Hello again. Here's a little more but please read the notes at the end because I truly need some help, lol.
Anthony felt Edith's keen awareness of his discomfort over the incident at dinner. The whole debacle left him disheartened and bereft. She chatted at him far too brightly, her tone more childlike than he'd ever heard from her. She was nervous, he knew. Edith knew he hurting and she was trying to raise his spirits and make him forget. But it wasn't working and her efforts only left him with more despondency. Finally, he could stand it no more and snapped, "please, enough. I… I believe I just want to go to bed." He saw her head come up, her eyes bright and eager. "To sleep," he added, not wanting a coupling born of pity. He hated himself in the moment and a small part of him resented her. After all, if she weren't so young, so lovely, so … well, attractive, those clods wouldn't have approached their table and he could have lived a while longer in the fantasy they had created. But the fantasy had been smashed. He was too old for her, far too old. And he was broken and not just his arm. Something within was broken and he had no confidence that it could ever be repaired. Sighing in defeat, he snatched his night clothes from his bag and stormed into the bath to change. He heard her sniffles as he closed the door and hated himself even more.
By the time Anthony stepped into the room again, Edith had changed and was sitting on the bed. Her eyes were red and he knew she'd been crying. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just…" He didn't know what to say, how to explain, so he just left it hanging.
His dearest darling looked up at him, her eyes full of sorrow and confusion. "Are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong?"
Anthony sighed and sat on the bed next to her. "No. No, I'm angry with myself, with the war, with everyone and everything else. But not you. I know I must have sounded as if I am, but… it is just so frustrating Edith. I can't remember a damned thing. And while I am not eager to remember the war, I do so want to remember who I was before. I want to remember you from before. And I want to … to be worthy of you.
"But you are, so very much," she said softly.
Shaking his head, Anthony spoke barely above a whisper. "I don't feel as if I am. I feel… worthless."
Tentatively she reached for his arm, his good one. The weight of her hand on his forearm felt reassuring somehow. "You are not worthless, Anthony. You never have been and you never will be."
"But I…"
"You did what you had to do. You went to war even though you were past the usual age for it. You apparently saw things that were beyond your ability to cope and your mind has hidden all of that from you. And you survived, you did what you had to do and you survived. Don't ever feel like that is worthless. You survived. And you came back to me. And I will be forever grateful for that. You make me so happy, Anthony. Do you consider my happiness is worthless?"
"What? No! You are… Oh god, Edith; you are …. Everything to me."
"So my happiness is not worthless and you are the one, the one and only, who makes me truly happy. That means you are not worthless, wouldn't you say?"
Anthony looked into her doe colored eyes and marveled at his wife. The grey had not lifted from him, but he did feel better, less despairing, than he had just moments ago. "I think… I think if you were not here, with me, I think I would die. I'd throw myself off a bridge or step in front of a motor car or…. Something. You make believe that there is still something worth fighting for; that I might have a life worth living after all."
Edith's hand moved from his arm to his hair, where she ran her fingers through and smoothed it in a gesture of comfort. "Never, not ever, are you to think about ending your life. Do you understand me, Anthony?" Her tone belied the comforting strokes in his hair, for she was firm and authoritative. All he could do was nod in agreement. Words were not possible just then. The feel of her hand in his hair, the determination in her voice was overwhelming his emotions.
Anthony sat there a moment longer, relishing her touch. His mind was a fog, his emotions in tatters, feeling every bit as broken as he was. Then suddenly, her hand moved and she was pulling him towards her, into the bed.
"Edith, I… I don't think I can… not tonight." Panic was rising in him.
"Then we won't," she said simply. "But we will hold one another. We will love one another in that way. I need you close to me Anthony. And I believe you might feel the same about me."
Relenting, Anthony scooted closer to her, curling up next to her. "Yes," was all he said in response. Her arms wrapped around him as he slid his left arm around her waist and held her close. Yes, despite his earlier pique, he knew this was exactly what he needed. He hoped that in some way, she might feel some comfort in their embrace as well.
A few hours later, Anthony woke, screaming, caught in a nightmare. Edith was beside him instantly. "You were dreaming," Edith said soothingly over and over. "It's alright. You're safe. It was just a dream." She repeated the mantra several times to calm him. Slowly, her voice penetrated the chaos in his mind and Anthony began to quiet. Slowly his breathing eased and his mind began to focus. Yes, a dream. He was in the hotel room, in Scotland. He was safe; she was safe. They were safe.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Edith asked as he relaxed.
"No," he said resolutely.
"It might help," she suggested.
"NO!" he answered. He saw Edith flinch and immediately felt contrite. But there was no way he was going to discuss his nightmare with her, especially not with her. The images were fading some, but …no; he would not discuss it with her.
"Alright then," she agreed. "Let's just relax then. Try to get more sleep?"
"Yes, of course," he replied, not all sure he wanted to sleep more that night. He was too afraid of the destruction his mind would conjur, death and destruction he had undoubtedly witnessed.
The next morning, Anthony and Edith dressed and somberly made their way out to the hospital. A young nurse greeted them as they entered, inquiring if they had come to visit a family member. Anthony shook his head, "No, I'm here to see Dr. Rivers."
"Dr. Rivers?" The woman seemed surprised. "Please wait here," she instructed as she pointed to a bench near the entrance. Anthony led Edith to the bench while the young woman went off in search of the doctor. He felt despair rising once again in his mind.
A few minutes later the nurse reappeared with a man in tow. Anthony saw from his uniform that he was a Major in the Medical Corps. "Sir Anthony Strallan?" the other Major asked.
"Yes, I'm Sir Anthony. And you are?" Anthony took the man's outstretched left hand and shook it hesitantly as he stood. Well, at least the doctor understood that much, to extend his left hand, thought Anthony.
With an air of hubristic authority Anthony was quite familiar with, the other man replied, "Major Willis. Sorry, should have introduced myself first." The man tried to look a little sheepish but his demeanor was far too arrogant for it. He made Anthony uncomfortable.
"I am here to see Dr. Rivers," Anthony explained. "I saw him at Downton when he stopped there. He thought he might help me."
"Yes, well—you see, Dr. Rivers is no longer here. He returned from his trip south and a few days later was released from duty. He's back at Cambridge by now, I expect. But he did tell me about you and left a plan for your treatment, should you wish to continue." Anthony stepped back, his mind in a whirl. Dr. Rivers was gone and this … this arrogant Major was in his place, to be in charge of his recovery. "Of course, with the end of the war and all, I can't order you to stay. It is your decision entirely. The war office will extend your Commission while you are in treatment, with no pay, or you can muster out and return home, free of any further obligations." The man smirked, actually smirked at him.
Anthony couldn't think, couldn't answer. He felt a hand slip into the crook of his arm as Edith eased up beside him. Her action enabled him to focus. But what to do? He really didn't like the manner of this pompous snot in front of him and preferred not to be under his care. He sensed from the way Edith was squeezing his left arm, she was having similar thoughts. Turning his gaze on her, he saw her confusion and her anger.
His first instinct was to decline this doctor's offer and go home to Locksley. Or perhaps Dr. Rivers would help him is he went to Cambridge. What a ghastly thought… Cambridge with his sister. Looking down at Edith, seeing her expressions Anthony knew one thing for certain, he must get better. But how?
Yes, I'm going to leave you hanging here for a time. What will Anthony decide? I see 3 options for him: He can stay at the hospital with this doctor, go to Cambridge and put up with his sister while persuading Rivers to treat him, or he can go home to Locksley. All three scenarios have been tossing about in my mind and Anthony isn't giving me a clue about which way to go- well, maybe one little clue but not enough of one. So, I'm going to pause, and yes I know I've been quite paused these past months (sorry about that), to see what Anthony decides. Which option do you think is right for him? Perhaps you can help him decide.
