Chapter 2
With her coat, umbrella, notepad and purse on the chair beside her, Daisy placed her regular breakfast order. Nancy bobbed her familiar curtsy and went into the kitchen. Thinking about what she should do after breakfast, Daisy didn’t notice the tall, tanned man heading for her table until he stopped and stood over her.
“Daisy … can I join you?” Pat looked contrite and a bit nervous.
She didn’t move her things from the seat beside her but nodded her head toward the chair opposite.
“I’m sorry you got upset yesterday.”
“I’m sorry, too, Pat. I’m glad you found me, again. Say whatever you’d like. I’ll be happy to listen.”
Nancy came to the table with a steaming tea pot wrapped in a quilted cozy and poured a stream of dark liquid into Daisy’s cup.
“Nancy, may we have another cup and more scones?” Daisy smiled and added, “I think the gentleman might prefer coffee. Is that right, Pat?”
“Yes. I would.” He hung his coat on the chair back and settled himself.
He waited for Nancy to arrange his cup and tableware, swallowed a mouthful of the hot strong brew, looked straight at Daisy and began.
“I was in a military hospital in Hawaii for about six months at the end of the war … the ‘mental’ ward.” Taking a deep breath, he resumed. “There are lots of ways to describe the mess we, so called, ‘mental freaks’ were in … shell shock … exhaustion … break-down … injury to the nerves … cowardice. That kind of sickness was usually considered shameful and the military didn’t know how to treat it. Eventually, we were discharged and sent stateside to work out our ‘problems’ as best we could. I went to the Balboa Hospital’s mental unit in San Diego, California, for awhile.”
Daisy’s breath hitched in her throat. Oh, lordy. The poor man was shell-shocked!
“I’d get worked-up for no reason and start to shake and sweat like a hog. It was real hard to look ‘normal’, to hide what was going on inside me. Sleeping was a long, living nightmare, so I made myself stay awake. My thoughts were awful … horrible, in fact. Making plans or decisions was more than I could do. I think I stopped believing in God … couldn’t trust anyone. Mostly I wanted to kill myself. That sounds pretty hammy but it was true. I didn’t want my family or you to see me like that so I didn’t go home.
No ... he didn’t come home. Had I known about this, would I have understood?
“After a year or so, the symptoms weren’t so noticeable. On one of my ‘good’ days, I joined the Coast Guard hoping to get a better grip on my ‘problem’. The Guard is disciplined and you don’t have to think about what to do … Guardsmen follow orders. If the crazy stuff got too bad and I couldn’t do my job, I was sent to the infirmary. The captain was a good sort and the ship’s doctor was an old guy. He’d been in WWI and II and seen lots of what he called “battle fatigue” cases. He’d put me on a cot, dope me up good and I’d sleep maybe twenty hours straight. When I woke up he’d make me eat good and tell me that ‘time was the great healer’ … then I’d go back on duty. A lot of the guys on shipboard made allowances. You know … ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ … kind of thing.”
Pat lowered his head over his coffee cup and said vaguely, “I let it get cold.”
“May we have a fresh cup of coffee here, Nancy? Thank you.” Daisy leaned forward and laid her hands over Pat’s white-knuckled fists that were gripping his balled-up napkin. “I understand … you suffered terribly. Are the symptoms still as severe?”
“No … a short bout once in a while, that’s all. I suppose it’s true what the doc said, ‘time is the great healer’. But I think my stint in Korea helped a lot.”
“Oh lordy, Pat, did you fight in Korea, too?” Daisy was stunned to think that he had to endure another war.
“Nah, we weren’t sent there to fight. The Coast Guard was providing some training to a South Korean Maritime agency. Going there and seeing the misery and poverty those people have lived in for decades kind of snapped me out of myself for awhile. It was like … ‘okay; you saw and did god-awful things and it screwed up your head. Look at these people … families starving, being tortured, and dying everyday and they keep on living and even laugh, get married and do normal stuff in between the terrible things that happen’. Before we shipped out, a half-dozen of us guys hitched a ride on a transport to one of the villages and brought them food and clothes and blankets we ‘borrowed’ from the ship’s store. It wasn’t enough but we did what we could.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Two years ago my buddy, Dooley and me decided not to sign-up for a third tour of duty. In ‘42, I was stationed in Pearl Harbor and had a chance to look the islands over real good. I liked the slowness of the place, the easy way the local people lived. Talked Dooley into being my partner in a sports fishing business for tourists on Oahu ... invested our combined savings. Being on board ship for eight years we learned how to fish for ocean game and got real good at it. I liked fishing better than hard drinking or gambling. Together we were able to put our savings down on a 45 foot trawler in pretty good shape … we call her the Maggie Louise … after our mothers. The business is doing swell, we’re paying our bills … we live, eat and work on the boat so our bills aren’t that much … the future looks good.”
Daisy leaned back in her chair and smiled. She stated rather than asked, “You’re happy then. You seem to have managed your life beautifully. Why on earth did you leave a sunny paradise like Hawaii and come to London in April? It’s so gloomy here.”
“Got a letter from Mom that said she heard you were in London doing some articles for the ‘Leader Press’. In that place, you’re big news. I won’t be going back home … not yet, anyhow, but I wanted to see you and tell you all this stuff in person. It so happens that a friend of mine in Honolulu is in the air-carrier business between the Islands, the States and Europe. When he told me I could hitch a ride with him to Heathrow, I packed my bag and jumped aboard.”
“Thank you … I’m really obliged that you came to explain all this. I know it wasn’t an easy tale to tell. I understand why you did what you did and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you yesterday. It was childish of me and very unfair to you.” Ruefully she added. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Hey ... I came on you unexpected. Nothing to forgive.”
Nodding her appreciation she asked. “Are you making plans to see the city while you’re here?”
“Thought I’d go down to the wharf and check out the boats. You know, talk to some of the guys … maybe drum up some tourist business.”
“That would be called a busman’s holiday. On that table near the door are timetables. They’ll tell you which bus is going dockside.”
Daisy picked up her purse and signaled Nancy for the check.
“No, please Daisy. Let me pay for it”, insisted Pat.
Daisy chuckled and picked up the ‘not so warm anymore’ plate of scones. “If you’re going to pay for all of this, you might taste one of these bakery wonders. They’re really delicious.”
“Okay.” In two bites the top one was gone and he reached for another. “Yeah … you’re right. Come spend the day with me … check out the docks … maybe we could get a tour of a yacht moored off-shore.”
“Thank you, Pat … but I have a research project to do at the British Library and I’d better get over there. The number eight will be pulling up any minute.” Daisy stood and gathered her things together. “You have a great time on the docks and keep dry if that’s possible … hopefully we’ll see each other again before you go home.”
“Daisy … don’t you get it?” Seemingly at a loss, he stared at her. “I want to be with you. I wanted you to know about me so you’d love me again ... like you used to.”
Gazing into his earnest face, she said, “Pat … I don’t know what to say. I honestly didn’t know that was what you wanted. Please, understand. I have to think about this. I have to catch my bus.” Backing up, she lifted her hands in a feeble attempt to fend off his attempt to come with her, then turned and went out of the teashop door.
Frowning at her disappearing back, he picked up another scone and scoffed it down with the last of the cold coffee.
Thought I’d made myself real clear yesterday and today. She acts like she’s not interested in me, like she never loved me. Yesterday she was good and mad, but figured after I explained everything she’d be my girl again. She’s good-looking and unmarried, but she’s twenty-eight years old … she can’t be playing ‘hard to get’.
He muttered aloud, “If she’s doing that, she must still be real mad.”
“Are you talking to me, sir”, asked Nancy, offering to refill his coffee cup.
“Nope, talking to myself “, he said declining more coffee. “Those little cake things taste good.”
----
Oh lordy, lordy. He’s come for me. He wants us to be like we were a decade ago. That poor man has suffered miseries beyond my imagination and now he wants me to love him again. He’ll want me to give up my career, my home, my present life and go live in Hawaii and make my life fit into his. I don’t want that. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else right now. What a mess.
The number eight bus pulled up in front of the BL and Daisy climbed down. Walking toward the main entrance she stopped. An east wind was buffeting her umbrella causing the steady morning drizzle to slap around her legs, drenching her stockings and her shoes. She ran up the concrete stairs and entered the British Library. It was warm and hummed with whispery silence. Her favorite sofa sat empty against a wall near a window and she claimed it. Shedding her coat and hat, laying them across the sofa back, she sat down and slipped off her wet shoes. There was no one around to pay her any mind so she curled her cold damp feet underneath her. A notebook and pencil pulled from a bulging handbag made her look studiously busy. Her mind was busy … whirling in fact.
She wrote, “I don’t know this 1955 version of Pat and he sure as heck doesn’t know me. I may be too independent and used to doing what I want to do to consider ever walking down the aisle. If I’d married young and never known about the freedom a single woman had, I’d have probably been happy. Friends at home asked me all the time … ‘don’t you get lonely ... don’t you ever get that lovin’ itch only a man can scratch ... don’t you want children?’ I told them that I didn’t miss what I’d never had. Women of my ‘ilk’ were frequently called ‘feminist’ which often translated to ‘anti-men. I liked men. I just didn’t trust one to run the rest of my life”
----
Richard stepped through the door of Tillie Anne’s Tearoom and looked around the half empty shop. He walked over to a buxom young girl in a floppy mop cap and asked, “Has a Miss Landis been in this morning?”
“Miss Landis, sir?”
“Yes, the pretty blond American that comes in for tea each morning.”
“Oh … Miss Daisy, you mean. She’s been here and gone, she has. I’m sorry you missed her, sir. Popular lass this morning, it seems.” A coy smile curved Nancy’s pert mouth.
“Popular is she … why’s that?”
“A chap joined her this morning … he looked just like that American film star, you know … Gary Cooper. Oh, I never seen a man so handsome … real tall and his face the color those Greek travel adverts call ‘bronze’. He’s one to make a girl go weak at the knees, he is.”
“They left together, did they?” Richard had leaned against the wall tapping the tip of his still dripping umbrella against the toe of his boot.
“No … she would’na go with him. Low disappointed he was.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Couldn’t help but hear … she was standing near to me as you are right now. Sez she had to search for sumpthin at the BL. Can you beat that … turnin down a date with that gorgeous hunk of man to look up sumpthin in the library … daft if you ask me.”
Richard handed Nancy a pound note. “Thank you.”
“Oooh … thank you, sir.”
----
“Made yourself at home, I see.”
“Richard … lordy, you startled me. What are you doing here?”
“Shush, my girl, you’ll cause a stir”, he said leaning close to her ear.
“Oh … shush, yourself. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to take you to a warm, quiet place where we can talk without drawing filthy glances. Here, put your coat on.”
He held out her coat and Daisy allowed him to help her wriggle her arms into the dampish wool sleeves. Turning her about he buttoned her up.
“I can put on my own shoes and hat, thank you very much.” Carefully tilting the brim in a rakish manner, she said, “I’m ready … let’s go.”
Rain pelted down a good deal harder than it had earlier, which warranted a splashing run to the dark gray Fiat parked half a block away.
“This your car?” Daisy tossed her umbrella in the back as she slid onto the leather cushioned seat and grubbed around in her handbag for a handkerchief.
Richard said, “I’ve some toweling here for wiping up. Go ahead … its clean. The car is mine, since you ask. It’s a four-seater Topolino … Topo to those who know Fiats. Bought it from my Uncle Alfred four years ago … he got it new in ’38.”
“I like it”, Daisy said, … “it has character and has been cared for beautifully. Where are we going, by the way?”
“To the home of Mrs. Charlotte Hamblin, widow … aka my mother. Don’t fuss… she’s expecting us.”
“Is your mother a conservative, moderate or a liberal thinking woman and, which would she prefer females to be that you bring into her home?”
Richard chuckled. “You’re wicked, my girl. Well … Mum can be all three when put to the test and has been gracious to the hundreds of diverse thinking females I’ve brought into her drawing room.”
“I could benefit from a motherly woman with liberal leanings right about now”, murmured Daisy.
Richard glanced at her, and then quickly looked forward. She was close to tears. He knew a little of what Daisy was going through ... maybe some time alone with his mum was what she needed.
“I called Duff Gregor and set up the interview for tomorrow at two o’clock.”
“Tomorrow … Oh, lordy … I haven’t prepared a thing, Richard. I’ve been … preoccupied … and didn’t do any research at all today. Take me back to the BL so I can prepare some questions.”
“You needn’t be concerned, Daisy. The Gregor’s were pinched for time … I knew an appointment for tomorrow would not give you much opportunity to get ready. Here,” he said passing over a folder he pulled from the car door pocket, “see if these questions are topic appropriate.”
She looked over the typed page of double-spaced questions and laid it on her lap. “Thank you, Richard.” She said weakly. Staring out the passenger window, tears welled in her eyes. “These are perfect. I couldn’t have phrased any of them so well as you have. I don’t know the subject … or didn’t know much about it until today. I’m really beholden to you.”
“Here we are … and don’t you dare open your door. Mum’s not sure I’m always a ‘gentleman’. Let’s have her believe I’m one today.”
Daisy looked up at two stories of vine-covered brick fronted by a black wrought iron fence on a short cul-de-sac with other brick homes with iron fences. Rose bushes bordered two postage stamped sized grassy patches … one on each side of the walkway to a covered front porch. Rose climbers surrounded rain splashed window panes. It was so delightfully English and welcoming, Daisy teared-up again.
“Miss Landis, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Mrs. Hamblin patted her hand and led her to an overstuffed sofa in a lovely room decorated in variegated shades of pinks, greens and yellows. “Richard has spoken of you. An attractive American journalist does not go unnoticed, my dear … now, I’ve made you blush.”
Charlotte Hamblin was lovely, comfortably plump with a rosy complexion. Her once dark brown hair was streaked with gray and was wound into a chignon held by pearl combs. She wore a soft cotton blue day dress and a navy blue cardigan. Daisy liked her immediately. Her own dark blue wool suit was damp and slightly rumpled. She tried to smooth the skirt as best she could.
“Now, dear, you must take off your charming hat and sit close to the fire. Richard, take Miss Landis’ coat and hat and hang them near the kitchen stove to dry. The stove in the kitchen puts out more heat than the fireplace and dries wool garments rather than just steam them.” She explained. “Oh … and ask Dora to please roll in the teacart.”
Richard nodded and left the room to do what he was told to do. Several minutes later, instead of someone named Dora rolling the teacart through the door, Richard maneuvered it carefully around the furniture and parked it in its accustomed spot near the fireside.
“Dora’s busy banging pots and pans about so I thought I’d better serve the tea.”
“Very good thinking, Son … mustn’t give her any excuse to run off to her sister’s and pout.”
Daisy looked over at the two of them, “Domestic trouble?”
Mrs. Hamblin, in sotto voce, said, “Dora’s our cleaning lady whom we call upon to cook our meals. She is not a very good cook and she knows it. When it comes to cleaning … spot on … no one does it better; but when it comes to cooking, serving and the general how-to in the kitchen ... that tends to boggle her.”
Daisy’s raised brows and her “you’re kidding” expression caused the mother and son to laugh.
“You are probably wondering why we don’t hire a person who can cook and serve properly.” Richard shrugged. “Mother will not have it.”
Daisy ‘wondered’ no such thing. But she was curious as to why this obviously competent woman couldn’t fix her own meals.
Mrs. Hamblin interjected, “It isn’t necessary. My needs are small and you are not here often enough that this household warrants a cook.”
“You do not live here with your mother, then?”
“Yes, of course I do. It’s just that my work keeps me out late and I travel a bit so staying at the club in town a few nights a week is suitable.” Richard’s tone sounded down-right defensive. The two women looked at one another, totally understanding each other’s “Oh, brother” eye rolls.
Reaching over to pour tea into three dainty cups, Mrs. Hamblin noticed Daisy’s resigned expression. “Are you fond of tea, Miss Landis?”
“Oh … I’m growing accustomed to it. Each morning I have a cup with scones at a teashop around the corner from the lodging house where I’m staying.”
Richard asked, “If you were at home in Nebraska on a cold rainy day such as this one and wanted to fix something special to warm you up … what would that be?” He watched a rosy blush tint her cheeks.
“It’s a very childish choice. I’m embarrassed to say.”
“Miss Landis, please tell us.”
“Ovaltine … that’s it … this little girl likes Ovaltine.” Richard was delighted with his deduction.
“You are wrong, Sherlock. Hot chocolate would be my choice … cocoa, if you prefer, with a big marshmallow melting on the top.”
Mrs. Hamblin exclaimed, “Hot cocoa does sound delicious. I haven’t had a cup of cocoa in ages. I don’t suppose Dora would know how to prepare it. I really would like some, though. Tea is so ordinary and the day so terribly depressing.”
“If you have the fixings, Mrs. Hamblin, I will be happy to prepare it just the way my mother used to do it.”
“Now, ladies … a certain amount of diplomacy is in order here.” Richard put down his cup and stood. “We mustn’t rush into Dora’s domain and simply take over. Mother … on such a day as this, it is surely appropriate that Dora should have the afternoon off, with pay. May I make her this offer?”
“Clever of you, dear … please.”
Richard nodded and went to route the rather touchy cleaning lady.
“You must think me terribly useless, Miss Landis. I have always had various servants at my beckoned call. Of late, extravagance of any kind has made me feel guilty.”
“I think many women would envy your position and … please … call me Daisy.”
“I certainly don’t assume that you would, Daisy. You appear much too capable and self-sufficient … a modern, post war woman … am I right?”
“I’d like to think so. But, there are times when I get muddled and don’t feel capable or self-sufficient at all.”
Richard returned. “In five minutes you will have the kitchen to yourselves, ladies. Please don’t think I’m deserting you, Daisy. I must go out in this muck to clear up some odds and ends at the paper.” He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and turning to Daisy, laid his hand on her shoulder. “You and Mum have your cocoa and some cozy conversation. I’ll be home for tea.” His gaze turned back to his mother and he made a curt nod toward Daisy with a meaningful look he hoped she could interpret.
Looking back at her guest, Mrs. Hamblin wondered what he wanted her to do. She said, “Daisy, my dear … Richard will be home for tea and, of course I insist that you join us. Oh … what am I saying? Dora won’t be here to fix it.”
Daisy stood and picked up Richard’s cup and put it on the trolley and pushed it toward the door. “Let’s make our cocoa and check out the pantry. I just heard a door close. Look there, is that your Dora trundling down the path?”
Mrs. Hamblin peered through the window. “Ah, yes … she’s off. Let’s go.”
Following Mrs. Hamblin, Daisy lifted the tray off the trolley and carried it down a wide flight of stairs. At the bottom she stopped and stared. Before her was a large kitchen with a wide butler’s pantry, a spacious eating area (probably for the servants at one time), a small lavatory and laundry porch.
“Oh, my heavens … I have never seen a kitchen like this before in my life.” Daisy ran her hand over the smoothly scrubbed pine table and walked to where a black Aga stove stood between a white tiled wall and a long white tiled counter. On large wooden hooks attached to the wall beside the stove hung her hat and coat. The shiny floor was tiled in a small black and white diamond pattern. “This is marvelous … what wonders to perform!”
“I’m glad you like it, my dear. Let’s look for cocoa. I hope we have some milk in the fridge. Richard bought the refrigerator last year from one of the new appliance stores that have popped up since the war. He said it was made in America … called a Kelvinator.
“Found it!” Daisy called from inside the capacious pantry. “I got a Servel when they went on sale, let’s see, in ’51, I think it was. Runs great … the pan underneath the icebox was always running over especially in the summertime … nearly ruined the linoleum.”
Daisy instructed Mrs. Hamblin on how to continually stir the cocoa on low heat so it wouldn’t burn while she rummaged through the cupboards, refrigerator and pantry.
Mrs. Hamblin filled two beakers with hot steamy cocoa and the women sat down at the table to sip and slowly savor the sweet creamy treat and discuss the dinner fare.
“Let’s see”, said Daisy. “There’s left-over ham still on the bone, some rice, an onion, two wilted carrots and a sad celery stalk, dried thyme, summer savory, salt and pepper which will do for stock. I need a heavy pot to start cooking the stock in. We’ll add the rice and herbs later.”
“Tell me what to do, Daisy. Here is an overall for you and I’ll take this other one.” Mrs. Hamblin slipped on a green ivy patterned apron and tied a pink ruffled one onto Daisy.
“How are you at chopping vegetables?”
“I have no idea, dear, is it difficult?”
Daisy said, “Not difficult … but possibly dangerous without previous experience. I’ll do the knife work. Fill the pot with about eight cups of water, add a small palm full of salt, stick in the ham bone, put on the lid and set it on the boil.”
In the bottom drawer of the refrigerator Daisy found half a head of cabbage. There was also some mayonnaise, butter and sharp cheddar cheese.
The applesauce in the pantry suggested tarts if she could find some flour, baking powder, shortening, sugar, and cinnamon. She sought for and found what she needed.
Daisy said, “We are well on our way, Mrs. Hamblin … nothing fancy, but a substantial supper … er, tea … none the less.”
Mrs. Hamblin led Daisy back to the drawing room.
“Oh, my dear, you’re a marvel … I had no idea how much one has to know and do to prepare a meal. No wonder Dora complains. Sit down by the fire … I’ll pour us some sherry.”
“I enjoy cooking. Thank you for letting me play in your kitchen.”
“You call it play … I’m near exhaustion. Now, my dear, earlier you mentioned you were in a muddle. Would you like to talk about it or should I not have mentioned it?”
“I saw the look that Richard gave you before he took off.” Daisy said. On the car ride over here I told him that I’d like to talk to a mother with liberal leanings. My mom, if she were still alive, would listen and not think badly of me no matter what I said. That’s what I meant about liberal leanings.”
“I would be honored if you shared with me those confidences your mother would have been privileged to hear.”
So … Daisy told her everything … starting with Monday morning and how she misheard the Gregor sisters and ending with Pat’s vulnerable plea wanting Daisy to care for him like she used to.
“What a remarkable three days. To think that after all this time this man still loves you and believes your emotional tie to him can be revived. Doesn’t he realize there must have been a lot of other men in your life since the war … since him?”
Daisy flinched and blushed. “Well … not a lot of men. But, yes … I was engaged to marry a young man in 1950.” She put her empty sherry glass on the table and her hostess smiled, winked mischievously and filled it up again.
“His name was David Evinrue. He taught Civics and I taught English and journalism at Omaha City High School. We had a lot in common, got along great and in due course fell in love. He gave me a ring two months before he was drafted into the army to fight in Korea. We wrote to one another every single week until two months before the war ended in July 1953. That’s when his letters stopped. I, of course, thought the worst. I contacted his commanding officer and was told David was fine, would be discharged from the army soon and should return home eventually, but he wouldn’t say more. Three months later, in mid October, I received a letter postmarked San Francisco, a big city on the coast of Northern California. David wrote to say that while he was in Korea he’d met a young woman, a Korean woman, and … well, she bore him a son. He said that Amerasian children were not accepted in Korean society. They were regularly beaten and treated cruelly and often killed. He thought it best to marry the woman and petitioned the army and the State Department to allow him to bring them to the United States. He took his wife and son to Alameda, California, a suburb of San Francisco, where there was an ethnically diverse population. He said he hoped to get a job teaching in a culturally mixed high school and apologized for his infidelity with the excuse that, unfortunately, men will be men. He said he still loved me and hoped I recognized his decision to marry Mee-Yon as an honorable one.”
“Daisy, my dear … no matter how nobly martyred this David feels himself to be, he’s a bleeding bastard, as Dora would rightly pronounce, and treated you abominably.”
“Yes he did!” Daisy heartedly agreed. Again tears filled her eyes, this time spilling down her cheeks. “Fighting in a war on foreign soil is an experience I’ll never know. Soldiers go through hell everyday and need to take solace wherever they can find it. Even though I know this to be true, my moral compass believes that David did a wrong thing. But then he did the right thing when he married Mee-Yon and brought his family to America. I know both Pat and David had good reasons for doing what they did. I know neither of the circumstances were my fault. But I can’t help feeling … you know … somehow … responsible.”
“I know exactly how you feel. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better, Daisy. How odd, I am suddenly reminded of a story I read several years ago. Two strangers in a train station marooned for several hours in a snowstorm shared their most wounding experiences because somehow they knew it was safe to do so. I’m going to tell you something, my dear, I’ve not told a soul.”
Mrs. Hamblin stood up and went to a cupboard, pulled out a covered box and set it on the table between them.
Daisy wiped her eyes and blew her nose; her handkerchief couldn’t handle much more. She searched in her handbag for another one.
“This picture is of Richard’s father, Arthur Edward Albert Hamblin. He died in his sleep twelve years ago … his heart just stopped beating. Arthur was a very charming man, quite handsome, dressed beautifully, came from a good family, well educated and worked for my father … who was a manufacturer of fine furniture. Arthur was a vice-president in the financial part of the business. To make a long story short, he was an adulterer from the first months of our marriage until he died at age 50. He kept his mistresses in Town … he changed them often, I understand. But I knew he had them and was seen in public with them. He was told by my father to give up his shameful behavior and, of course, he said he would … he did not. Divorce was a derisory option since the scandal would disgrace me socially, but hardly sully Arthur’s reputation because such behavior in men is winked at and brushed aside. Only the loss of my money would have lowered his stature. But, I wasn’t brave enough to risk it.”
Arthur’s family lost their money during WWI. He thought he would have the control of my inheritance when father died. But, Father, stubborn man that he was, outlived my husband by three years. I was twenty-two when I realized he’d married me, not for love, but for money and a stable social position. I have tried to shelter Richard from any of this knowledge. If he knows, and I think he does … it was not from me. How many Victorian novels have been based on such a theme I cannot presume to know. I’m telling you this, dear, because I also felt his behavior must somehow be my fault. It wasn’t … but … oh, well.”
“Oh, Mrs. Hamblin, we’re a pair aren’t we. Let’s burn some pictures of him as a symbol ... declaring him to be a ‘bleedin bastard’, too. I burned David’s picture in effigy right after I received his letter a year and a half ago.”
“What a marvelous idea!” She rummaged through the box coming up with three photographs of Arthur Hamblin at different ages and tossed them ceremoniously into the roaring fireplace. “There … well done! I’ll tell you something else, Daisy. I found him that morning … dead. He was stiff and kind of blue. I just looked at him and said ‘good riddance’. It was a spiteful, terrible thing to say … but I’ve never been sorry I said it.”
Daisy stood up, walked over and gave her a hug. “That was an honest and brave thing to say. That’s what I’d like to say to David should I ever see him again. But my problem right now is Pat.”
“My dear … do you think the love you had for him could be rekindled after … how many years has it been?”
“Ten years, at least … and I haven’t even thought about him for years either. All the feelings that welled up in me when I saw him on Monday were real, but they were my feelings as an eighteen year old girl … not me now. I’m right about this because when he sat with me this morning, telling me about his tragic illness, I felt pity … not love. He wants that sweet innocent love-sick Daisy … not me.”
“If he were to tell you that he would give you all the time in the world to know him again, what would you do?”
Daisy looked down at her hands then lifted her eyes to her hostess and said earnestly, “I picked up a Life Magazine at the airport just before boarding the plane to fly over here and read an article about recently published interviews with five psychiatrists. They argued that female ambition was the root of mental illness in wives, emotional upsets in husbands, and homosexuality in boys. I don’t believe all that for a minute ... it’s nonsense, but I should probably remain single. I’d have to tell Pat that no matter how long it took me to know him again, I am and will continue to be a the Daisy Landis I am now … a teacher, journalist, drummer and probably a very selfish, ambitious and independent woman. I’ve taken care of myself too long to allow someone else to think he knows what’s best for me.”
“Then, my dear, that is what you will have to tell him. Ever since the war ended there has been a campaign to encourage women to return to home and hearth, to happily leave the jobs they had taken on as part of the war effort. The independence women had gained physically and emotionally is being steadily, inch by inch, undermined.”
A door opened and closed and Richard’s footsteps could be heard coming toward the drawing room. Mrs. Hamblin closed the lid to the picture box and put it back in the cupboard.
Daisy said, “I’ll pop down to the kitchen and tend to our supper … uh, tea.” She slipped out before Richard could see the tearstains on her face.
“Where’s Daisy, Mum?”
“In the kitchen preparing our tea. I think we should lend a hand.”
“Our guest is cooking our tea… and my mother will ‘lend a hand’.”
Mrs. Hamblin fitted her arm beneath her son’s arm and they went down the wide stairway to help the pretty American journalist serve the evening meal.
....
Daisy dozed in the cozy warmth of Richard’s car on the drive to her rooming house and when he jiggled her awake, she’d found her head lolling on his shoulder. Having scolded him for not waking her sooner, she asked him how he managed to change gears with the weight of her head pressed against his shifting arm.
“Well, Miss Landis … a seasoned fellow, like me, learns such skills over time.” He also told her he would pick her up at one o’clock sharp the next afternoon and take her to Hill Manse. As she began to object he held up his hand to stem the flow and said, “I’ll just make the proper introductions. I promise to keep out of the way during your interview.”
She entered her cold and cheerless room as the ‘bell tolled midnight’ … figuring a bell must be tolling midnight somewhere on this wet and foggy island whether or not she could actually hear it.
Mrs. Hamblin had wrapped her in a soft ivory cashmere shawl before she kissed her cheek and wished her goodnight. Having readied herself for bed, she again enfolded herself in the shawl’s deep softness. Not surprisingly, she quickly fell sound asleep.
The usual break of dawn’s hot soak in the tub down the hall set Daisy up for a day of possibilities. She was excited and scared at the same time. During her bath she rehearsed what she would say to Pat should he look for her again. She also made herself familiar with the interview questions, being careful not to splash any water on them. A curt knock on the door initiated a scurry into her chenille robe and slippers. Mumbling an apologetic, “Sorry, Mrs. Bumstead”, she dashed to her room.
A peek out the window promised a partly sunny and surprisingly dry morning. She went to the clothes cupboard and carefully scrutinized her meager wardrobe. After several minutes she chose a soft shell pink silk blouse to partner with the charcoal gray suit. Silk stockings were checked for runs and snags; and a black pillbox, perched on the back of her blond head, matched her handbag, shoes and gloves.
Looking at her mirror image, she spoke her thoughts aloud. “Well, Daisy girl, this outfit should set a professional tone. I wish I felt as confident as I think I look. I’m going to order cocoa and toast instead of tea and scones this morning and I hope Pat isn’t waiting for me … my stomach is already starting to cramp.”
Daisy folded Mrs. Hamblin’s stole into some tissue paper and sat it on the table near the door next to the folder with Richard’s questions and her notebook.
It was not quite ten o’clock when Daisy stepped into Tillie Anne’s. Nancy smiled and led her to a table near the tri-paneled divider where she usually sat.
No Pat … good, she thought, and gave Nancy her special order.
Penciled eyebrows furrowed beneath her floppy headgear. “Hot cocoa with a marshmallow, Miss? I don’t know about the marshmallow, but we can easily manage cocoa and buttered toast.
“That will be fine, Nancy … thank you.”
She removed the floral napkin ring and laid the crisp white linen cloth across her lap and looked up into a bouquet of star-gazer lilies. Beyond the lilies she saw Pat grinning like a small boy who had pulled a rabbit out of a hat. A giggling Nancy was peering around the kitchen door thrilled that this tall, handsome American, who looked like her movie idol, was pursuing her Miss Daisy.
“They’re beautiful, Pat … thank you. Please, sit down”
He pulled out the chair, motioned to Nancy to bring him coffee and some of those little cakes he ate yesterday, and sat down. “You were kind of scared looking when you took off yesterday. I didn’t mean to scare you, Daisy. I guess I’m not saying things right. Seein’s you’ve had some time to mull it over, though … I just need to know … what do you think about us getting together again? I know it’s been a long time. But, neither of us ever got married … maybe we were meant to be together, who knows. It happens in the movies all the time.” He looked so ingenuous that Daisy’s stomach constricted painfully.
Nancy’s business-like bustling kept him quiet as she laid the flowers on the sideboard, placed cocoa and coffee, toast and scones before the appropriate patron. “Would you like some marmalade, Miss?” she simpered.
“No, thank you, Nancy.”
Daisy lifted the mug of cocoa and sipped … grateful to have even this short respite to arrange her thoughts.
She put down her cup and, smiling warmly, said, “I have thought about it a great deal since yesterday morning. Ten years ago I was an naive young thing in love with a sweet, handsome sailor.”
Pat started to say something but Daisy’s smile faded. Her left eyebrow lifted and she raised the forefinger of her right hand in the same way she did in her freshman English class to stave off unwelcome interruptions. “Please, let me continue.” She spoke firmly.
“I would have gone anywhere with you; been a proper wife and mother; content with my lot in life as are the married women I know at home. But now it’s 1955 and neither of us is the person we were then … due to circumstances beyond our control. Even though you haven’t asked me … I am going to tell you about the person I am now. I’m a teacher and a journalist and I like what I do. In the summer months I play drums in an all girl orchestra and I wouldn’t like to give up the intense thrill that comes with performing in ritzy hotels, jazz clubs and concert halls and I’m not ashamed to confess that I love the attention. I’ve had only myself to depend on for years and that means I’ve learned to be very independent. I do what I want to do without having to ask anyone else’s permission. A single woman who can support herself has a lot of the same freedoms as a man. A married woman does not. It isn’t that I could not love you again … it’s just that I don’t want to love anyone. I like my life as it is now.”
Pat stared at her … unable to fathom her explanation. “Daisy … I don’t get it. You don’t want to try and love me again? You would rather teach high school kids and play drums instead of having your own family? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re still a pretty woman young enough to have a couple of kids and you don’t want to? Are you still mad at me?”
“No, Pat, I’m not mad at you. I’m just being honest when I tell you that I like being single.”
“You’ve forgiven me for not ever writing you or calling?”
“Yes, I forgive you everything. And, the stargazers are lovely. Thank you so much.” Daisy leaned over, picked up the bouquet off the sideboard, cradled them in her arms and inhaled the intense fragrance that was engulfing the whole room.
“I have to fly back to Honolulu this weekend”, he said. “I was hoping you’d come with me. We could have been married on the beach at sunset by the Christ Chapel preacher. Sunsets on the island are something to see. We’d have had a great life, Daisy.” Pat pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’m real sorry marriage doesn’t suit you … you’d make a beautiful bride.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Goodbye, Daze … take care of yourself.” He strode quickly out of the door.
“Do you want me to heat up that cocoa, Miss?” Nancy’s grim mouth and sad expression told Daisy that she and Pat had been the focus of attention for everyone in the room.
“No thank you, Nancy … just the charges, please.”
It was only quarter to eleven. Daisy didn’t want to go back to her room, yet she wasn’t wearing suitable shoes for a walk around the Square. She bought her morning paper without the normal banter with Mr. Fieny, as he was in deep conversation with another customer. Finally, she headed toward her rooming house. Letting herself in, she dropped the few obligatory coins in the radiator slot, put her flowers in a pitcher of water, took off her jacket and dropped into the overstuffed chair. Not bothering to unfold the paper, she shut her eyes and immediately Pat’s disappointed face swam before her.
I’m right about this … I know I’m right. Oh lordy … do I really want to live the rest of my life alone? Her stomach ached and tears began to puddle in her eyes. I can’t start crying now. I’m acting so ... juvenile!
Pushing herself out of the chair she snatched up a handful of Kleenex on her way to the window. Parked in front was Richard’s Topo.
“He’s an hour early … Oh, lordy, what now?”
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