There & Back Again, Pt. II
A/N: Thank you all for your continued reading and support, and your insightful commenting. And thanks to my regular guest reviewers; I seem to have more of those on this story than usual. I deeply appreciate your enthusiasm though I cannot respond to you directly.
Charles' trip to Edinburgh to ultimately bury his old friend was inspired by the idea that maybe their diffident good-bye on the train platform wasn't quite the end, but a step towards a deeper resolution. And we know who left that door open for Charles, who showed him that there even was a door.
I don't want to downplay the love (or the version of love) that Charles felt for Alice; but reconciling it against how he feels for his wife, and letting go of it, completely, makes him a happier person. ~CeeCee
March 1, 1926 - A Southbound Train, the English Countryside
For the first time in three nights, he wasn't spending the twelve o'clock hour at the bar in The Lamb's Heid, for which he was endlessly grateful. Despite the hospitality, no, the genuine warmth and friendship so easily offered to him by Fergus and Elsie Campbell, he was eager to wash the dust and grime of this trip from himself.
He wanted his home, his bed, and most of all, his wife. And it was Fergus Campbell's doing that he would get back to Yorkshire nearly half a day earlier than he'd expected. The man had been true to his word – just today, he and his wife had hosted a motley amalgam of theater performers, stagehands, grifters and hangers-on who wanted to send Charlie Grigg out in style.
The gathering had been raucous and maudlin in turn, punctuated by hearty choruses of song, but never disrespectful of the inn owners, to his utmost relief. He'd demurred all urgings that he sing something, and, late afternoon, escaped to a quiet corner where Fergus caught him, brought him a glass of wine.
The younger man assessed him for a moment.
"When's your train home, Mr. Carson?"
"First thing tomorrow morning, Fergus," he replied. It seemed ages from now.
"If it were possible to get you a seat on the evening train, would you be interested in it?" The man's face was thoughtful, his forehead creased.
"I would, indeed, Fergus, jump at the chance to get an earlier train, though I'm not certain it's possible," he replied. He could be home before dawn, he reckoned, if he were able to catch a train in a few hours.
"And that it might be, Mr. Carson," he replied, grinning. "You have the look of a man who wants to be home, sir, and I'm going to see if I can do something about it." And he'd walked towards the house phone, a determined look on his face. The young man's thoughtfulness continued to take him off-guard, which must say something about him rather than Fergus Campbell, he felt.
He sipped his wine, thinking. Then he noticed a short, sturdy-looking woman in her late fifties, hair cut in a sharp, modern bob with a thick fringe and a color so-raven black it had to be counterfeit, heading towards him, a brisk air about her. Her name was Sadie, a name familiar to him from his intermittent correspondence with Grigg, and though he wasn't entirely clear about who she was, most of the people here were treating her with a certain amount of deference, as if she were Charlie's chief mourner.
"You're Charles Carson, aren't you?" She was by his side now, looking up at him. She was very short, even smaller than Elsie, or Beryl Patmore. She was American, he could tell, now that she had spoken, but her accent was like nothing he'd ever heard before. Her voice seemed to bend and stretch the syllables of his name out, like toffee. "I'm Sadie June, by the way." She held her hand out and he was startled enough by her casualness to take it in his own.
"Indeed I am, Miss…?"
"It's Missus, actually, Mr. Carson. Missus Sadie June Grigg, though not many here know Charlie and I made it official, a few months ago, when we saw the end was coming for him," she sighed, and he saw a crack in her diminutive fortitude. "I told him, I wasn't much of a Southern belle, I didn't need any of the fuss and flowers. Just me, him and the preacher, was fine by me." She smiled a little, then wiped at the tears that had begun to fall, and he handed her his handkerchief.
Charlie Grigg had gotten married. Again. He felt all of the air leave his chest. Of all of the things he'd mulled over, considered, this wasn't one of them. He took a closer look at the woman in front of him, thinking. After their farewell at the train station nearly four years ago, he expected that was it; he'd never hear from his old friend again, and wasn't sure he evenwanted to. It all seemed finished, to him.
But then, about two years ago, he'd gotten a letter from Grigg, and then another. After he received the third one, he grudgingly dashed off a quick note to his erstwhile stage partner. Their correspondence continued in fits and starts, with a similar ratio of letters, until he included news of his engagement in one of his missives early last year. Grigg's response was so genuinely congratulatory, so effusive in his praise of Elsie Hughes, whom Grigg remembered fondly, he was struck by his own stinginess, and began answering each letter he received thereafter.
He realized that he'd been woolgathering for a moment too long. He took Sadie's hand in his. "My condolences, Mrs. Grigg. I didn't realize that you and Charlie had married, but he wrote of you often." Even as he said the words, he wondered if he'd really noticed what Grigg had written about Sadie, other than her name appearing a bit more than others in his correspondence. Elsie would have noticed, he was sure of it.
"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Carson. Charlie and I meet a little over two years ago, when I started working at the theater, mending costumes. He was always so gentle, but so full of fun. He also had a lot of regrets, a lot of sadness he carried around inside of him," she looked up at him, folding the handkerchief carefully, handed it back to him. "You were one them, you and his first wife. He said he'd made a mess of it all, and he'd tried to clean it up, but wasn't sure how much he succeeded. I told him, I said, 'Charlie, don't let it fester. Pull the whole thing out, or it can't heal properly, like a bad tooth'. He said 'Alright, Sadie, I guess I'll give it a go.'"
"My wife said something very similar to me, Mrs. Grigg…before she was my wife, actually."
"We women spout wisdom, if y'all would listen now and then," she seemed to soften a little then, and a grin crossed her face, rounding her cheeks, making her look girlish and mischievous. "Though I suppose you did listen, after all, Mr. Carson, since the fine lady is now your wife."
"I suppose I did, Mrs. Grigg, and it only took me just over three decades to ask her," he rather enjoyed the scandalized look on the woman's face.
"My lord, Mr. Carson, that's an awfully patient woman you've got there," she retorted. "Me and Charlie, we just fell in together, right away. It was like we were two kids, pickin' daisies in a field, the pair of us. Don't look shocked, Mr. Carson, it was love, sure as the nose on my face, and a piece a'paper didn't change how we felt, not one whit," she was laughing a little now, and the whole situation was beginning to feel unreal to him. And it felt even more so when she took the handkerchief back, pulling it out of his hand, and blowing her nose loudly, with great relish.
If she keeps at it, that nose isn't going to be so sure, for long, he thought a bit wildly, and he felt a grin creep onto his face. Something loosened in him, high in his chest, in the back of his head, something that he'd been so used to being there, he'd not realized it until it fell away. His smiled widened, and Sadie's teary face mirrored the gesture. He assessed this woman, this friend, this partner, that Charlie Grigg had found at the very end of his life, and thought of Elsie, likely on her way back to their cottage, tidying it up for his arrival, her small, neat form and knowing smile, so different from Sadie.
And each of them, so different than Alice. He and Charlie, they'd both loved Alice, each in his own way. But goodness, hadn't they both learned, along the way? He was sorry, now, truly sorry, he'd not seen his friend before he passed, but he was very glad to be standing here, with his wife. But not nearly as happy as he was to be heading home to his own.
Fergus had returned at just that moment, with the happy news that he'd secured Charles a seat on this very train. He'd hurried to ensure everything was packed, and left the revelry of Charlie's wake at its apogee. Sadie had looked at him hard, then pulled him down, planted a rough kiss on his cheek, and bid him farewell, and good luck.
His goodbyes to Fergus and Elsie Campbell were slightly less disconcerting. Elsie had pushed a small package into his hand, promising all sorts of Scottish treats, meant for "the other Elsie". He'd turned to her husband, then, and held his hand out. Fergus took it, shook it heartily, then clapped his hand on Charles' shoulder, pulled him into a rough hug. He was appalled to find himself close to tears as he pat the younger man's back.
The past few days flickered before his eyes in the low-lit train car as it trudged hurriedly through the night. He danced hazily in and out of sleep, dimly aware that, the next time he truly slept, it would be in his own bed, with his wife beside him.
oooOOOooo
The hour before dawn
The Carsons' Cottage, Yorkshire
He opened the door, shut it gently. Removed the outermost layer of traveling clothes, hung them on their designated hooks. He reached out, stroked Elsie's coat. Then leaned over, inhaling it deeply. He blinked a few times, the familiar shapes of the cottage swimming into focus in front of his tired eyes. The sky was just beginning to lighten outside, and in the milky purple of near-dawn, he saw fresh flowers set on the table, eggs, a loaf of bread, on the sideboard. He set the little package Elsie Campbell had given him on the table, next to the flowers. Thought of the hard-working, kind young couple, hoping they, too, were resting, or close to it.
He moved through the sitting room and into the bedroom. He was tired, his back, his feet, his heart, everything was sore and grimy and coated in layers of memory and the grit of travel. But, oh. There she was, curled up on her side, breathing deeply, snoring, a little, and he grinned, wondering if he'd have the nerve to tease her about it later. Her hair scattered across the pillow like spatters of brown paint.
He didn't want to startle her, but he couldn't help himself: he sat, never minding his dirty trousers on the clean white expanse blankets, and stroked her face, so very very softly. He felt the tears start, but ignored them resolutely, even when they blurred the vision of her in front of him.
She stirred, made a sleeping sound. Rolled over on to her other side, trapping his hand underneath her.
"Elsie," he said, like a prayer. "Elsie."
"Charlie?" she answered foggily, her eyes opening slightly. "Tis actually you, then." She pushed herself up to sitting, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her towards him, breathing in the smell of her hair, her skin, the salty sleepiness of her. She brushed her hand across his face, grinned a little, then kissed him briefly.
"How I missed you, Mr. Carson, I'll not lie," she said dryly. "How on earth are you here, in the middle of the night?"
"By the kindness of a good-hearted, hard-working Scotsman, that's how," he retorted, and let go of her to undo his shoes, his tie. "And if you're well-behaved, his rather lovely wife has sent treats, that I'm on orders to share with you. Shortbreads, jam buns and something called 'tablet', whatever that may be."
"Ye've got Scotch tablet! Ye never do! And ye're never getting into bed in that filthy traveling gear, ye daft man," her voice held a certain, recognizable no-nonsense tone. She was standing now, observing him undress.
"I do, indeed, have it, and you'll get none of it, if you continue to speak to me in that tone," he replied, his entire being buoyant and light.
"Ye'll share, ye're on orders from a Scotswoman," she replied, laughing. Then she got quiet, thoughtful. She stepped up to him, tossing his shirt aside. "How are you? How was it, then?"
He looked down at her, marveling that he had been foolish enough to think he had to take the journey on his own, clean up his past by himself. He ran his hand down her cheek, and she kissed it. "Grigg was married."
"Was he?" A ghost of a grin flashed across her face. "Good for him."
"I think she was good for him, actually, even though she was an American, from the state of Kentucky, if you can account for it," he replied, thinking of Sadie, her bold casualness, her too-black hair.
"Goodness knows how she ended up in Edinburgh. I bet that's an interesting story…" she mused, smiling. And something overtook him then, his love for her, the deep satisfaction he felt to find her, asleep, in their bed waiting for him, the lilt of her voice, the smell and the feel of her shouting to him that he was home, home, home, at last.
He pulled her close, pressing her against him, and the words that had been pressing against his mouth these past few days tumbled out, finally, "I've missed you, so much, I've missed you." She looked up at him, startled, then ran her hand over his eyebrows.
"Ye old booby," she replied. "Ye're exhausted. Come to bed."
"Elsie, I mean it, I do," he insisted.
"Of course ye do, ye daft man," she responded, as she pulled him down, into the still-warm sheets. "And I love ye, Charlie, for coming home, in the middle of the night, to me, where you belong."