Ann-Marie MacDonald - Fall on Your Knees

At home, James slows down a bit. With Kathleen gone, it’s safe for him to spend an after-supper hour in the wingback chair again. In the corner of the front room sit two unopened crates of books, but there are still so many unread in the glass cabinet that James leaves the crates untouched. There will be time enough later, when Kathleen is launched in her career and he doesn’t have to work so hard. Fifty-two books, not counting the Encyclopaedia Britannica . One day, I’ll sit down with all my books around me, and just start reading.

Right now, however, there’s still too much work to do. What’s more, James has taken to devoting his precious evening hour to his two little girls, whom he has noticed for the first time. He is pleased to find they’re bright, the both of them, and he reproves himself for having simply handed them over to Materia until now. He intends to make it up to them. To this end, one evening soon after Kathleen’s departure James calls the two wee ones over to the wingback chair, tucks them in one on either side, opens a big book and reads, “‘In the second century of the Christian era the empire of Rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth and the most civilized portion of mankind.’” And the little girls listen, bewildered by the strange names and long words but enchanted by Daddy’s careful voice, by glimpses of wonderful worlds that unfold at his command and, most of all, by his special attention.

It is different from the thrill they experienced with Kathleen. With Daddy they are aware of something rare and solemn. They understand that he is teaching them. And they respond with as much reverence as they can muster.

Mercedes is almost six. She never fails to bring Daddy his tea, balancing it carefully along with the evening’s book. She is a good child who takes her role as Mumma’s helper and Frances’s big sister very seriously — although it looks likely she’ll turn out on the plain side, her hair a bit mousy. Nonetheless she has nice brown eyes and a good disposition. But James can’t help being particularly taken with Frances. She’s a live one, going on five, with her burnished gold ringlets and mischievous grin, green lights dancing in her hazel eyes. Always ready with a joke for Daddy: “I’ve got your nose!” And full of good ideas for games that she and Mercedes can play. “Mercedes, let’s shave!” “Mercedes, know what? These buttons can fit in our noses.” Mercedes has learned by trial and error when to say, “Okay,” and when to say, “Let’s pretend.”

James doesn’t like the sound of Materia and the children chattering in Arabic but he doesn’t object. He simply counters with the special time they spend together after supper. He leavens the weight of classics with fairy-tales and rhymes. The girls love poems and learn them easily. Standing at the foot of his chair holding hands, neat as two pins in Kathleen’s old frocks — blue for Mercedes, red for Frances — their button boots so nicely shined, they recite in piping singsong voices: “‘I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.’”

Then Frances squeals with glee and Mercedes curtsies. James smiles and claps. Frances scrambles onto his knee, Mercedes lays her cheek against his hand and James feels the ice in his chest breaking up. The war is finally over. He is home again, and everything is turning out all right after all.

I have you fast in my fortress

And will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon

In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you for ever,

Yes for ever and a day

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin

And moulder in dust away.

There are fewer letters from Kathleen than James would like, but now and then Giles sends a card assuring him that all is well. In June, a package arrives from Kathleen containing twin sailor-boy dolls, one for Frances and one for Mercedes. They are thrilled and immediately take the new additions to meet the rest of their doll family, “Look, children, these are your new American cousins.” There is also a letter and James calls his girls to the wingback chair and reads it aloud.

“‘Dear Daddy and Mumma and young ladies,

I am making wonderful progress under the expert tutelage of my voice teacher. He could not be better pleased, and neither could I. Giles is a wonderful companion and she has introduced me to a number of quite inspiring cultural experiences. To date, I have enjoyed excursions to the Museum of Natural History, as well as theatrical evenings of modern dance. There is also a good deal of modern music being premièred in Manhattan, and it is a privilege to be among the first to hear such ground-breaking compositions. There are also numerous soldiers passing through on their way to the Front, and I plan to assist Giles in wrapping bandages — although I cannot claim any great skill with knitting-needles and would pity the poor soldier who received a pair of socks from me! These diversions aside, my time is almost entirely caught up with lessons and practice, practice, practice. Please say hello to Sister Saint Cecilia if you happen to see her in town. I will write again soon.

Love, Kathleen’”

Content, James folds the letter and tucks it into his breast pocket. Then he tells Frances and Mercedes once again about how, when Kathleen finishes her schooling, they will take the train to New York City and hear her sing at The Metropolitan Opera House. Mercedes pictures a white palace, and Kathleen sitting on a throne next to a handsome prince. Frances sees a castle with mermaids swimming in a moat full of ginger beer, and Kathleen holding a sword, singing on a balcony.

The summer flies past. Materia cooks, James works, the little girls thrive. By fall, they can read. It has happened by osmosis, the way it ought to: after they have spent several months on Daddy’s lap, following his spoken words with their eyes and pretending to read, there comes a day when they no longer have to pretend. The glass of the mirror has simply melted away and now they are free to enter as many worlds as they like, together or alone. Thank you, Daddy.

On November 7, James walks to the post office with his girls to find a letter from New York waiting for him. There is his usual pleasure at the sight of the postmark, but it is followed today by slight surprise, for there is no return address and his own name and address are written in a ladylike but unknown hand. While Frances and Mercedes scrupulously divide a shoestring of licorice, James opens the letter and reads….

Its contents are a cruel contrast to its refined penmanship. It is signed “An Anonymous Well-Wisher”. James folds the letter over and over until it is minute, and considers: either it is a malicious joke. Or it is true. He leaves that night.

Three and a half days later, at 6:05 a.m. on November 11, 1918, he walks out of Grand Central Station.

He finds Kathleen. And takes her home again.

On the first night of summer 1919, in the attic of the house on Water Street, as Kathleen lies dying — and unable to appreciate that fact due to the heaving and excessive pain, due to the blood that’s all a result of the bomb jammed in the antechamber of her belly, threatening to explode before it can be dropped to earth — she has a moment’s respite: a calm descends and the pain dissolves and disappears, along with the siren wail of her mother’s incessant prayer warning of an air raid, God is coming , wailing in supplication, Come O Lord , begging God to pass over and to bless, not touch, this house. O Lord hear our prayer. O Lord be with us at a safe distance now and at the hour of our death —