My Darling Love

Chapter 71 – His Brother's Keeper

"A widow is a fascinating being with the flavor of maturity, the spice of experience, the piquancy of novelty, the tang of practiced coquetry, and the halo of one man's approval."

-Helen Rowland

There are two types of widows found in London. Those who walk about with sad expression dressed in head-to-toe black, who never do anything but pine for their lost love and nothing else. Then there are those who mourn privately but go on. Grandma Josephine dressed in head-to-toe black, and Mary went on. She was always considered very popular in the community, like her father before her, so she never was at a loss for an invitation, or admirers that had envied George over the years. Some went so far as to call on the newly widowed Mrs. Darling at her husband's funeral. But Mary was not ready to be courted. Well, not then at least.

She promised George she would love, and go on, and more importantly, be happy even with him gone. Every day, no matter what, she visited him in the cemetery, leaving pink roses on his grave. She would stroll home after doing her errands and spend hours chatting with his painting in her room.

It was a one-sided conversation that went something like this, "James saved enough to open his own business. Oh George, you would be so proud of him. And Wendy as well, quite the little happy homemaker now that she's gotten the hang of it. I'd never admit it to her, George, but she puts me to shame. There is not one speck of dust throughout the entire house, and James is by far the best-dressed carpenter in all of England. She actually presses his work clothes, and is thrilled when he comes home filthy with a rip in his pants. She washes them and mends them and has them hanging back in the closet before he's done with the paper. And the food she cooks, my goodness, the girl can make meals that last a week on one chicken. And don't even get me started on the children; they are the most well behaved bunch. Wendy wants more, but James told her three is enough. I have to agree, she will be forty in April, but still she cries for another, so I'm sure James will put her in that way again soon enough, God bless him."

George sat on his cloud with his chest pushed out, proud of his family, only losing his happy smile when Mary said, "I'm alright, just lonely, George. You know, I try to not get in the way with Wendy and James and their children, like my father. I eat over with John and Caroline on Friday, the two oldest boys are both growing eager to begin courting lovely ladies, and soon his two sons with Margaret will be heading that way as well. Caroline's sister is also a widow who moved herself and her children in with John's family. Sometimes I feel like I'm intruding, twelve people at a dinner table are a lot, and I make thirteen, such an unlucky number. Sometimes I feel like I don't fit in anywhere. I know you think me silly, and I'm sure -- or at least I hope it will never happen -- but just the same, sometimes I think I am going die old, alone and unloved without you here."

George in heaven tried to answer his wife, but to no avail, she couldn't hear him. So Mary went on, "My father didn't die that way I know…" George agreed, and then again concurred, "We needed him more than our children need me.

"Our children are so happy, George, I'm actually jealous…"

Mary was involved in woman's clubs and the church. She crocheted and did needlepoint, babysat the children, read books, and helped Wendy when she would accept it, for most times she informed her mother, "I can do it myself, Mother, but thank you for offering." Wendy cleaned her mother's room, like Mary cleaned her father's, so with no place to be and nothing to do, she volunteered to help Harold at his flat.

A bachelor his whole life, Harry never cleaned. Mary scrubbed it from top to bottom weekly and filled his icebox and cupboards. She shopped and did his laundry and made his flat into a home, not just a place to sleep. She also made an investment where her brother-in-law was concerned, placing rugs on his cold hard wood floors and crocheting him a warm afghan for his bed. Mary found comfort spending time with Harold, he reminded her immensely of George, more so as he got older as well. The only difference Mary found between the two was in his eyes; his were always without spectacles and the color hazel.

Mary stayed over at his flat long enough during the day to cook him supper and eat her dinners with him. Harry was always happy to come home and find her there. But there were times when he came home with company, a young lady, where his outward appreciation of her attention was not so obvious, causing unspoken difficulties between them.

It was a different woman each time, usually annoyed to find an older woman, visibly competition for Harry's wealth and circumstances, setting out the dinner dishes. They often mumbled, "Your maid, Harry?"

On those occasions, Harry was rather anxious for Mary to leave, as well for his own personal reasons, "I want some private time with my lady friend, you know, in that way," Harry would whisper as he ushered Mary out with a peck on the cheek, "Thank you though, Mary." She left, and after a few weeks of intruding on his "private time," she stopped coming by. Missing Mary tremendously, he did ask James about her, who replied, "She does not want to keep you from your own life, Sir. If she is mistaken, perhaps you should correct her."

Mary keeping Harry from his life could not be farther from the truth. Harry considered Mary a major part of his life, and her shunning of his company he had mistaken as her disapproval of his lifestyle and loose women. And so, Harry said nothing.

Thus, for the first time since George was buried, Mary came to the dinner table at her daughter's home, now the Dunange Residence, dressed in head-to-toe black. She frowned, an expression unbecoming of her classic beauty, desperately wanting Saint Peter to send George to retrieve her. It was a painful change for James and Wendy to witness, so as they retired, they decided they preferred a widow who went on as opposed to a widow that didn't. "What do you suggest?" Wendy asked.

It was a simple plan to concoct, especially when James replied, "If she doesn't want to go on, Gwendolyn, we will force her to."

"How are we going to do that?" Wendy pressed, and James, the king of his castle -- not to mention the captain of his ship -- replied rather arrogantly, "We will find your mother a workable profession to keep her mind from heaven."

Mary was an older woman, but not an old woman. Just the same, there was no work for her in her son-in-law's carpenter shop. Her son John worked at a bank, and there was no job to be found there either. The only person they knew who had a position open for an older woman with years of experience running a house was Harry. He was not the least bit happy to take her on his staff. "Mary should never be anyone's maid…" He remarked at the notion that she was to tidy the tavern and wash out the glasses. This didn't matter, for it was better than letting her spend her days conversing with a portrait of her deceased husband. "I said speak with him, Madam, when you want to talk, not spend every waking minute hidden away in your room, holding your George's ear and his attention, preventing him from enjoying his rewards in heaven," James argued.

For Uncle Harry, James told him, "You can help us keep an eye on her, Sir." Harry relented, and Mary started her work, earning a respectable wage for a woman of her experience.

It did not have the effect on her mother that Wendy had hoped, at least not in the beginning. Mary spent her days playing with the children, still dressed in black, and went to the tavern as the supper crowd arrived. She returned home later in the evening, promptly at eleven and went to bed. Her smile had not yet returned, and even James was about to lose hope, but not first without a fight. So one night, instead of bathing the children and putting them to bed, as he did every night, after dinner, he went to the tavern.

Mary worked behind the bar, serving drinks and keeping it tidy while the place rocked on its foundation with loud music, dancing and merry making. Uncle Harry sat at his normal spot, with his normal lady friend of loose morals, obvious to James, on his lap. He hid in the shadows and watched as Mary glanced at Harry every so often, only to lower her head, her frown now branded on her face.

James casually pushed his way to the bar, past the many gentleman and ladies dancing and carrying on everywhere, and pulled up a stool. "Rum, Madam!" He slammed his wooden hand down, in a demanding tone. Those around him moved away, for even as a real man, his demeanor of former pirate captain was startling. Mary fetched him his own bottle and leaned over the bar in front of him. James took a shot from the bottle, and then passed it to his mother-in-law, who politely declined. "What are you doing here? George never went to the tavern after work."

"Well, Madam, I am not George, and neither is he," James declared, giving a backwards glare to Harry, who had just won another hand of poker. The girl on his lap was rather drunk and she landed on the floor as he rose to cross the pub and extend his hand to James. Before Harry reached them, James grabbed Mary's arm and whispered, "Remember the Bible, Madam? Cain and Abel? Am I my brother's keeper? In this case, what do you think, Madam?" Mary did not answer, only yanked her arm away, and walked away from the both of them.

"What are you doing out tonight, James? Thought you'd be home with your family." Harry began, quite shocked to see James out so late in the evening.

James shook his head and took another swig from the rum bottle. Nay say swig, he actually chugged the entire bottle down in one gulp. "NAH! I think you'll be seeing a lot of me from now on! I prefer it here…" James turned round on the stool and stood up, leering openly at a lovely lady who sauntered by and winked, "Well hello…" James smiled amorously to her and soon it was he who was sitting at the poker table with that girl on his lap.

James stayed until the pub closed and was quite inebriated when he left. Mary had to claw the woman off his lap, and then was forced to drag him home and up to bed. He landed next to his wife, reeking of rum, tobacco and pungent perfume causing Wendy to roll over and whisper, "It will never work, James." He smiled to her, back to his normal, sober self, "Oh ye of little faith."

For a week, James went to the pub and got "drunk." But not really, for you see, James had an experienced stomach with quite a capacity for liquor, and he had always able to drink any man under the table. He would flirt with the young ladies and play poker with his mother-in-law and Uncle Harry watching from behind the bar. When they had enough, which they had, they forbade him from coming back, "You are a married man with a wife and children to care for. You should be home with your family!" Mary shouted, as she again had to shove a whore off his lap.

Harry shouted as well, once back inside the old Darling house, "You should be thankful that God thinks enough of you to bless you with a family, James, and has given you a second chance for happiness. He doesn't do that for everyone you know."

James leaned over both Harry and Mary, each supporting one of his arms that he lovingly wrapped about the other. "Yes, to be a married man … home with my family … not out every night in the pub … with prostitutes for company …" he slurred, doing his best acting. "I should be honored God has given me a second chance at happiness and love … He thinks highly of me … I must have earned it in His eyes … although I think He does do that for everyone." He stumbled and fell, taking Harry and Mary with him. He gave the impression of being a man unconscious, leaving Mary and Harry to lift him and set him down on the floor of the parlor.

Mary covered James with a blanket and left him to his slumber. Harry was furious, "What does Wendy say about this?" Mary could only shrug her shoulders, for she had not said a word to her daughter of James' behavior. "You go to bed, Mary, I will stay here and sleep on the couch and watch over this drunkard so he doesn't create a ruckus in the house." Mary listened to her husband's brother, and he sat on his favorite chair in the parlor and lit his pipe, glaring down and shaking his head at James.

Grandpa Joe, Grandma Elizabeth, Millicent, Mr. Davis, Margaret, Penny, Michael and even Nana the dog with George in the middle sat side-by-side on a cloud in heaven and gazed down. As James peeked through his eyes, they all gathered around George and hugged him tightly to soften the blow, which was surely to be a mighty one.

James softly spoke, raising his head only slightly to check if the coast was clear. "Is Mary upstairs?"

It caught Harry quite by surprise to see him sobered up so quickly and he answered, "Yes, she is."

Before James could speak, Harry began, "I am absolutely furious with you James. Wendy deserves better than a man that drinks and gambles and keeps company with cheap women who only care about the cash in your pocket. You should be thankful that God thinks you are an honorable man who deserves a family to love him. I wish I were so lucky to have a wife and children of my own. Take my life as a lesson, James, I was a doctor and lost everything to drink. Had it not been for Grandpa Joe, George and Mary, I would have died long ago. But you see, man, I have things apparently still left to do on this earth. Mary told me that every day that passes comes another lesson from God and I'm still learning and being punished for my sins."

Harry kept shaking his head and now utilized his finger, pointing it in James' face, "Take my advice and learn the simple lessons quickly, like not drinking and gambling and taking in loose women. I don't drink anymore, and it has made all the difference. I only gamble away my pocket change, you understand, James, not my hard earned cash from the tavern, pocket change. And as far as whores …" Harry shamefully lowered his head as well as his finger. He only raised his face slightly and in a more mild tone spoke, "Well, I'm all alone. I don't have anyone who loves me…"

The sound of his annoyance instantly returned and he sat back in the chair and declared, "But if I did, I would treat her like a queen! Hell, if I were lucky enough to be a married man, I would never be at the pub or with prostitutes. I would home with my wife, loving her! Breaks my heart to see Mary so sad at your behavior. There was a time when my brother was alive I was sure Mary did not even know how to frown. And now that smile has been erased. I wish I knew how to give it back to her."

Now James said, "Lesson learned then, Sir."

James rose from the floor and stared about the room. "You're right I am a husband and father and have been blessed. Why should I go to the pub every night and drink and gamble and take in loose women when I have a fine woman upstairs resting in bed waiting for me. I think you're right. God gave me a second chance. I will take it and you, my good man, should do the same. Thank you sir." James took Harry's hand and shook it. James stared at Harry, and Harry to him. James leaned in and spoke again, this time in a whisper. "God forgave you your sins long ago, Harold. You are not being punished; he is just waiting for you to learn your lesson. Upstairs there is a Queen without her king waiting to keep company with a king who has no queen. Breaks my heart to see you think yourself unworthy of her." Without another word James took to the stairs and into his room.

James had entered his room and shut the door as Mary was leaving hers heading to the washroom. Worried that James may have unthinkingly attacked Harry in his drunken state, Mary returned quickly to the parlor. Harry was just leaving as Mary met him at the door to inquire after his health. She caught him by the sleeve, checking him from head to toe for damage, "Did he hurt you or strike you, Harry? Some men can be violent when drunk," she stated frankly. Harry said nothing only stared at his sister-in-law quite soberly.

Mary was beautiful, and it was no exaggeration to say so. She was a woman of sixty, but as it had been her entire married life, she always looked a decade younger than what she really was. Harold was blessed the same way. He was older than his baby brother by months, but he always looked younger, especially after he stopped drinking. Thus, George and Harry oddly enough could have been twins, with the exception of health. Harry had never been sick a day in his life, had perfect vision as well as hearing. There was also the ever-important variation in the hue of their eyes. All the sons of Frederick Darling had blue eyes, except Harry, which Mary always thought peculiar. For each three out of the four sons of the senior Mr. Darling were bad men who drank, gambled, and whored their lives away, George the fourth being the exception. Therefore her reasoning was George should be the one with hazel eyes as he was different in every other way possible.

But alas, out of the half-light of night in that exact moment in time, at least in Mary's eyes, Harry was her George. And she wished it so loudly in her heart she spoke it to him. She lovingly touched his face and whispered, "George…"

Harry gently eased her hand away from his face and replied as kindly as he could, "I am not my brother's keeper, Mary. George and I could never be one in the same." Harry slowly moved away and through the door into the night. Mary watched him leave and retired to her room, crying herself to sleep.

Harry returned to the tavern and had one stiff drink, to dull the pain he always held in his heart. He gambled his pocket change away at poker and picked the loveliest young lady to take home with him, paying her the worth of her lay in shillings before dismissing her from his bed. His father had told him long ago, "You pay them to lay down Harry, but after you screw them, send on their way. You'll never get attached to a woman if you don't sleep in the same bed."

God and everyone gathered about George still watched on their cloud. Everyone else had seen plenty, so they drifted away to their own rewards until just George and Grandpa Joe remained. "Should I go to her now?" George asked, smiling to his father-in-law, who peeked down, a little envious of the living, seeing Harry's lady friend getting dressed. "No George, not yet but soon," he responded to George's dismally puckered brow. "Soon will come, George, but it is still years away. You must be patient."

The next day was Sunday, and for James, Wendy, their children, and Mary, it meant church. The whole family loaded into their motorcar and drove to the church, taking their usual seats in the row nearest the front. Mary always told Harry he should attend mass, but for his believed sin of murder committed against an innocent child he operated on while drunk, he declined. He and Mary shared many conversations throughout their years and this was a constant topic brought up. But try as she might, Mary could never convince Harry to have the courage to face God, let alone the holy altar. Therefore, he never went to church, except for weddings, christenings and funerals.

So it can be imagined, Mary's surprise when Harry slipped in a few rows behind his family and sat through a whole Sunday service. Mary saw him before mass began as she glanced backwards, giving her traditional head bob and pleasant smile to Biggins Fisher, Esquire, and his wife as they proudly strolled past. James and Wendy saw Uncle Harry as well, and motioned for him to come and sit with them, but he only shook his head. With mass completed and the blessing given, they all met up outside and inquired after the day's upcoming events.

Wendy and James were taking their three infants to a day of sight seeing in their strollers, simply to get out and enjoy the lovely summer day it was. Harry had plans with a few of his poker buddies in the early afternoon to ready themselves for a tournament at the tavern later in the evening. Wendy thought it strange they needed to prepare to play cards until James enlightened her of her uncle's polite way of saying, "He's going to a whore house, Gwendolyn."

"On a Sunday, and you just went to church?" Wendy exclaimed rather loudly, surprised to hear even on the Lord's Day of rest her uncle still delighted in his drinking, gambling and whoring. Harry was shocked at her disproving expression and he unknowingly corrected James' mistake with, "We always go out to lunch and get a good meal before the match. Most men I play with drink a lot when they lose, and no man should ever drink on an empty stomach. And of course we discuss our strategies as well."

That eased Wendy's mind considerably. "You no longer drink, Uncle Harry?"

Harry pompously shook his head, "Absolutely not, only on special occasions do I imbibe in it and I never drink enough to get drunk!"

No one invited Mary along, so she went home alone to her empty house. She sat in her room and stared at George in the painting. Strange it was to her now, in the clear light of day, that Harry could never be the same as George, and she thought herself silly for only the night before getting the two brothers confused. George had lived one life and Harry another, and Mary a third. With that settled and a new feeling of freedom that appeared out of nowhere, Mary took off her black dress, and put on a blue one. She fixed her hair neatly and applied a light touch of rouge to her cheeks and ventured off into the sunshine. "I promised you, George, I will do my best to be happy, and I meant it," she called out as she slammed the door behind her and headed to the park.

Alone that afternoon, Mary held on to her happiness and she wore a smile that had not been seen since her father released her from her bedroom after she returned from running away with George forty years prior. The bliss she felt from just being alive and on earth made her face light, attracting the attention of a gentleman many years younger than herself, who turned to catch a look at her. And as always, Mary was not without her admirers. It was George's life inside of her that made her happy that day year's prior and it was still George's life inside of her now that kept her in good spirits. And so, something magical happened that Sunday, and Mary the widow who wanted to go on returned.

There were things that changed after George had died, like her bedroom, and now there were more things that were to be transformed. If her bedroom was the first, now came time for a second, and so, Mary went to the beauty parlor and cut her hair. It was always long and held up in a bun. Now she preferred it shorter to the nape of her neck styled in lovely smooth curls flowing freely. It stole years from her face wearing it down only adding to her loveliness. Gentlemen preferred blondes, and Mary had the white hair that came with age so she fit the bill without the need of bleach.

She also went shopping and bought a closet full of new clothes, all in a flattering new style to her slim frame, hemmed well above her ankles. She purchased hats, shoes, purses and accessories to match each one of her ensembles and completed her makeover by giving away all her old garments. There were clothes she would not discard -- the nightgowns she wore on both her wedding nights to George nor her mother's wedding dress, now nearly unrecognizable from time. She also kept the dress she wore to John's wedding and Wendy's as well. The dress she wore to George's funeral, and all others in the shade of black, purchased specifically to mourn in saw the flames of the fireplace. "For you, my darling love," Mary whispered as she watched them disintegrate into ashes.

When Wendy arrived home and saw her mother's new hair and dress, she nearly fainted. James bowed at the waist and kissed her hand, "A rose of the sea you are, Madam," he whispered, with Wendy out of earshot. John thought his mother insane with her new appearance and his wife agreed. Harry liked the new look and complimented her choice by simply stating, "You always dressed like a proper lady, Mary."

With her modern outward transformation came an inward one as well. Mary always had friends who wanted to have her over for lunch or for tea, so Mary went. Just as her children had done to her, she now did to them, disappearing without explanation, off on her own adventures. The only place Wendy and James were sure they would see Mary was at Sunday mass or sleeping peacefully in her bed at night. No one asked where she was off to in the morning, and no one asked what time to expect her back. She still kept her position at Harry's tavern, and when James did venture out to check on her he saw her laughing and making merry, just like everyone else, always the proper lady of polite society.

And so the story goes, Mary was happy and content, but still she felt an inner longing that something was still amiss. "A lover, Madam," James spoke up from behind her as she cried by her bedroom window loud enough to wake him. Mary scoffed him off, "I would never take another lover. George would not allow it."

"Madam, George has not the power to allow or disallow anything. You are the one with free will, not him. And may I remind you, Madam, the vows you took stated, 'until parted by death.' Death has parted you and your George, Madam, your life belongs to only you now, and no other." James left her in her bedroom alone that night and she wept on.