As the train approaches the station, Charles becomes inexplicably nervous. This is ridiculous, he thinks. I've waited on members of the nobility most of my life; I've been in the presence of royalty, for heaven's sake! There's no reason to be nervous. But this is your wife's family, an insidious little voice whispers. What if they don't like you? What if they think you're too much of a stuffed shirt? What if they cause Elsie to believe that? He shifts in his seat, clears his throat.
"Who will be meeting us at the station?" His voice booms in the quiet compartment.
Elsie looks up from her handbag, the contents of which she's been sorting and re-sorting for the last ten miles. "What? Oh, Donal will probably meet us with the cart."
He grunts in reply and looks out the window. Donal, then, The first one he'll meet. What's the appropriate etiquette for this situation?
"You're not nervous, are you?" He can't quite tell whether she's asking seriously or merely teasing.
"Not at all. And you? Are you nervous?"
"Certainly not." She snaps her handbag shut emphatically. She draws a deep breath and glances at him out of the corner of her eye only to find that he is giving her the side eye as well. She laughs in spite of her nerves. "Well, perhaps I am a bit nervous." He takes her hand in his and squeezes it gently.
"Perhaps I am as well."
She smiles as the train pulls into the station and stops at the depot. She stands, still grasping his hand. "Come along then. Let's face the firing squad together."
He smiles and stands. "That's not exactly a reassuring image, my dear."
She glances around and, seeing no one about, stands on her tiptoes and risks a small kiss. "It's the together part that's supposed to reassure you."
"I've been reassured by that thought for 15 years, love." He's rewarded by a look of genuine surprise on her face. "Come along then," and he pulls their cases from overhead. "Let's face the firing squad."
*CE*
Elsie scans the small crowd at the depot, looking for Donal. She's surprised by a tall young man who gathers her in a great bear hug.
"Auntie Els! We've missed you! Da sent me to pick you up from the station."
"Tavey, you great lumbering ox. You nearly scared me half to death, you did." She pushes him back and studies his face carefully. "You're looking very well, Tavey. I take it marriage agrees with you."
"I could say the same for you, Auntie," he says cheekily. "And where is your man?" He looks about for anyone fitting the meager description that his mam gave him. "You've not made him up, have you, Auntie?"
Elsie swats him on the arm and turns about. She spots Charles a few paces back; he's stepped away to give them a few moments of privacy. She gives him a smile and a shake of her head and he moves forward, waiting to be presented to her nephew. "Tavey, may I present Mr. Carson? Mr. Carson, this is my nephew, Tavey." She rushes through the introduction, unsure whether it's right to be so stiff and formal. She just doesn't know, and it irritates her to be so unsettled.
"I'm that pleased to meet you, Mr. Carson," says Tavey, and extends a hand.
Charles shakes hands with the lad. "As I am, Tavey. And please, call me Charles."
"Uncle Charles?" he asks slyly. Elsie swats him again.
"None of your cheek, Tavey lad. Now where is the cart so we can be off?"
"Follow me. I'll have you out to the farm in no time and in one piece, or Mam'll have my hide." He starts off, then turns suddenly. "Oh, I forgot. Let me take those bags, Mr. Carson." He bounds back towards them, frisky as a young colt. He takes the bags from Charles. "Come along, then. Mam's that anxious to see you."
Charles smiles weakly and takes Elsie's arm. "Shall we?"
She pats his hand lovingly. "One down, three to go. You're doing just fine, Uncle Charles."
He gives her a shocked look, then smiles wickedly. "Careful, my lass. I don't want to have to swat you. At least not yet."
Now it's her turn to be shocked. "Charles Carson, I never..."
He leans down to whisper warmly in her ear. "You might. When we get home, that is."
"None of your cheek, now, Mr. Carson. All of that will have to wait until we get home."
He smiles, rubs his thumb along her arm. "Then let's get on, love." They follow Tavey to the cart and he helps her in, settles her carefully in the seat, then steps up to join her.
"Ready to go home, Auntie?"
She steals a glance at Charles, his face happy and relaxed. Her heart lifts at the sight. "Ready, my lad. Let's be off, then."