A Taste of Honey (15 page)

“Everything’s wrong, Will. We’re wrong and have been from the start. This hasn’t been a marriage, not in the true sense of the word.” The words were tumbling from her mouth; she couldn’t stop them. “Our marriage is a sham, and has been from the very start.”

“You knew what you were getting in to. I never lied.”

“Yes, yes, I know I did and I’m not blaming you for that. But I should never have accepted anything less than what I wanted from you.”

“What in the hell do you mean?”

“You never courted me, Will, and I wanted a man who loves me. I want violins and soft guitars. I want to be wined and dined.”

“That’s romantic nonsense. Nobody courts a woman anymore. You’ve got to get your feet back on the ground, Honey. Life is real and tough. You’ve got a childish view on love. Throbbing hearts, pink-colored sky, rainbows and love songs.”

“If it is not that, then I don’t want it,” she cried. “I want romance and I want a man who loves me for me alone. Not because he had to marry me. I made a mistake. I’m sorry but now I’m going to rectify it. I’m leaving you, Will, and I’m not coming back.

“I thought we could make a go of this marriage, that somehow, some way we’d find love together but I was wrong. You can’t love me, Will. You can’t love any woman.

“Honey, I — ”

“There’s nothing more for us to say to each other.”

“Where are you going? What are you planning to — ”

“Goodbye, Will.” She slid in behind the wheel and reversed the car out of the garage down the long driveway, through the gates and out onto the road leading to the main highway.

• • •

Charli had been driving for over two hours and was tired and cramped and in desperate need of coffee. Deciding to stretch her cramped muscles, she pulled in at the next road diner.

She slid onto a booth and studied the menu. She wasn’t hungry, even though she knew she should eat something, if not for her own sake then for her baby’s. She ordered a toasted cheese sandwich and a coffee. Sipping her coffee, she allowed her eyes to roam around the diner. At a table at the far end of the restaurant was a young family. The father rose. His baby let forth such a wail at her father leaving her. With a laugh, the man hoisted his child from her safety chair and swung her high on to his shoulders, the child singing with glee. He looked down at his wife and held out his hand and together they walked from the diner, so closely entwined as to nearly be one.

Tears burned the back of Charli’s eyes, envious, as the young family entered their car.

She couldn’t control her tears and hastily rose from her seat and rushed to the restroom. Rinsing her wrists, she splashed her face with cold water.
You fool, you stupid fool, tears won’t alter anything.

Suddenly she longed to talk to her dad, hear his voice, and feel the warmth of his arms. She was aching for home. To tell her father she was having a baby, and that Will didn’t want her. That the only thing he wanted was sex with as many different women as he could manage.

If nobody else in the world understood, her dad did.

The ideal Victorian woman was pure, chaste, refined, and modest. This ideal was supported by etiquette and manners. The etiquette extended to the pretension of never acknowledging the use of undergarments. The discussion of such a topic, it was feared, would gravitate toward unhealthy attention on anatomical details.

Home at last. She looked at her parents’ home. Huge sycamore trees almost touched the clouds and trembled in the soft wind, while the house sat among them, surrounded by various shrubs. The front garden was a mass of color. Miniature roses, daisies, and geraniums grew in abundance with no apparent plan, but as nature intended them to grow. The garden flowed gently downhill, allowing wide steps, incorporated naturally into the lawn. Blue and white delphiniums bordered with catmint made a color link with the steely blue spruce on the left. To the right was the bright yellow-framed glasshouse, a perfect contrast to the blue sky overhead and the timber in the rest of the house. A bright red painted wooden barrel filled with geraniums sat beneath the kitchen window.

She beeped the horn, and the front door opened wide and her father came out. Her sweet, wonderful dad dressed in his old tweed jacket and loose-fitting trousers. His briar pipe forever in his mouth. Her heart swelled with love.

She stepped from the car and stretched her cramped muscles. Her father held out his arms and she raced into them. “Dad,” she said huskily.

“Charli girl,” he said. “You’ve come for a visit. What a wonderful surprise.”

Charli nearly lost control of her emotions. She buried her face into her father’s neck, loving the warmth of him. He smelled of hay and earth, and he smelled good. “It’s so good to see you.”

She grabbed her father’s hand and held on tightly as they strolled up the garden path toward the front door. Home. Everything was the same. Everything was normal and as it should be. For the first time since discovering Will’s treachery, she felt she could push him from her mind and somehow begin her life again without him. Without him. Oh, dear God what wicked words.

They entered the house. There was a fire burning in the stove in the kitchen, and through habit, this was where they headed.

He took her suitcase from her and bade her sit in the chair near the fire. She obeyed him, pleased that someone was taking control, and sat with a sigh into the chair.

“You made good time, love?”

“Not bad, Dad, the roads were light and I only made the one stop.”

He leaned forward as if to study her more closely. “Are you all right, Charli girl, you look a bit washed out.”

“I’m fine, Dad, just the drive.”

“Hmm. Where’s Will? Why didn’t he come with you?”

“He’s in the middle of contracts. You know, Dad. I had some spare time so I thought I’d grab the chance to come and visit you.”

“I’m glad you did. We can have some long chin wags.” He chewed his bottom lip. “Didn’t have an argument, did you, love? You know, you and Will. Most newly married couples manage a few good gripes, settling down, feeling the restraints. It takes time to work out the boundaries.” He laughed softly. “You’ve got to mark out your territory and say, this is the line you don’t cross. Give each other space and respect each other’s opinion. It’s not easy.”

“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry, Dad.”
Not yet anyway. Not until later when I tell you the truth. Now I just want to feel the comfort of knowing you’re around and that I’m home and safe.

“That’s fine.” He looked wistful. “Do you think Will might come up for a couple of days? Sort of take you home.”

“I’m not sure. Depends on how busy he is. We’ll wait and see what happens. Okay, Dad?”

She knew how much her father liked Will and how upset he’d be when she told him the truth, but he had to know because she needed her father’s help to get through the lonely, lonely months until her baby was born.

“Cup of tea?”

“Love one.” She went to rise out of her seat. “I’ll put on the kettle.”

He jumped to his feet and gently pushed her back. “No way, Charli girl. I’ll make this one and you can make the breakfast. Always hated getting breakfast ready. How does that sound?”

Grateful, she leaned her head back, watching her father prepare their tea. “Sounds great, Dad,” she said softly.

Women’s physical activity was a cause of concern at the highest levels of academic research during the Victorian era. In Canada, physicians debated the appropriateness of women using bicycles.

Charli woke well before first light. She didn’t feel that total despair she’d carried with her all yesterday. What was there was a dull ache in the area of her heart. A feeling of desperate loss, and maybe that would never really go away.

She slipped out of bed and pulled on a tracksuit. Creeping down the familiar hallway, she reached the kitchen and the flashlight she knew her father always kept in the top dresser drawer. Grabbing her raincoat, she pulled a woolen beret down around her ears and opened the front door. It was freezing yet exhilarating. There wasn’t a sound and dawn was just breaking. She switched on the torch and made her way to the large wicker rocking chair, a favorite of her mother’s, and sunk into its protective depth. She flicked off the torch as the sun rose. It never ceased to daunt her, the beauty of a newborn day. Golden crimsons streaked with gray, black, and white making irregular patterns across the sky.

She heard the noises of the animals beginning to stir, making waking up noises at the first glimpse of light. A cock crowed, loud and proud, safe and smug in his domain as sole male.

Her father’s black Labrador made his weary way up the porch steps and sunk down with a thud across her feet. She leaned down and scratched behind his ears. “Another day, Bullet,” she said, and the dog licked her petting fingers. “Good boy,” she said.

She left the porch and wandered down to the stables with Bullet trotting slowly beside her. The horses whinnied as she approached the stables. Pulling open the stable doors, she switched on her torch and made her way down the wide aisle until she came to her mare.

She rubbed the horse’s flank. “Hi, Rainbow, there’s a good girl,” she whispered. “Feel like a ride?”

The horse nuzzled her proffered hand. Reaching for the bridle, Charli opted for bareback. She led the horse from the stable and mounted her. Then with a slight click of her heels to urge the horse, Rainbow took off and sure-footedly they flew over the rough terrain. At first, Bullet endeavored to keep up with his mistress and her horse, but after only a few short bounds, he gave up and walked dejectedly back to wait patiently on the porch for their return.

It was grand the feeling of the cool, soft wind streaming through her hair. The magical sounds of the horse’s hooves as they landed safe and sure on the earth below her. She wanted to ride forever. She wanted to ride and ride until exhausted, and both girl and horse would crumble to dust and nothing would worry them again.

Oh, foolish thoughts. Stupid, stupid.
What she really needed was time. Time healed all wounds, or so she’d been told.

Charli dug her heels firmly into the horse’s flanks. “Go, girl,” she said. “Go.”

And as the horse flew toward the breaking dawn, Charli wasn’t sure if tears or the soft dew of the first light stung her cheeks.

Courtship may include the couple going out together in public. Courtship may also involve private activities, which usually include much talking together.

Charli poured her father a cup of tea and asked if he had slept well. Engrossed in the morning newspaper, he responded with a nod, peered at her over his newspaper. “You were up early.”

“Did I disturb you, Dad?”

“Nothing disturbs me. I just heard you scratching about on the veranda and wondered what you were up to.”

“Not enough for you to get out of bed and check,” she joked.

“I was too warm and comfortable and dreaming.”

“What about?”

“Ester and me.”

“You really love her, don’t you, Dad?”

“Too bloody right I do. I’m going to make that woman so darn happy she’ll sing for the rest of her life.”

Charli laughed. “She’s lucky.”

“So am I, Charli girl. So am I.” He buttered a piece of toast, spreading jam thickly across the crispy slice. “So what were you doing so early in the morning?”

“I took Rainbow for a morning run,” she said.

“Still a good horse, that mare.”

Charli nodded. “More toast, Dad?”

“No, but another cup of tea would go down well.”

She topped his cup.

“You okay, love?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are. I think it’s about you and Will, isn’t it? I knew yesterday that something’s wrong. I hope you’re not doing anything too hasty, love. Will’s an all right man in my book and you’ve done yourself proud marrying him.”

“Oh, Dad. You just don’t understand.”

A look of concern crossed her father’s face. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What don’t I understand? What’s troubling you? Why have you come home to Rich River without your husband?”

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. “Don’t ask me that now, Dad. I just can’t answer you at the moment. Give me time, please, give me a little time.”

Charli moved to the window. A late winter wind was blowing through the trees. They swayed and bent in its path as if in servitude. Her eyes swept over her father’s property, every inch of it so familiar, so sweet to her. The barn with its old corrugated iron roof standing forlornly in the side paddock. The gnarled oak tree with the now-frayed rope swing her father had made for her so many years ago.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she endeavored to come to terms with what she had learned about Will.

A gentleman should always walk on the outside when walking with a lady.

It wasn’t as easy telling her dad as she’d imagined it to be. He liked Will so much that it would be difficult for him to understand. Maybe he’d try to talk her around, urging her to go back to Will and try again. That was something she just couldn’t do.

She wandered through his small apple orchard. Tiny green embryonic fruit hung in abundance on the trees.

Her father called her name. She turned and waved. She spoke as he approached her. “Dad, can we talk, you and me?”

“I was hoping you’d want to talk. I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, Dad.” She gave a cry. Not a soft cry but a real, wonderful cry that unleashed some of the hurt bottled up inside her. Six years old again, when she’d scraped her knee and her mother had dabbed her cut with iodine, blowing on the gravel rash to help ease the throbbing and her father had stood tall and silent beside her holding her hand tightly.

“Oh my little girl,” he said and wrapped his arms around her.

“Dad, oh, Dad,” she sobbed.

“Let it rip, Charli girl. Don’t bottle up pain or it will become so bad it’ll take hold of you. God gave us the power to cry and I reckon he wants us to every time we get hurt and there isn’t any shame to that for man or woman.”