The Major's Daughter (10 page)

“Does Estelle play the piano?”

“Yes, she does.”

“And you-know-who does, too,” Marie whispered, looking around to see if anyone could overhear them.

Collie could not help smiling. Marie had a thousand stories in her head, all of them jumbled together and each one more romantic than the last. She had a horrible crush on August; the memory of their pretend-dance had not faded in time but had become even more important to her as the weather advanced. At the same time, Marie understood that she was too young for the German soldier, so she had entered into an unspoken spiritual contract with Collie, as though Collie might inherit his affections from her. It was, Collie suspected, a grand sacrifice in Marie's mind. Nevertheless, Collie didn't mind discussing August with Marie. She enjoyed speculating about him, and, besides, she could not resist Marie's infectious exuberance.

“We can discuss all of this later. Won't you be tardy for school?” Collie asked.

“Oh, it's all fiddle-faddle at this point. No one wants to be in school once the weather turns warm.”

“I suppose that's true, but just the same. . . .”

“Yes. I'm going. What time will the train arrive?”

“You know very well. It arrives the same time every day.”

“But today is different!” Marie laughed, hurrying off the porch. “Oh, I almost forgot. Amy said she had another horse for Estelle. We can all go for a ride together.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Then Marie dashed off. The young girl's enthusiasm made the walk to camp lighter and happier. Collie felt an immense sense of well-being. Part of it she attributed to the weather, but the rest, the larger portion, rested on Estelle and August, and the piano and just everything! Her mother had always called such a feeling a
pocket heart
, because one felt so filled up that one could hardly fit one's hand in her pocket for all the good treasures that rested there. It was an apt description, Collie thought, because today her pocket heart was indeed full, nearly to the point of spilling over.

It turned out that the piano found her. She had barely arrived at camp when she spotted it on the porch of the administration building. Lieutenant Peters smoked beside it, occasionally reaching over to plunk a key. He smiled when he saw her. The piano had been a will-o'-the-wisp between them, a requisition he had promised would never be filled.

“Here's your piano!” he said grandly when she came closer to inspect it. “I almost told them to put it in the refectory, but then I wasn't sure if that's where you wanted it. We can get some men to take it over whenever you like. It's still on wheels.”

“I told you I could get a piano if I put my mind to it!”

He laughed and pretended to tip his hat.

“Is it in any kind of tune?” she asked.

“I don't know. I don't play myself. The cutting teams had left by the time this arrived, so you have first crack at it.”

“Did Papa see it?”

“No, he hasn't been in, either. He went over to Berlin to confer with the Brown Paper Company people. But you must play, surely.”

“Only a little.”

“Give it a whirl.”

She put down her handbag and then placed her fingers on the keys. It felt odd. It had been years, it seemed, since she had last attempted anything on a piano. She poked a few keys and found them sufficiently lively. The action on the spinet gave the sound a saloon tinniness. Still, it worked. She played “Chopsticks” for a moment, then ran up and down with chord progressions. Some of the keys seemed out of tune, but it was difficult to assess on an early-summer morning, playing standing up with a smirking Lieutenant Peters watching her.

She played a few more song beginnings that she remembered, though each score tumbled apart when her memory lost the notes. How fickle it felt. She had once practiced regularly and had attained a certain facility, but now the music felt blocked up behind the months at the camp. A touch of frustration seeped into her fingers and passed up to her head. She turned to Lieutenant Peters, prepared to explain, when she saw he was not looking at her at all. He swung down off the porch, his eyes on the barracks. He tossed his cigarette away and said, “Hold on, what's this?”

Collie followed his line of sight and finally spotted Bruno, the bear cub, pulling at an upended garbage can in the shadow of the most westerly barracks. The bear's chubby hindquarters counterbalanced its head; it had climbed three quarters of the way into the garbage can.

“That damn thing is becoming a nuisance,” Lieutenant Peters said. “We should get one of the teams to take it out on their next cutting trip.”

“It was probably a mistake to bring it in in the first place.”

“The horses don't like it. They don't like its smell. It makes them nervous.”

“Look how dark he is. You can hardly see him in the shadow.”

The phone rang in the administration building. Lieutenant Peters ducked inside to get it. Collie watched the bear as she occasionally reached over to touch some of the keys. The bear dragged something out of the garbage can. Collie did not look too closely to find out what it was. Lieutenant Peters was correct. It was time for the bear to return to the woods.

She was still standing in the morning light with her attention divided between the bear and the piano, when Henry Heights pulled in with his vehicle. He climbed out quickly, then bent back inside to pull out a bouquet of flowers. He straightened his jacket as he walked toward the administration building. He was a handsome young man, Collie thought as she watched him. She wondered if she had looked at him carefully before. Yes, he was quite handsome and seemed to be a gentleman.

“I saw these and thought you might like them,” he said, coming closer. “Just a collection of wildflowers, but my mother always preferred wildflowers to store-bought ones.”

“For me?” Collie asked. “Well, thank you. You're kind to think of me.”

The bear made a growling sound, and Henry turned to look at what caused the noise.

“Is that a bear?” he asked.

“Yes, it was the camp mascot, but it's overstayed its welcome, I'm afraid.”

Henry studied the bear a little bit more, then turned back and held the flowers out. Collie took them. It was a charming bouquet.

“I was going past the camp, and I thought I might duck in to see you,” Henry said.

“I'm glad you did,” Collie said, because that's what one said out of politeness, and she wasn't entirely clear in her mind what she thought of Henry Heights. “We haven't made coffee yet, but it will be on shortly.”

“Oh, thank you, but I should be on my way. I'm working with a surveying team not far from here. Mother asked me to remind you that she would love to see you again. I think she feels you are trapped here among a horde of men and require rescuing.”

“Well, I don't know if I'd go so far as to say ‘trapped,' but I take her point. Thank her for me, and tell her we'll come to visit soon. Estelle arrives today.”

“Your friend?”

She nodded. Henry was better this morning, she conceded. He seemed more relaxed and, at the same time, more certain of what he wanted. He wore a tweed coat and was dressed for the outdoors. The change in his clothing suited him. Maybe, she reflected, his distance from his home, from his family, made him more his own man. In any case he seemed improved.

“Funny bear,” Henry said, his attention returned to the animal.

“It makes me sad to see it.”

“What will you do with it?”

“We'll get one of the teams to take it out, I suppose. It's for the best.”

“Did they ever get to the bottom of the swastika?”

“You heard about that?”

“Through my father, I suppose. Do you think it was an attempt to show local support?”

“I suppose so. Maybe the American bund. We tried to downplay it so as not to add fuel to the fire.”

“That's probably the best idea. Well, I should be going. I hope you have a wonderful time with Estelle.”

“Thank you, Henry. And thank you for the bouquet. That was very thoughtful.”

He stopped with one foot in the door before climbing inside.

“I intend to marry you,” he said, his eyes directly on hers. “I hope you understand.”

She blushed brightly. It was such an uncanny thing to say that she felt it physically strike her. Nevertheless, it was flattering and confusing and absolutely absurd. Yet he appeared quite gallant and sure of himself now. She liked this version of Henry much more than the one she had met at the Brown Paper Company or even at the birthday party.

He nodded and slid behind the wheel of the car. She awarded him points for not lingering. What else could one say after such a statement? He honked at the gate and the guards, recognizing the vehicle and driver, opened the doors and let him go. The small black bear ran behind the car for a dozen yards, then veered off and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter Seven

C
ollie heard the train before it came into view. The sound arose as a deepening of air, then spread and gradually took purchase on the trees and stones on either side of the track. A pair of chickadees flittered to the nest they had built above the station door. Collie leaned a little toward the tracks in order to see the nest. Even with her improved vantage, she saw only sticks and grass and the busy heads of the birds. She wondered what the birds made of a train's arrival. It must seem like thunder to them, she imagined, and then she returned to looking down the track.

She felt nervous and excited and, to her surprise, somewhat shy. Estelle! It hardly seemed possible that her dear friend would step off the train any minute now. She felt as if she were at the beginning of a lovely meal, with the table set beautifully and the food sumptuous and plentiful. It was all ahead of her, the meal that had been so long in planning. She yearned to talk to Estelle, to unburden herself of every thought and fear, and, in turn, to take from Estelle whatever heavy loads she carried. Collie had already planned an itinerary, but that was merely the skeleton of the visit. The flesh of their visit, Collie knew without question, was their conversation, the communication of their kindred souls. It was nearly too much to hope for.

At last she glimpsed the train. It came up the river valley, the heavy engine pushing smoke into the blue sky. The railroad-crossing gate swung down across the road and the warning bell began a tattoo of rapid signals. The earth began to tremble, and Collie glanced quickly at the chickadees, but they had gone and she could not find the nest again in her excitement.

With a final whoosh the train came to a halt and a conductor swung down onto the station platform. He bent back and lowered a set of folding stairs.

“Percy Station,” he called into the train.

A few soldiers disembarked. Collie looked quickly to see if she knew them, but their faces were not familiar. A small boy came down next, followed by his father, and the father glanced at a pocket watch before moving away from the stairs. Even that tiny delay made Collie mad with frustration! Where was she? A tiny web of panic began to fasten itself to her heart, and she walked a few paces toward the locomotive, wondering if Estelle had somehow missed a connection, or perhaps fell asleep. Anything might have happened, and she was on the verge of asking the conductor a few sharp questions when she saw a small shoe push away from the side plane of the train, and then a serge skirt followed, all of it belonging to her
amie de coeur
, Estelle!

“Estelle!” Collie called, tears suddenly hot in her eyes. “Here, here I am!”

In an instant, she had her friend in her arms, both of them exclaiming at the same time. A passenger behind Estelle—a broad woman with a masculine face—said
excuse me
in a weary, annoyed voice. Estelle began to laugh, and Collie did, too, and they moved away from the stairway, refusing to let go of each other but walking as if they had entered a three-legged race.

“I can't believe you're here at last!” Collie said when they finally broke apart. “I want to study you. You look marvelous. So beautiful, Estelle.”

“And look at you! The camp translator!”

“Only by default, I promise. Where are your bags? I simply can't believe you are here, Estelle. Welcome to our little town. You won't be horribly bored by us, will you?”

“Not for a moment! I counted the days, believe me. Ashtabula is not Paris, you know.”

“Well, even Paris isn't Paris these days, I suppose. Now let's get your bags. Do you have many? We can put them in the station here and send a car to pick them up later. Or if you don't have too many, we can carry them now.”

“I have two, but they are spectacularly heavy. I'm afraid I'm going to have to depend on you for some outfits. I didn't want to bring too much. Father kept saying that a traveler with too many bags isn't a traveler at all. It's one of his many aphorisms. It turns out my father is filled with aphorisms when it comes to my life, but we won't go into that right now.”

A porter inside the train began handing down bags. The conductor handled them expertly, lining them up for a half-moon of passengers waiting. Collie held Estelle's arm as they went to claim her luggage.

“That portmanteau is mine, I'm afraid,” Estelle said, pointing toward a large trunk that would be impossible to carry any distance. “And that plain beige suitcase . . . yes, that one,” Estelle confirmed with the conductor.

“Easily done,” Collie said. “We'll send a man over in a truck. Two shakes of a lamb's tail. That way, we can walk and I can show you the river.”

“I'd love that. I could stand to stretch my legs.”

It was arranged. Moments later they began walking arm in arm toward the village. With her friend at last beside her, Collie felt she might pop like a bright balloon and go whizzing across the sky. At the same time it felt dislocating to see Estelle here in this tiny backwater of New Hampshire. Collie narrated their progress, telling her friend the name of the river, the various features in the hillsides, and finally guided her to her rock bench.

“This is where I read your letters,” she told Estelle. “Somehow it feels more natural to read them outdoors. I have a little ritual when it comes to your letters, you know? I read them first here, but only quickly, just to assure myself that all is well and that nothing has happened to you. And then I take the letter with me to the office and I read it again. On the return journey I take it out once more and then I examine it like an ancient text. I've counted on your letters so much, Estelle. I'm not sure what I would do without them.”

“I do much the same thing with yours. And I can see why you're drawn to this spot. How sweet it is. Should we stop for a moment? I'm taking this all in, and it's exactly as I pictured it. You look so lovely, Collie. So confident, somehow, and worldly in ways I can't begin to copy.”

“That's nonsense, Estelle. I'm a daughter to my father, and that's the whole of it.”

“Not at all. That's not how I see you at all. You have a position and responsibilities. I'm so envious of that. Here, sit beside me and let me see you in your proper setting. Yes, you match my imagination of this place. It comes surprisingly close, actually. Now tell me everything. I have so many questions, but my head is whirling. I'm grateful we have time for long conversations. I've yearned for them so much.”

Collie sat on the rock beside her friend and turned her face up to the sun. Yes, she felt content. She had dreamed of this moment many times. She felt grateful for the fine weather; the camp and town could be depressing in the rain or inclement weather, and she wanted everything to be perfect for her friend. The day had cooperated. It glowed like a blue apple, bright and clean, nearly tart with its freshness.

“First, tell me about the train journey. Was it bearable?” Collie asked.

“It was long, I'll admit. I changed trains so often I lost count. But the countryside made it worthwhile. Everything was coming into springtime green. I've become a plant fancier, you know? I've written you a little about it, but gardening has filled many idle hours for me. Our home has a conservatory attached to the southern end and it gets good sunlight all the year round. My mother never much cared for it, and it was always a point of contention between my father and her. So I took it over and came across the most interesting Indian man who sells plants at a flower shop not far from our house. A true Sikh, with a turban and everything, living right in Ashtabula, if you can imagine. He's knowledgeable about plants and he has helped me select a good collection. I seem to have a green thumb, which is not something I ever cultivated. In any case, it's my one worry about being away. My mother will not care for the plants and my father is too busy and is mildly incompetent about them. . . . It's a muddle, although they both like the effect the plants have on the room.”

“And so you watched the plants on the ride from Ohio?”

“Yes, I seem to respond to the natural world in that way. Plants, anyway. It's like bird-watching, I suspect. Once you begin noticing birds, you see them everywhere. Now I'm confronted by plants.”

“I'm glad they kept you company. Were your parents very concerned about your trip?”

“Oh, I don't know. It's hard to sort them out. My mother kept asking why anyone would want to go visit a prisoner-of-war camp. It became a bit of a running joke to people who would ask about it. ‘She's off to see the Germans,' Mother would say. Money is tighter than it was before the war, too. So a mixture of things went into the decision, but I've been a little depressed, as I wrote to you. I can't seem to get out of my own way some days.”

Collie squeezed her friend's hand.

“Are you feeling better? Did the train trip help?”

“In fact, it did. Staying at home I began to feel like one of my potted plants sitting in the sun and remaining entirely immobile. Most of the men are gone and everything seems on hold. But it's not just the men. I don't mean to say that. Everything seems to be on hold and people keep saying, well, when the war is over. And I find myself thinking, well, we're alive now and who knows when the war will end? But now I've come east again and I am sitting beside my dear, dear friend. You really do look marvelous, Collie. You've changed, but all for the better.”

“It's been interesting, I'll say that much. I made the right decision to leave Smith and be with my father. It was difficult at first. He was a little lost for a time when my mother died. With the war going on, getting any sort of extended leave was out of the question. Still, I'm not sure I would have been content to stay in a secluded enclave like Smith even without the force of my mother's death. It began to feel like make-believe, because the world had become so fractious and dangerous. I like it here. The work centers me.”

“Well, it certainly is a pretty place. Are we far from your boardinghouse?”

“No, it's just a five-minute walk downstream.”

“You would never guess there is a prisoner-of-war camp close by.”

“You'll see the cutting teams from time to time, especially in the morning and evenings. The prisoners wear bright PWs on their blouses. You'll get into the routine soon enough.”

“And when do I get to see the handsome August?”

Collie blushed. She leaned her forehead against her friend's shoulder. She shook her head and then lifted it again.

“You must think I've lost my mind,” Collie said, her voice suddenly constricted. “In fact, there's another man I must tell you about. His name is Henry. His attention had been very confusing, but we can talk about that. I didn't much care for him at first, but then he showed up today and presented me with a bouquet. And he declared that he intended to marry me! And August . . . I have such strong feelings for him. You must think I've gone balmy.”

“Not at all. I want to hear more about this Henry. As to August . . . do you know, I see my Indian friend sometimes and I think, well, he's a man and I'm a woman. My mother is frightened to death he will carry me off someplace and I can't help teasing her about it. But why shouldn't you admire a young German soldier. Is he very handsome?”

“Wonderfully handsome.”

“You have feelings for him, don't you? True feelings?”

“Oh, it's hard to say. I don't know him at all, but we exchanged that poem . . . and now I'm not sure if he meant it as a language lesson, or if he has forgotten it altogether. I don't see him under normal circumstances. I mean, we don't see each other at church, or at meals, or anywhere else, really. I'm afraid I've given in to a schoolgirl crush.”

“Stranger things have happened, certainly. I can't wait to see him. We're going to have so much fun. And you promise me we'll walk in the mountains? Ashtabula is so flat. . . . I'm not sure how I'd forgotten how flat it is. I feel as though I'm in the Alps here. Now, tell me, do you have the rest of the day free?”