CHAPTER 8 – SUMMER V – HOME
Barney gets off the train in Toronto and promptly scowls.
Everything around him rubs him the wrong way – the crowd surrounding him, the noise, the smells of civilisation – coal smoke, motor fumes, street food offered by vendors to the travellers and just general dirt and stink of a place inhabited by thousands of people. He wants nothing more than to jump back on the train and return post haste to the clean air, calm beauty and solitude of his island. He feels overwhelmingly and annoyingly out of place.
Which is ironic considering that for the first twenty five years of his life he had been a city boy through and through.
He had been a well-travelled one, even then, but his travels were the same as his life otherwise – spent on visiting great cities of Europe and the States, reached by luxury ocean liners and first class trains, and seen through the windows of equally opulent hotels and rented villas. Bernie Redfern had seen all that a cultured and wealthy gentleman was supposed to see and experience and there had been no money spared to ensure he had done it in all possible comforts.
Which was why Barney Snaith vehemently refused to do anything like that when he started running through the world. Whatever Bernie Redfern had done, Barney was determined to do the opposite. Since Bernie Redfern visited the great cities, Barney spent two years in the wildest parts of Yukon, only to abandon it for the wilderness of the States and later Africa and Asia. Since Bernie travelled first class, Barney hoboed his way through the continent, jumping trains and clinging to their roofs and undercarriages, freezing his ass off and risking his life with careless abandon. Since Bernie was always immaculately dressed and groomed, Barney wore rags and barely shaved. And since Bernie had been desperately and fruitlessly trying to fit in all his life, Barney never bothered to fit in at all and put himself firmly on the outside of any polite society.
He's never been one to do things by half.
He got over it, mostly, after a few years, but those years have irrevocably changed him. He allows himself creature comforts and little pleasures now – the permanence of his snug shack in a beautiful place, the comfy swivel chair and a large writing desk, rows of bookshelves with all his favourites within easy reach, the company of his cats and the few precious friends he has somehow managed to acquire to his neverending surprise – but he doesn't have the slightest desire to rejoin the society. He is free now and he'll be damned before he gives it up. The homespun shirt, comfy overalls and a shapeless hat he cheerfully forgets more often than not are like a second skin to him and so is his nefarious reputation. Even as he's warily but steadily putting his roots in one place and some routine in his life, Barney Snaith still doesn't give a damn about fitting in and he has no intention of changing it any time soon.
Although he shaves daily now. Valancy prefers his face smooth and well, she's the one kissing it.
But he is not Barney Snaith here, on a crowded Toronto railway station, he is John Foster, and insufferable as it is, John Foster is a more civilised persona, if only for a handful days per year, thank God. He took care of all the necessary props – changed into a respectable suit on the train and booked a room in an equally respectable hotel – but feels no less as if he is putting on a costume and a mask than he did during the actual masquerade.
Only there's no Valancy with him to make the experience fun and bearable.
Well, standing here and scowling at the milling people and the infernal noise of the Toronto traffic is not going to change anything, so Barney sighs and starts walking towards a cab.
The sooner he's done with his business – or John Foster's business, to be more specific – the sooner he can go back to his real life.
xxx
His first destination is his lawyer's office, placed on an elegant Toronto business street.
Neal Butler is Barney's age, with blue eyes and black hair of an Irishman, an easy smile and, the quality Barney treasures the most, a sharp mind coupled with utmost discretion. He necessarily knows what name Barney is signing on dotted lines of his publishing contracts, but he perfectly pretends that he has no idea and never even hints at any curiosity regarding its connection to the Redfern Pharmaceuticals empire.
"Mr Foster!" he exclaims now, getting up from his wide mahogany desk with a smile to shake Barney's hand. "It's always a pleasure to see you!"
Barney returns the enthusiastic greeting with a smile of his own, if much less exuberant. He likes Neal, even if he wouldn't go so far as to call him a friend. But he trusts him to have his back in any business matter – he has never had any need to use his services for a personal one – and as much as he despises nearly everything about his father's cursed business, the one thing he learnt from him and actually took to heart is the value of having a good lawyer to check any contract before he signs it.
They don't waste much time on pleasantries before they sit down to discuss one.
"Have you had the opportunity to read the latest draft?" asks Neal, accepting a cup of coffee from his secretary.
"I've read it on the train," confirms Barney, accepting his own cup and waiting for Miss Reece to leave the office with a soft click of a heavy wooden door. "It certainly looks profitable enough – too profitable, even. You're sure there aren't any loopholes?"
Neal smiles predatorily.
"None whatsoever," he assures Barney seriously. "Miller & Grossmann are just salivating to get John Foster among their authors. You should hear Mr Grossmann raving about the 'new John Burroughs' – he is rather a fan of both of you – all the while Mr Miller had dollar signs in his eyes imagining the American sales of your books. They are a relatively new company, but well-founded and sensibly run. I truly believe that you will profit hugely from selling them rights to publish your books in the States."
Barney nods thoughtfully.
"I will sign the contract then," he says decisively. "You will handle the rest? I don't have any particular wish to meet with them if they don't make it a condition of their offer."
Neal laughs, shaking his head with amused exasperation.
"Don't worry, both I and Ned explained to them plainly what a hermit and a recluse you are. Mr Miller doesn't care, as long as you sign, although I think Mr Grossmann was rather disappointed. I think he would like a photograph with you. He has one with Burroughs, you know, he showed it to me like a man sharing his treasured trophy."
"He will have to settle on an autograph," says Barney wryly, then narrows his eyes. "The non-disclosure agreement is air-tight?"
Neal nods.
"Any betrayal of your real name to anyone would be a breach of contract and a very expensive one for them. I consulted it with an associate of mine from New York to make sure it would hold in the American courts too. Don't worry, your secrets and privacy will remain safe."
It bothers Barney to expand the very limited circle of people who know about his identity – it bothers him a lot. It's the main reason he's waited for years before reluctantly agreeing to have his books published abroad, despite the promise of the much increased income. He hardly uses the money he's earning from Canadian sales alone; what would he need more for? But his publisher's nagging did wear him down, eventually, and he agreed mostly to be finally done with the matter. He reminds himself that Neal is very good at his job and hasn't failed him even once in the five years he's been working for him.
After signing the contract with Miller & Grossmann, reviewing the contract for Barney's next book with his Canadian publisher is a short matter. Ned MacCallum has published all his books and Barney never had any reason to complain about the bargain; this new contract is in no way different.
Barney checks his watch – another thing he doesn't usually bother with on his island.
"I have an hour until I meet with Ned," he observes, then takes a deep breath and brings up another matter he's wanted to discuss with his lawyer. "I think you should know that I got married in July."
For the first time, Barney sees his usually unflappable lawyer startle in surprise and he must admit it brings him quite an amount of satisfaction. Then Neal's eyes narrow.
"That's why you wanted me to make those enquiries!" he exclaims, then rolls his eyes in annoyance. "You could have told me, you know. I imagined all kinds of nightmarish scenarios as to what kind of trouble you got yourself into."
Barney snorts lightly.
"None whatsoever," he says dryly. "But I figured you should be made aware, in an unlikely scenario that something happens to me."
He hands Neal a copy of the marriage certificate, his fingers unconsciously moving over Valancy's name.
Neal gives him a look.
"You want to make sure she inherits everything?"
Barney shrugs, his insides twisting unpleasantly as they always do when he is forced to remember that Valancy's time is extremely limited. The last thing he wants to discuss in depth is why it's damned unlikely that she will ever be in a position to inherit anything from him.
But it's not impossible and he treats his vows seriously, however unconventional his marriage is.
"I just want to make sure that she'll be taken care of if I trip and fall on my head one day," he says nonchalantly. "And that her relatives won't be able to lay a finger on any money she gets from me in such a case."
Neal looks at him sharply.
"Would they be likely to try?"
"Oh, yes," says Barney feelingly. "If they get a whiff of a dollar to her name, they will," his eyes are steely when he looks at his lawyer. "I need you to make sure they won't succeed."
It won't come to that, of course. He doesn't exactly jump onto trains anymore and Valancy… well, Valancy outliving him is a long shot by a mile, but it's the principle of the thing.
"I want her to be my sole heiress," he says firmly. "To inherit all my money, the rights to my books and any profits from them, and for her to be able to do anything she wants with any of it, without anyone else having a say."
"What about any potential children?" asks Neal, making a note in his diary. "Any provisions for them?"
"No," answers Barney determinedly, "it won't be necessary."
Neal's eyebrows rise again.
"There's always a possibility," he observes cautiously. "Especially since your last letter to me hinted that it's not a platonic marriage."
Barney tells himself that he's not blushing as he grinds his teeth.
"There won't be any children," he insists in a tone making clear that he considers the matter closed.
xxx
He broods silently all the short drive to his publisher. Normally he would have walked – would welcome the opportunity to stretch his legs and move – but preparation of his will, simple as it was, took so damn long he needed to get a cab. At least it is done, signed by Neal's clerk and a secretary as witnesses, and a copy of it rests safely in a folder on Barney's knees to be put in due course with the rest of his personal papers in the Bluebeard's Chamber. If Valancy ever needs it, she can find it there.
His freshly signed will, a memento mori as it is, is not the reason for Barney's brooding though.
His conversation with Neal is.
No, there won't be any children. He's going to make damn sure of that.
But he can't escape the guilt coursing through him at the awareness that he didn't do a stellar job of ensuring it last week.
The magical night of the masquerade when he made love to Valancy under the moon and the stars and got so damn lost in her and the moment that any thoughts of caution or restraint flew right out of his head.
It took him until the next morning to realise what the hell he had done and the wave of anxiety he hadn't felt since Bernie Redfern's days nearly made him puke. Valancy trusted him to be careful with her; to ensure that their intimacy, which they both enjoyed so much, resulted in no heartbreak or additional threat to her life. There's nothing Barney values as much as the trust she has in him and yet what did he do with it? Disregarded it entirely in a moment of pleasure, like the selfish bastard he is.
He's never been so relieved as he was when two days later she let him know that her monthly indisposition arrived. Thank God, his selfish actions did not result in any harm to her.
He swore to do better though.
Valancy deserves his best.
xxx
The signing of the contract for a new book goes as smoothly as expected. Ned MacCallum, a no-nonsense, competent man in his forties, dressed in a suit more sensible than fashionable, focuses then on discussing the oncoming publication of Barney's – John Foster's – current book.
"I want it out in November," he says, looking over the galley proofs. "Just in time for Christmas shoppers. Your kind of books make for a good Christmas gift."
Barney smiles mischievously.
"You mean a generic piffle dripping with overwrought sentiment which you can gift to a relative or an acquaintance you don't know well enough to be familiar with their preferences?"
Ned looks at him with a pained expression.
"Must you?" he asks reproachfully. "You know perfectly well that I didn't mean it like that at all, Barney. Your books are damn good and widely perceived as such – and are accordingly wildly popular, so they will make for a good and popular Christmas present."
Well, Barney knows one avid fan of his who would undoubtedly be delighted to find it under her Christmas tree.
His fist clench when an icy thought that she might not be alive on Christmas passes through his brain.
He pushes it violently away. She will be. There's no reason to assume she wouldn't be. But still… he's going to give her the book as soon as he possibly can.
He wants her to have the pleasure of reading a new release from her favourite author, whether she lives until Christmas or not.
xxx
Ned MacCallum lives on a winding, quiet street in Lakeside Gardens, an affluent new neighbourhood near Lake Ontario. Barney looks at the abundance of trees lining the street and the spacious gardens and reflects that if he ever went insane enough to want to move back to a big city, this is the kind of neighbourhood he would choose. But as he is quite sane at present and has no such intentions, the sight of this city-tamed nature only makes him homesick for the wilderness of Muskoka. He wonders briefly what Valancy is doing now – probably sitting down to dinner herself on the verandah and talking to the cats who of course would keep her company, betting on her generosity with her food – and wonders with a pang whether she's lonely. He shakes his head and tells himself she is a sensible little creature; she has never minded being by herself while he locked himself up in the Bluebeard's Chamber to write or went on a solitary romp through the woods or fishing with Abel. He's never left her alone for a single night though, never mind days on end, and he finds it hard to quench a sudden and unexpected concern for her. Surely she will be fine, even if her heart will bother her a little; she has a good supply of her heart drops, he checked discretely before leaving the Blue Castle. She has food and money, she's safe and he asked Roaring Abel to drop by and check on her.
And yet, as he climbs the stone steps leading to Ned's house, he can't help being antsy and wishing he was home with her instead.
He is cordially greeted by Ned's wife, Liz – a warm, friendly brunette several years older than Barney – and led to a modern, comfortable drawing room for pre-dinner cocktails. A gramophone is playing jazz, the cocktails are good, and the conversation is lively and stimulating, mostly concerning newly released works of literature and current events, but Barney's homesickness doesn't dissipate. He allows himself to imagine Valancy accompanying him here and wonders what she would have thought of his dining companions. Would she be more entertained or shy and feeling inadequate? Valancy is one of the brightest, most intelligent people he knows, but he's aware that she deeply regrets her lack of any formal education past the Deerwood public school and her extremely restricted access to any knowledge or books until she left her family. Seeing her voracious appetite for reading and learning makes him curse her upbringing all anew for denying it to her and starving her brilliant mind just as they did everything possible to starve her soul. But with all her ignorance of many topics discussed tonight, Barney feels sure that she would shine here if she only let herself to as she does with him. He's never bored while talking to her and they never seem to run out of things to say.
The dinner follows promptly and is equally nice and unpretentious. Liz MacCallum is a great hostess, well-versed in putting her guests at ease and even though this is only the second time Barney has met her, he soon feels himself relax and lower his customary barriers a little. Ned introduced him to his wife as John Foster and there is no hint that he ever betrayed Barney's secrets to her, for all evident love and comradeship between them. In fact, seeing them interacting with each other, with all the little gestures, looks and inside jokes building a story of years of intimacy, makes Barney's heart ache. This is what he at one point imagined for himself and yearned for. He accepted long ago that such a scenario is not and never will be in the cards for him, but looking at a happily married older couple makes him morose enough to give him a sneaking suspicion he hasn't buried those useless, naive old dreams as deep as he should have.
The poignant, low mood stays with him as he gets to his hotel with the view of the lake, its waters stretching far into the horizon in front of his window like a sea, but bringing little peace to his thoughts. Frustrated, he lies down in a wide, comfortable bed, willing for sleep to come – he's been awake since before down – and yet finds himself tossing listlessly instead.
He misses Valancy's small body next to his and the sound of her quiet breathing.
How has he got so used to sharing a bed in two short months? He never did it before in his whole thirty five years on earth – well, he probably did with his mother but it's not like he remembers it so it hardly counts – and yet eight weeks of marriage have been enough to render him sleepless and lonely and his hotel bed way too big. He supposes it must be a natural consequence of suddenly obtaining an abundance of human touch after being starved for it his whole life, but understanding the cause doesn't make it any less irritating tonight. He hates dwelling upon it, he really does, but he can't escape the knowledge that his time to enjoy such luxuries comes with a decided and looming deadline. If he already finds it impossible to sleep without Valancy after half a summer together, how is he going to manage after she's gone for good?
He shakes this thought off immediately. This is simply how things are and there is no purpose in wishing them different. He slept just fine before he agreed to marry her; he will learn to sleep alone again when the time comes, that's all.
But as he finally succumbs to sleep, clutching a pillow in his arms as a very poor substitute for his wife, he can't help thinking tiredly that he hopes this time won't come for at least a year.
It would be nice to share a bed with her for at least a year…
xxx
Morning finds Barney on the train to Hamilton where he has made an appointment with Dr Elizabeth Bagshaw – who, according to information gained by Neal, was likely both courageous and sympathetic enough to give her patients reliable advice on family planning despite the 1892 law making any such advice illegal.
When he sits in front of her some hours later it is immediately obvious to him though that she doesn't give such advice indiscriminately.
"What is the reason you search for such knowledge, Mr Snaith?" she asks, her brows drawing in suspicion which Barney meets head on. He's not at all ashamed of his reasons for asking.
"My wife is gravely ill," he answers simply. "She has a heart disease, which makes a pregnancy a threat to her life. In an unlikely scenario that she'd survive it at all, she would necessarily orphan any child in their infancy and this is something neither of us wants. My own mother died when I was two and I wouldn't wish it on a child of my own – and Valancy doesn't deserve a heartbreak like this either."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr Snaith," says the doctor, looking at him intently. "There is a simple solution to this problem though: keep away from your wife."
Barney tells himself not to bristle at the implications, but he feels his jaw getting tight from the way he clenches his teeth.
"If it was only about my pleasure, I would," he says firmly and he means it. He would never impose himself on Valancy if she made the slightest hint that she didn't want this kind of intimacy with him – never! "But it's about what she wants. My wife has weeks, maybe months to live and she wants to live them fully, to experience all the good and pleasant things the world has to offer her before she dies. I will not deny her this, if she desires it. I simply need a way to do it safely and I've heard it is possible."
Dr Bagshaw gives him another long, hard look and finally nods.
"There are," she answers matter-of-factly. "Although due to legal restrictions, many of them are not easy to obtain in Canada or the States. Many of our soldiers got familiar with French letters – condoms – during the war in Europe, but they are not the best in your situation; it would be too difficult to procure enough, especially since, as I understand, you don't live in a city. I'd recommend a diaphragm instead. It's a device which your wife would have to put in before intercourse. They are getting quite common in England."
Barney wishes to heaven that he's not blushing, but he's rather afraid he is.
"Is it… comfortable, for a woman?" he asks. "Not painful, at least?"
"Not when inserted properly," the doctor assures him bluntly. "Neither of you should feel a thing."
"And it's safe?"
"It's not foolproof," warns the doctor. "But it's very effective when used properly."
Barney nods, exhaling slowly.
"Where can I get one?" he asks, and adds quickly when he sees that Dr Bagsahw hesitates. "Money is not a problem – I can pay whatever it costs."
"You are aware that selling you one is a crime, Mr Snaith?" Dr Bagshaw reminds him and Barney's stomach twists with sudden desperation. Whatever stupid law says on the matter, he is determined to get his hands on the thing. He inwardly curses the politicians who are happy to put the lives of women like Valancy at risk to enforce abstract moral principles on the population.
"Is it any more illegal than the information you've just given me?" he challenges and the doctor smiles wryly.
"No, it isn't," she admits and reaches into her desk drawer to take out a small box and a book. "I trust you will not make it common knowledge where you obtained any of this, Mr Snaith."
Barney grins in response, his hands reaching eagerly for the items. The book is "Married Love" by Marie Stopes, and the box contains the little device he assumes is the diaphragm.
"Your secret is safe with me," he tells Dr Bagshaw seriously and adds with heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you."
xxx
It takes him most of the day to get home. First, he boards the train from Hamilton to Toronto, and then one from Toronto to Port Lawrence, which needs four hours to reach its destination. It's the end of September and the night starts to fall earlier; the sun is setting when he finally gets off the train and finds Lady Jane waiting for him by the side of the road next to the train station. He is again in Barney Snaith's signature shabby clothes, John Foster's nice suit safely folded inside his luggage, and nobody pays much attention to him which suits him just fine. He jumps into Lady Jane and grins happily when her engine roars into life.
He's surprised how eager he is to be home.
The dusk falls as he races through Deerwood, without a thought to probably scandalise God fearing folk living there and finally, finally he parks Lady Jane by the pines on the shore of Mistawis.
The sight of the lights gleaming from the windows of his house takes his breath away.
His heart skips a beat too when the door opens and Valancy gets out, her silhouette lit by the light inside; the clatter of Lady Jane must have alerted her to his arrival. He whistles as he gets into the canoe and he sees her running to the landing rock to greet him, his heart skipping yet another beat at the realisation how happy she is to see him – that she must have missed him while he was gone.
In a matter of minutes he has her in his arms and it feels so right.
"Have you missed me, Moonlight?" he whispers while he cradles her closer.
"It seems a hundred years since you went away," says Valancy and for some reason his heart is torn between elation and regret.
"I won't leave you again," he promises. He's serious about it too. Why would he ever leave her again when he felt miserable without her – he can admit it to himself now – and feels the very opposite in her presence?
"You must," protests Valancy, because of course she does, always so unnecessarily concerned about being a burden to him – as if she ever was! "if you want to. I'd be miserable if I thought you wanted to go and didn't, because of me. I want you to feel perfectly free."
Barney laughs – a little cynically.
"There is no such thing as freedom on earth," he says with conviction. "Only different kinds of bondages. And comparative bondages. You think you are free now because you've escaped from a peculiarly unbearable kind of bondage. But are you? You love me—that's a bondage."
"Who said or wrote that 'the prison unto which we doom ourselves no prison is'?" asks Valancy dreamily, clinging to his arm as they climb up the rock steps, and Barney is too happy to remain cynical, at least for tonight.
"Ah, now you have it," says Barney. "That's all the freedom we can hope for—the freedom to choose our prison. But, Moonlight,"—he stops at the door of the Blue Castle and looks about him—at the glorious lake, the great, shadowy woods, the bonfires, the twinkling lights—"Moonlight, I'm glad to be home again. When I came down through the woods and saw my home lights—mine—gleaming out under the old pines—something I'd never seen before—oh, girl, I was glad—glad!"
He doesn't think she understands the significance of this speech – how could she when she knows nothing of his past, of his deep-rooted loneliness? – but he does and he basks in it.
For the very first time in his life, Barney Snaith has a home.