Трейси Шевалье - Falling Angel

I said nothing of this to Maude, poor dear. She was very subdued as we went on to my house. I tried to be especially nice to her, even suggesting that we attend the official opening of our local public library. They have been building it on Chester Road all summer, and there is to be a ceremony on Thursday afternoon. I am not keen on going-it will be all tedious speeches-but it may cheer Maude as she is so fond of libraries. And it would mean we could leave early and miss the last class at school, which is math. I can’t abide math-all those dull numbers. In fact I don’t like any of my classes, except for domestic arts and composition, though Miss Johnson says my imagination needs reining in-a compliment, I should think!

Mama will have to get permission for us both to leave school early, as Maude’s mother is clearly incapable of making such arrangements. And I expect Mama and Ivy May will have to come with us, although it is only a few minutes away. Maude and I are eleven years old, yet we are still not allowed to go anywhere alone except to walk to school together. Mama says you never know what might happen, and reads all sorts of terrible things out from the newspapers-babies left to freeze on the heath, or people drowning in the ponds, or rough men looking for girls to prey upon.

When we arrived home I asked Mama if we could all go to the library ceremony. She said yes, the dear. She always says yes to me.

Then Maude asked a funny thing. “Please, Mrs. Waterhouse,” she said, “could you ask my mother to come with us? She hasn’t been well these past months, and she could do with getting a bit of air.”

Well, Mama was nonplussed by this request-surely Maude could ask her own mother!-but she said she would. I was a bit put out, as I am not at all sure I wish to be seen with someone who has clearly let herself go. Nonetheless, I must stand by my friend. Besides, Mama may not be able to convince Mrs. Coleman to come with us-it is not as if they are close friends. If she does, though, perhaps I will steal over to their house one night and leave a bottle of hair dye on the doorstep.

I did not have the heart to say no to Maude. It is horrifying to think a girl cannot even ask her mother to escort her somewhere. I wanted to inquire why she felt she could not, but she looked so meek and sad that I simply said I would do my best and left it at that. I did not think I could do much good, though, even for something as insignificant as arranging an outing. I have never had any influence with Kitty Coleman, and if Maude cannot convince her to come to a little local event, I do not see how I will be able to.

Nonetheless, I called on Kitty the next morning when the girls were at school. The moment I saw her I felt terribly guilty for not having gone there sooner. She did look awful, thin and pinched, and her lovely hair no longer glossy. It is such a surprise to see the lifeblood sapped from someone once so vital. If I were a more spiteful person, it might have made me feel better to see such loveliness brought down. Instead my heart went out to her. I even squeezed her hand, which surprised her, though she did not jerk it away. Her hand was chilly.

“Oh, you’re so cold, my dear!” I exclaimed.

“Am I?” she asked absently.

I pulled the yellow silk shawl from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her. “I’m so sorry that you have been ill.”

“Did someone say I was?”

“Oh, I-” I grew flustered. “Maude-she said you’d had pneumonia some time ago.” That much at least was true, or so I thought, though from Kitty Coleman’s reaction I began to wonder.

“Is that what Maude said?” she asked. I wondered if Kitty would actually answer a question rather than ask one. But then she shrugged. “I suppose that may as well do,” she muttered, which made no sense, but I did not try to question her.

She rang a bell, but when the girl appeared-it was not their usual maid-Kitty looked at her blankly, as if she had forgotten why she summoned her. The girl stared back just as blankly.

“Perhaps some tea for your mistress,” I suggested.

“Yes,” Kitty murmured. “That would be good.”

When the girl had left I said, “Have you seen a doctor recently?”

“Why?”

“Well, for your convalescence. Perhaps there’s something you could take-a tonic. Or go to a spa.” I was trying in vain to name remedies for whatever afflicted her. All I could think of were novels I’d read in which the heroine went to spas in Germany, or to the South of France for the climate.

“The doctor said I must build up my strength with plenty of food and fresh air,” Kitty repeated mechanically. She looked as if she ate little more than a mouthful of food a day, and I doubt she went out at all.

“That is just what I was coming to speak to you about. I am proposing to take the girls on a little outing to the new library that is about to open on Chester Road, and I wondered if you and Maude would join us. We could go afterward for tea up in Water-low Park.” I felt a little silly, making it sound as if I were suggesting an expedition to Antarctica rather than a trip just around the corner.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s a bit far.”

“The library itself is quite close,” I said quickly, “and we don’t have to go all the way up the hill for tea-we could choose someplace closer. Or you could come to me.” Kitty had never been to my house. I did not want her to sit in my cramped parlor, but I felt I had to offer.

“I’m not…”

I waited for Kitty to finish her sentence, but she did not. Something had happened to her-she was like a little lamb that has lost its way and is wandering aimlessly in a field. I did not relish playing her shepherd, but I also knew that God did not intend for a shepherd to judge His flock. I grasped her hand again. “What is wrong, my dear? What has distressed you so?”

Kitty gazed at me. Her eyes were so dark it was like looking into a well. “I have spent my life waiting for something to happen,” she said. “And I have come to understand that nothing will. Or it already has, and I blinked during that moment and it’s gone. I don’t know which is worse-to have missed it or to know there is nothing to miss.”

I did not know what to say, for I did not understand her at all. Still, I had to try to answer. “I think that you are very lucky indeed,” I said, making my voice as stern as I dared. “You have a fine husband and a good daughter, and a lovely house and garden. You have food on the table and a cook to cook it. To many you have an enviable life.” Though not to me, I added silently.

“Yes, but…” Kitty stopped again, scanning my face for something. It appeared she did not find it, for she let her gaze drop.

I let go of her hand. “I am going to send around a tonic that my mother used to prepare for me when I felt low, with brandy and egg yolk and a little sugar. I’m sure it will be an effective pick-me-up. And do you have any brilliantine? A bit on your brush will do wonders to your hair. And, my dear, do come with us to the library ceremony on Thursday.” Kitty opened her mouth to speak, but I bravely talked over her. “I insist upon it. Maude will be so pleased, as she so wants to go with you. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her. She’s such a good girl-top of her class.”

“She is?”

Surely Kitty must know how well her daughter was doing in her studies! “We shall come to collect you at half past two on Thursday. The fresh air will do you good.” Before she could object I stood up and pulled on my gloves, not even waiting for the tea to arrive (their girl is very slow) before taking my leave.

For the first time since I have known Kitty Coleman, I was in the position to dictate the tone of our relations. Rather than relishing the power, I simply felt miserable.