Chapter 23 Getting Settled
Roger fiddled with the paper in his hands, turning the folded pages over and over in his hand.
Coward. The paper seemed to taunt him.
His chest hurt just from entertaining the idea for half a second.
Pathetic. The voice sounded an awful lot like his father- not surprising.
The letter went to the little drawer of the table by his bed and his head went to his hands as buried it in them. What was he doing? He closed his eyes, almost relishing in the pain that shot up his little stump of a leg, reminding him of the biggest reason he had trouble sharing his true feelings-that was actually a lie though, wasn't it?
Wasn't it? The voice piped up.
He couldn't argue, the list of reasons he had trouble sharing his feelings was a mile long.
He looked around the tiny flat-not much of one really, nothing that could fit more than one person-not fit for what he wished it was.
He looked again at the address he was given, Belle's piece of paper with her loopy hand just one of so many other specimens of her handwriting that he treasured.
He was a fool.
He sighed and pulled out new paper-empty paper, and began to write.
…
'You have a good first day?' Mrs. Mildred was whisking something in a bowl when Belle arrived. The two cats perched on the counter made her stomach turn a little at the thought of how close those fur balls were to the mixing bowl but she smiled at Mrs. Mildred.
'I did. We had a good group of children sign up for the summer programs and Mrs. Smith showed me the different things I needed to know.'
'Oh! Before I forget! You've got a letter there on the table-Pan! Shoo! Get off Miss Belle's correspondence! I bet it's from that handsome beau of hers.' Mrs. Mildred lifted her glasses with a flour dusted hand, but smiling so as her dimples and smile lines stood out even more than the splotches of flour now found on her face.
'Thank you!' Belle managed not to squeak with too much excitement, nor blush too furiously at the mention of Roger being her beau and picked up her letter and pulled an apple out of the fridge to take with her.
In her room she eagerly opened the letter, making sure she set the front of the envelope to the side so she could send her own letters. It had been only a week, and yet, it had seemed longer than any of the two or three weeks that it would often take when he was overseas. She had missed him. Her eyes longingly soaked in the near perfectly straight penmanship before allowing her mind to read the words, seeing his face and hearing his voice as he did so.
Belle,
I sit in my new flat, or apartment as you will most likely call it. It's an old building, one that's been here, sitting on the main street for nearly a hundred years, and has been made into small apartments, and everything a person needs is fit in one single room. The person in charge of decorating did not exert themselves very much and the interior feels almost like I am living in those times long ago when the house was built. However, as I said before there's everything I need contained here, the lease is very short, and the rent is cheap, which were my only parameters when looking for somewhere to stay when I got off the bus. That and it is close to everything in town.
The job search came to an end today, and I found a place that doesn't mind someone with, well, my limitations, in fact, I do very little but sit in a chair behind a desk and read legal papers all day and organize them in their proper place so that the lawyers that work here might access the documents they need. It requires very little on my part besides being neat and orderly, something I feel I can do, and the pay is more than sufficient for me at this time.
I bore you with these facts, hoping you will be assured that I am well settled here, and now anxiously await news of you. I have tried calculating the days and have tried to figure out when you might receive this letter. Have you started your job? If so, I would love to hear how it went and how you are adjusting to living with Mildred the cat lady. I yearn to know and look forward to hearing from you.
Your friend,
Roger
Belle giggled over Mildred the Cat lady, which was a change from her worry over the conditions where he lived and then the relief that he had found work so quickly, hopefully giving him confidence after being worried over it for so long. This was no longer the thirties, jobs were not as bleak a thing as they had been at one time. She wondered for a moment what the job market would be like once the war ended, but these were thoughts that took only a moment to think before she was thinking back to Roger and hoping that he was comfortable and content.
She slept quite well that night-the tasks at the library before her and the letter from Roger still nestled between her fingers, she found sleep a blissful enterprise.
…
Roger wearily climbed the stairs to the upper floor, and therefore his room. His body ached and the stairs challenged him this day-though he remained careful not to stumble. His body was aching, but his mind was filled with anticipation. In his designated box for mail, here had been something nestled there which made him feel each step an eternity. Yearning for comfort, he took the prosthetic off his leg and settled upon his bed before reading. He had figured out how to hop around his little room-cane in one hand, the other one bracing the wall or the bed to maneuver to the tiny thing that was called a kitchenette. This meant he could spend the remainder of the evening free of his shackle, once he got back to the little room. He would not call the place home, of course, could not call it home (and that would be even if he had lived there for two years instead of almost two weeks). At this point he had no idea what the word even meant. This was the temporary dwelling place that would be exchanged for another temporary dwelling place. If he had dreams of somewhere at some point in the future, and the person who would occupy the place while he was away at work, and the image of that person in a pretty yellow dress (though sometimes it was blue, he had to admit) with a white apron and a burnt pumpkin pie (but words on her tongue gushing to him about a well loved book), then the immediate image of hopping around the room at the end of the day dashed it all to pieces, and he would chastise himself for conjuring it (though it really did no good, for he was sure to do it all over again).
Letter in hand, he lovingly moved his thumb along the opening to enjoy its contents. This was as close to the woman as he could get-perhaps ever would get to her from here on out, so he would savor and cherish every word.
'Dear Roger,
You cannot know how glad I am that you found work so readily-not that it is any surprise, of course.'
Roger paused and groaned a little at the sweet assumption, the unwanted memory of his first couple of days going to the places he had circled in the want ads. He had chosen jobs he felt he could do, but also something he thought he would enjoy. It was the first place that had been the most painful. A repair shop-a place where he could work with his hands, stand or sit at his leisure, he assumed. The owner took a skeptical glance down to his cane, and then eyed him up and down a great deal before replying, and none too kindly-'I don't think this is the sort of work for you.'
The words had stung, the reality of his situation and what it could mean for him, how his life had changed and would never be the same all to clear. However, he had to continue on, so he had then looked at a couple more places before seeing about the law clerk position and the man in charge of hiring shrugged his shoulders, asked if Roger would have any trouble going from desk to drawer to organize documents and files. Roger had no idea if it would be any trouble or not, but figured he could figure a way through it if there was, and thus, the job was offered. He went back to the letter.
'What is it like? Are the cases droll or interesting? Are you able to converse with your coworkers, or are you not? Is it in a very busy part of the city? Forgive me all the questions, though I would love all the details if you are able.
I am doing well here. Mildred the cat lady-while the name very appropriately suits, it will now be hard to watch myself and not to refer to her as that while speaking to Mrs. Smith! You will never guess what her cat names are. I do appreciate the reference to a good piece of literature, however odd the reference may be, I suppose. The cats are Peter and Pan (they are the two boy cats, and the most mischievous, so I admit the names fit them), Wendy, Tootles, Tinker and Bell (I am not overly fond of that cat, no matter how our names might resemble).' Roger was laughing out loud at the last name, the cares of the day erased by her words.
'She says that Peter and Wendy were given to her by her husband and the litter of kittens were kept because she had just lost her husband and couldn't bear to give them up to anyone else. I think they must be a great comfort to her, I'm sure the furniture and collections she possesses are all relics of the husband she grieves for. I cannot judge her for it, though I might wish the kitchen a little less crowded while trying to make my meals! She's a good soul, and though she may talk a bit more than most, I find I don't really mind because I believe she was lonely.'
Roger smiled. Belle would be the one to, instead of moaning about the amount of cats and chatter which he might have done, she would realize the lady was lonely, and therefore smooth over all the eccentricities. She was so good, his Belle (no, not his Belle, he scolded, and kept reading)
'I began my job today, and although it was mostly Mrs. Smith showing me around and getting me to help children sign up for the summer programs (which I enjoyed very much-I think I quite like working with children), I enjoyed my day very much and look forward to continuing tomorrow. In fact, this past week has been so peaceful and wonderful. I went to the red cross and was able to work a few days, doing what I had done before. I ate lunch at Granny's one day, and then again on Sunday afternoon. Granny was happy to have me, I think, but even more so that her roommate was eating with the preacher and his wife. I don't think they get along very well at all.
In the in between times, I've been able to read when I like, wash the linens, clean my room (for all she tried, Mrs. Mildred seemed to have brought her cats in with her when she cleaned out this room) and made my schedule really any way I like, something I haven't done in I don't know how long. It was either having my schedule made by school and then what must be done at home when I was younger, then for my father who needed everything the same and consistent, and then, of course, it became out of my hands.
I feel rather guilty, this feeling of peace when the world is at war. But I feel it nonetheless, though I do pray daily for the war to end. Yes, I am quiet and content, your letter pushing me to those feelings of happiness and joy. Thank you for your friendship, I hold it very dear.
Your friend,
Belle'
…
His steps echoed in the large building. Tap, step. Tap step. He hated the double echo that must follow him, declaring to the world before he ever saw them that he had a limp. The roman like columns on the outside felt very intimidating, the inside very stately and busy. His hand shook with the letter he held, getting in line-changing his world forever, no matter what.
I hold it very dear.
Friendship. That's what she held. But she could mean more, couldn't she?
Roger ran his hand back through his hair, as he always did at such thoughts, recalling her face when she said she didn't mind the rumors that might circulate. She had seemed genuine, her face always looking at him with honest friendship, none of the distaste he thought he might receive when he revealed that he was lame. He hated himself for the way his chest constricted when he pulled out the little drawer and took out the letter there. He hated the way his head pulsed with pressure at the thought of sending it. He had done it though, quivering and shaking, constricting and pounding.
She held his friendship very dear.
Would it be enough? Would the letter seal his doom? He shouldn't even be asking this, but then he would try and remind himself of the money he had continually put aside since the first paycheck he received from Uncle Sam. It wasn't a lot, not what a princess with bouncy curls and bright blue eyes ought to have, but the feelings he struggled with would eat him alive if he didn't do something about them, and he would offer what he had, come what may.
Coward.
He was reminded once more.
Alright, he was a coward, were the words not etched on the very paper he held?
Pathetic.
Pathetic if he did this, pathetic if he didn't.
'Next!'
He was next in line, his mouth was dry-would he even be able to speak to the person who would help him send this letter-this piece of paper that contained all his hopes and dreams?
He was a fool.
He didn't deny it, sighed and placed the envelope on the counter and like the fool he knew he was, only nodded his head one way or another by way of communication. His body quivered as he left and he almost became off balance trying to walk out-they would think him drunk as well as an idiot.
His heart still thundered when he got back into his room. He pulled off the brace around his leg and slid off his prosthetic. The stump laughed at him, mocking him, taunting him with reasons he ought not to have done what he just had.
Well, it was too late.
He took out Belle's last letter and held it to his chest and cried like a fool.
Author's Note:
History Stuff: Roger's apartment is based on real buildings (formerly old, old houses) that I researched that they turned into apartments in the main part of town. I did a lot of research that never made it into the chapter-like how that only 50 percent of all houses had indoor plumbing at this point! This means that both Roger and Belle most likely do not have it where they reside. I think Morris would have, as his house was new and he was rich and loved only the practical uses of his money, and I see that as being one of them. Belle wouldn't trade indoor toilets for cats no matter how nice the bathroom would have been, lol! Though they might not have had a bathroom, they could have both had a fridge, as those were mass produced in the 40s and a good 80 percent had them by 1944. Hopefully it's obvious, but Roger was at the post office at the end of this chapter. It's based on the old post office of Portland, ME. Story Stuff: This is the 'because no one could ever love me' moment for poor Roger. I think I'll be giving more details on the next chapter, as I'm too scared I'll spoil something, but I'll just say that at this point, you may think there's a plot hole (if you don't think this, don't worry about that either, lol) but it will get explained. The Disney movie, Peter Pan did not come out until 1953, thus the cats are named after J M Barries' book, Peter and Wendy (not Peter Pan, that title is of the play that came out a good 15 years before-the book is a novelization of the play). Tootles is one of the lost boys, and I loved it so much I had to give it to one of the cats. Thank you for reading! If you have questions, I would love to hear them, though I may be vague if it goes into spoiler territory. Let me know what you think! I love hearing your thoughts and comments!
