CHAPTER 112 - TIMMY BATES

The Bates/Barrow Cabin
RMS Olympic

Afternoon, Two Days Later

The first few times Timmy awoke on the ship, he was confused, perhaps even afraid, but not now. "Nap's done, Uncle Pooh!" he shouted as he leapt from his bunk eager to see what adventure his new mates were planning. Joey, Eddie, and Leo were Americans, and French Eddie was French. French Eddie's dad said that his son's name was Yves, not Eddie, but Yves liked the name Eddie, and the boys liked him and the name, so it was settled. French Eddie couldn't speak much English, but Timmy knew French. Sybbie liked to play teacher and had taught him Miss Petty's lessons for as long as he could remember. When Timmy was able to help French Eddie understand their games, the boys all said he was a swell kid even though he was the only one without a yo-yo.

Uncle Pooh was reading some old book in his top bunk. "Shush, Timothy. You have another 15 minutes. Don't wake your father."

"I'm Timmy!"

"Don't wake your father, Timmy!"

Timmy fell back onto his bunk and studied Uncle Pooh's legs dangling from above. He was tempted to undo his uncle's shoelaces and tie them together, but it was one of those jokes that would make Mum scold, and then there would be an argument about whether he was old enough to know better, and Emmy would cry if Uncle Pooh fell, and then it would be a bad joke, and besides, he couldn't tie very well.

Timmy decided it was time to practice being American. He pointed to his dad asleep in his bunk. "Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop ..." With each Pop, he banged his shoes against the top bunk.

"Timmy, I'm warning you."

Timmy knew his uncle was only pretending to be angry. He gave his feet one last, "Pop!" and dropped them to the mattress. Why did he have to be quiet anyway? Nothing could wake Pop from a nap. Yesterday, when only Pop stayed in the cabin for nap time, he woke up while Pop was still sleeping. He tried out a jump rope rhyme he had heard some girls chanting on the deck.

Charlie Chaplin sat on a pin.
How many inches did it go in?
One, two, three, four ...

Timmy bounced and caught a ball as he counted. When he missed, he started over. Pop just muttered, "That's my boy," and rolled over. At dinner, Pop told Mum it was the sea air that made him sleepy, but Mum said it was his staying up half the night playing cards with Dr Hanson, who was Leo's dad.

Timmy looked at Mum's empty bunk. She was visiting with Mrs Hanson, who was teaching her to play bridge. Timmy wondered who was the bridge and who was the car. He wanted to watch, but Uncle Pooh said that Mum was on holiday and deserved some breathing space. That was all right. He was a bit afraid of Mrs Hanson. She was always friendly, but she was far too thin. Even her hair was thin. She reminded him of the stray dog that he and George had found on a walk to Yew Tree Farm last winter. Mr Mason said it was a shame, but the dog was in pain and would have to be put down. Before Timmy had fallen asleep for his nap, he heard Mum say that it was a shame about Mrs Hanson. Timmy wondered if Mrs Hanson was in pain and would have to be put down, but he was afraid to ask.

"Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom," he chanted as he pointed to the empty bunk and banged his heels against the wall.

"Don't force me to come down there, Mr Frog!"

"I'm not doing anything!"

"I must have confused you with the gnome who lives in the wall."

Timmy knew there was no such thing as gnomes. Still, he turned himself about and pressed his ear to the wall just to be sure. He heard something, but he knew there was another cabin next door. "Uncle Pooh, what does a gnome sound like?"

"Like a naughty little boy."

"You're teasing. How much longer, Uncle Pooh?"

"Twelve minutes."

Timmy groaned. "How long is twelve minutes?"

"Long enough for me to become very cross."

Timmy sighed. He heard his uncle shut his book and knew what that meant. He would sit there countingplating until nap time was over. He never understood why Uncle Pooh liked to imagine counting plates.

Timmy flung himself backwards on his bed hoping to rouse Emmy. No! He had to remember to call her Milly! She never, ever forgot to call him Timmy. He prodded her leg with his shoe, but she slept as soundly as Pop. Uncle Pooh said it was because she was young, and her brain was growing and needed an extra helping of sleep to replenish itself. Replenish. Timmy liked that word. He liked words that were fun to say. That was the one thing that he and Milly shared. They both liked fun words and inventing meanings and giggling about them. He would have to remember to share replenish with her.

A green silk pouch was peeking out from Milly's pillow. Timmy knew it held a glass that made things bigger, something she had been allowed to bring on the ship to keep the devil at bay. That's what Uncle Pooh said, anyway. Milly had chosen the glass and a book. A book! FIVE CHILDREN AND IT. It was a funny book, but he never would have chosen something to read, and it took Emmy FOREVER to slog through one sentence (not that Timmy could do any better). He had chosen a medal Pop had given him and a small framed picture made with thread instead of paint. They were allowed two items apiece, but Timmy had cheated and hidden a ball in his cap. Milly felt the same about his picture as he felt about her book, but the picture made him happy in a way he couldn't explain.

Timmy remembered the day the Dowager had given him the picture. He knew it was his last chance to visit her and he was sad, but he wasn't going to cry. She admired Englishmen who were brave, and he wanted to be admired.

Last Christmas, he had asked the Dowager if he could call her Granny. He asked because he didn't have a granny the way Sybbie and George and Katherine did. His granny didn't live in Downton, and the one time his parents visited her, he wasn't allowed to go. He knew that Pop didn't like Granny's husband and that Granny's husband wasn't his grandfather, and it was all too confusing and made him sad. So he asked the Dowager to be his Granny, and she said that they had a pact, and it would be their secret. Timmy didn't like bad secrets, but this was a good one.

When he visited Milady-Granny for the last time, he found her surrounded by boxes that made them both sneeze. She said she was sweeping away the past and finding new homes for her old treasures. She allowed Timmy to look at anything he wanted as long as he was careful. He found one box full of thread pictures. He pulled them out hoping for something more exciting underneath but was disappointed. As he returned the pictures to the box, he looked at the top picture in more detail. It was the only one that was framed, so he thought it must be the best. At first, he thought it was a picture of flowers. Pansies? But as he placed it on top of the stack, he realized it was a lion. A lion made of flowers. He thought it was beautiful and hilarious all at the same time and began to laugh. Then he began to cry. Sometimes beautiful things made him feel funny inside, and sometimes they even made him cry.

"Good heavens, what's wrong, my boy? Why are you crying? Do you have a splinter?"

"I'm not crying. I'm laughing," he explained with a sniffle. He pulled out the handkerchief that Granny insisted he carry and wiped his nose.

"Forgive my error. Why are you laughing?"

Timmy held up the picture.

"Is it so ridiculous?"

"No, Granny. It's wonderful!"

"Is it?"

Timmy began to laugh. "It's funny!" He held the picture in front of his face. "I'm a pansy lion! Grrrrrr!"

"Gracious, what a frightening growl!"

"Honest injun?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Timmy knew that Granny didn't like what she called foreign vulgarities, especially if they were American. Sybbie had been reading him TOM SAWYER, and that's where he heard it. "I'm sorry, Granny."

"Never mind, my boy. You're going to live in New York. You may as well learn the language. Tell me, would you like to keep it?"

"The lion? Truly?"

"Indeed."

Timmy wanted the picture desperately but knew he had to refuse. He shook his head. "I can't resip for Kate, Granny."

"Resip ...? Do you mean reciprocate, my boy?"

Timmy nodded. "Mum told me."

"What did she say?"

"Good people give as much as they take."

"And you want to be a good person?"

Timmy sighed. "Mum wants it."

"There may be a solution. You could give me a promise in exchange for the picture. Will that do?"

Timmy held the picture close. "A promise?"

"I believe a promise to write to me would be a fair exchange."

Timmy felt his stomach fall. "I don't know how."

"You'll learn. Until then, ask your parents or your uncle to do the writing for you. Tell them you made me a promise. They'll want you to honour your promise."

"I may keep it?"

"You certainly may, my boy. And I'm going to tell you a secret about it."

"A good secret?"

Granny laughed. Timmy didn't know anyone with a funny little laugh like hers. "A good secret. I made that lion myself when I was a girl. Needlepoint was my one talent."

"Talent? What's that?"

"Something one does especially well, perhaps more easily than others. When I was a child, any girl with a proper upbringing was required to learn needlepoint. It was de rigueur. It came easily to me, and I found it terribly dull until I began to create my own designs." Granny looked through the other thread pictures and pulled out one of white flowers on a blue background. "This was my first. If you look carefully, you'll see that the lilies form a pelican."

Timmy examined the picture. He wasn't sure what a pelican was until he recognized it in the lilies. He had seen pelicans in a book of birds that belonged to His Lordship. "That's good talent!" he exclaimed.

Granny laughed and showed him another. "What do you see in these primroses?"

"A dog!"

"That's right. My mother's dachshund, Fuddle."

"Oh!" Timmy was crestfallen, but he knew what he had to do.

"What is it, my boy? Would you rather have this one?"

Timmy nodded. "Emmy loves dogs."

"I see. Then take the lion for yourself and Fuddle for your sister."

"But Kate?"

"Kate? You mean reciprocating?"

"Yes. Kating."

"We'll have to give this serious consideration, my boy. Let's see. Suppose you take Fuddle in exchange for your promise to write and take the lion as a favour to me."

"A favour?"

"I don't want you to forget me, Timothy. Whenever you look at the lion, I hope you'll think of me."

"You don't look like a lion!"

"Not everyone would agree with you, my boy, but I'm glad you don't think so. When you look at the lion, you can use your imagination and think of me as a girl working on my needlepoint. Do you want to see?"

"See?"

"Come with me, my boy." Timmy followed Granny into the corridor that was lined with paintings. She pointed to a small portrait of a girl sewing. "Do you know who that is?"

Timmy studied the portrait. The girl's hair was parted in the middle and fell in long ringlets. Was it blonde, or was it red? He couldn't decide. She had rosy cheeks and was wearing a blue dress bursting with ribbons and ruffles.

"Can you guess?"

Timmy remembered what Granny had just said about herself as a girl. "Granny, is it you?"

"That's right. What do you think?"

"You're beautiful!"

"Do you think so? At the time, I thought myself rather plain."

Timmy burst into tears.

"What is it, my boy?"

"Come with us, Granny!"

"Well now, I do believe that's the nicest invitation I've ever received."

"Granny's coming with us! Granny's coming with us!"

"Now, Timothy, you know that's not possible. My place is here with my family, and your place will be in New York with yours. You'll see. You'll soon forget me."

"I won't! Not ever!"

Granny took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. "I have one more secret for you, my boy. Shall I tell you?"

Timmy nodded and wiped his eyes too.

"Sometimes, very rarely, mind you, even the very bravest of Englishmen need a good cry."

"They do?"

"They do. And it's best done with some tea and biscuits."

Timmy pulled himself from his bunk and tiptoed to the little shelf that held the lion picture and the family's hairbrushes. "Hello, Pansy," he whispered as he thought of Granny's portrait. Milly loved her picture of Fuddle, but it was packed away in a trunk with Pop's artwork. Timmy thought it was swell of Granny to give Fuddle to Milly. He knew Granny thought Milly was precocious, which sounded terrible, but Granny promised it wasn't. She was having tea at the Abbey the first time Milly showed off that she could read.

Sybbie stood happily at Milly's side. "I've been teaching her from my old Beacon Reader. Isn't she grand?"

Timmy remembered feeling cross. His Lordship made a big fuss and sent for their parents and Uncle Pooh, too. Uncle Pooh arrived first. Sybbie picked up the Reader and pointed to a word here and a word there, and Milly read every one. Uncle Pooh was surprised. Timmy crossed his arms and waited for his uncle to tell Milly how smart she was.

Uncle Pooh gave Milly's sleeve a small tug. "You read that very well, Emilia. I hope you thanked Miss Sybbie for being an excellent teacher."

"She doesn't have to ...," began Sybbie.

"She certainly does," interrupted Uncle Pooh. "Emilia is going to enjoy a great many books in her lifetime, and you're the teacher who started her off. What do you say, Emilia?"

Milly gave Sybbie a hug because she was little and didn't know better. "Thank you, Sybbie!"

Uncle Pooh excused himself but His Lordship pulled him aside. "Barrow, why do I feel as though I've been rebuked?"

Uncle Pooh leaned close to answer, but Timmy could hear. "It's not me, Your Lordship. Anna doesn't want the children to be full of themselves. Your Lordship doesn't know Anna as I do, and believe me, Your Lordship does not want to incur her wrath!"

Timmy didn't know incur or wrath, but they must have been something awful, because His Lordship whispered, "I see. Thanks for the tip off, Barrow. Mothers are a fearsome breed. No one knows that better than I do." His Lordship tipped his head towards Granny, and both men smiled a secret sort of smile. Timmy had heard the word, impertinent, often and didn't know what it meant, exactly, but he was pretty sure His Lordship had just done it.

That's when Granny said, "She's a precocious little thing, isn't she?" Sometimes Granny said things in a way that Timmy didn't know if she meant something good or something bad. He had the terrible thought that maybe Granny didn't like his sister.

Timmy worried about it all day. The next day, the family stayed home to do some packing. "Max and Jenny need a chance to see what they've gotten themselves into," joked Uncle Pooh. Mr Max Brouette and Miss Imogene Lee were going to be the new butler and lady's maid. Mr Brouette was going to be His Lordship's valet too. They had been working in France for a friend of Granny's until the friend's husband died. Timmy felt proud that he could speak to Mr Brouette in French.

Timmy decided to ask Pop for advice. He usually asked Mom, but this was a man's problem. He joined Pop at the table for breakfast. Uncle Pooh was cooking porridge and ham with apple rings, and Mom was upstairs helping Milly dress. "Daddy, I want to talk."

"Is it serious?"

"Yes."

"I think we need some coffee. Pooh, my son needs a cup and saucer."

"This must be serious," replied Uncle Pooh. He set a cup and saucer in front of Timmy and returned with the coffee pot. He filled Pop's cup and poured just a bit in Timmy's. Pop picked up the milk and filled Timmy's cup until the coffee was light brown.

"Sugar?"

"No, I like it black." He once heard Uncle Pooh say that. He picked up the cup and blew in case it was hot. He took a sip but the mixture was cold, and he could barely taste the coffee.

"What's on your mind, son?"

"Is Emmy special because she's my sister?"

Pop tapped the table twice with his fingers. "I'm not certain I understand the question."

Timmy took another sip and wondered how to explain. "Sometimes I don't like Emmy. But if someone else doesn't like her ..."

"You feel indignant."

"Yes!" He wasn't sure, but that sounded right.

"I believe I understand. You have a sister, and I have a brother. It isn't so different."

"It isn't?" Timmy doubted that having a baby sister could be anything like having a grown-up brother.

Uncle Pooh placed a hot bowl of porridge in front of Timmy. Timmy wasn't fond of porridge but was very fond of golden syrup. He liked to see how much he could add before someone stopped him. Why did syrup have to be so slow?

"Leave some for the rest of us," warned Uncle Pooh from the hob where he was tending the ham. He wouldn't serve Pop breakfast until Mom was seated at the table.

Pop took another sip of coffee. "Sometimes Uncle Pooh and I become frustrated with each other. We can even feel as though we don't like each other, but that wouldn't be true. You never truly dislike Emmy do you?"

"No, I'm fustated."

"Frustrated."

"That's right!"

Pop set down his cup and walked to the hob. "Just this morning I was frustrated with your uncle."

Uncle Pooh turned around. "Were you?"

Pop threw his arm about Uncle Pooh's neck and pulled him down until Uncle Pooh's head was at Pop's waist.

"John, not now!"

"Of course, your uncle and I are mature men and know how to behave. Isn't that right, Pooh?"

Uncle Pooh pulled at Pop's arm but couldn't loosen it. "The ham's going to burn!"

Pop held Uncle Pooh tight and picked up the tongs with his free hand. "Whose turn was it to cook breakfast, Pooh?" he asked as he flipped the ham and apple rings.

"I don't know."

Pop set down the tongs and switched arms. "It was mine, Pooh. You know very well you were to sleep late today."

"I was being helpful, John."

Timmy saw Pop prop himself against the wall and knew what was coming. With his free hand, Pop took hold of Uncle Pooh's belt from the back and lifted until his uncle's feet were off the floor. "You know there's nothing helpful about it when you don't take care of yourself!"

Uncle Pooh flailed his arms, but it didn't help. "John! Leave me some dignity in front of the boy!"

At that moment, Mom came to the table followed by Milly. "Let him go, Mr Bates."

"John started it, Anna!"

"Telltale!"

"Old goat!"

"Sit down, Mr Barrow. Please serve, Mr Bates."

Uncle Pooh took his seat. He smoothed his hair and gave Timmy a wink.

Pop filled Mom's coffee cup and then Uncle Pooh's. "I haven't finished answering your question, Timothy. There are going to be people who don't like me or don't like Uncle Pooh, but that's none of our affair. On the other hand, we would always defend each other against someone who was being deliberately cruel. Am I right, Pooh?"

"That's what brothers do," agreed Uncle Pooh. "What about you, Timothy. Would you do the same for Emilia?"

Timmy couldn't bear the thought of someone being cruel to Milly. "Yes!" he declared and rewarded his bravery with another sip of coffee.

"Nap time's over, Timmy," announced Uncle Pooh as he dropped himself from his bunk. "You may go."

"Hooray!" shouted Timmy. Yesterday, he had run ahead to find his friends, but today he decided to wait for Milly. That's what a proper big brother would do.