56
The gentleman's name was Edward Killick, the same as his only son. That son was now buried in a poppy field 'somewhere in France'. A year later his wife had died.
"She would have done anything for our boy," Mr Killick said, "in the end, I think she decided she would rather be with him than with me. Of course, the doctors said it was the 'flu - but I don't believe it."
They were sitting on the veranda, Anne had brought him iced tea because the poor fellow was perspiring quite a lot. She asked him inside, knowing he would say no, and was glad that he did. It was the sort of conversation that needed sunshine upon it.
"But there must be another son, isn't that who you're looking for?" Anne said, knowing in her heart what Edward Killick was about to say.
"My grandson. I'm looking for a boy."
"You mean Theodore Willoughby, don't you, Mr Killick?"
"I do hope so," he said, wearily, "because he is my best hope." He took a deep drink of his tea and asked if he might slip off his shoes. "I need to get comfortable for the next part of this story, Mrs Blythe, because it does cause me enormous discomfort to speak of it, and I need all the help I can get."
Anne responded by throwing off her own shoes, and she stretched her long legs down the veranda steps. "Take your time, Mr Killick, I haven't got anywhere to be for a good while yet."
The shoes were kicked off, then he looked around at the lovely home this woman had made.
"I don't blame you, Mrs Blythe. I've got a nice place myself, but nothing as pretty as this. I never thought of getting a house here. Being from New Brunswick the Island didn't seem far away enough, and my wife was always impressed with high society. We had a nice little shack in Shinnecock Hills -"
"The Hamptons?"
"That's the one, and a bolthole in New York city proper."
Going by the way Edward Killick spoke, his fine dress and self-possession, Anne quickly deduced that shack and bolthole probably did not do those houses justice. This man clearly came from money.
"Pardon me, Mr Killick, but you're not by any chance connected to Killick Co, the agricultural machinery manufacturer?"
He raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled. "I guess that would be how you'd know me, you being an Islander. Yes, that's my company, though I make sewing machines and refrigerators too." he said proudly. "I built my little empire from nothing, I used to sell hoes and shovels door to door. Then I got the wife, then I got the son, and now, Mrs Blythe I haven't got anyone. I'm sorry to say this, but when I discovered I might have a grandchild, I didn't have the heart to look into it. Hope can be harder to endure than despair, and that's what I was used to until a few weeks ago. My foreman showed me an article in your local paper regarding the exhibition in Lowbridge, and there was Theodore Willoughby on the front page - oh, how he looked like my boy! It was then I remembered what my wife told me on her sickbed, about Edward and one of our parlour maids. Constance was her name - the same name that was in the article. I'm afraid to say my son got Constance in trouble, Mrs Blythe, and when my wife found out she paid the girl off and sent her away. I was left entirely ignorant of the matter, but when I think about it now, I know in my heart that my son was never the same after Constance left our employ. He was only a young lad, but I do think he must have been fond of her."
Edward Killick took a deep breath, and his shoulders rose a little as though little birds were pulling at his jacket seams.
"Teddy, we used to call him," he said sadly. He honked his nose into a silk handkerchief, then patted down his tobacco-stained moustache.
"Theodore is known as Teddy too," Anne told him. "I think Constance must have loved your son, Mr Killick, and wanted to give his name to their child."
"And he's here, this Teddy? Please tell me he's here. I've been waiting for weeks to come over and find him, but the borders were closed."
"He is here, Mr Killick, but it might be difficult for him to find much time for you right at this moment."
"His performance, of course. I understand he's quite the talent."
"Yes," Anne said carefully, "but he's also just an ordinary boy. If you're expecting a captain of industry and someone to fill your shoes… All I'm saying is Teddy is young and brash and very much finding his feet. He's not the ambitious type, he's only doing this concert as a favour to my daughter."
"Your daughter, eh?"
The comment clearly interested the man, and what such favours might signify. But just because he happened to be in a confessional mood did not mean Anne had to follow suit. She was as protective of her children now as she was when they were tiny babes, age would never change that instinct.
"Yes," Anne said, "Rilla - that's her name, began this whole concert idea as a way to remember her brother. As a matter of fact," she rushed on, "when I saw you arrive, I thought you had come about Walter too. But of course, I shouldn't have assumed…"
Edward Killick chuckled, she could hear something of Teddy in that laughter: a mix of cheekiness and self effacement.
"Assume away," he said, and fished about in his overcoat pocket and pulled out a small paperback book. "I never had much time for poems and such, but I like your son's, Mrs Blythe. The war stuff is a little over my head, but his earlier work is excellent!"
...
Well, it IS a Maud story after all! ;o)