Roses of Winter (51 page)

Mary looked to see Ellen’s reaction. Her daughter was staring at Jim, eyes brimming with tears. Mary was relieved to see that Ellen’s heart had not hardened to her former love. She could well understand Ellen’s ambivalence about Jim but any evidence of cold insensitivity would have been too much to bear. Mary had long worried that Ellen was unfeeling and selfish. The clear evidence to the contrary was gratifying.

Jim opened his eyes and attempted a smile. Mary took Ellen’s arm and led her to a chair by the bed. “You sit here by Jim,” she told Ellen.

Mary brought a chair to the other side and beckoned to Mrs. Dennis. Mrs. Dennis accepted the seat gratefully and sank heavily into it. She mustered a smile. “Look who has come all the way from Scotland to see you.”
 

Jim looked at Ellen. “It is so nice to see you again,” he said. His voice had the tones of the old Jim but there was a rasp in it. He coughed, a brutal, hard cough that shook his frame. When it had subsided, Jim smiled weakly. “I am afraid I can’t speak for very long without that happening,” he told Ellen.

Ellen took his hand. It lay limp and cool in her fingers. She cradled it gently and brought her other hand to cover it.
   

Elizabeth Dennis looked meaningfully at Mary who nodded. Mary took Mrs. Dennis’s elbow to help her from the chair. Mrs. Dennis accepted her assistance without taking offence. They left quietly, closing the door gently behind them.

“Ah wonder if there’s any tea in this place?” Mary asked.

“Tea, yes,” Mrs. Dennis replied. “Tea worth drinking, no,” she added, and indicated the way to the café.
 

Ellen stared at Jim, unsure how to begin. There was no application here for the customary pleasantries. It was painfully clear to Ellen how he had been.

“This must be very hard for you,” Jim said. “It would have been hard enough if I had come back well, but to have you see me in this condition….”

Ellen opened her mouth to speak but Jim cut her off. “No, please listen,” he said, his voice faltering. “I have so little breath and there is something I need to say. I know how I must appear to you. My mother’s face reveals it, every time I see her, even though she tries to hide it so bravely.”
 

Jim hesitated, choosing his words. “I don’t want you to feel bound by any feeling we might once have had for each other. We had so little time together. I want you to know that I treasure what we did have. When I was captured and placed in that camp, I thought I would never see you again. I thought you would find someone else and forget me. I couldn’t bear that. So, I forced the idea of an engagement on you. It was wrong of me.”

Tears welled in Jim’s eyes and he fell into a fit of coughing.

Ellen started to rise. “I better get the nurse,” she said.

Jim shook his head. “No….no, she’ll only make you leave,” he gasped.

Ellen sat down again.
 

“My mother told me it was wrong,” he continued.
 
“I went ahead anyway. It gave me hope, you see. You avoided the issue in your letters. I became certain that there was someone else.”

He looked at her, not daring to have it confirmed by asking the question. He received his answer when Ellen looked down at her hands.

Without looking at Jim, she said, “There was someone but not any more.”

An unseen expression of pain crossed Jim’s face before he continued.
 
“Ellen, I know there’s no possibility of a future for us. The war took that away a long time ago.”
 
He stopped and looked away, determined not to cry in front of her.

A maelstrom of emotions whirled in Ellen’s mind. She was suddenly made to face her self-centered, thoughtless self. For the first time in her life she felt real regret. Then, to her surprise, whirling past in her emotional tornado, she glimpsed the reawakening of her love for Jim. Jim’s refusal to yield to self-pity had revealed the quality of the man. His ill-concealed tears convinced her of his love.
 

Ellen laid her cheek next to Jim’s and stroked his hair. She wanted to grasp him in her arms and cling to him but he looked so frail.
 
His skin felt cold. It had a translucent quality, as though fashioned from delicate porcelain. The unhealthy, damp chill of his cheek made her draw back to look at him.
 
In those few moments, visions of death haunted her. She had seen Jim in his coffin, the air filled with the scent of lilies and musty churches. Instead, before her was a face animated with surprise and pleasure, brought forth by her tenderness.
 

His happiness quelled the chill of fear that ran through her body. She came back to him, laying fervent kisses on his cheek. She drew back again as his body tensed, foretelling the coming spasm that wracked his body for many moments.

Ellen knew fear again. His cough sounded like a death rattle. When it had subsided, he attempted a smile. In that moment, Ellen could no longer avoid the truth she had been denying. With her customary heedlessness of authority, she had paid no attention to the stern sister's rules: “Stay off the bed, no personal contact.”
 
The word itself, the name of his illness had not been spoken to her. There had been no need, she realized. It was as obvious to her as the fact that Jim was dying.

Ellen laid her head on Jim’s chest and grieved for him as if he were already a corpse. Jim tried to comfort her, stroking her hair and begging her to stop. She raised herself up and turned from him, pressing the sleeve of her coat to her eyes. Jim rested his hand on Ellen’s back but was too weak to let it remain.

 
Ellen reached for his hand. “I’m glad you came back to me,” Jim said, “even if only for a little while.”

A discreet knock on the door announced their mother’s return. “That awful sister is heading this way,” Mrs. Dennis warned them. “I fear we must leave.”

“Ah’ll come and see you as often as they’ll allow me,” Ellen told Jim.
 

In the taxi, their mood was somber. “I want to thank you Ellen,” Mrs. Dennis told her. “Your coming to see him meant a great deal to Jim.” She turned to Mary. “I hope you will both stay with us for a while. Oh, I know it is selfish of me to ask. You must have many responsibilities at home that need your attention. But it was so good to see Jim engaged in life again.”

“Ah think we can stay for a while,” Mary said. “My Charlie is able to shift for himsel’. Besides, when ah explain the situation tae him, ah’m sure he would insist on it.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Elizabeth said, real gratitude in her voice. “Some day I must meet this remarkable husband of yours.”

 
They left the bustle of the city and headed into a suburb of wide, tree-lined avenues and substantial houses. The taxi drew up before one that, to Mary’s eye, matched the proportions of mansions she had glimpsed in Great Western Road from the tramcar. She looked meaningfully at Ellen and felt a chill of apprehension at entering a lifestyle she was ill prepared for. As they approached the door, it opened to reveal a maid in a neatly starched uniform.

She smiled at Mrs. Dennis. “I heard the taxi Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Alice, that was very thoughtful,” Mrs. Dennis replied.

Mrs. Dennis took off her hat and carefully placed her gloves in it. With a familiarity born of many years service, Alice helped Mrs. Dennis remove her coat. She turned to Mary who had awkwardly struggled out of hers. Smilingly sweetly, with no sign of noticing Mary’s discomfort, she took the garment and, placing Ellen’s on top, whisked everything away.

“Alice will have George bring your cases upstairs to your rooms,” Mrs. Dennis said. “Please, come into the drawing room and have some tea. She is such a treasure, that girl.”

To Mary’s unpracticed eye, the room seemed so impossibly grand, that she failed to see the signs of fading gentility. The lofty ceiling and expansive window looking onto the garden created a feeling of space and light. But the remnants of fine porcelain and artwork, grand as they might appear to Mary, were the remains of a once grander life. Mrs. Dennis was struggling to maintain a lifestyle that was slipping from her grasp.
 

She directed her guests to a sofa and pulled a long cord by the wall. The door opened and Alice walked in with a tray. “I was about to ask you for some tea, but I see you have already thought of it,” Mrs. Dennis told her. “As usual,” she added, smiling. “How do you take your tea?” she inquired of Mary.

Mary’s eyes were fixed on a small plate of neatly cut lemon slices. “Would you like it with lemon?” Mrs. Dennis asked.

Having no idea how tea could be prepared with something as sour as lemon, Mary politely declined, asking for her usual milk and two sugars. Ellen, taken with the novelty of it, told Mrs. Dennis that she would indeed like to have her tea with lemon.
 

She watched as Mrs. Dennis picked up a slice of lemon with silver tongs and placed it into a fine china cup. “Where on earth did you find lemons?” Mary asked.

“Alice’s brother is in the merchant navy,” Mrs. Dennis replied. “Apparently he is quite expert at finding such things. You will likely wish a little sugar with that,” Mrs. Dennis told Ellen, who nodded.

Mrs. Dennis deftly picked up two sugar cubes one after the other with another set of silver tongs, placed them carefully in the cup and poured tea into it. Ellen accepted the tea and cautiously sipped it.

“This is very good,” she told Mrs. Dennis. “You should try this,” she told Mary, who accepted a cup of lemon tea and agreed. Alice returned bearing a cake stand filled with delicately cut sandwiches and petit fours.
 

“You must both be famished,” Mrs. Dennis said. “Let me offer some lighter fare with our tea. We will have dinner a little later.”

Mary hesitated. She had been brought up to refuse anything offered to her when visiting, or at most to take one thing only. Mary had never understood why it was considered polite to refuse treats that had been prepared specially for her. It had always seemed rude to her as a child.

“Would you prefer something else?” Mrs. Dennis asked, a note of concern in her voice.

“No, Mrs. Dennis, everything is lovely,” Mary reassured her.
 

“I know that Jim’s illness has cast a shadow over your visit, but I think you should try to see something of London while you are here,” Mrs. Dennis said. “Oh, I know it might not seem like the proper thing to do,” she continued, before Mary could reply. “I know that Jim’s situation is very grave. Anything that will relieve our minds a little can only be to the good. If George has been successful in finding some petrol we might be able to go in the car tomorrow. I think we might spare a little on this occasion”
 

The car was an old but well cared for Rolls Royce. George held open the door for them, making Mary feel like royalty. The interior smelled of leather and a wood polish that reminded Mary of her mother’s house. Mary settled back in the comfortable seat and thought that she could become accustomed to living like this. She had a great deal to tell Charlie. They had always resented the toffs in their big shiny motorcars. Now she was in one herself, and its owner had been so gracious and kind to her.
 

They toured the sights of London in grand style. Mary felt a little guilty to be so much at ease when she saw the ravages of German bombs still plain in the city. St. Paul’s Cathedral towered above a devastated landscape, a miraculous towering survivor in a plain of ruin. Mary and Ellen were thrilled to spot places they had only glimpsed in movie newsreels. George was happy to show off his city, pointing out landmarks right and left. Mrs. Dennis joined in happily, taking pleasure in a distraction that pushed aside weeks of strain for a few short hours.
 

They ate lunch at a small, pleasant restaurant selected by Mrs. Dennis before going to the hospital. Jim looked worse than he had the day before. He was weaker, his complexion grayer. Jim slept through most of their visit.

They sat quietly, depressed by his worsened condition. In one of Jim’s few waking moments, Ellen looked up to catch him looking at her. He managed a weak smile. She took Jim’s hand in hers while he faded back into another episode of fitful sleep.

This time a friendly nurse ushered them out. She had bitten her lip in sympathy when she stooped over Jim. She apologized for having to make them leave. “We will call you if there is any change in his condition,” she promised.

They rode home in silence, beyond the point where conversation can console. Alice opened the door as they came up the steps. She cast a questioning glance at Mrs. Dennis who shook her head in response.
 
Alice turned away, discreetly sweeping away a stray tear. She turned back to them with a forced cheeriness.
 

They ate the dinner Alice brought, breaking the silence only to pass the salt, or request the butter.
 
Mrs. Dennis ate little and excused herself after dinner to go early to her bed.

Sleep came slowly to Mary, She felt restless and emotionally exhausted. Jim had looked so poorly. She wondered how much longer he could last and was worried for Ellen.
 
Mary was certain that the stoic face she presented to Jim belied what she really felt. She wondered if she could endure more long months of Ellen’s withdrawal. It could only be worse, the grief of losing Jim again and so finally.