel skin against my skin. You must think me a terrible woman, but this ––’
Gilbert interrupted her.
‘Say no more, ma’am. It would be a privilege and an honor.’
53
Gilbert lay on his back in the dark with Abby wrapped around him. She was on her side with an arm thrown across his chest and her thigh lifted and resting on his groin. Her head lay in the crook of his arm, hair silky against his shoulder and the side of his face.
She was a beautiful woman but he felt no arousal. What he did feel was a deep contentment that the two of them were here together. She had undressed in her own room and then come to his in a nightdress and a dressing gown. Once inside she had taken them both off and slipped into his bed. She didn’t seem shy or embarrassed. Gilbert had taken off the last of his clothes and she had said, ‘You have a nice body, Mister Owens.’
He thought it ridiculous that she was still calling him ‘Mister Owens’ and he referring to her as ‘ma’am’. But then he thought that maybe that was part of the unwritten contract between them tonight – that this was not about lovemaking. It was about something else entirely.
‘My late wife used to say I had the body of a Greek god,’ said Gilbert, as he got in beside her. ‘Right now, I think it’s probably a Greek god gone to seed a little bit.’
She laughed.
‘There’s none of us getting any prettier, Mister Owens.’
‘I think you are, ma’am,’ he said.
She had said that she would only stay an hour or two – she was afraid in case Amy woke in the middle of the night. But in the end, Abby just slipped off to sleep. Gilbert lay awake. He would call her if he heard Amy.
He knew Abby was not the one. He thought she was exquisitely beautiful but there had been no Romeo and Juliet, not earlier and not even now when he had seen her in all her glory. And he knew that she felt the same way.
She stirred, pressing closer to him – as though that were possible. He kissed her forehead and in response, she made the faintest whimper and pressed against him again, moving her arm as though to reinforce her hold on him.
Maybe this was the way it was meant to be. Maybe it was as Roberto had said. Gilbert would have to do the next piece of the journey on his own – just as she had to do after her husband died, just as Roberto had done when he came from Italy.
Gilbert didn’t really have a plan. All he knew was what he would do tomorrow. He would go back to Washington. With luck he might be able to get a ride with a farmer or maybe, now that the battle was over, there would be military traffic. It didn’t really matter. If he had to walk then he would walk. The first priority now was to be able to earn a living and for that he would need to replace the equipment he had lost. There was money in the bank. He had a hunch there was quite a lot, but it didn’t matter. If there wasn’t enough he would get a loan.
After that, was he really going to go back to photographing babies and couples and newly made soldiers? He didn’t think so. There was an idea forming vaguely in his mind that he would follow the Union army. There would be more battles – of that there was little doubt – and there would be no shortage of bodies of boys to be photographed. It was true that people needed to know, to see pictures like this. Roberto had always been right about that. Maybe that was Gilbert’s mission now. Maybe that was his destiny.
Maybe he would meet Roberto again but whether he did or not, he saw now the reason why the man from Florence had come into his life. The reason was gone now, so Roberto had moved on too. It was the same with Abby. Gilbert knew that if he passed this way again and called into The Farmers’ Inn, there would be a warm welcome for him. But he knew that this welcome – what they had tonight – would not happen again. In the future she would be charming, the perfect hostess – but professional, detached.
And maybe just as had happened to Abby, his pain would some day become a dull ache. He would never forget Sarah, but he was already starting to realize how privileged he had been to have known her and to have shared some of her life. Maybe rather than mourning her loss, he should be rejoicing for what he had gained. Maybe. But not just yet. He wasn’t at that place yet.
Abby stirred again and whispered some word that he couldn’t figure out. He assumed she was dreaming of her husband, feeling him beside her and Gilbert was glad – so very glad – that he had been able to give her that.
Would he love again? He hoped he would because that had been just the best feeling in the world – how he felt when he had been with Sarah or even in anticipation of being with her. But it was as Abby had said, all he could do was to continue the journey and see who he would meet. What did the future hold? Who knew? Something or somebody could be waiting along the road for him today – just as Sarah had been waiting for him that April evening two years ago. He wouldn’t know unless he began the journey.
He was
n’t sleepy. In fact he was eager to be up and taking the first steps. Abby was still sound asleep and, unless Amy woke, he would leave her to wake naturally. He would hold her and watch over her.
Gilbert lay on his back holding her warm body and waiting for the dawn to bring the new day.
Epilogue
They moved into the house on the twenty ninth of December, 2009. It had been built in 1860 and partially renovated. The kitchen, one bedroom and one bathroom had been done. Everything else still needed work.
‘Just the right level of decrepitude,’ Erica said.
As well as the house there was a huge, completely overgrown garden. She had given up work. All of this would be her job for the foreseeable future. It was what she wanted.
Ed too had always wanted to try living in the South – for a few years at least. For him it would always be the South with a capital ‘S’ – the place that had been on the other side in the Civil War. Not that he was a Civil War buff. Re-enactment and all of that, while he could perhaps see the attraction of it, wasn’t for him. But he had felt – for the first time on Cemetery Hill at Gettysburg during a school field trip – what he thought of as the door to the past swinging open a fraction. It was a feeling that somehow, if he could only find a way, he could journey back to that faraway time. It was a sense that the door was open if only one could figure out how to step through it.
He often wondered whether everybody felt this in places where extraordinary things had happened but he had come to the conclusion that they didn’t. Witness those doltish English football fans who had been photographed doing Nazi salutes in Auschwitz. Maybe the re-enactors had a point because maybe they came closest to it.
Ed preferred to make the journey in his head. It was one of the reasons he was looking forward to unpacking all the books he had accumulated and for which he had never had enough shelf space. Now, once the shelves they had purchased had arrived and been assembled, he would be able to array his books in the room that Erica had named ‘the library’ – or sometimes, ‘your library, Ed’.
Sunlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 2) Page 22
