No Greater Love (19 page)

“The same one we’ve always had, Aunt Liz. You remember Mrs. Barnes.” But Liz only cried more, and said how awful it was, how
dangerous
even, for Phillip and George to be brought up only by their sister, although she did not specify the exact nature of the peril. But in the past eight months she herself seemed to have sunk into a terrible depression. She almost fainted when she entered her sister’s dressing room and saw all her belongings still hanging there, and she literally screamed when she saw the bedroom.

“I can’t bear it … I can’t bear it … oh, Edwina, how
could
you! How could you do such a thing?” Edwina was not sure what she’d done, but her aunt was
quick to tell her. “How could you leave everything there, as though they left only just this morning,” Liz sobbed hysterically as she shook her head and looked accusingly at Edwina. But in some ways it was comforting for them to have everything still there, her father’s suits, her mother’s clothes, the familiar gold and pink enamel hairbrush. “You must pack everything up at
once!
” she wailed, and Edwina only shook her head. This was not going to be easy.

“We haven’t been ready to do that yet,” Edwina said quietly, handing her the glass of water that Phillip had discreetly brought her. “And Aunt Liz, you must try not to be so upset. It is very difficult for the children.”

“Oh, how could you say such a thing, you insensitive child!” She broke into sobs again, which seemed to reverberate everywhere, as Edwina sent the children out for a walk with Sheilagh. “If you knew how I’ve mourned her all these months … what her death meant to me … my only sister.” But she had been Edwina and the other children’s only mother. Not to mention Bert … and Charles … and even poor Oona … and all the others … But Liz seemed bent on celebrating only her own grief and ignoring everyone else’s. “You should have come to England when Rupert told you to,” she said plaintively to her oldest niece. “I could have cared for all of you.” And instead, selfishly, Edwina had robbed her of her last chance to mother children. She had refused to come and insisted they stay in San Francisco. And now Rupert said that the attorney wrote that they were doing extremely well, and Rupert said he was no longer well enough to have them. She had ruined everything by being so stubborn. She was clearly just like her father. “It was wicked of you not to come when you were told to,” she said, and Phillip suddenly began to look angry.

“There is nothing ‘wicked’ about my sister, ma’am,” he said through clenched teeth, and Edwina urged him to go back downstairs and see what George was up to.

She stayed for twenty-six days, and at times Edwina thought that she would go crazy if her aunt stayed a moment longer. She made the children nervous all the time, and she cried during her entire stay. And in the end, she actually forced Edwina to pack up at least part of her parents’ bedroom. They put most of the clothes away, although Edwina refused to give them away. She kept it all, and Liz packed a few of Kate’s things to take back to England, mostly mementos of their youth, which meant little to Edwina or the younger children.

And at last, after almost four weeks, they escorted her to the ferry to go to the train station, in Oakland. And it seemed to Edwina that she had never stopped crying. And she stayed angry at Edwina until the end. She was mad at everyone and the Fates for the hand that had been dealt her. She was angry that her sister had been lost, angry that Edwina and the children had refused to come to her afterward, angry that her own life seemed to be over. And angry, finally, at Rupert for the unhappy life she had led with him in England. It was as though, in the past nine months, she had given up, and there were times when Edwina wasn’t sure if Liz was mourning her sister’s death or her own disappointments. Even Ben had finally avoided her, and coming home from the ferry building with the children the morning Liz left, Edwina sank back against her seat, exhausted. The children were quiet too. They hadn’t known what to make of her, but this time, one thing was sure, they hadn’t liked her. She picked on Edwina all the time, or so it seemed, and she complained about everything, and the rest of the time she was crying.

“I hate her!” Alexis said on the way home, as Edwina gently chided her.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do.” And her eyes said she meant it. “She made you put away Mama’s clothes and she had no right to do that.”

“They’re not put away,” Edwina said quietly. And maybe her aunt had been right after all. Maybe it was time. But it hadn’t been easy. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Edwina reassured the child. “We can’t put Mama away. You know she’s always with us.” There was silence the rest of the way home, as they all thought about what Edwina had said, and how close their mother still was to them, and how different she was from her sister.

THE ANNIVERSARY OF THEIR PARENTS’ DEATH WAS A DIFFICULT
day for them. And yet the service Edwina had said at their church was tender and gentle and human. It reminded everyone of how kind her parents had been, how interested in everyone, how full their lives, how involved in the community, and how rich in the blessings of their children. The Winfield children sat together in the first pew, listening, and occasionally dabbing at their eyes, but they were a proud legacy to the memory of Kate and Bertram Winfield.

Edwina had invited several of her parents’ friends to lunch in their garden afterward, and it was the first time they had entertained since the fateful voyage on the
Titanic.
It was a beautiful April afternoon, and they also celebrated Alexis’s seventh birthday. There was a beautiful cake made by Mrs. Barnes, and the day turned out to be a warm, festive occasion. And people Edwina had barely seen all year were happy to see all of them again,
and were offering all kinds of invitations now that their year of mourning was over. Several people noticed that she still wore her engagement ring on her left hand, and the minister had mentioned Charles as well, but Edwina was a beautiful girl and she was almost twenty-two years old, and there was no denying that she was going to be a handsome catch for someone. Ben noticed several of the younger men watching her after lunch, and he was surprised to find himself feeling protective.

“It was a lovely afternoon,” he said quietly as he found her sitting on a swing in the garden with the children near her.

“It was, wasn’t it?” She looked pleased. It had been a fitting tribute to her parents. And then she smiled up at him. “They would have liked it.”

He smiled and nodded too. “Yes, they would. They’d be proud of all of you.” Especially their eldest daughter. What an amazing woman she’d turned out to be. Not a child, not a girl, but a woman. “You’ve done an incredible job in the last year.”

She smiled, flattered, but she knew there was always more to do. Each of the children needed help in different ways, and Phillip was especially anxious about getting into Harvard. “Sometimes I wish I could do more for each of them,” she confessed to Ben. Especially for Alexis.

“I don’t see how you could do more,” he commented, as people came and went and stopped to thank her. There were anecdotes about her parents, stories about her father particularly, and when the last guest but one finally left, she was exhausted. The children were eating leftovers in the kitchen by then, with Sheilagh and Mrs. Barnes in attendance. And Edwina was in the library with Ben, still chatting about the party.

“You seemed to be getting a lot of invitations.” He was pleased for her, and yet, much to his own surprise,
he was jealous. It was as though he had actually liked it when she was in deep mourning and saw only him. But she only smiled at him in answer.

“I was. People are being very kind to me. But nothing’s going to change much now that the year is over. I already have my hands full. Most people don’t understand that.”

Relief? Was he relieved, he asked himself, unable to believe what he was feeling. She was a child, wasn’t she? His best friend’s child … barely more than a baby. And yet, he knew that none of that was true, and he looked deeply worried as she laughed and offered him a glass of sherry.

“Don’t look so upset.” She knew him well, or so they both thought.

“I’m not,” he lied.

“Oh, yes, you are. You remind me of Aunt Liz. What are you afraid of? That I’ll disgrace myself or the Winfield name?” she teased.

“Hardly.” He took a sip of sherry and set it down, as he looked at her intently. “Edwina, what do you think about doing with your life now?” He glanced at the ring on her left hand and wondered if she was going to think he was crazy. He was beginning to think so himself. “I’m serious,” he pressed for an answer, which surprised her. “Now that this year is over … what do you want to do?” She stopped and thought about it, but the answer had been clear to her since the previous April.

“Nothing different than I’m doing now. I want to take care of the children.” It seemed so clear to her. There were no choices anymore, only duty and love for them, and the promise she had made to her parents as she stepped into the lifeboat. “I don’t need more than that, Ben.” But at not yet twenty-two, that seemed crazy to him.

“Edwina, one day you’ll regret that. You’re too young to give up your whole life for your brothers and sisters.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” She smiled at him, touched by his obvious concern for her. “Is it really so wrong?”

“Not wrong,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers, “but it’s a terrible waste, Edwina. You need more than that in your life. Your parents had much more than that. They had each other.” They both thought of the things the minister had said about Kate and Bert only that morning. And Edwina thought to herself that she had almost had a life with Charles, and then she had lost that. And she wanted no one else … only Charles … but Ben was looking at her so intensely. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you, Edwina?” He smiled gently at her and she looked confused for a moment.

“Yes, I do,” she said quietly, “you want me to be happy, and I am. I’m happy in my life here with the children.”

“And that’s all you want, Edwina …” He hesitated, but only for a moment. “I want to offer you more than that.” Her eyes opened wide and she looked extremely startled.

“You do? Ben …” She had never even thought of that, never suspected for a moment that he loved her. Nor had he at first, but he had come to understand it in recent months, and he had been able to think of nothing else but Edwina ever since Christmas. He had promised himself he’d wait to say anything to her until at least April … until they’d been gone a year, but now he was suddenly afraid that he should have waited longer. Perhaps in the end, that might have made a difference. “I never thought …” She was blushing and looking away from him, as though the very thought of his wanting her was embarrassing and almost painful.

“I’m sorry.” He moved forward quickly and took her
hands in his own. “Should I not have said anything, Edwina? I love you … I have for a long time … but more than anything, I don’t want to lose our friendship. You mean everything to me … and the children too … please, Edwina … I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered, forcing herself to look at him then. She owed him that much. And she loved him, too, but as her father’s dearest friend, and nothing more. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t have worn the wedding veil for him … she still loved Charles. In her heart, she was still his bride, and she knew that she always would be. “I can’t, Ben … I love you … but I can’t.” She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to be truthful with him.

“Is it too soon?” he asked hopefully, and she shook her head.

“Is it the children?” He loved the children, too, but she was shaking her head again as he watched her, aching over the fear of losing her. What if she never spoke to him again? He had been a fool to tell her that he loved her.

“No, it’s not the children, Ben, and it’s not you …” She smiled as tears sprang to her eyes, and she promised herself she’d be honest with him. “I think it’s Charles … I would feel so unfaithful to him if …” She couldn’t say the words, as the tears slipped slowly down her cheeks, and he reproached himself again for trying to force the issue too early. Perhaps in time … but now he knew. He had risked everything, and he had lost, to the fiancé she had lost on the
Titanic.

“Even widows remarry eventually. You have a right to happiness, Edwina.”

“Maybe,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe it is too soon.” But in her heart she knew she
would never marry. “But to be honest with you, I don’t think I’ll ever marry.”

“But that’s absurd.”

“Maybe it is.” She smiled up at him. “But it seems easier this way, because of the children. I couldn’t give any man what he’d deserve, Ben, I’d be too busy with them, and sooner or later any decent man would resent it.”

“Do you think I would?” He looked hurt, and she smiled.

“You might. You deserve someone’s full attention. Mine won’t be available for another fifteen years at least, until little Teddy goes off to college. That’s a long wait.” She smiled gently at him, touched by his intentions.

He shook his head and grinned. He was beaten and he knew it. She was a stubborn girl, and if she said it, he knew she meant it. He knew that well by now, and it was also part of why he loved her. He loved the things she stood for, and her courage, and indomitable strength and wonderful ability to laugh … he loved her hair and her eyes, and her delicious sense of humor. And in a way, he knew that she loved him, too, but not the way he wanted. “Fifteen years might be a little long for me, Edwina. I’ll be sixty-one years old by then, and you might not want me.”

“You’ll probably be a lot livelier than I will. The kids will have worn me out by then.” Her eyes sobered as she held a hand out to him. “That’s all part of it, Ben. My life is theirs now.” She had made a promise to her mother to take care of them, no matter what. And she couldn’t think of herself anymore. She had to think of the children first. And no matter how fond she was of Ben, she knew she didn’t want him, or anyone else, as a husband. But he was clearly worried now, as he frowned. He was desperately afraid he would lose her.