Chapter 11

John had shoes to polish. It was tedious, but one of the aspects he liked about his job was so much of it could be done with his brain engaged elsewhere. So he sat in the yard with his polish and brushes and pile of shoes, working, thinking about where he might take Anna this afternoon, what he would say, how he would say it and how she might respond. That was the part concerning him the most. Even though she'd brought up the love and be loved, even though she hadn't seen reason yet, there was still the chance.

Now that he'd had a taste of happiness, a taste of Anna, John wasn't certain he'd be able to do without.

William joined him, wanting to talk about the war. Boys like William were one of the reasons John hated war. William saw only the honor and glory, not the senseless destruction. William didn't understand the honor and glory came through killing, killing of boys just like himself. There was no honorable way to get around that part of it. John knew of no way to explain it to William, and he was saddened by it. William would join up, go off with a heightened sense of purpose, and come back shattered in body and spirit, if he came back at all. John considered, and told William that the army would instill a feeling of pride in himself and his country, and would give him a sense of purpose. Telling him any different wouldn't help William. He'd already made up his mind to serve for King and Country and all that. John wasn't sure how well William even grasped the issues underlying this war. All he saw was the chance to prove himself, as a man and an Englishman, against a perceived threat.

John felt old.

Then William asked John about his own experiences in Africa. John didn't look up from the shoes. John said something vague about the landscape and the people he met. William asked about his injury. Had he received a decoration for it. John looked directly at him and said, his voice clear but with finality, "The enemy shot at me and didn't miss." Yes, he'd received decorations but bits of metal on ribbon couldn't make up for the pain and the destruction to his life.

William got the hint.

The conversation succeeded in destroying John's good mood. He would not talk about the war or how he was injured. He could not. William couldn't know that, but it didn't make John any less angry.

He wanted to be alone to stew and try to forget. Trying to forget was hard without whiskey. And he had to talk about Vera with Anna. John was silent through luncheon. He waited for Anna near the kitchen garden. They had not mentioned their plans, but John saw no reason to hide them. He didn't intend to call attention to whatever their new situation might be, but he wasn't planning to sneak around and contrive meetings and disappearances.

She had changed her dress. It was something blue and white and simple. They smiled and set off toward the village. They walked in silence, close but not touching, arms occasionally brushing. John knew he had to start sometime. He couldn't do it in public, he couldn't stand having an intimate conversation and risk an audience. Anna didn't seem to be in a public sort of mood either, and after glancing in the shop windows, they turned onto a path through a grove leading to Hackfall Wood. They stopped near a folly supposed to be a gothic structure.

John knew Anna was waiting for him to begin. They had barely spoken since leaving the house. He just didn't know how to start. He was fidgetty, looking out into the trees, hearing shouts and guns instead of birdsong and stillness.

"I had something important to tell you, but William asked me about Africa this morning and I can't seem to think of anything else."

"I wondered. Would you like to tell me about the war instead? You can."

He met her eyes. She was right. He could. He wanted to. He tried. He couldn't.

"Maybe someday."

He looked away. His hands were clasped between his knees. He wanted to take off his hat. He wanted the screaming to stop.

"Mr. Bates, you can trust me with anything you want to tell me. When I said that nothing I would learn about you would change my opinion of you, I meant it. Nothing."

Trust. John wasn't sure it was a question of trust, but maybe it was. Who exactly was he trusting though?

"I didn't mean for you to think I was a widower. I had no idea you did until my mother told me so and that she'd told you the truth. I thought I was clear when I said I wasn't free, but my mother says I can be vague, and sometimes when I'm with you I lose track of what I'm saying. I'm sorry I led you on, and I'm sorry that I can't offer you anything."

Anna didn't say anything.

"I love you, I have loved you, and was reconciled to loving you in silence. I never dreamt you might think of me as anything other than a good friend. When you were bold enough to voice what was in my heart, my world opened and collapsed. Opened with the hope and the joy that is returned love. Collapsed in the despair that I may never be in a position to act on it honorably and properly."

Anna still didn't say anything.

"Anna, I don't know where Vera is. I haven't seen her or heard from her in years. I have been looking. I have been looking since before I came to work here. I have a few contacts who are looking. Every time I am in London I visit her usual haunts, and no one knows where she is. Sometimes I hope she's dead and someone is trying to find me. If she isn't I will likely never be able to rid myself of her. Knowing her, she knows where I am and she'll show up one day when she's ready."

John half expected Anna to cry or leave. He underestimated her. Finally she looked at him intently.

"Your mother told me you went to prison to save your marriage. You told me I only knew your mother's truth. What's your truth? What's Vera's truth?"

A butterfly landed on Anna's knee. That truth nonsense…

"Vera doesn't have a truth." He watched the butterfly as it perched and stretched its wings. "I went to prison to save myself. Vera and I married when we were young, for the wrong reasons. I persuaded myself to believe we were in love, and I left for Africa soon after we were wed." He turned his gaze straight ahead. "When I returned we had both changed, and we brought out each other's less desirable qualities. We drank and fought constantly; she stole, she slept with other men. I just drank. I realized one day the only way to change the situation was to get out of it, completely, so I said I'd take the blame and disgrace for her crime."

John had never told anyone. He felt lighter somehow.

"I'm sorry I was distant with you when I returned from London. I was confused."

"I was afraid I'd lost you even though I have no right to have you."

"You keep saying that, and I haven't asked you for anything. I have no expectations from you other than love. That's what I meant last night. And considering that it hasn't even been a day since you were able to admit to me that you love me, isn't talking about offering me anything premature?"

John smiled that the lilt was back in her voice. He took her hand.

"You are young and lovely in every way. You deserve someone who can offer you a future, a name, a home, a place in society. All I can offer you is my love. We may never be able to have more than what we had last night, and you are not meant to live a life based on stolen moments and deceit. I love you, but I want you to be free to be happy."

"Why are you so determined to know what's best for me? It is my life and my love and you will not push me away! You will not make this decision for me. All I want is you, and if this is all we have this is all we have. That's what I meant last night. Love and be loved and be happy."

John loved the fire in her. Such a different fire than Vera's, more tempered and mellow. Her eyes sparkled with it.

"But what if you want more than I can give you? As girl, didn't you dream of a home and family?"

Anna looked down. A tear. And another. John waited. No sound but a goldfinch.

"Anna? You can tell me."

He slid his arm around her waist. He removed his hat and hers.

Anna blinked until the tears stopped.

"My mother didn't encourage me to dream."

John drew her closer. They had darkness to explore together.

"I expect to take over from Mrs. Hughes in time. Love was not part of the plan, but I'm willing to take whatever we can have. If it isn't enough, I'll let you know."

She sought his free hand. She was wearing gloves. John wanted, needed, to touch skin not bits of cloth. He released her and took one hand in his, slowly unhooked the buttons at the wrist, and slid his thumb between the fabric and skin, loosening it before he massaged his fingers over hers, working the tight glove off of her hand. He observed her lidded eyes and quickened breath, and caught her lips with his before moving to her other hand. Her hands smelled like roses.

John whispered into her neck "I'm afraid I'll want more."

"I think your problem is you're afraid too much."