Emma Goldrick - The Unmarried Bride

‘I heard you last night,’ Abby chipped in. ‘Is this going to be a long paper? What are you writing? Do you think it will ever be published?’

‘Published? Please—I’m writing something for a legal case I’m working on. Well, it’s a very long argument and I have to keep at it, so I’ll put my grind to the nosestone while you two have all the fun in the world.’

‘Yes, I can bet you will,’ Abby said sarcastically. ‘Put your nose to the grindstone, I mean.’ Another discouraged sigh. ‘I don’t suppose you would consider that I have a great deal of work to do myself?’

He waved her off. ‘Surely not as important as mine, my dear.’ There was a suave tone in his voice. Like a travelling salesman, Abby thought. He’d make a good Hellfire and Damnation preacher. Or perhaps a politician—no, nothing that bad. Like all non-politicians in Washington, Abby could be either a devoted follower, or a member of a ‘hate’ group. Usually she fitted under the latter label.

‘And just what,’ Abby said indignantly, ‘do you suppose will happen to all the work that I brought with me? I have to get it done. There’s a deadline and I need peace and quiet.’

‘Oh, you don’t need that much time,’ Selby said. ‘Anyone of your calibre, any good red-blooded American woman can do this kind of thing easily. Besides, that’s what New Englanders do best, isn’t it, fishing?’

‘Let me remind you,’ Abby said very firmly, ‘that I come from Washington, DC, not New England.’

‘Oh, that slipped my mind,’ Selby said. ‘Slipped my ever-loving mind. My apologies. But you will take the boy fishing.’

‘I will take the boy fishing. I said so once before. We will be back at noontime. You will make the lunch. It will not be peanut butter sandwiches. And you will look around for Cleo’s ball. She’ll go whompers if we can’t find it.’

‘Did you hear that, Harry?’ the man said loudly.

‘Yeah, I heard it.’ A tear-stained Harry came into the room. ‘I wasn’t gonna go until I got Cleo to come with me.’

‘A boy and his dog,’ Selby said softly. ‘I remember those days with my dog Sam.’

There was a look on his face that was at odds with the impression Abby had been forming of him. It looked as if he cared about his son and just didn’t know how to go about connecting with him. ‘It will not be peanut butter sandwiches, and I must find Cleo’s ball. This lady must have been a drill sergeant.’

‘I heard it,’ the boy said. ‘I hope—I hope it works out right. I think the ball might taste better than the peanut butter. But I do want to go fishing.’

‘Well, then,’ Abby said, ‘what we need are a couple of fishing poles, some bait—did you bring any bait, either of you?’

‘Not me,’ Selby said. ‘What is it, this bait business?’

‘Oh, my lord.’ Abby sighed as she pushed her chair away from the table. ‘I am very suspicious, Mr Farnsworth. Sometimes you seem to know everything in the world and sometimes you don’t seem to know anything at all.’

‘Ah. I have had many women tell me that,’ Selby said. ‘It’s a failure in my system some place. Harry, all the fishing gear is out in that hut behind the house. Do you want to go get it?’

The little boy jumped up, wide-eyed, expectant, and went out as fast as his legs could take him.

‘Now, what is all this?’ Abby said. ‘Some sort of condition that you are setting?’

‘Sit down, Abby,’ he said. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

‘I’m not sure there is anything I need to listen from you about.’

‘Abigail, I want to talk to you about Harry.’

‘You want to talk to me about Harry? About how he behaved last night? About how he went off to bed all by himself? How there was not an adult in sight to tuck him in, wish him well, tell him a story? Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘Lord, I never imagined all that,’ Selby said. ‘And yes, that is partly what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s a difficult thing—a little boy who can’t sleep through the night. Who wakes up crying as he goes around the house looking for—’

‘Looking for what?’ Abby interrupted.

‘Looking for his mother,’ Selby said. ‘I want to thank you for the kindness and consideration you showed last night and I want to thank you for the future kindness I am sure you will show him. I have a troubled little boy and I don’t know everything there is to know about handling him. He was given to his mother by the courts after our divorce five years ago. After a long struggle I’ve finally been given visitation rights. I’ve only a short time to get to know the boy—and I’m desperate. Will you help?’

And with a plea like that, Abby told herself, how could I not?

ABBY pushed her chair back again and stood up.

‘You don’t have to know anything much about raising children,’ she said. ‘What you have to do is love him and show it. You have to give him some prime-time acceptance. You have to be with him when he needs you. We used to call that “parenting” in the old days. I don’t suppose you know much about that?’

‘Well, that’s true,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about parenting. That’s all it takes? Love? Kindness?’

‘TLC,’ Abby said. ‘Tender loving care. Well, now. While we’re gone, you might perhaps do the dishes. Wash the pots, clean the sink and generally look over the house. We’ll be back soon.’

‘What a bargainer you are,’ he said, but there was a smile hiding in back of his voice. ‘All this just for a fishing trip?’

‘All this because of a fishing trip,’ she said firmly. ‘Now don’t stand around. Get whistling.’

‘Wait just a darn minute,’ he objected. ‘You are going to walk off with my son to go fishing and have all that fun, and me, I have to just stand around here and imagine what I am supposed to do?’

‘What you imagine? I was under the impression you couldn’t come because of a case you have to finish preparing,’ Abby queried as she started to walk by him. ‘Tender loving care, that’s all you need—oh, and a washcloth to get the dirt off him occasionally.’

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Tender loving care—does that include—?’

By this time, Abby was all the way past him, and suddenly his long arm came around her, pulled her back until she was facing him.

‘What is it that you want?’ she said, stringing the words out harshly.

‘I want a sample, a bit of instruction,’ he said. There was a guileless look on his face, as if he was the perfectly innocent victim of all the world’s harsh ways.

‘A bit of instruction?’ she asked. ‘What in the world are you talking about? What’s so hard about caring for Harry?’

‘Well, I know the first part,’ he said. ‘I suppose you know the last. It goes like this.’ Both his arms tightened around her, holding her helplessly against him. One of his hands came free and a finger went under her chin, tilting it upwards. He bent further and touched her lips with his, just a gentle touch.

‘Tender loving care,’ he said, almost in a whisper.

‘Yes,’ Abby said, ‘but I—’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Hang on. I’ll get it right this time.’

He bent to kiss her. The world seemed to fall quiet all around them, as if they were at the dead centre of a hurricane, in the eye. She felt she had complete control of her world, except that nothing was paying any attention to her needs. She thought to scream for help, but she was rolled up in the warm, peaceful sharing of herself. When he finally broke contact all that warmth and peace faded away. She moaned for its recall, without success.