Breakdown (21 page)

It became easier to talk about Sophie. He smiled when he remembered little things he hadn’t thought of for years, like the robins that nested in a topiary on the back patio, and how Sophie would put out bits of string and yarn for birds building their nests in the spring.

“It’s nearly spring,” Pauline said. “We’ll be starting some seeds soon, in trays.”

Chris knew what she was referring to. “Things have changed. Do you want me to go?”

“I don’t
want
you to go, no. How do you feel about it? What things have changed?”

“Everything’s changed,” Chris said, avoiding a specific answer.

Pauline put on her practical face. “Not really. You still don’t know what you’ll find in Bath.”

“The chances are slimmer, though. All that’s left is to check their doors for the marks like I found in London and make it official.”

“Not necessarily,” Pauline said. “I left my flat, came here, stayed here. I didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

Chris gave her a quick look. “Where would they have gone? Brian in particular. He had a big house with a big garden in a nice neighborhood. His would be the place to escape to, not escape from.”

“You can’t know,” Pauline said. “So many things could have happened that you know nothing about.”

“Well, I know he’s not there, and I don’t know where to start looking.”

“There must be other people in Bath that you both knew. You could ask them.”

Chris had pushed Bath into a hazy future. Yes, at some point he planned to go. Of course he did.

“There’s so much to do here,” he said. “George can’t do it all himself.”

“I helped him last year.”

“You have the garden.”

“We managed last year.”

Chris shifted in his seat. “I promised to help Freddie with the playing ground.”

“Yes, you’ve made all sorts of arrangements, I know. Why?”

“Because...people need help. I can help.” His voice came out louder than he expected. Pauline raised an eyebrow at him, something that always annoyed him because it meant she didn’t believe what he was saying. She folded her hands in her lap, sat back, and
looked
at him. She’d wait now, with her patient look, silently, with the corners of her mouth turning up just a little the way they did, until he dredged up something she deemed worthy. Crap, it was exasperating when she did that.

Chris crossed his arms and glared at her. What did she want to hear?

“I’m not ready,” he said.

“Okay.”

The temperature dropped that night, and it was snowing hard in the morning. It snowed for three days, piling up in drifts against the doors, filling the paths Chris and George shoveled twice a day. They stayed home on bath night, holed up in the study with the door shut, discussing petrol rations and crop rotation.

Then the sun came out, the temperature went back up, and within a week the snow was gone and the rain came. Cold drizzle turned the yard to mud. Chris and George spent a week in the barn and garage, tuning the tractor and getting the machinery ready.

In the kitchen, little green sprouts pushed up from the soil laid out in trays on tables set up near the windows. Spring came, and with it the long days of hard work in the fields and gardens. Chris rarely saw Pauline except at breakfast and supper. They had no time for talks in the study. Some days Chris found himself working alongside men and women he hardly knew, but a sense of community, a sense that all this work was for the good of everyone, satisfied him in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d left Saint Crispin’s. Once he ended up working in the same field as Rob Warren. They exchanged cool nods in greeting but didn’t speak. It didn’t happen a second time.

Before he knew it, May was mostly gone, and Chris had spare time for the playing field at the school. Freddie organized a couple of work days, when all the kids came out to help. Pauline came sometimes, as did the parents who could spare the time.

“It won’t be world-class for a few years,” Chris said to Freddie one day, “but you could have some decent games later this summer maybe.”

“Should I bother to ask you to help coach the kids?”

“I don’t know,” Chris said. Freddie nodded and didn’t ask.

* * *

Chris sat still, staring at the bobber on the water, listening to raindrops pattering on the hood of his waterproof. He had managed a few fishing trips with Wes once planting was finished, but Wes no longer looked for a reason to skip school. A rainy Saturday had brought the boy to the house early with his fishing pole, and Chris had been glad to join him. Wes usually plied Chris with questions, but today he had been nearly silent. Both of them had caught several fish, and Chris decided it was almost time to head back.

Wes, who had found a place farther down the bank, reeled in suddenly, stood, and made his way back toward Chris through the wet grass. He stopped a few meters away and sat himself down on a rock. He cast out again. Chris glanced at him. Wes’s eyebrows were drawn together.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, not looking at Chris.

“Sure.”

Wes flicked his line around a bit. “Are you going to marry Pauline?”

“Um, why do you ask that?”

“I heard Mrs. Bainbridge talking,” Wes muttered.

“Hmm. What did she say?”

“She said she thought something was going on. She said she didn’t believe all that talk about you leaving, because you haven’t yet, and don’t show any sign of it, and what else would be keeping you here except Pauline, because you haven’t shown any interest in any of the other ladies.” Wes stopped, chewed on his lip, then went on. “She said she hoped Pauline was smart enough to make you marry her before she let you into her bed, or you’d just end up being another Michael Cooper, and she’d be heartbroken again.”

“Anything else?” Chris tried to keep his tone light, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“The other lady said that after Michael Cooper, of course Pauline had already let you in her bed, because she’s not the sort to hold out.”

Chris gripped his pole as Wes trailed off. He’d known there must be some gossip, but he had never imagined it would be quite so succinct.

“What does that mean?” Wes asked. “Who is Michael Cooper?”

Chris sighed. “There’s a lot to explain, Wes. You don’t know Michael?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s an old friend of the family. He grew up here, so everyone in town knows him. He was...um, Pauline’s boyfriend for a long time. But not anymore.”

“Oh, him. I guess I met him once. Do you know him?”

“Yes, I do. He’s why I’m here. I met him in Portsmouth, and when I got ill, he arranged for me to come here to get well.”

“Why did she say you were leaving?”

“Well, I do plan to leave, Wes. I have family in Bath, and I plan to go find them.”

Wes looked stricken. “When?”

“I don’t really know,” Chris said, looking out at his line, reeling it in slowly. “I didn’t plan to stay much past spring, but I’m still here.”

“Because of Pauline? Are you her boyfriend now?”

“Um, no.” Chris had to take a deep breath. “It’s not like that, Wes.”

“But you like her, I can tell. You talk all the time, and she’s not married, and neither are you, so you could get married, couldn’t you? And then you could stay.”

Wes might as well have whacked him on the head with his fishing pole.

“Now, hang on a minute,” Chris said. He tried to collect his thoughts. “People don’t just get married because they like each other. Of course I like Pauline. I like you, too, and George, and Marie, and Grace. But I have family in Bath. I grew up there. At some point I’ll go and find them.”

Wes sat stone-faced. “So why have you stayed this long?”

“It’s kind of complicated, Wes.”

“Because you’re in Pauline’s bed?”

Chris thought he must look like a stranded fish. “I’m not ‘in her bed.’”

“Mrs. Harrington thinks you are. And Mrs. Stone, and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Chris interrupted him.
Crap, crap, crap.
“That’s just ugly gossip.”

“Why is it ugly? People who are married sleep in bed together.”

Chris studied Wes, so savvy in the market, mature beyond his age when it came to the chores he did around town. Could he really be so ignorant about sex? But then again, where would he learn about it? Chris had picked it up from chums in the school yard and dirty magazines nicked from their older brothers. By the time his mother had tried to explain it, he already knew the basics. Wes had none of that.

“Well, yes, but sleeping isn’t what she meant by it,” Chris said, his eyebrows drawing together. He could see where this conversation was going, and he wasn’t sure he was the one who should be having it with Wes.

“What did she mean, then?” Wes asked.

* * *

Chris left his fish in the kitchen with Grace. He found Pauline in the barn, brushing down one of the horses. She looked up as he approached.

“Ah, did you catch anything?”

“A couple small ones,” he said. “Wes and I had an interesting chat.”

“Oh? What did you talk about?” she asked, brushing out the horse’s mane.

Chris crossed his arms. “Sex.”

Pauline’s eyes flew open and her mouth formed a little
O
.

“How did that come up?”

“He asked me. Hasn’t anyone ever talked to him? Hell, he didn’t know anything.”

“He’s only thirteen—”

“I knew all about that stuff by the time I was twelve.”

Pauline fidgeted. “Yes, you’re right, of course. I should have thought of it, had George deal with it. But at least he felt comfortable enough with you to ask. Thanks for taking care of it.” She chuckled. “Well, not what you planned on, eh?”

Chris would have found it amusing if it weren’t for what else they’d talked about. He didn’t smile. Pauline caught his mood.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to get serious.

Chris looked hard at her. “He told me some gossip, too.”

“Oh. About?”

“Us, of course. Mrs. Bainbridge hopes you’re smart enough to make me marry you before you let me into your bed.”

“Damn her,” Pauline muttered. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’ll have a word with her.”

“But Mrs. Harrington and Mrs. Stone and several others apparently feel you’re not the sort to hold out.”

Chris saw the pink creeping onto her cheeks before she turned her face away.

“Look, if me being here is going to cause problems for you—”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Why should I care what silly old ladies gossip about? It’s just talk. I’ll set them straight.” She returned to brushing, her face set hard, her strokes bordering on vicious.

Chris watched her until she looked up at him.

“What else?” she asked, as if steeled for something more.

Chris considered the question and decided to take the plunge.

“They said Michael broke your heart. Did he?”

Surprise flitted across her face, and she tossed her head with feigned indifference.

“More than once. He’s a good friend, but a lousy boyfriend.” She pretended to concentrate on a tangle in Molly’s mane. “Eventually, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and accepted whatever he had to offer. More’s the pity. Took me far too long to get a spine.” She took a deep breath, stood up straighter, and looked at Chris.

A few ugly thoughts about Cooper gave way to the thought that her eyes got darker when she was angry, and the way she pursed her lips in determination was undeniably attractive. Chris blinked, cleared his throat.

“All right,” was all he could manage, and he left her there and went to clean the fish.

CHAPTER 18

“F
reddie asked me to coach the kids,” Pauline said to Chris one sunny July afternoon while they worked in the vegetable garden, weeding and picking.

“That’s great. You’re going to, aren’t you? You’ll be good at it.”

“Did she ask you?”

“No.”

Pauline straightened her back and stretched. “Why not? You’ve been to all the practices, and the kids like you. You’re good with kids.”

“My temporary situation,” Chris said. “She said it wouldn’t be good for the kids when I go.”

“Oh. Have you been thinking about that?”

“I’m always thinking about that.”

They moved down the garden, one row apart, at a steady pace. Chris enjoyed the Saturday practices at the school. Nearly all the kids participated, as well as some of the adults. Each week more people came to watch the fun, bringing chairs or blankets to sit on—and picnic lunches. Each week more people joined in.

“We had games at Saint Crispin’s, too,” Chris volunteered. Their talks had moved out of the study, to wherever and whenever they happened to have a few private moments.

“What games?”

“Sometimes it was football. Sometimes it was American football, but without all the equipment, a watered-down version. They called it ‘flag football.’ And they had basketball, too.”

“Did you play or coach?”

“I played sometimes. The teams were always different. Anyone could play. They had kids’ games in the morning and adults after lunch.”

“Were there a lot of kids?”

“Yes, quite a lot. They had an orphanage. The outside teams always looked for orphans. They were still collecting them when I left.”

“That’s wonderful, to do that, give them a home.”

Chris thought of Wes. “Yes, well, some of them turned into problems. Some of them were older. They’d been on their own a couple years, and they didn’t like the rules. Some stayed and caused problems; others just left.”

“The older boys, eh?”

“Not just the boys. Some of the girls, too. They’d learned how to get by, figured out what they had that men wanted, and that really caused problems.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” Pauline said, glancing up at him, making a face.

Chris shrugged. “Oldest profession,” he said. “It’s everywhere, really. If you were starving, really starving, it might not seem such a bad option.”

Pauline was quiet, looking a little distressed, the way she often did when he told her about what it was like now in the rest of the world, the world beyond Breton.