On the evening Sara dropped by to pay a surprise visit to her older friend, she found that the clean, organized home of her artistic friend was quickly becoming an unorderly pile of clothes, books, and random objects thrown together on the floor, by the sofa, between the bedroom entrance and the fireplace. She viewed the fire merrily feeding on the large logs in the fireplace despite the mess around it, and when the cat’s lithe figure drew her attention to it, she followed Marshmallow’s absent-minded trod between her feet to the sofa, then back to her. The cat licked her front paw, stared at Sara, then cleaned herself some more, after which she took her usual place in the rocking chair, comfy with throw and cushion.
-I just brewed some lemon tea -Mary smiled, arranging her hair which was growing past her shoulders by now, untrimmed and grey on the top of her head.
-Thank you, it’s freezing out there -Sara shivered a little at the recollection of a very windy afternoon, then hung her coat carefully, trying to determine what exactly wasn’t right with Mary.
-How’s Robert? -the latter asked mechanically.
-He’s doing wonderfully, thank you -Sara replied, taking a seat right next to Mary on the sofa. She was not sure the happy news she had come to share would do any good under the circumstances; watching Mary’s translucent fingers close on her cup of tea, hearing the polite slurping sound of Mary’s lips drinking the hot beverage and smelling that… strange, sadly familiar smell of the old which permeated the house reminded her of just how aged Mary was. -He’s negotiating about that farmhouse further down the shore. He wants to turn it into a summer cottage for rich tourists -she added with a giggle, her momentary flashback of Robert’s mischievous face quenched by Mary’s hollow, empty gaze and the mechanical smile on her lips.
-How have you been? I haven’t heard from you in a week -Sara went on, aware of the futility of her query. She saw with her own eyes the terrible state Mary was in, and blamed herself for having neglected her for so long.
-I spent my time visiting some friends -Mary tilted her head, her hands clasped in her lap. -Jane Hillocks still has her weekly knitting clubs on Thursdays in her house, so I went to see the old gang… there were some new faces… scandalously young to fancy knitting if you ask me, but what do I know about the younger generations -she added with a slightly sacrastic laugh.
-I like knitting -Sara quickly added. -Or, I would, if I had been persistent enough when my sister wanted to teach me…
-There’s not much to it -Mary flicked her free hand. -It’s incessant and boring, hardly any imaginaton is required for it, really…
-I guess you found it hard to stay awake -Sara laughed, hopeful that some small talk would jerk Mary out of her state of apparent apathy.
-As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I kept thinking of those young beautiful women who instead of going out with their beaux, chose to rot inside the tepid house of that uptight old hag, handling a pair of metal needles for hours on end.
The choice of adjectives was so unlike Mary that for a moment, Sara just stared.
-Don’t mind me, dear… I’m slowly becoming that old hag myself -Mary spoke in a voice that was frighteningly affirming. -It comes with age, I guess.
Sara wanted to scream in protest. Her mind still recalled fresh pictures of a blooming Mary, a Mary so in love she used to be blushing at the mention of a mere name; an imaginative, soaring Mary whose art had been the reason for the emotional surrender of a wonderful man like Andrew; the amazing Mary who was all woman, who had been the talk of the town not merely because people loved to gossip, but also because they, especially women, were incredulous and envious of Mary’s “conquest”. She had heard not one young flirt discuss in a lively manner the impossibility of a man like Joshua Morgan ever wanting to have anything with an old spinster like Mary. The day the rumours were confirmed, gossip started… it had been pure envy, greener than the grass of Devon fields.
She now wanted to shake Mary and tell her how wrong she was, what a treasure she was relinquishing- not only love, but also her self-esteem. What a great mistake she was doing succumbing to a fate she was bringing on herself single-handedly.
-How’s Jo and Eileen? -she asked to change the subject, swallowing her bitterness.
-Oh, they are fine. Getting richer than I would have imagined my son to be, but quite honest, I never had a misty clue about the doings of my son… from his birth, he had been a stranger to me -Mary recalled, staring into the blankness of her past. -We were so different from each other… he always spent his afternoons piling twigs and pebbles in the middle of the yard, then counting them over and over. He’s been into business from the age of four… whilst his mother sat for hours on the porch, painting the apple tree behind him.
Wind howled outside, a furious wind that was becoming customary. Fire crackled in their ears and the scent of freshly burning wood filled their nostrils. There was a silent companionship that neither the differences in age and life experience, nor their current emotional state could disrupt; Mary was grateful for Sara’s presence in her living-room, while Sara felt her friend’s burden on her own shoulders, so she leaned forward and hugged her own knees for lack of anything better to do. She knew Mary did not need sympathy. There were words that Mary had never said before, things Sara only now found out about, a ragged past of a person she had always regarded as strong, however whimsical. Someone who had survived a gay husband jilting her, a grown-up son becoming estranged from her, and then, when Joshua came, Sara had admired Mary like no one she had ever admired before. She had been aware that Mary knew what was said behind her back even at the beginning of her friendship with Joshua. She had been aware that there was so much at risk. She had been aware that Mary knew all she would face if she allowed herself to fall for Joshua, but it was that painfully awkward meeting in her shop that day that had finally made Sara understand.
With the shame she had felt for Mary then, and the sorrow Joshua’s eyes had expressed brought on a deeper understanding of what exactly Mary had had to deal with, and what she would have to face without Joshua by her side. She had felt as responsible then as she felt now, responsible in a way she may have thought beyond her rights as a friend, but responsible anyway. For the simple enough reason that there seemed to be no one else beside Mary.
-Have you heard that Jimmy Levine kicked the bucket? –Mary broke the silence. –Old Jimmy… the one who was supposed to ask for my hand in marriage. Perhaps only better… can you imagine me, married? Again? I haven’t even divorced Jeff, to begin with… Well… Jimmy fit the pattern nicely. After a guy who turned out to be gay, and another who was twenty years too young, that old bloke does make sense.
-What are you saying? –Sara desperately asked. –That it was your fault Jeff was gay, that it was your fault Joshua was younger, and that Mr Levine was too old?
-If not mine, then whose? –Mary asked back, her eyes ablaze with anguish. –Who else can I blame? I could point my finger at God, but I’m not sure he exists… if he existed, he would have made me do something- anything- right in this life-
-What if it’s no one’s fault… none of this –Sara gestured, then took Mary’s hand and held it. –What if it’s just… how it’s meant to be?
-It cannot be –Mary shook her head obstinately. –I can’t accept that… a life full of pathetic accidents and twists of fate, as if I had been sent to the wrong places at the wrong times… I could have been Joshua’s perfect woman thirty years ago… I could have been Jeff’s best friend, had he told me his secret before he lied to me and himself by making love to me and leaving me alone with Jo… I might have become a tolerable mother if I hadn’t been given my… art, that curse, that cross-
Sara inwardly wept for a Mary bereft of all purpose. She may have been able to help Mary cope with the loss of Joshua, but the ghosts of Mary’s past were overpowering her, too. How was she to tell her friend that what happened was not her fault, that despite the grim past, the future could be saved? In a flash, the dark veil of nothingness which seemed to capture Mary descended on her, too; she felt what Mary felt, and her younger, more sanguine soul received the blow with hardly any resistance.
She was unable to help, because deep inside her heart she believed with the belief of a happy child whose toy had been broken that there may be no tomorrow, after all. Not for Mary.
-Please come have dinner with us tomorrow -she shakily spoke, offering the last bits of her strength which was infinitely more fragile now, due to her condition.
-I’ll see, dear -Mary patted Sara’s hand with affection, forcing a smile that turned into a real one eventually. -Say, did you have anything to tell me? The minute I saw you I thought you were bursting with some exciting news… I’m sorry I selfishly monopolised the conversation so far -she went on, apparently in a happier tone.
Sara swallowed her tears and prayed she would not do any more harm when she replied.
-I… I’m expecting a baby -she blurted out, scared to look up, her happiness blurred by her friend’s situation. She didn’t have many friends in Bodeford, and as opposed to the elation she had felt while she was walking toward Mary’s house, she was now fearing her friend would not be around to see her child grow up.
After a moment of silence, Mary’s eyes brimmed with tears and she embraced the almost apologetic Sara.
-Oh… -was all she could say, squeezing the thin frame of her young friend. Her brain was processing the information, already projecting future happenings ahead, already coping and dealing with imminent changes, probable emotions, but most of all, she instantly remembered her son, and right after that, Joshua. Someone other than herself was receiving a chance at motherhood, someone who would probably avoid the mistakes she had made. She thought of Joseph and how terribly wrong she had done things, how horribly she had messed up, and the fact that Jo had forgiven her, what more, he was doing his best to re-establish their relationship was now an almost bigger blow than the painful memories of her beloved Joshua. The one whose children she was never to bear.
And then, the realization that this was not about her, but about Sara, who was mutely sobbing in her arms, probably aware of the pain she was causing with her happiness.
-I am so happy for you -Mary whispered, then, because she feared Sara had not heard, or maybe to persuade herself of the truthfulness of her words, she repeated them, louder. -I am so happy for you, my dear… I know you’ll be a great mom, and Robert a wonderful father.
Sara finally laughed through her tears and for a moment, forgot Mary’s tribulations when she smiled into her eyes and started talking incessantly, as is the custom of all young mothers-to-be. Mary listened and held her hand and wept with her, and for herself, but it was all well, because Sara knew, and she forgave.
When Mary was alone again, self-preservation prompted her to make mental notes of the things to do the next days. Writing a second, and probably last letter to Andrew, as a shameless plea for forgiveness and help that she would accept from any and all who would be ready to give it. Making an effort to set the house in order, for the sake of breathing again, because she knew well there was no other point in her having a clean, well-organized house. Preparing a shopping list, as her pantry echoed in its emptiness, and most of the time, so did her stomach. Going to a baby-shop and purchasing a few clothes for Sara’s newcomer, due next October: just the right timing, as shops would naturally hold items for cold weather anyway. Unimportant things to do, things that did not hold any fascination for her, but things that kept her mind alive on the basic level.
A while passed with her sitting on the edge of her sofa, her mind wandering far, thoughts jumping from past to present and back again, hope and resignation alternating in her visions of her future self, if there ever was to be one. The wind blew the branches of her apple tree to the windowpane, and splinters of wood jumped unknowingly into the cinders to find their eternal rest there, on the bottom of the fireplace. When Mary thought it was time to move, she realized how cramped her legs were, and she sat some more, until her muscles came to life once again.
-Marsh… where are you, girl? -she asked, noticing that the cat was not sleeping in the rocking-chair, and was not to be found next to the fireplace either.
(tbc)
