The Major's Daughter (35 page)

“That remains to be seen, George.”

“Do you love me, Estelle?” he asked, his head suddenly jerking a little from booze as he turned to look at her directly.

But he also appeared alert. One should never underestimate George, she reminded herself.

“I married you, didn't I? Had your baby?”

“But I don't think you love me. Isn't that funny? We're just a little dollhouse here, with Mommy and Daddy and Baby, paper cutouts. . . . Why did you take that job?”

“My reporting?”

He nodded.

“I guess you could say for fulfillment. I know that sounds grand and phony, but that's the honest answer.”

“The guys in the office give me hell about it.”

“Why?”

“They figure I have you working as a spy to get information about town doings. That sort of thing.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded again and took a larger drink. He rattled the ice cubes at her.

“They think you go to these selectmen meetings and report back to me. They figure you give me the real dope and report the rest for the regular slobs.”

“That's one of the craziest things I've ever heard.”

He shrugged. It was a boozy shrug. For a moment she saw the little boy in him. Eternal George, she thought. Eternally a boy.

“I spoke to Collie today,” she said, attempting to change the subject. “This morning, actually. She sends her love.”

“Bet she's having a Saturday night,” he said, and winked.

“Drop it, George.”

“What she say?”

“She was very happy, that's all. The camp is getting ready to close.”

“She still in love with that Kraut?”

“She didn't say.”

George hoisted himself out of his chair and went to the bar. He poured himself another drink, this one much darker than the one she had given him.

“You make that call without spending any money?” he asked her.

“How could I?”

“I'm simply saying money made you happy today, didn't it? Helps to have a little jingle in your pocket.”

“I never said it didn't.”

“You don't have to say things to mean them, you know.”

She sipped her drink. Then she stood and put a log on the fire. Two logs. She sat back in her chair. She felt a mild headache beginning along her forehead.

“Why are you being quarrelsome, George? Did something happen today?”

“I'm not quarrelsome.”

“Okay.”

“That's a trick, right? If I say I'm not quarrelsome, then I'm quarrelsome. That's pretty good, Estelle. You learn that at Smith with all the other Smith girls?”

“Now you're being offensive.”

“Am I? Pardon-ay moi.”

She stood and lifted the fire screen in front of the fireplace. Then she carried her drink out to the kitchen and put it in the sink. She didn't know what she would do about the article. The only solution was to rise especially early before Hazel woke and finish it then. She went back to her desk and tidied the papers on it. George stared straight ahead at the fire.

“You're still in love with that nigger, aren't you? The one in the flower shop?”

“Good night, George.”

“That's the truth,” he said. “An Indian man. A swami. I'm not good enough for you, but that nigger bastard is just fine.”

She didn't say anything else. She went upstairs quickly and went into the nursery. She locked the door. They kept a small bed beside the crib for Louisa when she stayed over. Now Estelle sat on the edge and put her face in her hands. It was the liquor speaking, she knew, but it was also his personality coming out. One couldn't disguise true feelings forever; eventually the mask fell away. She folded over onto her side and cried into the pillow. She kept her sobs quiet so that she didn't wake Hazel.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“W
e could be killed,” August said against her hair, his lips moving over her forehead, to her neck. “You understand that, don't you?”

She nodded. She could not move or think or say anything. She stood in his arms and tried to understand what they had just promised each other. Did the words truly mean what she thought they did? Did they just promise to go together to Canada, to risk everything, to leave everything, and simply walk away from the war? It seemed impossible. It reminded her of a childish game where one or the other person would pull back from a dare and say she or he meant it as a joke. But this was no joke. She had told him about the forced labor waiting for him in Britain; she had watched the information strike him as if with a blow. He shook his head in disbelief. He vowed immediately to escape; he refused to entertain the idea of more time in prison.

She put her cheek flat against his chest. He kissed her over and over, and she felt her body losing its outer skin and sinking into his. That was impossible, of course, but she felt the evening air around them, the dampness of spring, and his warmth held her and covered her. Yes, she told herself. She had meant exactly what she had declared a moment before. She would go with him.

“I don't care,” she said, her head buried against him. “I'm willing to risk it.”

“It's not far, but it's dangerous. Gerhard will come with us, and he is skilled at this type of thing. We must travel quickly, you understand? The longer we take, the more risk we endure.”

She nodded. Her blood made a racket in her body. She still had difficulty believing they had struck such a dangerous, fateful bargain.

“Are you sure you can do this?” he asked.

“Yes, as sure as I can be. As sure as I know that I love you.”

“We will marry. We will make a home. When this is all over, we can decide what we will do about everything. But the war is like a big threshing machine. Do you know that machine? It cuts the grass and sweeps everything up with it. We live between the blades of a thresher. That's the phrase we say in my home country.”

“Yes, I understand.”

He kissed her again. They were safe, she knew, standing in their meeting place beside the draft horses. The rest of the men were at dinner. The guards no longer kept a sharp vigil. For all intents and purposes, the war had ended. She saw no point in forfeiting a pair of lives to a war that had devoured so much already, had glutted on blood and bones across the seas and lands for years. Surely to leave it now was a fair compromise. If not for her father, and the pain it would bring to him, she would not have hesitated more than a moment. The war was not a thing. It was merely a word, a horrible, vicious word, and its power, she felt, had begun to slip away.

“We will go tomorrow night,” he said. “Gerhard said the weather is improving. We will leave immediately after last roll call. We can leave from here. We can simply step into the forest, and that is all. If anyone objects to us, we can say we needed to check on the horses. But no one will stop us. We can travel all night.”

She nodded. It was the plan they had talked about before. It was treason to discuss it, but
treason
was also another mere word. She felt tired of words. She felt tired of every word that tried to separate her from him. She felt tired of
war
and
German
and
guard
and
tower
and
prison
and
bullet
and
bars
and
rifle
and
Reich
and
Hitler
and
Japan
and
shortage
and
drive
and
victory
and
loss
and
wounds
and
nurses
and
doctors
and
Blue Stars
. The words oppressed her, and she felt them pushing her deeper into his coat, into his arms, while he kissed her cheek and whispered that he loved her.

“We should go,” she said after a little longer. “You'll be missed.”

“I pledge myself to you,” he said. “Do you see?”

“Yes, and I to you.”

“You could travel to Canada by yourself and wait for me. It's not too late to do that. It would be safer.”

“We talked about this already. I can walk perfectly fine, and I may be able to protect you in some circumstances. There's a case to be made on either side. If it goes correctly, we will be in Canada in two days. Not more.”

He pushed her away slightly and regarded her.

“You should go and meet me there,” he insisted. “Gerhard and I will make it. We can find each other when we cross the border.”

“We can't know that. We could be lost to each other and that would kill me. No, I want to travel with you. I want to risk whatever you risk. I couldn't stand to be separated from you again.”

“It's not fair to ask it of you.”

“You didn't ask. You never asked. It's what I want. It's the only thing I am living for now.”

He kissed her again. Then he looked quickly around, testing the sight lines to ensure he had not been spotted by the guard towers.

“If anything changes, I'll leave a message here,” he said, nodding toward the chink in the wall that they used as a mail drop. “Check it at dinner. I won't come to see you then. I'll stay away from you until we are leaving. “

She nodded. Then she kissed him. She kissed him with all her passion, with everything she had inside her. He would be her husband. He would be her life.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered when they broke apart. “Eight o'clock.”

He kissed her hands. Then he turned and dashed off, his form the shape of her beloved.

 • • • 

“Is this seat taken?”

Estelle looked up to find Mr. Kamal standing in front of her, his dress somewhat formal, his expression amused. Her heart made a strange leap, but whether for good or ill she could not quite say. She had a notebook open on her lap and was busy transposing quotes into a story she was writing about the Barnum & Bailey circus arriving at the end of the month. Hazel slept in the pram beside her, her tiny face shaded by the hood.

“Mr. Kamal!” she said, trying to gather herself.

“But you're working! I'm sorry. I should have known.”

“No, absolutely not. No, please, sit and join me. Just please keep your voice low, because I don't want to wake the baby.”

He bent over the pram and examined Hazel. He smiled as he straightened.

“She's very beautiful,” he whispered.

“She's a good baby.”

“I will join you for a moment, if you don't mind. I've been on my feet all morning. And it's so unseasonably warm.”

“Yes, it's quite warm,” she said, and slid her notebook into the pocket at the pram rear. “They're calling for rain tomorrow.”

“The farmers need it, certainly.”

He sat on the other side, away from Hazel. It was strange to see him in formal Western wear—a suit with a white shirt and an emerald checked tie. He looked quite handsome in it, though not entirely comfortable. He pinched the crease of his trousers as he crossed his legs. She smiled to see this small tic she remembered from her days visiting him. It was an endearing unconscious habit.

“What are you working on?” he asked. “I stood for a moment before you realized I was nearby. You were very involved with what you are writing.”

“An article for the paper. On the circus coming to town, of all things. Not earthshaking, I'm afraid.”

“Who is to say what is earthshaking? To a small boy or girl, the circus coming is big news indeed.”

“That's true, I suppose.”

“Your writing is very clear, you know? I look forward to reading your articles because I can always hear your voice inside the words. I could pick out an article written by you from a hundred different articles.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm sure I'm not the only one to tell you that.”

“You'd be surprised. Reporters hear little about their work unless there's a problem with something. My editors say we're society's wallpaper. Newspapers, I mean.”

“Your articles are mentioned frequently in my shop. People notice.”

“I don't know if that will paralyze me next time I go to write something.”

“It shouldn't. It should encourage you.”

Estelle heard Hazel move slightly in the pram and she leaned forward to check on her. At the same time, her mind felt filled with thoughts of Mr. Kamal. How natural it felt to sit with him! She had missed his calm solicitousness, his kind regard for others. It provided a stark contrast from fools like the men she sometimes interviewed or even George. George would be like a tin drum beside him.

“She's restless,” Estelle said of Hazel, her eyes returning to Mr. Kamal's. “She hasn't been feeling well lately.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No, just the hurdles of infancy.”

“You are enjoying motherhood?”

“Yes, to my surprise I am.”

He crossed his legs in the other direction. He tilted his head back slightly to take the sun. It was lovely in the park, Estelle reflected. The oaks had come into full leaf now and the fountain—an arching fish with a spout of water flowing from its mouth—bubbled and kept the air fresh.

“I also have had a busy morning,” he said, his face still up in the sunlight. “I am a full citizen now. I participated in the ceremony this morning.”

“That's wonderful news, Neem.”

“The ceremony was brief, but many of us cried.”

“Did you cry?”

“No, I felt a longing, however. A curious mix of emotions. They served us punch afterward. I don't know why, but that detail has stayed with me. Punch. It was the first thing we consumed as new citizens.”

“You should be very proud.”

“I am. And I am going forward with the adjoining store . . . as we talked about. It will be a bookstore, my other passion. Flowers and books. My sleepy little shop will lose some of its character, but it's all for the good.”

“I'm so glad. Things worked out as you had hoped.”

“Not everything,” he said, and lowered his gaze to regard her.

Were they going to have this discussion at last? she wondered. She felt blood come into her face. She lowered her eyes. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out to tuck the netting tighter around Hazel's pram. She marveled that he could still stir her so deeply. Part of her yearned to cut the conversation short, to stand and claim an excuse, anything, to conclude their meeting. But the greater part of her spirit longed to stay, to hear everything at last. She felt a small war taking place deep in her soul, a confusing jumble of emotions. What was the point of visiting that land again? The pain of it all, the useless loss, overwhelmed her and she decided to speak frankly once and for all.

“Did you have feelings for me, Neem? When we visited often . . . what were you thinking? I never knew, you see. Not entirely.”

He looked at her levelly. Her eyes traveled into his.

“I loved you,” he said simply.

“Why did you never declare yourself?”

“I did in every way I could. I thought you knew that.”

“But you didn't express your true feelings. Never. It was all a puzzle that I had to put together and I never could. I lacked the important pieces.”

“I did my best.”

“Did you think because our backgrounds . . . the differences between us . . . did you think that was insurmountable?”

He nodded.

“Weren't they?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “At times I thought they were, but now, looking back, they don't seem so formidable. It pains me that we failed to try as hard as we might have.”

“I waited every day for you, hoping you would arrive.”

“And for me . . . coming to your shop . . .”

She put her face in her hands. What a horrible misunderstanding! What a lack of courage on both of their parts. But that, she reminded herself, was not entirely true. She had known what she was doing; she had accepted the bargain, the familiar bargain, she amended, of George and all he stood for. That was the most painful element of all.
She
had been a coward, seeking comfort over love, familiarity over her heart's desire. Was familiarity, then, her true desire? The house, the money filling the bank like a water leak seeping into an old basement, the presentable Eternal George. Was that her true heart's desire? It must have been, she realized. She was a shallow, horrible woman, every bit as despicable as George himself, an assistant who held his dreadful tools out for him on a tray while she looked away and pretended not to be a participant. She could be bought, she had been bought, and to pretend otherwise was pointless.