Chapter 22
John's mother was getting old. As she laid the table for tea, her movements were slower than he remembered. She seemed to have some problems getting up and down, but declined John's offer to help. She was old-fashioned enough to refuse male interference in domestic tasks.
Her mind was as sharp as ever. She joined him at the table, updating him on her neighbors and putting slices of his favorite tea bread on his plate. John thought he was making appropriately interested comments, but his mother saw through them. She always had. She called him Johnny. Her Johnny.
John knew no matter how old he was, he would always be her Johnny. John was the only of her seven children to live to adulthood. They had returned to Ireland after his father died, selling his shop and living with an uncle for a time. After there were no Bateses left but John and his mother, she moved to London to be near him. Mrs. Bates was a lace maker, and was able to find employment almost anywhere. John could have supported her, but again, she declined. She liked her independence. Her home was small, but very tidy and comfortable.
Her hands shook as she stirred her tea. John hadn't noticed that before. She asked after Anna without looking up. John cleared his throat. Said she was well. Said she sent her best wishes. His mother cast her shrewd gaze upon him. He was stirring his tea. Asked if he and Anna had had a disagreement. John placed his spoon on the saucer. The teaset had been purchased with the intent of becoming a family heirloom. His mother had intended to leave it to a granddaughter. John wondered how disappointed she was that there were none.
John told her everything was fine. He wondered if he could get her to talk about his grandmother. He asked about the time, as a girl, her family had moved from Cork to County Roscommon. His grandfather hadn't known what to make of Rathcroghan, but his grandmother immediately knew it was sacred to the Good Folk. John hadn't known his grandmother.
His mother told him not to change the subject. She looked at him across the table. Said she knew he wasn't going to tell her what had happened; he never did. It had been his way since he was a boy. But he was still her boy, no matter how old he was, and she was still his mother, and that gave her certain rights, certain duties. She'd overlooked some mistakes he'd made, letting him sort himself out and learn, but not this time. He obviously required guidance.
John closed his eyes. He wished he needed to be back at the club early this evening. Sadly, Lord Grantham was dining out immediately following Parliament and wouldn't require John until bedtime. He was stuck. John respected his mother, but this was a bit much.
She went on. Obviously something had happened between him and Anna. She could tell. She always knew when something was amiss with him. From the way he wasn't meeting her eye she supposed he was embarrassed about something. Something he had perhaps done. Had he taken a liberty? She supposed, from his downcast eyes and red cheeks, he had taken a liberty. How did she manage to make him feel like a naughty schoolboy?
She went on. Had Anna rebuffed him? Taken offense? Broken off whatever it was they were doing? She was waiting. John looked out the window. It was starting to rain. The lace curtains were as pristine as ever. She was waiting. John sighed. There was no escape. John admitted yes, he had taken a liberty. His mother sighed. Said she hoped that nice girl hadn't broken it off with him. John noticed a fat old man fumbling with an umbrella and a dog in the street. John confessed Anna hadn't been offended in the least.
His mother sighed. They sat in silence for a few minutes. John noticed some of his old things in the parlor. When he went to prison, his mother descended on his house and took everything of value, sentimental or otherwise, before Vera had the chance to sell it. His mother had never cared for her daughter-in-law. She hadn't said anything, but John knew. She sighed again. So the liberty hadn't been unwelcome, and that was the problem. At least she didn't ask what the liberty had been.
Having a good woman at his side would do him a world of good. Vera had not been a good woman. Vera was a harpy. A harlot. She knew why he married her, and that was always a bad basis for a marriage. That business might fade away in time, though with his father….John's head snapped up. So far as he was concerned, he'd been found out in the garden. She conceded his marriage might have lasted if he hadn't gone to war, hadn't been wounded, if they both hadn't drunk so much, but then, living with Vera would make anyone drink. John chuckled.
She went on. It had been evident to her when Anna called that the girl loved him. It was equally evident that he loved her. His problem wasn't regard for Vera. What was the problem? John tried to speak, tried to say something, but only got out Anna….His mother continued. It didn't have anything to do with Vera, did it? John thought it had everything to do with Vera.
His mother thought it had more to do with his sense of honor. She applauded him for trying to do the right thing, but wasn't there an awful lot of grey in doing the right thing? Hadn't the war taught him that? She was proud she'd raised him to have that sense of decency. It was his best quality, but also his worst quality. She was frustrated now. She was starting to stutter a little. John wondered how long that had been happening.
Maybe she'd let him read too much as a boy. Maybe that's where he picked up these noble ideas, or maybe something from church had stuck. Yes, she knew about him and church. He couldn't hide anything from her and he shouldn't try. Anna was the best thing that could have happened to him. John tried to speak again. But she deserves….Again he was cut short. She may deserve better, but she wants him. Shouldn't Anna get a say in it? All women deserve better than the men they get, and all men wind up with better women than they deserve. That's just how the world works. She could have done much better than his father, and his father certainly could have done worse, but she had wanted him. John smiled. So did his mother.
She left the table to refill the teapot. John noticed her breath wasn't easy. She returned. Anna, if he would let her, would bring out the best in him. If he would trust her. Trust again. If he wouldn't overthink it. Overthinking again. He loved her; now if he would just let himself be loved in return and stop questioning it. She missed the point. He was….He loved Anna and that's why it….His mother shook her head. She looked out the window. He was missing the point.
His mother looked at him. She told him she loved him and wanted the best for him as she always had. This girl was the best for him. He just needed to trust her. He needed to put the past behind him. Obviously Anna accepted that he was married and what that meant for them. She knew about prison and about his problem with drink. These things that he found so shameful she saw as signs of his strong character. John interrupted. Anna is so young and….
Anna is not as young as she seems. She has wisdom John lacks. John should not be ashamed of his desire for her. John felt hot. He didn't know where to look. Anna obviously wasn't put off by it; her desire for him was probably equal. John's mouth fell open. There is nothing shameful about desire, and there doesn't have to be anything shameful about acting on it. Just don't get her in trouble.
John needed a good strong woman in his life, to look after him. She wouldn't be around forever, and Vera might be dead for all he knew. She certainly didn't seem to be returning anytime soon, and in any case, she was neither good nor strong nor nurturing. Anna was all of these things, and more importantly, she loved him. He needed to trust her. He needed to have faith in her, her wisdom, her judgment. It wouldn't be like it was with Vera. None of it would.
His mother sat back in her chair. She was too old for these things. She closed her eyes. John wondered if he should ask one of the neighbors to look in on her now and then. John did have faith in Anna. He didn't have faith in himself. He could conquer the frustrated desire, but there were so many other ways he could ruin her life. He was right. His mother meant well, but he was right. He would write Anna later. His mother opened her eyes. She hoped this was the end of it. She liked Anna and wanted to see more of her. She hoped he brought her by next time she was in town.
Later, when John was leaving, his mother handed him a parcel of books. She had been out and saw them in a shop window and knew he'd like them. Lady Wilde's Ancient Legends of Ireland and Matthew Arnold's Essay on Celtic Literature, both beautifully bound in linen and embossed with gold. John kissed his mother's cheek. She patted his cheek and told him to be good. She knew he'd do the right thing. She loved her Johnny.