Chapter 3
The elderly Caretaker busied himself with preparing the tea things: Tray, cups, saucers, spoons, creamer and sugar bowl. He next prepared the teapot and the tea leaves as the kettle heated on the stove. The familiar movements helped to calm and to distract him from thinking about Charlene.
A few minutes later, Eve abruptly entered the kitchen and stood across the counter from the tall man. "Jenkins! Quick question."
Jenkins straightened and turned to give her his full attention. "Of course, Colonel, how may I help you?" he asked, his face neutral, his tone professional.
Eve looked him square in the eye. "What's wrong?"
He blinked owlishly at the unexpected question. "Wrong? I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."
"Bullshit," she said simply.
"I beg your pardon?" he responded, taken somewhat aback as much by the profanity as by her abruptness.
Baird raised a hand and began to tick off fingers as she spoke.
"There's a cold, untouched cup of tea on your desk that wasn't there last night. There's no package from Charlene on your desk. I would swear on a stack of Bibles that I just saw you wiping your eyes as we came in this morning. And right now you're white as a sheet and desperately wishing I would just go the hell away and leave you alone."
Her voice softened slightly as she leaned on the countertop towards him. "Ergo—What's wrong, Jenkins? Talk to me."
Jenkins gave her a perfunctory smile, and his voice was flat. "I appreciate your concern, Colonel, but I assure you that I'm fine. Nothing is wrong." He dismissed her by turning to fiddle busily with the tea tray again.
Eve knew what was troubling him was related to Charlene, and in typical Jenkins fashion, he was trying to shut her down and shut her out as quickly as he could. Baird sighed inwardly. Why did Jenkins always have to be such a tough, stubborn, crotchety old nut to crack?
"Jenkins," she began slowly. "Do you remember that little pep talk you gave me a while back? About how it's my job as the Guardian to protect the souls of the Librarians?"
"Of course," he replied. He turned to look pointedly at her. "But do I really need to remind you, Colonel, that I am NOT a Librarian?"
Baird steadfastly returned his gaze, uncowed. "You're close enough for me, Jenkins."
The Caretaker gave her a tiny, paternalistic smile before he returned to rearranging the tea tray.
Fine, Baird thought as she mentally rolled up her sleeves. You wanna dance, old man, then let's go.
"Jenkins, I heard what you said to Charlene that last day, just before she...left. We all did. We all know how you felt about her. About the promise you made to her."
A teaspoon slipped from the Caretaker's hand and clattered onto the kitchen floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. Eve saw a look of panic and humiliation flash across the older man's face, and then it was gone. He pulled his imposing frame up to its full height and squared his shoulders. His face was hard now, his slitted eyes dark and angry.
"Eavesdropping is unworthy of you, Colonel," he rumbled menacingly.
Eve shook her head slightly in denial, her blue eyes never leaving his. "No, we never meant to eavesdrop, Jenkins, I swear. It was just...bad timing. That's all." Her sharp soldier's eye caught the faintest hint of softening in the man's expression, and she pressed her advantage.
She reached out and gently laid her hand on top of his. "I know you miss Charlene."
She felt him flinch slightly at that, but he said nothing. Eve squeezed his hand tightly.
"Who takes care of you, Jenkins?"
He was confused momentarily by the abrupt change of topic. "I beg your pardon, Colonel?"
"Who takes care of the Caretaker, Jenkins?" she asked, her voice slightly urgent. "Who takes care of you when YOU need caretaking? You insist on doing and doing and doing for others, for US, but you refuse to let us 'do' for you. So who's shoulder do you cry on when you need to?"
Jenkins pulled his hand from hers and fussed with the cufflink on that sleeve. "Well, first of all, Colonel Baird, I don't cry. Second, the Library... " he began.
"Is not a human being," she cut him off sharply. "The Library can do many wonderful things, Jenkins, don't get me wrong. But it can't provide everything that a human being needs—not even immortal human beings."
Especially immortal human beings. The thought came to him bitterly, unbidden.
Baird reached across the countertop and took his large hand again in her own.
"Believe it or not, we all care about you, Jenkins," she said softly, gently. "We all love you. You're a member of this family, too, just as much as the rest of us. Maybe that's hard for you to accept after being alone for so long out here by yourself, but it's still true. And we hate to see you hurting so much over something and trying to carry it alone. And I can tell that right now that your very soul is hurting."
She squeezed his hand tightly, pleadingly. "You're not alone anymore, Jenkins. You don't have to carry anything by yourself ever again. Please—one soldier to another—at least let ME help you carry this."
The tall man inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly before giving the woman opposite him a wry look. "You're really going to play 'the soldier card', Colonel Baird?"
"Every chance I get," she said simply. She gave his hand one final squeeze. "So—what do you say?"
He sat motionless for a few moments, considering. At last, with a soft, short sigh, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the box. He slid it across the counter to Eve just as the kettle began to sing. Grateful for the distraction, he turned to tend to the teapot.
Eve gasped at the sight of the stunning box and its contents. As she read the card, her heart ached for the old Caretaker as she realized the full magnitude of the grief he had been bearing in silence.
"Jenkins, I'm so sorry," she began sadly, laying the card aside. "We've each been so wrapped up in our own grief over Charlene—I've been so worried about Flynn and the others. I never really stopped to think about what you've lost..." An image flashed through Eve's mind, of herself desperately begging Flynn to not sacrifice himself with the Eye of Ra. To not leave her, alone. An image of herself trying to get through the rest of her days without the love of her life...
He waved his hand, as if brushing away a fly. "It's perfectly understandable, Colonel. There's no need to apologize. I don't ever expect you to read my mind. Only squeaky wheels get the grease, after all."
She started to protest his dismissiveness, but he wouldn't listen. Giving up on that for now, Eve picked up the small book and began thumbing through it.
"What is this?" she asked, hoping to crack that thick shell of his just a little bit more. "I can't read a word of any of it."
Jenkins paused only a moment before telling her the truth. He suddenly felt very old and stupid. And so very tired. He turned his eyes to a speck on the countertop and kept them fixed there.
"The language is Latin," he said detachedly. "It is a book of poems that I wrote for Charlene, when I was a very young, very foolish knight." He paused again, suddenly embarrassed, and shifted his gaze to the kitchen floor. He forced himself to reveal the rest. "Love poems."
Eve looked down at the book again. She bit her lip to hide the small smile that involuntarily came to her as she imagined fearsome, stoic old Jenkins as a love-sick young man, holed up in a room late at night, scribbling mushy love poems by candlelight to his lady fair. It was hard to believe he could ever have been that kind of a man.
But the silly image evaporated when she looked up again and saw the utter wretchedness in the old knight's eyes. Impulsively she opened the book to a random page and held it out to him.
"Read this to me."
Startled by the request, he hastily demurred, recoiling from the proffered book as though it was poisonous. "Oh, no. No, no—I couldn't, Colonel...It's really very bad poetry, as I recall. You wouldn't enjoy it at all."
"Charlene obviously didn't think that," Eve responded kindly. "Please, Jenkins. Just one." She winked conspiratorially. "One soldier to another."
That coaxed the corners of his mouth into a tiny smile. He took the book from her hands, pulled his glasses from his coat pocket and put them on as he walked to the kitchen table and sat down. Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he began to read.
"My heart trembles fearfully,
When I think of my love of her;
It lets me not act sensibly,
It leaps like a stag from its place.
"It lets me not put on my attire,
Nor bind my sword around me;
My head is even not anointed,
And I may put no wine to my lips.
"'Do not wait, go there!' cries it to me,
As often as I think of her.
O my heart, do not act so stupidly,
Why do you play the fool?
Sit still, my Lady comes to us,
Adorned in beauty and grace.
"Let not the people say of me:
'A knight fallen through love!'
Be steady when you think of her,
O my heart, do not tremble so!"
By the time he reached the last verse, his usually firm, deep voice was hoarse and shaking, and his eyes were full of tears. He quickly closed the book and set in on the table as one hand rose to cover his mouth.
Eve had a lump in her own throat, tears in her own eyes. "Jenkins, that was beautiful."
"She was a beautiful woman," he whispered. "I loved her so much..." Ashamed at not being able to keep his tears from falling any longer, Jenkins quickly turned his body away from Eve in a futile attempt to hide them from the Guardian.
Eve quickly stood and went to him where he sat, and without saying anything she put her arms around his head and shoulders drew him towards her, cradling him.
At her touch all resistance in Jenkins seemed to crumble. He felt a desperate, overpowering hunger to be held, to be consoled. He blindly wrapped his own long arms around Eve and, burying his face in her stomach, wept like a child. Centuries' worth of pain, grief and frustration poured out of him in great wracking sobs. It frightened Eve to see the seemingly unshakeable old knight so vulnerable and frail, but she held on to him.
She said nothing. She had plenty of experience consoling fellow soldiers and their families to know that sometimes words did more harm than good. Sometimes all that was wanted was a sympathetic presence. And so she silently held the mourning man, gently rocking him and stroking his hair as he wept, sharing the terrible burden of his grief.
Eve estimated that it was a good half hour or so before the Caretaker had cried himself out enough to regain control of his emotions. He pulled himself gently from her arms and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. He wiped his face as he coughed and panted for breath. As soon as he could speak again he sheepishly began to apologize profusely for his outburst.
"I am very sorry, Colonel Baird, I should not have subjected you to that. Please, forgive me," he said, sniffling. He caught sight of the huge wet patch on the raw silk of Eve's shirt. "OH! Oh, God—Look what I've done to your shirt! I am so very sorry, Colonel—If you will allow me to pay for that..."
Eve smiled at the mortified Caretaker's discomfiture. "It's alright, Jenkins, really, don't worry about it. Believe me, I've had MUCH worse stuff on my shirts than a few tears and some snot."
She took his face in her hands and turned it gently so she could look into his swollen eyes. "You can cry on my shoulder anytime, Jenkins. Or even just talk. Day or night. I'm here for you, one soldier to another. You hear me?"
Jenkins had fully regained his composure by then. He smiled weakly and nodded, unable to meet her gaze. "Yes, Colonel, I hear you, loud and clear." He forced his dark eyes to look deeply into her own. "Thank you, Eve."
He stood up then, forcing her to release him and to step back. He began fussing with his clothes—straightening his bow tie, smoothing his coat. He folded the damp handkerchief and returned it to his trousers pocket. He cleared his throat.
"About the others..." he began tentatively.
Baird threw her hands up in a gesture of warding. "No worries, Jenkins. I consider this all strictly classified information until you say otherwise." She peered up at him closely, still concerned. "How do you feel now?"
He raised his head for a moment as though considering how to answer. He then met her eyes with his and gave her small, reassuring nod. "I'm fine now, Colonel. Thank you."
Eve turned her head slightly, narrowing her sharp blue eyes in askance. Jenkins chuckled, placed one hand on his chest and gave her a slight bow.
"I promise. One soldier to another."
Eve nodded, satisfied that he was telling the truth. "OK, then. Good pep talk," she said teasingly as she lightly mock-punched his upper arm.
"Indeed." Jenkins smiled shyly as he gathered up the book, the box and the card and them in the safety of his breast pocket. He then turned his attention to the teapot on the counter. "Oh! And now, look at this! I let myself get distracted and now this tea has steeped far too long—AND it's gone cold. It's almost noon and I have yet to have even a single cup of tea! Now I have to make a fresh pot…"
As Jenkins muttered around the kitchen, Eve turned and quietly left, leaving the Caretaker to his tea.
