Hill Manse ... Chapter 8

Chapter 8

“He’ll not be gone more than a week, my dear. We’re not sending him to Siberia … it’s Belgium … a middling jump across the Channel.” Alistair patted Daisy’s hand, comforting her as best he could.

“We’ve pages of documentation from vets in France, Austria and even Italy,” Duff explained, “but veterans in Belgium have yet to be interviewed. We have to be as evenhanded as possible and Belgium is too close to us to ignore. We’d have sent Jordy Travis, who speaks tolerable French, to go with him, but he couldn’t be spared from the Hospice just now.”

Cara put her arm around Daisy’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “The time will go quickly, you’ll see. There is so much to do to get ready for your big day. Making your own wedding dress is quite an undertaking … even with me here to help.”

Daisy smiled feebly as she nodded and agreed with everything they said. Jackson would be fine … he’d be back before she knew it … she had plenty to do to keep her busy. Before he left, though, she’d made him promise to take every precaution that he would insist she take if it were her going to Belgium instead of him. On an intake of breath before kissing her goodbye, again … he promised.

Having been talked into a long white dress instead of a practical white suit, Daisy insisted she must make it herself. In her opinion, the expense of purchasing a wedding gown was too dear. Jackson said he wanted to buy it for her. She said a wedding gown was the responsibility of the bride, not the groom. Jackson had noted her stiffened spine and arched brows and bowed to defeat. When the Gregor’s bid them to have the wedding ceremony in their ballroom, as a rehearsal for Duff and Cara’s nuptials in September, they accepted graciously.

Jackson had to go. He hated leaving Daisy, but this trip was part of the agreement when the writing job was offered him. If they’d been married, she’d have been right there close beside him, her small hand snugly clasped inside his large one. She’d be smiling excitedly up at him as they walked down the station platform, its teeming activity causing them to veer this way and that so as not to get knocked on to the tracks.

A shrill whistle and a blast of steam from the locomotive’s brakes jolted him out of his idyll thoughts. Stepping aboard the train to Dover on that first Sunday in June, he marveled at how the last few days had played out. He and that wonderful girl who had bowled him over the first moment they’d met, would be man and wife in less than three weeks. Mentally shaking himself, he brought his attention to the present. From an inside pocket he pulled out a folded itinerary and then settled more comfortably onto the rocking coach’s bench seat to peruse it carefully. From Dover he’d travel across the Dover Straits on a commuter boat that would land in Calais, France. From there he would travel north on a bus, cross the boarder into Belgium and get off the bus in Ostend, a small city located on the North Sea’s coastline. He would find a hotel room for the night and start his interviews the following morning.

The Gregor’s had made a comprehensive schedule for him to follow. The Veteran Homes in each district had been contacted and would be expecting him. He also had detailed maps of the areas he was to visit as well as train and bus timetables, which might or might not be accurate. Jackson was an experienced traveler. He knew it was important to be an amiable as well as an incredibly patient tourist if he was to get along with the locals.

....

“Your gown is gorgeous, Daisy. A simple slim silhouette in soft white silk with those nearly invisible straps is perfect. You have an Audrey Hepburn figure, my dear. I’d be jealous as a cat if Duff hadn’t compared me to Maureen O’Hara. It won’t take long to finish the beading on the crown of your veil and then, it’s all done. You’ve worked so hard.” Cara bit off the knotted silk and started threading the needle anew. “What will we start on next?”

Yawning, Daisy leaned away from the sewing machine and sighed. “I’m working like mad in order to keep my mind off Jackson … but it’s not working. I guess my ‘going away’ outfit is next … I’ve already cut it out. Here’s the picture … a pale blue summer suit in fully lined linen. I bought a white silk blouse to wear with it.”
Stretching her arms above her head, Cara said, “I understand Jackson’s called you every night since he left.”

“Yes he has.” A sly grin split Daisy’s tired face. “He promised he would and I threatened him something awful if he should forget.”

“We’re concerned about him, too, Daisy. But, you not getting a call from him the last two nights and his not arriving on schedule today does not mean something bad has happen to him. Any number of waylaying incidences spring to mind; a missed train … a bus breakdown … a storm … an electrical outage … phone lines struck down. Jackson will get in touch as soon as he’s able … you’ll see. Now stop worrying.” Duff looked at Cara hoping she’d lend support to his optimistic appraisal of the situation.

Moving to stand next to her friend, Cara returned Duff’s gaze. “I’m sorry Duff, Mr. Gregor … I’m in agreement with Daisy. If you were the one missing, Duff, I would be frantic. I’d call the police in Ostend or Calais … the British Embassy or the last Veteran’s Home he visited. I’d have to do something. If you two think it is too soon to take any action, Daisy and I will make the calls.” Both women turned their backs on the unperturbed gentlemen and walked through the drawing room door toward the library.

Duff grimaced and glanced toward his father. “Damn! I suppose we’d better make the calls … get some sort of assurance he’s all right. Two upset women cannot be good for either of us.”

“As far as we can determine from what the police in Ostend reported, there have been no storms, bus breakdowns, accidents involving foreign visitors or train stoppages in the last three days that would account for this delay.” Duff drummed his fingers on the desk blotter. “I’ll get in touch with General Fournier, head of the Calais Veteran’s Institute, and see if he will make some inquiries on our behalf.” He picked up the receiver and again called the international operator.

The anticipated call from General Fournier came at quarter past nine the next morning. Having not slept well at all the last couple of nights, Daisy was bleary eyed, picking at her breakfast with little interest when Duff came in with the General’s report. “Daisy … Cara, dear … that was General Fourier on the line. It’s not the best news, but it’s not dire either.”

Daisy stiffened as Cara reached for her hand. Neither woman said anything … just waited for Duff to continue.

“Jackson will be fine … just fine, Daisy. He’s in St. Mary Theresa’s Hospital in Calais with a head wound. He was unconscious for a while and after he awoke, with all the medications in his system, he wasn’t clear-headed enough to get in touch with us.”

Laying her napkin beside her plate, Daisy stood and faced her host. “I’m going to Calais and stay with him until he is well enough to travel, then bring him home. I hope you understand I must do this.” Brushing away the tears that were puddling on her lower lashes, she headed for the stairs to pack a bag.

“I’m going with her, Duff. It’s not right to let her travel that far alone. I know that you, Margaret and your father will take good care of Donal. We shouldn’t be gone but a few days.” Cara followed Daisy up the stairs.

“So you’re going to pack up and take off by yourselves… don’t need the assistance of a mere man”, Duff barked. “Damn all independent women!”

Alistair had heard everything from his vantage point near the open doorway. He walked in toward the middle of Duff’s annoyed outburst. “Better get going if you plan to travel with those two. See if you can keep them to one case a piece and the smaller the case the better. Margaret and I will tend to Donal.”

On the drive to the train station, Duff explained to Daisy and Cara what had happened to Jackson. It occurred just after dark. Portchier was on his way to his hotel after eating supper at a café’ nearby, when he was attacked by three lowlife roughnecks. They beat him on the head and dragged him into a deserted side street and robbed him. Being a seasoned traveler, most of his cash and his passport were in a cloth pouch strapped beneath his shirt. They got away with the few bills he had in his pocket and his watch, though. A pair of young lovers had stepped into the dark street to do whatever young lovers do in dark streets and nearly tripped over him. They called the local gendarme and he was transported to the nearest hospital.

The train ride and the boat to Calais seemed to take forever. Daisy paced the deck and strained over the railing looking for the French side of the Channel coastline an hour before it would come into view. Trying to ignore the vessel’s rough rocking back and forth, she gripped the railing to steady herself, seeming to welcome the salty spray that misted her hair and face and light wool jacket. Duff and Cara just let her be and sat side-by-side holding hands in deckchairs positioned so they could keep an eye their worried friend.

The hospital Sister couldn’t speak English and Duff’s French wasn’t all that proficient, but after a rudimentary reference to an American tourist and hand gestures indicating a sore head on a tall man, they eventually were led up to the ward where Jackson lay sleeping.

Daisy moved over to his bed and laid her hand on his cheek. “Cowboy, it’s me … Daisy. Uh oh … whoa!”

In an instant Daisy was swept off her feet and pulled onto the bed beside Jackson. His arms pinned her tightly against him as he covered her mouth with his own.

Cara’s main concern was tugging Daisy’s skirt back down over her knees. Duff shook Jackson’s shoulder saying, “Hey there, old chap … hold on now. You’re causing quite a ruckus here. Portchier! You have to let her go, mate.”

The other men in the ward that were awake were thoroughly entertained by the American and his pretty visitor. They whooped and hollered their encouragement. Two Sisters came in to try and hush their patients ... restore some sort of order.

Doctor Roux laughed at the comic scene being played out in his ward. “He does not know what he’s doing, Monsieur. Lance a’eau … sleep medicine.”

“I don’t know as I believe that, Doctor. He’s making too good a job of it.” Using both his hands, Duff dragged Jackson’s top arm off of Daisy giving her enough room to wriggle out of his possessive hold.

Her cheeks were deeply flushed. She was not embarrassed because Jackson had grabbed and kissed her ... her lips had parted beneath his and she gave as good as she got, but because his doing so had set off a cacophony of jeers, cheers and lewd comments from the other patients in the long barrack–like ward.

Smoothing her rumpled skirt over her narrow hips and patting mussed strands of hair behind her ears, she ignored the other residents and sat in the chair next to him, holding his hand as he tried to focus his drugged eyes on her face.

“Darlin, how did you find me? How long have I been here? You didn’t think I wouldn’t come back, did you? God, honey … I love you … I missed you.”

“Shhh … we’ll tell you everything as soon as the sedative has worn off … Duff and Cara and I will tell you everything. Sleep it off, Cowboy. I’ll be right here.” As he closed his eyes, Daisy settled back into the chair. “I’m staying here. You two go ahead and eat … enjoy the city … come back later.”

“I have the address of his hotel”, said Duff. “We’ll go along and book more rooms, get something to eat, then come back and find out how soon Jackson can leave the hospital. We can make plans from there. We’ll see you in a little while.” Duff squeezed her shoulder.

Cara leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll bring you something marvelous to eat … a chocolate covered pastry ... stuffed with fresh strawberry cream filling.”

The concierge of the Hotel Ibis beamed as the British visitors entered his lobby again. This time a lovely blond lady and the English gentleman who had rented three more rooms, helped support his missing guest. The extra rooms had been quickly prepared and the missing American’s suitcase that had been pushed into a storage closet had been brought back to the room he’d let three days ago. Fortunately, there were rooms available on the same floor as the injured American.

“Don’t argue, Jackson. Doctor Roux said you had to stay in bed until the boat leaves tomorrow.” Daisy roughly plumped up the pillows on his freshly made bed and turned down the top sheet jerking it smooth. “I’ll just look at the view from your window while you remove your shirt and trousers”. She said stiffly.

Jackson was sitting on the edge of the bed where Duff had steered him before the hotel porter led him and Cara down the hallway to their rooms. He reached out, took her hand and drew her down beside him. “Darlin … what’s the matter?”

“Why should anything be the matter? My heart’s pounding like a jackhammer knowing you could have been killed. What if your head injury had caused amnesia? What if we weren’t able to find you? I’ve been scared out of my wits for three days … that’s all!” She tried to stand up … move away from him. If she could make herself feel angry, maybe she wouldn’t cry all over the poor man.

He didn’t say anything just pulled her against his chest and wrapped both arms around her. He felt her start to tremble and then hot tears bled through his shirtfront. He kissed the top of her head, caressed her neck and rubbed his long hands across her shoulders and up and down her back. She began to sob … tried to stop, then buried her face deeper into his shoulder and sobbed some more.

“I’m so sorry, Cowboy,” she murmured snuffling into the tissues he’d tucked into her hand. “I tried not to cry … honestly.”

“How many opportunities would a man be given in his lifetime to hold and comfort a beautiful woman … a woman he loves very much? In my case, I hope it’s at least seventy years worth.”

“You are a charmer, sir. Now take off those britches and that wet shirt and climb into bed.” Daisy stood and turned to go to the window.

Taking a deep breath he said to the back of her head, “Darlin … I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon and I want you to take the time to think about it, too. I’d like you to be with me here tonight instead of sleeping in the room down the hall. I just can’t bear us being apart right now.”

Daisy turned slowly around to look at him. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and her eyes were huge. “I have to go downstairs now and get us some food for supper. You get into bed.” Daisy hurried out the door and down the hall to her room to go over in her mind what he’d said. She paced back and forth in front of the window.

Galloping forth on a white horse… Daisy’s conservative upbringing rallied to do battle with her more recent liberal leanings.

Omigosh … Jackson wants me to sleep with him tonight.

If Mom and Dad were alive, they’d ‘have a cow’.

Men have asked women to sleep with them since before Genesis was written.

Sleeping with a man before marriage was ‘putting the cart before the horse’.

In the movies, it happened to Doris Day all the time, but she didn’t yield.

Am I afraid my reputation would be sullied? No … it wouldn’t be.

Since her room is next to mine in the Manse, I know Cara and Duff sleep together. It hasn’t been spoken of, and it doesn’t bother me.

Jackson and I truly care about each other and we’re going to be married so … what difference does it make?

It’s the guilt that’s been bred into girls. ‘Bad girls do … good girls don’t’.

Lordy! I’m a twenty-eight year old woman, not a girl.

I’m still a virgin ... that’s what’s really bothering me. I know next to nothing about sex and I’m afraid. I don’t know what to expect … I don’t know what to do.

Duff and Cara went out to a nice restaurant for dinner leaving Daisy to order food from the café next to the hotel that would be trolleyed up to Jackson’s room. She’d decided on fruit, goat cheese and young vegetables served with a roasted guinea fowl. The waiter also brought a chilled bottle of the bistro’s house white wine. As the waiter was transferring the food from the serving cart to the table, Daisy moved into the room and quietly sat her little suitcase on the floor at the foot of the bed. Keeping her eyes lowered, she wandered around the table lifting chafing lids and sniffing the aromas while nodding her head in approval. Jackson insisted on his robe and slippers. He was going to eat at the table … not be served in bed.

As soon as the wine was poured, the waiter bowed himself out the door. “Bon Apatite, Madam … Monsieur.”

“Daisy, Darlin”, he began, “Stop looking everywhere but at me.”

She swallowed her nervousness as best she could and looked up at him.

“After you left me this afternoon, I realized I’d put you on the spot big time. There I sat on the bed with a bashed in skull looking pitiful beyond belief asking you to share my bed tonight. I never thought I manipulated people, but that’s exactly what I did. I love you, honey, please forgive me. Let’s just say my brain was out of order.”

He looked so pinched and tired that Daisy put down her knife and fork, got up from the table, stood next to him, leaned over, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him long and deeply.

Lifting her head, she rubbed her thumbs gently along the grooves in his cheeks.

Shoving the table aside, he wrapped his hands around her waist and settled her on his lap.

“You’ve changed your mind, then, about me sleeping with you tonight?” Daisy ran her fingers up the back of his neck and through his thick thatch of blond hair, lingering in the curly wisps over and behind his ears.

“Darlin, I know I scared you earlier.” Confused, he squirmed as her fingers sent electric shivers through him. “What thoughts are wiggling ‘round in that head of yours?”

“You haven’t answered my question, Cowboy. Have you changed your mind?”

“I want you with me so bad I ache from my head to my toes … not counting the bandaged skull which feels a lot better, actually.”

“You’re right, I did panic a little ... more than a little, and I guess I’m still a bit nervous even though I’m trying my darndest to act … well …more sophisticated. I hope you noticed.”

“Oh, yeah ... I noticed.”

She laid her forehead carefully against his. “This is embarrassing.” She moistened her lips and took a breath then continued. “Okay, here goes. I’ve never been with a man before … in bed, I mean. Not that that’s a bad thing … it just means that … here I am twenty-eight years old with absolutely no sexual experience … with sex, I mean. Oh, lordy … I’m making a mess of this.” She scooted off his lap and began to pace, completely unaware of his amused expression … which, at that moment, was a good thing. “What it comes down to is this … I’m not sure what to expect, you see … what I’m suppose to feel … what I’m suppose to do. The lot I learned in sex education classes was clinical rather than empirical. Oh, and another thing. I discovered, while we were apart ... I love you very much.”

“Daisy Claire Landis … you are the most adorable woman I have ever known. Come … sit down … here.” He patted his thigh and held out his hand. She sat.

“I figured you for a virgin the first time I winked at you across my desk and your cheeks turned scarlet. You carry a sweet sense of innocence about you even though you are definitely a modern woman … that is to say, you are independent, open minded, candid, clever, and brave.” He leaned her back into the cradle of his arm, bent down and kissed her. “Don’t be afraid, honey. Together … we’ll learn how to love each other. I’ll take the lead until you get the hang of it.”

He stood up, lifting her in his arms and then sat her back into the chair and kneeled before her. Loosening the tie of his bathrobe, he slipped it from around his waist and lightly wrapped it over their joined hands, an act he’d watched a Minister perform during his one stint as a ‘best’ man.

“A ceremony is called for, I think.” He smiled up into her face then recited, “Before Almighty God, I, Jackson F. Portchier, take thee, Daisy Claire Landis, as my wedded wife. Daisy, I will love, honor and cherish you ‘til death do us part ……… “