Chapter 18 Not What I Was Before
It had been a long, hard day. Morris had her walking the different areas of the plant, checking each thing to make sure it was done properly-apparently an inspection was coming up and he was sweating bullets-one of the few times he seemed less in control of things. He was irritable, barking, and condescending. Everything she did was wrong, everything was not to his perfect standards, and by the time she entered the house to eat the evening meal with the family, she had hardly any appetite, despite having hardly anything to eat all day (he had scolded her on breakfast, it seemed the stress of the inspection had begun to eat at him very early on in the day). Nothing she had done that day, from breakfast to picking up the dishes after supper had been done to his liking. His children, even the more favorable ones seemed destined to a similar fate-he hated their noise, and told the youngest two to go outside and leave him alone for a few hours, only then for him to remember that he had left some notes he needed to go over that weekend at the office. Belle was blamed for not seeing that he left it, he cursed under his breath as he went to his car, and Belle finally breathed in relief when the house became quiet again.
David dared to come out of his bedroom when he realized his father had left and asked Belle if she could help him work on his final project for school. She had nodded her head, her mind not really in a mood to do anything but curl up in a ball on the couch and try to forget the day. After a few minutes, David seemed to sense this about her and said he might go and work in the living room for a while since the house was so nice and quiet-he had figured out what he needed to do, and they could work on it more in the living room once she had finished the dishes.
She felt bad that he had sensed her need for solitude, hated that he might feel uncomfortable (she would never have him feel as they did around his father, she hoped he knew that she enjoyed his company on most days!), but went back to the dishes, sighing and trying to imagine the couple of weeks left before she could move on with her life.
A screech on the floor had her suddenly flinging her wet hands away from the sink-about to smirk at David for the scare, she began.
'Oh David, you gave me a scare!' And then taking in the stranger behind him, startled once again (though this time not so jarringly), 'Oh, hello.'
Brown eyes stared at her with such an awed expression she was taken aback. It was David that was now smirking, eyes dancing with excitement.
'Auntie Belle, this is your friend-you know, the one with the letters.'
The soldier looked shyly away for a moment and Belle's heart quickened. 'Roger?'
He hesitated, his face still full of nerves, his grip tightening on the handle of both his cane and the small suitcase he carried, as if they were some sort of lifeline.
'Aye' he said, almost too quiet to hear. Belle smiled, reality thrown on her so suddenly she had no time to become awkward or nervous (as she imagined it would be when he suggested that they meet).
She threw her arms around him, being sure as not to topple him, as she could see it was his leg that had been injured. 'Oh Roger, I'm so glad you're here!' And she was. Every harsh word of Morris' every thread of exhaustion wiped away at the thought that Roger was there-right there in the kitchen! He had traveled all the way from Texas to be here, with her, and she couldn't be happier.
Roger's body went stiff beneath her touch and she immediately pulled away, realizing the state of her hands (dripping wet) and how silly and forward a gesture she had just made.
'I'm sorry! Sorry!' She began hurriedly drying off her hands on the apron she had fastened over her work dress. 'I didn't mean to-ooh' She bit her lower lip, almost afraid to see his face, but gathering up courage and meeting his gaze, what she saw was a shy-smile! His eyes were wide and gaping, but his lips were turned upwards. He had been surprised, but perhaps pleasantly so?
'You're quite alright, please, don't worry yourself so.'
All at once some of that awkwardness that she had been sure would come, did come, David cleared his throat.
'Why don't I finish this for you, Auntie Belle-you can both go onto the patio-it's not too cold anymore for it, if it is I can grab a blanket for you from your bedding in the living room.'
'Alright, thank you, David.' She smiled and then looked at Roger, whose eyes said he was doing some thinking, as well as looking pained and uncomfortable. 'Would you come this way, Roger?'
She led him to the back patio. Though the windows were screened and fresh air could pass through them, the smell was a bit stale from the disuse over the winter. Just like the rest of the house, its purpose was merely practical. The seats that were provided were useful and nothing more. There were no decorations, no frilly pillows, The room was empty save the three chairs and a middle table, topped with a game that the younger boys had convinced their father to buy.
'Here you go. Is there something I can get you to eat? Drink?' Belle fidgeted. She watched Roger come to the chair and his hand go to his knee to fiddle with something there before sitting heavily on the chair, wincing as he did so. She felt pain in her own heart as she saw the action.
'No, I'm 'lright thank you very much.' Belle smiled. She had tried to imagine the way he spoke many times before, but nothing could have prepared her for the soft way the lilt of his words went.
He smiled shyly back, not knowing why she smiled-probably thinking her mad, oh well.
She sat down in the chair next to his, fiddling with her dress-realizing she still wore the apron, standing up (Again, he probably thought her mad) untying it before sitting back down.
'This is my first time back here, really. It's been too cold since I got here to do much sitting.'
'Mmm, I imagine so.'
Roger had told her that he did not have a very open, social personality, but was this truly the same man who wrote all those beautiful words in the letters? He was uncomfortable with her. She bit her lip, hoping he wasn't already wishing to be away, and pulled herself up a little taller, hoping she could coax some of that man she knew from the letters out into the open.
'I just can't believe you're here! It seems so strange, doesn't it?' He merely shook his head in the affirmative. He seemed to be thinking, his mouth began to say something and then closed again.
'Roger, what is it?' She became concerned. 'Are you in pain? Are these seats too uncomfortable? We can probably go into the living room, we just might have an audience, and I didn't know if you…' Her saying his name had his head perk up and he seemed more determined to speak. He interrupted her (though not unkindly)
'No, this is fine, Belle. I just, something the lad said-your bedding, in the living room. Do you not even have a bed here, Belle?'
That was what that look was for? He had been worried about her? Tears threatened to spill as her heart was flooded with warmth. She had been taking care of her father for so long, and then taking care of her brother's house that someone being so concerned over her was a novel concept. She tried to keep her voice tremor free and neutral.
'No, I, um, sleep on the couch. Morris said he didn't want the boys to have to sacrifice their own spaces for me.' Roger's features wrinkled, he seemed-angry. He had been right in his description of himself. He was full of sharp features and his eyes and hair were various shades of brown, yet with the way he looked at her, the way he wrinkled his face in kind concern and ran his hand through his hair, it was all quite handsome to her and she wished to speak and have all that worry be taken away.
'But it's alright. I am used to it now, and anyway, it won't be long before I'll be leaving.' She tried to comfort him. He nodded his head, but said nothing.
'Do you know what you'll do with your new found freedom?' She tried to smile and steer the conversation away from the reality of living in Morris' house (and also tried not to think about what would happen once Morris came home).
'I cannae decide on anything specific yet. I felt rather lost before the war, I think I said something to you about how it was then.' He looked down, rubbing his cane between his fingers, seemingly nervous. Alluding to their letters made Belle smile despite everything. It helped to mesh the flesh and blood Roger with the one she had been imagining for so long. 'I did lots of odd jobs-I rather like the ones where I could work with my hands, building things, repairing things but I'm afraid I'm not so mobile now, and I donna know who will hire a man with only one leg.'
Belle gasped. She had seen the cane, seen the way he cradled his knee-she thought he had perhaps badly hurt it. He had lost it! Roger closed his eyes in pain at her gasp, as if she had hurt him. Guilt stung her. She grasped his hand on a sudden impulse, squeezing the hard, calloused hand between her own. This time he both stiffened and his eyes went wide with surprise.
'Don't mind me, Roger, it just surprised me, is all. You never told me, remember? That's alright though. And I don't see why you won't be able to find something you like, you seem to be getting around just fine.'
He seemed to be searching her face for something, she didn't know what. She straightened herself up again, looking him in the eyes. It was an easier thing to do with him than with, say, Morris. Roger's gaze was intimidating in a way so different from her brother's. His was an uncertain, searching gaze, though she felt he wasn't trying to find fault, though exactly what he was looking for, she was uncertain.
'I'm not the man I was before, Belle.' He seemed to be speaking to more than just the job situation.
'Of course you're not, but that's alright.' She half whispered. 'None of us can stay exactly the same, especially when life changes all around us. Nor should we want to be, I think. What's that poem by Longfellow say-the one I shared with you, after…' She didn't want to bring up his friend's death so she let the silence fill in the unspoken thought and began the portion of the poem she recalled. 'It says that to act that each tomorrow finds us farther than to-day. It says a lot more, but I'll not chew your ears off with poetry.' She smiled and bit her lip. He looked at her once again with silent amazement. 'And I know.' she began to worry over her words. 'That you have the physical side of all of it, but I don't think-don't let it define you, Roger. I believe you are more than capable.'
'I-I don't know how you do it.' He said quietly.
'What's that?'
'Put things so perfectly.' Now he was smiling a bit and that relieved Belle greatly. Suddenly, her hand was grasped in his, a surprising turn of events! His soft eyes seemed to speak with hers. 'Thank you Belle. Thank you for everything. I've wanted to say that to you personally for so long. You'll never know how much your letters have meant to me.'
She was about to thank him for his own beautiful letters- to reassure him that he had become her dearest friend.
'Belle!' Morris' voice caused Belle to jump and her nerves to suddenly roll over her. Feet stomping could be heard and Roger's hand held the head of his cane tightly again.
'I think we had better go into the living room now.'
'I'll not stay long-I asked the cab to come back and pick me up in an hour.' He looked like he was going through a practiced process (she supposed he was), where every part of standing up was a thought through motion. She wished he would let her help him, but she decided that might hurt his pride, and after the way he had spoken, she would not hurt him in that way again.
Was this it then? Would he part tonight and she never to hear or speak to him again?
'Where will you go?' She asked as they walked.
'I will try to find a place here in town to sleep-do you know of a hotel?'
She perked up.
'Yes! And does that mean that you will be in town for a little while?'
He looked at her questioningly. 'Would you want to see me again, ye think?'
'Of course!' She squealed, causing a truly happy smile to warm up his face.
Morris was fuming in the living room, though he stopped short at the soldier walking with Belle.
'And you are?' Morris' tone was neutral-this was his business facade, he was the analyzer, the observer, finding out what he needed to know in order to gain the upper hand.
'Gold, formerly Corporal Roger Gold of the US Army, sir.' And Roger had stiffened and become a rather different version of himself in response. His face went into sharp thin lines and his eyes narrowed onto Morris. It wasn't rude or cruel, no true malice could be found between either, but Roger's gaze was unnerving in a way that made her brother look smaller than the towering figure he had always posed before.
'Morris French.' It was almost a question as he held out his hand to Roger. Roger took it in an alert fashion, keeping eye contact with Morris-gone was the shy man of before, or anyway, it was suppressed.
'Do you know my sister, sir?' Familial terms were rarely used by him, especially in connection to herself or her father, and she stiffened at the use.
'Aye, we knew each other briefly, before…' The lie would be to say before the war, but he didn't elaborate, so therefore, she could take it to mean before coming to stay with Morris, and Morris could take it however he would.
'I never heard her mention you.'
'You never asked.' Belle interjected, causing Morris to give her a look that signaled that they would talk about things later, though it was an unusual look that had most people unsure of what he was meaning-his ability to keep people guessing was part of his routine. She knew it, as she had been given it enough times and knew what the consequence of the look was (well, sort of, she knew it at least involved a lecture, whatever else it involved was always an unfortunate surprise)
'I was just about to leave, I would not want to overstay your hospitality.'
'I'll see him out.' Belle said quietly.
'I'll see him out.' Morris commanded. 'I think you have some boys to put to bed, don't you?' His dismissal of her publicly was always the worst of his methods. He had her so worried over what he might do that she had hardly any fight left in her. It was as if he enjoyed watching her recant whatever she had said and go off to obey like a good little child. She glared at him (normally her only form of retaliation).
'No, I will. I'll put the boys to bed here in a moment, or Cathy can do it.' Morris said nothing-he did not do public displays, he was always cool and collected in front of anyone whom he thought mattered. Apparently a soldier was respected enough that he held his tongue.
She motioned for Roger to follow her and left out the door with him, to wait for his cab.
Both of them let out breaths as they entered the cooling air. Roger's face was a storm of emotions, all the cold, business-like manner was gone, as well as the shyness. He fiddled with his cane, though he had to rely on it much more when he stood.
'Will you be alright?' He said quickly.
'Yes, yes, I'm sure I will be.' She tried to smile, he didn't.
'And you think you'll be able to get together sometime-tomorrow maybe?'
'Yes!' this she was more certain of. 'Tomorrow is my errand day. There is a small diner-new owners. Granny, Ruby's grandmother used to own it. We could eat lunch there?'
Roger gave half a smile. 'Aye, I'd like that. Noon?'
Belle shook her head, and then told him of the place where he could stay when she saw his cab pull up. They shook hands-that seeming like the right gesture at the time, and Belle watched the cab disappear.
Her body began to shake a little, though she made herself stand as straight as she could and lift her chin ever so higher. The door was before her-it was time to face Morris.
Author's Note:
History Stuff:
Not too much this time. I looked at some houses in Maine in the 1940s and tried to keep things as accurate in the description. However, when searching I looked specifically for those with a screened in porch, mostly because I wanted it for this section, so-again, not sure the accuracy. My great Aunt's house was built about fifteen years after the war, and I based the musty smell after winter time on her screened front porch. She has pretty, frilly things-so it's not exactly like Morris' at all, lol
Story Stuff:
I mentioned this before, but my husband and I corresponded through messages and skype for 9 months before we ever got to meet each other in person. I tried to balance the 'knowing each other but not actually knowing each other' here-remembering back to how it was when my then boyfriend and I finally met face to face.
The poem is the same one from a few chapters back: A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. it seemed fitting.
Things will be from Rogers POV next time, and I promise that he's noticed some things, and feels things about Belle's situation that he would, of course, not be able to address all in one go. Just like his own past with the war, things will be slowly brought to the surface. Did I mention that I plan for this to be a long fic? hehehe
It will be Monday before the next update, so look for the next chapter then.
Thank you so so much for reading and for all your wonderful comments. Reading your excitement has made me so happy! I really hope you enjoy this chapter, I know it feels like a long time coming.
