Make my bed
"Knock, knock." It's Esther, announcing herself this way as she pushes open the door to Faith's little room.
"I come bearing tea," she adds, indicating the scratched wooden tray she's balancing on one hand. On it are two mismatched teacups and the flowered teapot that Pearl inherited from an aunt-by-marriage who valiantly tried to infuse some traditional values into their very modern living arrangement.
Faith gives up staring at the ceiling and sits up in her bed.
"The others?" she asks.
"Pearl left for work and Mabel is having dinner with Quadruple F," replies Esther calmly as she sits down next to Faith on the quilt, setting the wooden tray on her knees.
"Yes." Faith finds herself nodding. "Today is Wednesday."
Every Wednesday at 7 o'clock sharp, without fail, Mabel has to make an appearance at Great-Aunt Florentine's Home for Working Women and eat dinner with its formidable matron. Pearl once wondered idly what would happen if Mabel just didn't turn up one day, but then they all agreed it would be safer not to find out.
"Today is Wednesday," confirms Esther matter-of-factly. "Some biscuits?" She holds out a slightly chipped plate towards Faith. On it is a collection of biscuits, all of them invariably burned, half-crumbled or cracked into pieces.
"From Mabel?" asks Faith as she pick up a slightly too-dark biscuit.
Esther nods, busy with pouring tea into the cups on the precariously balanced tray.
After their shift, the employees at the factory Mabel works for are usually given the failed biscuits to take home, those that can't possibly be sold anymore. The choice of who gets a bag of biscuits is made seemingly at random and one person is never picked too often, alas, lest anyone gets any ideas about burning biscuits deliberately to make up for the meagre pay.
For the women living in the small Wandsworth flat, any haul Mabel brings home means an unexpected but usually tasty addition to their tea. Sometimes, Faith thinks, the unwavering belief that a good cup of tea will fix everything is a bit naïve, but she can't deny that there's a particular comfort to be had in hot tea and biscuits.
Thus, she accepts her cup from Esther readily. "Thank you."
Her friend shakes her head. "Don't mention it. You look like you need it."
"How do I look?" asks Faith before lightly blowing on the hot tea to cool it.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," replies Mabel and Faith can't tell whether she deliberately invokes Mabel's words from a week prior or whether it's merely a coincidence.
"Not the Ghost of Christmas Past," she jokes weakly in response.
Esther eyes her deliberately over the rim of her teacup. "No, I didn't think you had. Rather, a ghost of your past, or am I wrong?"
"Not particularly," admits Faith and it's only the cup of scalding hot tea in her hand that stops her from flopping backwards on the bed.
"Hm," makes Esther, looking not at all surprised. "And am I also not wrong to think that it was the same ghost of your past that had you all confused last week?"
"I wasn't confused," protests Faith, but there's no force behind her words.
There's another sound from Esther, expressing polite disbelief. Faith shakes her head and smiles into her cup of tea. To fool Esther is a feat she has yet to manage.
"It was the same ghost," she confirms, "and maybe I was a little confused about his sudden appearance."
"Hm," makes Esther, again, sounding pensive. She sips her tea, looking deep in thought, so Faith picks up another biscuit and nibbles on it, waiting for Esther's thoughts to be formed sufficiently to be voiced.
When Esther speaks, it's unusually tentative as she asks, "This ghost… it wasn't… I mean, it wasn't possibly…"
For a moment, Faith grows very still. Then, she shakes her head, quickly, almost forcefully. "No. He's dead." There's a finality to her voice, borne from years of repeating those same words to herself, over and over again.
Esther is quick to nod. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry. I just thought…" She trails off and cradles her teacup between both hands, as if holding on to it.
"No," repeats Faith. "It wasn't him. It can't have been him. You heard what that soldier said."
"I did, I did," assures Esther. "I'm sorry,"
Faith shakes her head and nudges a biscuit towards Esther, a silent show of understanding. After all, it wasn't the unlikeliest conclusion to draw, impossible as it would have been.
"It was his brother-in-law," she explains after a moment of silence. "The ghost of my past was, I mean. Or is, I suppose."
"What brought on his sudden haunting?" Esther wants to know.
Faith finds herself smiling slightly at the expression. "I'm afraid it was not very mysterious. His daughter hurt her wrist and he brought her to the hospital. Last week, a colleague treated her, but today, that honour fell to me."
Esther nods, considering this development, as she eats the last bit of biscuit. "You said 'brother-in-law'," she observes. "So, the wife…"
Shaking her head, Faith stops her from getting any further. Esther grimaces slightly, understanding the silent message. "It's just him and the daughter?" she asks.
"Them and –" Faith interrupts herself, briefly wondering how to best explain Jims. Finally, she settles on, "Do you remember the boy in the soup tureen?"
She knows she told Esther about the day Rilla Blythe brought home a baby in a soup tureen, but it was back in the war days and she can't possibly expect her friend to remember it all. Esther, alas, taps her chin in thought and nods slowly.
"He kept the boy, then?" she enquires.
Faith shrugs. "It appears so." It didn't occur to her to question the presence of Jims before, but as Esther mentions it, she realises that Ken keeping him was far from a done deal, considering the circumstances.
A thoughtful hum, as Esther processes this information.
"The girl, she has her mother's eyes," Faith adds, feeling vaguely like she should explain herself. "And her mother had…"
"I understand," interjects Esther. "Hence the ghost."
"Hence the ghost," confirms Faith, only now realising that perhaps, the ghost of her past wasn't Ken Ford after all. Probably, it was little Ava all along, despite never actually having been a part of Faith's past at all.
Of her past that's forcing itself back into her life with a vengeance that she doesn't appreciate in the slightest.
"And now?" asks Esther, looking up from her tea.
"He invited me to the zoo tomorrow," Faith replies.
It wasn't what she meant to say. Rather, she is surprised to hear herself say the words, or she would be, if she hadn't by now gotten used to her mouth being quicker than her mind. She's never excelled at thinking before she speaks.
Esther, alas, clearly is surprised and maybe a little amused. "To the zoo?"
"It's his girl's birthday," Faith explains, feeling weary. "They want to see Winnie the Bear."
"Are you going?" Esther wants to know, surprise giving way to curiosity.
This, implausibly, renders Faith speechless for a moment. When she regains use of her voice, she uses it to laugh. Not at Esther, mind, just at the impossibility of her suggestion.
"I'm taking that as a No," concludes Esther calmly and raises her teacup slightly.
Faith takes a sip of her own tea, to prevent her mouth from speaking too soon once more. Once her mind has made up itself, she affirms, "I couldn't possibly go to the zoo with them."
Esther, it appears, expected her to say just that, because her response is immediate. "Why not?"
It is a foolish question, clearly, and this time, Faith doesn't even try to keep herself from speaking without thought. "It's not… not feasible. Me at the zoo with Ken Ford and his children… It doesn't make sense!"
"Why not?" Esther simply repeats, meeting Faith's gaze gamely. She's the quiet type, Esther is, but surprisingly insistent if she thinks she has to be. She's rather like Una, in that respect. Maybe that's why Faith took to her in particular.
"Because… because…" Faith splutters, but this time, her mind is blank and it appears her mouth has nothing to say either.
"Uh-huh," makes Esther knowingly. "I thought so."
Faith feels irked. "What did you think?"
"I thought that the reason you can't go to the zoo with this man – Ken Ford, is it? – and his children is because he was a part of your past and –" Here, Esther has to stop, because Faith interrupts her.
"He hardly played any sort of role in my life in the past and he won't do so in the future," she asserts, knowing that her tone is maybe a little harsher than it needs to be.
Esther's tranquil demeanour doesn't shift. "I can't remember you ever mentioning him," she acknowledges.
"That's because he wasn't important," Faith tells her friend, the hotness within her soothed by Esther's calm. "He still isn't."
"Not he as a person, but perhaps he as a symbol," Esther suggests, a knowing expression on her face.
Faith sighs and shakes her head. She's too tired for speaking in symbolisms. It has never been her strong point to begin with, not even back in her school days, when she relied on Walter Blythe to give her hints how to interpret this piece of literature or that. It always did feel pointless to her, to speak in symbols or riddles instead of saying it as it is.
"Please, Esther," she asks, trusting in her friend to take from those two words all the thoughts whirring through her own mind.
Esther, as ever, shows herself worthy of the trust placed in her. "He's a piece of your past, however insignificant, and that's why you're running away." In saying so, just as Faith asked her to, she skips right past symbols and lands squarely on bluntness, which just goes to show that for all their similarities, she's not completely like Una, because Una was blunt exactly once in her life.
"I'm not running away," protests Faith reflexively.
"Hm," makes Esther, evidently not convinced.
"I'm not running away," repeats Faith, more forcefully this time.
Not replying right away, Esther instead selects another biscuit and takes a bite. Crumbs fall from her lips and she tries to catch them with one hand, but most settle somewhere on Faith's quilt. "Sorry," she mumbles through a mouthful of biscuit as she tries to brush the quilt clean of crumbs without dislodging the wooden tray on her knees.
As Esther brushes away the crumbs, Faith brushes away her words with an impatient gesture. She's never been overly fond of this quilt and crumbs have yet to hurt anyone.
"I think you are running away," Esther iterates, once she deems the quilt sufficiently cleaned. "I think you've been running away for a long time."
"I'm here," Faith points out.
Esther nods. "Yes. This is where you ran to."
"How can it be, when I've been here for ten years?" asks Faith. She thinks she knows what Esther means, but the stubborn part within her, never small to begin with, doesn't want to have to see.
This, of course, is not something she has much hope of keeping from Esther, who has known her almost as long as she's lived in England. They weren't always as close as they are now, but Esther is good at reading people, much better than Faith, and she's especially good at reading her friends.
"You know what I mean," she thusly states and points a finger at Faith. It's not accusing, the finger is, nor is it wagging, but there's a sense of self-righteousness to that finger, letting Faith know that this conversation is far from over.
She decides, then, to tackle the beast head-on. "Alright, share your theory."
Surprise flickers over Esther's face, who expected more resistance, and Faith is a little triumphant for it. Whoever likes to be predictable?
Esther takes a long sip of tea, likely to stall for a few moments as she brings order into her thoughts, because unlike Faith, Esther rarely ever speaks without thinking about it first. While she thinks, Faith selects a biscuit to dip into her own tea, but it's the wrong kind, so she's left to watch it disintegrate and turn her tea mushy.
"I think," Esther begins, her thoughts now apparently being in order, "that you staying on in England after the war was your way of running away. It's a paradox I can't argue around that you didn't move physically to do the running, while not running away would have constituted a move back across the ocean."
"What does your theory say about why I'm running away?" Faith asks. She feels irked again, partly at Esther and her unwelcome truthfulness and partly at the stupid biscuit that ruined her perfectly good cup of tea.
"Not just one reason," replies Esther, sipping her own tea that still appears to be properly liquid. "Mainly, alas, it's because –" She breaks off on her own, knowing there's no need to say out loud what they both know has to follow her words inevitably.
Faith frowns down at her mushy tea. "How do Ken Ford and his children factor into your theory?"
"They're just an unwelcome reminder of the past you're trying to forget." Coming from Esther, it all sounds exceedingly simple. "It could be anyone, but it's them. They reminded you and you dislike them for it."
"I don't dislike them," Faith corrects. A moment passes, before she amends her own words, "Or rather, I don't dislike the children. I'm not overly fond of Ken Ford, but that's for reasons related solely to him as a person."
Esther allows a little smile, probably at the face Faith makes when she speaks. Likely, she can sense the story behind the words, but there's no distracting her from the subject at hand.
"Am I correct in that they reminded you?" she wants to know. "Of the past and of your old home?"
Faith moves her hand vaguely, wanting neither to confirm nor to deny. As she does, however, she dislikes herself for it. The vagueness, the insincerity of the gesture don't feel like her and she's never enjoyed not feeling like herself.
"They did remind me," she therefore admits, the words a bit unwieldy as they pass around her teeth. "Ken Ford did, simply for having been there in the past, if only for parts of it and only at the fringes, and his daughter did for having her mother's eyes."
"The eyes are something I can't argue around, but if there's one person of the past to face, maybe this Ken Ford isn't the worst pick," suggests Esther, her voice now gentler.
With one last look at her mushy tea, Faith gives up on it and leans forward to place it on the floor by the bed. "How did you arrive at that conclusion?"
"You said he was there only partly and only at the fringes. You said he was unimportant. You said he played no role in your life." Esther ticks off her points on the fingers of her free hand. "All of this makes him the perfect choice to try out how a little reminder feels."
"What if I don't want to try it?" argues Faith.
Esther just looks at her, alas, with a look that even Faith can read as clear as if she were an open book, which is likely just as Esther wants for it to be. She could have used words to convey the same thoughts, but in this, a single look is enough, because they both know that there's a good dollop of exhaustion that comes with a decade of running.
"Fine." Faith juts out her chin slightly, as if preparing for a fight that Esther has no part in. "Say I go and meet them at the zoo. What happens next?"
"I don't know," answers Esther, truthful by all appearances. "In all likelihood, nothing happens. You survive and then you go home at the end of the afternoon. I can't promise it won't hurt, but I can promise you've hurt worse before."
Faith smiles. "A reassuring prospect."
Shrugging, Esther smiles back and takes a sip of tea.
She could, Faith reflects, argue that while there are no immediately obvious disadvantages to meeting Ken Ford and his children at the zoo, there are no immediately obvious advantages to it either. At the same time, however, she finds that she doesn't want to.
The very thought of her running away from anything, even her past, doesn't sit easily, because running away from a foe has never been what she did. Perhaps, in this one case, it might have happened solely because the past is the kind of vague, invisible foe she abhors, but she recognises that she has a choice here, that she always has a choice. If she considers likely foes, Ken Ford is not one she feels she has to run away from. She faced him today and she came away fine, because to put it frankly, he doesn't scare her. He's the kind of dragon she can slay and do so easily.
The matter, alas, is different with his little girl and her hazel eyes, because those eyes have the power to haunt her into her dreams.
"What do I do about the daughter?" she asks Esther.
This, alas, appears to be a puzzle even Esther can't solve. She inclines her head thoughtfully, but in the end, can only offer a shrug. "Maybe you can try and look at her as little as possible?"
The suggestion is so ridiculous that Faith can't help laughing. It's no solution either, for her to ignore a little girl, and the matter of the hazel eyes remains, but she realises that she doesn't feel as daunted anymore. It's not in her history to turn down a challenge and perhaps today is the day for her to be brave despite fear?
To DogMonday:
Yes, Rilla is indeed dead, making Ken a widowed father of two. We'll learn more about her death once Ken (and Jims) feel more comfortable talking about it and we'll also touch upon what it did to her parents to bury as many children as they did. As for a possible romance for Faith, I'm just going to have to ask you to wait and see ;).
I don't think Faith really has anything against the Blythes. She's just generally disgruntled about the entire situation and is therefore feeling a little uncharitable towards everyone. Her calling Jem a clueless idiot is strictly limited to the summer she's describing and not a general assessment of him as a person. The Shirley nose it just a description to indicate that Ava inherited her grandmother's nose - there's no judgement attached to it. The hazel eyes don't irritate her so much as they terrify her, for the memories attached to them. And as for Rilla, Faith is not wrong about calling her spoiled, so that, too, is merely her stating facts. She doesn't have too high an opinion of Rilla in general, but we mustn't forget that the Rilla Faith remembers is a young teenager. They probably never knew each other all that well in the first place because of the age gap and stopped interacting altogether while Rilla was still a child. She was probably around 12 years old when Faith left for Queen's and just 17 years old when Faith went to Europe. Thus, when Faith thinks of Rilla, she mostly thinks of the pre-teen girl we first get to know in the very beginning of RoI, so it's that impression that fed her opinion of her and since they never saw each other again after Faith left for Europe, that opinion prevailed through the years.
I'm very happy to hear you describe the story as having an old-fashioned feel, because that's absolutely what I'm going for. I kind of see it play out in sepia, too, like those old detective movies on TV, and it's good to know I managed to carry that vision in my writing, too! I promise that there are no murders though! The story I'm telling is all about unravelling the past and figuring out a way for the future. There's simply no time to catch murderers ;).
I wrote the previous chapter sometime in May or June, but with recent developments, the scene with the female patient did, indeed, become even more relevant. I'm not a writer of political or controversial stories (though I hold very many opinions in real life), but it's a simple fact that there always have been and always will be abortions. I dare say no woman takes that decision lightly, even with a safe and legal abortion. It's a choice you make when it's the *only* choice for you, for whichever personal reasons, and that means many women will also make it when the option of a safe and legal abortion isn't open to them. The question is whether we leave them alone with it or not. A big part of the entire abortion discussion is, ultimately, whether they're made safe or not safe. Any attempt to forbid them just makes them more unsafe and that's something history has shown us. The patient I wrote about had no access to safe abortion and she suffered for it. That's not something anyone can really want to go back to.