Legendary

by Amelia Kibbie

  “Oh, no, well, I don’t suppose I’ve ever asked,” James replied with a little smile. “But she had a husband at one point. And she might have a boyfriend now, I’m not sure.”

  “I do.” She replaced the kitten next to its mother and rejoined the circle. They watched as she withdrew the liquor bottle from her bag and took a swig. “It’s medicinal. Ask James.”

  “The doctor said she wasn’t allowed to suddenly stop. It has to be gradual.” James grimaced as his father accepted a dram from the bottle when Mrs. Wylit offered. John shuddered at the taste.

  “Trying to say,” Arthur rumbled, “that we understand why you ran. Why you live here alone. And we’ve come to help.”

  Matthew stood suddenly and went to the small window over the wash basin. They watched as he looked through the clear glass, watched his shoulders as they shook, and eventually settle into a straight line again. He turned to them, and wiped his cheeks again. His face was tear-streaked, but beaming. “I’ve been here alone for decades,” he said, “ready to live out my days without seeing another human being. To... insulate myself from a society that hated me for what I am. But I...” He swallowed and took a composing breath. “I’m so glad you’ve come. And you thought to... you found John.”

  “John found us.” Arthur leaned back and spread his large palms over his knees. “No idea how James' father knows you, sir.”

  Wide-eyed realization crept over James' face in increments, blooming color over his cheeks. His emerald eyes snapped in sudden understanding, and, without realizing it, he stood from his seat. “You were best mates.” He turned from his father to Matthew, and back again. “And you were more.”

  Matthew returned to John’s side and sat next to him, the beatific smile of a saint curving his full lips. “I never prayed in my life,” he said. “I thought God never wanted me. But if I had, I would have prayed to see John, if only once more, before I close my eyes for the last time.”

  “It’s a miracle.” Lance reached out and gave Arthur’s shoulder a light punch of delight.

  “It’s a legend.” Arthur grinned at James.

  Chapter 28

  Matthew graciously offered Mrs. Wylit his bed when she complained of a headache. Soon enough she was snoring in the shady interior of the bedroom, the handmade curtains drawn over the windows to block the late afternoon sun. With Lance and Arthur gone to the village for their luggage and some provisions, James, his father, and Matthew were alone. They sat on a blanket in the shade of the small tree and played with the dogs. The friendly creatures romped about in the grass, intent on chasing their toys or engaging in tug-of-war with anyone who was willing. A good stiff breeze came from the water.

  “Please,” Matthew said, as James raised the jelly jar of water to his lips for another sip. “Could you tell me about when you lived in Willowind House?”

  “Of course.” James set the jar back in the grass, and exerted effort not to make eye contact with his father. “Arthur and I were in the same class in school in ‘42 and we were evacuated to Willowind House together. I’ve never been able to hide who I am with any degree of success, and the students all knew I was different. I was the class queerie, and some of the boys made it their daily occupation to beat the stuffing from me.”

  Matthew put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then, his hand shot away as if he’d set it on a hot stove. He shifted awkwardly and apologized. “I’m not used to...”

  “I understand.” James continued at Matthew’s behest, retelling the familiar legend of how he and Arthur had come together, about Mr. Marlin’s role, and how much they’d loved Nim. “She missed you very much,” he finished. “The reason she helped us was because she felt like she’d been unable to help you. Mr. Marlin thought it was important that at some point, you visit her grave. And understand how much she meant to us.”

  Matthew looked at the water. The smaller of the two dogs wandered over, exhausted at last, and settled down on the blanket next to him. Matthew stroked its ears, his eyes distant and unfocused. “I think of her often. I always knew that she loved me no matter what. But she couldn’t find it in herself to stand up to my father. At the time I thought, well, if she really loved me, she would have put her foot down in some way. It’s a mother’s job to protect her child, even if that child is...” his voice dropped into a whisper, “a disgrace. A criminal, no less.”

  “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” John moved a few inches closer to Matthew on the blanket.

  “I know what it’s like to feel unsupported by a parent.” James had almost said “abandoned” but the word was so poisonous on his tongue that he held it back. There was something about seeing John and Matthew together that bashed against his walled-up heart, a battering ram against its defenses.

  John looked at the dog at Matthew’s side instead of anyone else. “I tried to be... normal. But I couldn’t. I left him and his mother. I fled like a coward instead of telling them the truth, or at least staying close enough to try and support them. And then the war came, and I...” He sighed, and Matthew’s hand touched his as they both stroked the dog. “Then I saw him on the street in London, and I knew I had to try and fix things. That’s how I ended up here. I followed him to you.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you did.” Matthew’s eyes twinkled, and he let his lined face turn into a very Nim-like smirk. “I’m broke, you see, and so is your son, it seems.”

  “We have money in the bank,” James huffed, “but not with us.”

  “Mr. Marlin sent me enough to get by,” Matthew explained. “I use errand boys to purchase what I needed. I grow most of my own food, and the waters are full of fish, but I was worried for the winter. I have to pay for my stovewood. Mr. Marlin must have stopped sending me letters when he became ill.”

  “I’m sure that’s part of the reason he sent James and Arthur to find you.” John held out his hand, and the dog licked it. “They were the only ones he could trust with your secret.” He looked at Matthew a long time as their hair waved in the breeze. “It’s like you’ve come back from the dead,” he murmured.

  “I have. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” Matthew turned in time to catch James' pucker-mouthed expression. “James, I know it’s none of my affair, and that John’s decision to leave hurt you immensely. I haven’t had many experiences in my life from which to gain wisdom, but I can tell you this — now that my parents are gone, I realize that there were so many things I wish I could have said to them. I never got the chance to try and fix things, to have any kind of relationship with them. Then one day, it was too late. I can’t imagine what kind of pain I caused them when I arranged my death. At the time I thought it my only option besides actual suicide. But I was young and impetuous, and after doing what I did, how could I go back? And now it’s too late.”

  “I think you’re a bit biased in your assessment of this.” James crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course you’re going to take his side.”

  “Perhaps I am. But what I wouldn’t give to have my mother appear here, right now, as if by magic. To have a second chance.”

  “He can’t fix it.” James stood up. The dog shot up also, in the hope that he was about to throw a stick. “We can’t pretend that nothing happened.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” John stood up as well. “I hope you never forget, because I want you to hold me accountable for what I’ve done so that I can work toward a way for you to understand. And let me — be with you. Sometimes.” He smiled as tears glinted in his large eyes. “Maybe just at Christmas, even,” he finished.

  “I’m not the only one you hurt,” James tossed back.

  “I promise, I give you my solemn vow.” John reached for James' hands. James flinched when they touched, but he didn’t pull away. “I will find a way to make things right with your mother. First of all, I’ll pay her restitution. I’m comfortable now in my career, and I know how you two struggled without my income. And when she’s ready, pe
rhaps she’ll... sit down with me. To talk.”

  “Think you’ll be able to?” James sneered, though he still did not take his hands out of his father’s grasp. “After all those hang-up calls? She thought you were some kind of pervert, you know, a heavy breather.”

  “I know I can find the words, now that I’ve found you.” John squeezed James' hands in his own. “Will you let me try? That’s all I wish. That’s all I request. Your permission to try.”

  James wanted to pull his hands away and laugh; let that laugh slice his father to the quick. But as his father’s green eyes stared into his own, a matching set, and the sea breeze ruffled their hair, he remembered the old brown coat, the familiar smell of his father’s aftershave he could smell even now. He remembered how safe he’d felt in those arms so long ago. He wanted to feel that again. When John pulled him into an embrace and put a hand on the back of his neck, James did not resist. “All right.” The words struggled to the surface against a tide of emotion. “You can try.”

  After a time, James pulled back, embarrassed at the wetness on his cheeks. “I should check on Vi.”

  “She’s an alcoholic?” Matthew’s observation more of a statement than a question.

  “She started drinking when she lost her daughter in the Blitz.” James was surprised when an amused half-smile crept on to his face without him willing it. “But she’s really rather magical.”

  “Doesn’t she have any family?”

  “She does now.” James went back into the cottage.

  Mrs. Wylit was awake, though still reclined on the white-painted metal-framed bed, her body spread atop the patched quilts. The tuxedo tom had crept inside and lay next to her. He purred enormously and kneaded the flesh of her stomach while he pushed his nose into the fabric of her blouse. “He’s looking for a mummy,” she explained as James came in and sat on the edge of the creaky bed. “Look at him. He thinks he’s nursing. Weaned too early, I’d wager.”

  He reached out and scratched the cat’s waiting tummy. “How are you, Vi?”

  As usual, she didn’t answer his direct question. “Matthew can’t simply... come back to London, you know. He’s lived in this cottage all alone since he was fifteen. What is he now, in his forties?”

  James nodded.

  “He’ll be overwhelmed. He’s going to need to stay here awhile. With John; no matter his career obligations. And me too, I think.”

  James' eyebrows rose. “You’re staying here?”

  “For a time.” She ran her fingernails over the cat’s stomach. He arched his back in delight. “I can’t get to much liquor out here. Maybe a bottle or two with the groceries. But after a bit, I feel I shan’t drink anymore. Besides.” She curled her lips beneath her wild brown curls. “Once they taste my cooking tonight, they won’t want me to leave.”

  “You’re a wonderful cook.” He patted her ragged stockings. “Somehow.”

  She gave him a playful slap on his shoulder. “The two of you will have to care for the house while I’m away. But there isn’t much to do. Pay the bills and such.”

  James nodded.

  “Lance will go with the two of you, of course.” The cat put a little bit of her blouse into his mouth and chewed on it. He purred madly and bashed her with his paws. “Look at you, a grown man acting like this.” She stroked his head.

  “You think he will?” James toyed with a stray string that had unravelled from the bed quilt.

  “Do you think he can go back to his parents’ house now?” She grunted. “No. It’s London for him. Or beyond. Beyond, I should think. Considering.”

  James hung his head. “I don’t want him to go. He’s my friend. He’s our friend.”

  “Not everything broken can be repaired easily.” She scratched the cat on his head, between the ears. The beast was dumb with pleasure. “Things take time. You wouldn’t expect things between you and your father to mend overnight, would you?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Time. And distance.”

  He nodded.

  She brushed her hair back and tried to get it behind her ears. He took up her combs from the small wooden bedside table and helped her put them in. She looked healthier, he thought. Less ethereal, and more human. “There’s only one thing left to do,” Mrs. Wylit said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked at him from beneath wisps of her escaping curls. “You know what I mean, James.”

  He didn’t answer, so she reached out to take his hand. This upset the cat, who stalked over to the other side of the bed to lay down again. “I’m scared,” he said.

  “I know.” She squeezed his fingers.

  Just then, they heard Arthur’s deep rumble and Lance’s infectious laugh coming over the breeze that blew in through the open window. James got up and pushed the curtain aside to see them coming around the hill, sweaty and dusty, laden with bags and sacks. “They’re back.”

  “Sorry, luv.” Mrs. Wylit gave the cat a farewell pat and got out of bed to slide her shoes back on. “Mum’s got to go to work now.”

  John’s money had funded a feast — sausages and eggs and bread, and soda pop that Matthew had never tasted. There were bottles of wine, tins of beans, a few sweets, and a sizeable box of tea, which was the most treasured thing and the item Matthew had missed the most.

  Matthew and Mrs. Wylit turned it into quite the banquet, and everyone filled their noisy stomachs as the sun at last decided to set. They laughed and talked until it became late and they were tired. The dogs slept on a rug near the door, each huffing little canine snores through their wet black noses.

  “D-dad?” The word tumbled awkwardly out of James' mouth before he could stop it, like a stone he’d fumbled through his fingers.

  John’s head whipped in his direction, and Arthur raised his thick, dark brows.

  James cleared his throat as his cheeks burned. He took a sip of water from the mason jar at his feet. “I thought perhaps you could tell us all more,” he said, “about you and Matthew. From before. I still have...” He swallowed. “There are questions,” he finished.

  John nodded with understanding. “I grew up on a farm outside the lands owned by the Barlow family,” he began, “and I used to go exploring.”

  “Trespassing.” Matthew’s eyes glinted with humor.

  “One day I found a boy weeping by the edge of the pond. When he saw me he tried to pretend he hadn’t been crying. I didn’t know what to do, but I had some hooks and line in my pocket, so I asked him if he wanted to make some fishing poles. So we did.”

  “We spent more time digging for worms than we spent actually fishing,” Matthew recalled, and they both laughed.

  “And by supper time, we were mates. It’s that easy with children.” John squeezed Matthew’s knee. “I went to the pond the next day ‘round the same time, and wouldn’t you know it, there was Matthew again, but with a smile on his face this time.”

  “The day before, I’d run away from home and vowed never to return,” Matthew explained, “after a row with my father. He caught me playing with an old baby doll I’d found in the attic. But then I came home that night and told him I’d made a friend, a boy from a farm, and we’d gone fishing. Well, that was a fine, manly activity, and with all of my brothers being so much older, I think he and Mum were glad I’d found someone to play with. Little did they know.” He winked.

  “I don’t know how we both knew.” John nibbled a crust of bread from the plate on his lap. “We simply did.”

  “I was never able to hide it.” Matthew crossed his legs into a figure 4 and put his hands over his knee. “Everyone knew, even when I tried to act differently... normally.”

  James felt something lift off of his chest like a bird alighting to another tree. “I’m the same way.”

  Matthew gave him a knowing smile before he went on. “John was the only boy I’d ever met who didn’t seem to care one bit.”

  “I think we were twelve when we had our first kiss,” John recalled, and Ar
thur reached over to squeeze James' hand. The memory of their own moment exploded over James' brain and radiated against the guilty stone still lodged in him.

  “And it was a few days after my fourteenth birthday when they caught us.” Matthew’s face went grim, and he looked ten years older in a sudden moment. “My brother’s prize Corgi escaped out into the woods and he and the staff were out chasing it. We were so entrenched in our own little world that we didn’t hear them coming.”

  “I’d never been beaten so hard in my life.” John shifted uncomfortably and the loveseat groaned beneath him in solidarity. “After that, we were forbidden to see one another. I never saw Matthew again, except occasionally when the Barlow family came down to the village church.”

  “Christmas service. 1923. That was the last time I ever saw you.” Matthew wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “That’s when I decided to kill myself. During that service. Here was the vicar spouting off about brotherly love and eternal peace, and the two of us, in the same room but never allowed to touch or speak to one another again. I couldn’t bear it. I began writing my final note and coming up with my plan. But Mr. Marlin found some of my drafts in the dustbin. He’d been there that day in the woods and seen me lying on the blanket with my arms around John. And he was one of the only staff who never treated me any differently or whispered about me when he thought I couldn’t hear. And it was he who came up with the plan to save my life when he realized that I meant to commit suicide, and no amount of convincing would sway me from my plan.”

  “Then my granddad and Mr. Blanchard, his friend from the war, spirited you away and faked your death.” Lance lit a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling and hung there like the weight of his words. “And you mean to tell us you’ve been living in this cottage ever since?”

  “Indeed. This was the first place I ever felt completely safe.” Matthew patted his lap and the tuxedo tom jumped into it. He and John took turns stroking its black fur. “I had my books and my painting to keep me company. After a time, the animals began to gather as well, cats and dogs and birds. They were my friends. People from the village know about me. They call me the hermit. The children would sometimes bring me an injured animal and leave it with the hopes I could nurse it back to health. I was able to avoid going into the village altogether by leaving notes and money for the children to do my shopping. They were always honest, because I told them to use the change to buy themselves sweeties and things. When I was a younger man, I thought about leaving. But I never could find the courage. Besides, I was supposed to be dead. When the war started, I thought about joining, but it simply didn’t feel like the world had anything in it for me to defend. And I knew how it was for men like me. For,” he coughed into his fist, and said it, “homosexuals.”