Northfield Ch. 20
Sometimes it's hard to distinguish between ends and beginnings. Conclusions do not always hurt, and starting afresh may not feel entirely happy. Letting go brings peace and turns the tide towards the future.
Later in her life, when Shelagh thought of the strange, tense, fulfilling period before her marriage, from December to March, she felt that she was tested beforehand for her vows: they had to learn to live in sickness and in health, they took care of a child, Timmy, and they had to learn to be truly dependent on each other's comfort and help.
Elaine Parker, weakened by tuberculosis, died from pneumonia in January. She was buried in Birmingham with her sister. Timothy, the kind soul he always was, suggested that something from him was placed in the casket. He asked if it could be his drawing of Cuthbert. His will was done.
A period of sorrow followed, although Elaine's passing away was a release from a tortured life. Her journey's last track was something to be remembered with gratefulness and wistfulness, though. Patrick told Shelagh of moments of Joan, Elaine and Timothy together, sitting on Elaine's bed, talking and exchanging memories. Elaine had for all these years carried with her a diary and a notebook she and Jennifer had kept when they were young. Together, they had written stories, and there were many drawings by Jennifer that Timothy or Patrick had never before seen. It seemed that Elaine was reliving her happy childhood with Timothy, and she gave him an extraordinary gift by telling him about Jennifer. Tim, who had been five when his mother had died, relished these stories.
Joan Parker felt Elaine's death most deeply, but she was hopeful for the future. Patrick seemed burdened much in the same way he had been when Shelagh first met him. Little by little, his confidence was returning, though. Shelagh felt that their relationship, cemented in so much sorrow, should and could grow joyful and easy again. She felt it was her duty to stir Patrick up from his dullness. It needed all her courage to be bold and a leader in this relationship but for this man, she dared.
In a strange manner, Grace Poole acted as an ice-breaker and a guardian angel for them. Grace had become a family friend during the time Elaine lived with the Parkers. He seemed devoted to Elaine, and helped the family in many practical ways. Oddly, he seemed to recover and became more stable and less chaotic, as Elaine withered away. He showed his talents in cooking and gardening, helping Maureen Warren who was now training as a housekeeper for the Turners.
Grace was also good with children. One day, Shelagh was gazing through the living room window at the Turners', seeing Grace tending the early hyacinths already pushing up in the garden after the mild winter. He was accompanied by Timothy, who was eagerly asking questions about everything flora or fauna, and Maureen, who had with her a younger sister, a charming three-year-old. Grace seemed undisturbed by this posse of young people; occasionally he lifted up the young Miss Warren and cradled her in a sure manner.
Shelagh expressed her amazement with Grace's multiple skills to Patrick, who was reading on the sofa.
"Yes, Grace is very competent," Patrick agreed. "He has oddly recovered to a very stable state. With his cooking skills, he could easily compete with Maureen."
"He really is good husband material. I wonder Our Lord's sense of humour when he made a man like that….like that," Shelagh replied, with a sly smile.
"Stop hankering after him. I forbid it, I absolutely forbid it!"
Never had a cranky expression of primitive, old-fashioned male chauvinism sounded so delightful to Shelagh's ears. She loved Patrick's spurt of energy and renewed territorialism. She felt that their old bubble of love was returning, only this time they were talking with each other honestly and without riddles. Yet some gentle teasing was safe, Shelagh thought with amusement.
"Patrick, my love, what is the percentage of women who have sexual thoughts about handsome transvestites, according to Kinsey's report? You are such an expert on medical research." She came close to him, kneeled by him and grazed his knees with her hands.
Patrick could only laugh. Taking her hand, he kissed it. "You are so precious. Probably a good deal of women do. And I don't give a damn if you are one of them as long as you….stay with us."
"Thank you, Patrick. A good deal of women does not mean… ," – she rose and sat in his lap, pulling his head to her neck - "it does not mean all." After a silence she added in a breathless tone:"Some of us have other odd desires."
His mouth curved to a smile of helpless, happy satisfaction. "I thank God for that every day even if I don't believe in Him," he growled in a muffled, throaty voice, his head still in her hold.
"My beloved infidel," she whispered to his hair.
XXXXX
Eventually, Shelagh dared to tell Patrick about the odd unsigned letters.
Patrick listened to her story with incredulous eyes. To prove her story, she gave him the first page of Elaine's case study. She really didn't want to upset him, but this was the last shadow hanging over them that needed to be cleared.
His face grew bleak as he read the page. He had already told her, not in many words, but as comprehensively as he could, about Elaine's medical history over the last year.
Fiddling with the paper she gave him, he furrowed his brow slightly and said: "Remember the time we read about chlorpromazine?" Shelagh's face lit with a happy memory of that day.
"It is a phenomenon," he mused. "As I said to you earlier, it was good to meet this changed Elaine. Much of her earlier personality had been restored. Joan and I were so struck by that. "
After a silence he raised the paper before him: "I didn't send this draft, and neither did Joan, that I am sure about. I don't think any of the medical staff would do such a thing." He pondered something. "Wait a minute. Did you say that there was also a photograph sent to you? A picture of me and Timothy?"
"Yes. You from a distance, only from behind."
Patrick raised his upper lip with irony. He put his arms across his chest and said: "Grace."
"Grace?"
"Yes. Grace Poole. He sent these to you. I don't know how that man's mind works, but he was attached to Elaine and he is attached to you. He lived with Elaine, and this must be Elaine's copy of the notes."
Shelagh's eyes grew large, and she nodded in agreement. "Yes. It sounds possible." She had to exhale hard. "Grace was helping me, in a way. To come to a decision. "
Patrick started to laugh. "I should offer him my most heartfelt thanks. No doubt he will deny any part in this. Perhaps it is better to let sleeping dogs lie."
"Perhaps."
There was a question hanging in the air.
"Do you think this article should be published?" Shelagh ventured.
Patrick's eyes narrowed. Then his gaze cleared and he nodded: "I think so. It is an important piece of research on medical treatments. In practice, it will need Joan's approval for publication, but I don't mind."
A fresh surge of hope swelled in Shelagh's heart. It seemed they were on the threshold of something new and promising, both personally and professionally.
XXXX
One important matter remained undiscussed and Shelagh had started pining for a resolution.
The next day she got her chance when Patrick started to discuss some surprising new prospects. "Joan is going to employ Grace Poole," he told her. "She needs help with her garden and kitchen. I think it is a perfect plan, and a great relief to me and Timothy. She has aged a lot in the last year, and we live too far away to provide the help that she needs."
"So we are going to lose him." Shelagh's voice was tinged with sadness.
Patrick winced a little. "You could always lure him back to work as a part-time nanny for us. Should the need arise."
"Yes, I could." Shelagh pouted her mouth a little. All this talk of nannies and us was very pleasing but he had not approached the Great Matter directly yet. She cleared her throat.
"Patrick, have you noticed that you haven't in fact said anything? Of some… matters. Not enough."
His lower lip turned over his upper lip in a comical, yet endearing mirror to her pout. His eyes twinkled. He put his arm around her waist. Letting out a satisfied snort, he smirked and gloated: "Have I not? You are asking me to pop the question? Why not do it yourself, equals as we are?" He was nudging her hair and ear with his mouth in a manner too titillating to Shelagh's heightened senses.
She laughed and took a step aside.
"You do it. Just this once. One last time."
"All right, Nurse Mannion. I need a wife."
"Do you really? When you have such a capable gardener, nanny and Major Domo in Grace Poole?"
"Yes, you whippersnapper, I just told you Grace is moving to Birmingham. I need a wife. Could you be that wife?"
"Thanks for the straight talk at last. Yes, I could be that wife. Soon. Very soon. Please."
"Oh yes, yes, soon," he murmured.
He was losing his control and kissing her neck in impatient manner. His hands roamed insistently on her back, and she arched close to him. Shelagh nuzzled his trembling jawline, she fondled his temples; her whole body shuddered. She opened her lips, seeking his, her breath hitching. Their deepest cravings found a fulfillment in each other, in this passionate exchange of kisses: a body worshipping a body, two minds blazing in unison, in love and tenderness. This was home. No more running.
xxxxxx
Reader, she married him.
She became bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. She never wearied of his society, neither did he of hers, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, they were ever together. To be together was for them to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. They talked, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other was but a more animated and an audible thinking. All her confidence was bestowed on him, all his confidence was devoted to her; they were precisely suited in character—perfect concord was the result.