The Widows Club

Absolutely! Especially when one hasn’t left Chitterton Fells in fifty years!

It seemed that the morning’s post had brought Dorcas a most gratifying invitation. Her participation was requested in the development of a field hockey institute in Chicago.

Jonas punctuated his pronouncement that he could not allow a frail woman to pioneer alone with gravelly snatches of “… My kind of town, Chicago is…” What a world this was. First Ben’s mother and now Jonas wanting to fly the nest.

Tobias struggled off my lap without a backward glance to paw at Dorcas’s argyle socks, hoping, doubtless, for future overseas parcels. Picking him up, she wrapped him around her shoulders like a fox fur and paced the room talking about our nasty experience on the train. “Frightful for you-and Mr. Daffy. Course to my mind, anyone who’s afraid of a little mouse shouldn’t wear long trousers. According to The Daily Spokesman, the woman who saved him should receive a medal-if they knew who she was.”

I started rearranging the pots of herbs in the bay window. “Accidents can strike at any time. That man Thrush electrocuted himself. And what about the dentist, the one on Kipling Street, whose drill went berserk when he was giving himself a filling?” I moved the pots to the sink, turned on the tap, and squeezed in Fairy Liquid. “Both of you must promise to be very careful crossing streets and find a flat with a doorman.”

“Apartment.” Jonas was practicing lassoing with a piece of string.

“And do we have your promise you won’t go to wild parties”-Ben folded his arms-“or drink the water?”

This was no time to be frivolous. We must make lists, air suitcases, buy traveller’s cheques. “When do you leave?” I asked crisply.

“In a fortnight,” replied the deserters.

“Before Christmas! The drawing room will look naked with only two stockings hanging from the mantel.”

Dorcas was still wearing Tobias. She tossed his tail over her shoulder. “Mistletoe’s wasted on the likes of us, right, Jonas?”

“Yup.”

I saw Ben grin and noticed something else. Dorcas and Jonas had not once looked directly at each other during this entire conversation. Guilt, that was their burden.

Ben looked in the sink, draped an arm around my shoulder, and stage-whispered, “Alone at last!”

The clock ticked into silence. Then, amazingly, the hall door slammed open. “Alone? You aren’t alone-you have me!”

My eyes did not deceive me. This ghastly, unkempt apparition standing before us was my cousin Freddy. Tobias leapt away from Dorcas and skirted the intruder, hissing. My sentiments exactly. “I knew we would come home to leftover food, but not to leftover guest.”

Ben was shaking hands, all man to man with him. “Ellie, dear, I know you’re joking, but old Freddy may take you seriously.”

“I am serious, darling. The last time this creature came for a weekend, the weekend lasted three months.”

Dorcas jabbed her hair behind her ears. “Think I’ll start packing.”

“Me, too.” Jonas trudged after her.

“Good idea,” I called after them. “Maybe it’s contagious.”

Freddy flopped into the rocking chair. “You were a saint, Giselle, taking me in that time when I had no place to go. There I was, appalled at the thought of being a burden to my parents, not working-”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. We both know you did rather well as a salesman, hawking my groceries door to door.”

“Ellie, why don’t we hear what Freddy has to say.” Ben’s voice wasn’t quite as devoted as I would have liked.

Freddy gave a dejected wave. “Forget it, mate. Ellie’s the boss-that’s how it should be. Sorry I’ve outstayed my welcome.”

Ben shot me an ambiguous look. Freddy was shifting his shoulders up and down. “Sore muscles?” I inquired. “From bracing yourself to leap from the tower?”

“Snickering does not become you, cousin. I would have jumped could I have been assured of an injury that looked bad but didn’t hurt. I wanted Jill on her knees with remorse.”

Freddy stood up, flipped the chair over, and assumed a heroic pose. Reaching a hand inside his shirt, he brought out a folded piece of paper and held it out to Ben. “Behold! My application for employment in your pending restaurant. Jill is going to weep her eyes out.”

Ben took hold of the paper, as I said, “Oh, what a shame. You were just saying this morning, weren’t you, darling, that Abigail’s won’t open until spring.”

Freddy clutched at his heart. “Cruel Ellie! I’m sorry now I put you down as a reference.” His eyes moved to Ben. “Well, mate, what’s it to be? Is she the boss at work as well as at home?”

I moved to my husband’s side, slid my arm through his, and smiled.

“What exactly did you have in mind, Freddy?” Ben slapped the application in his hand.

It was stupid to feel betrayed. Ben was undoubtedly doing this for me. He believed that I really wanted to help Freddy but was afraid to show signs of nepotism so early in our marriage. I only removed my arm from Ben’s because I was getting pins and needles in my elbow. Freddy shot me a V-for-Victory sign and a smile that said, No hard feelings-loser.

“To be straight with you, Ben-sir-I would prefer to start at the top and work my way down, if necessary. My grand plan is to achieve, then thumb my nose when Jill comes crawling on bleeding knees, begging for one more chance.”

Looking from me to Freddy, Ben twisted the application into a plane and tossed it into the muddy waters of the sink.

“At the moment, all I’ve got to offer is a sort of Man Friday. You would help me get the building ready for occupancy, do some clerical work, and learn a few fundamentals of cooking.”

Freddy held up his hand. “I’ve only one question: Does the job come with a car?”

“Afraid not,” I said, “but we will throw in the chauffeur’s cottage.” I certainly wasn’t having Freddy and his guitar installed here. Just look at him! He already had the refrigerator open and was hauling out trays of hors d’oeuvres.

“How about putting the kettle on, Ellie-unless you two would rather have champagne? I’m easy.” My cousin grinned at me.

Had I felt any anger toward Ben it would have vanished when we turned off the lights and the pheasants on the wallpaper in our bedroom came to burnished life in the glow from the fire. I fell asleep curled up against him and dreamed about my mother-in-law. I couldn’t see her face. But I could hear her. Someone was carrying her away into the mist. She was screaming, “Help! Help! Murder, murder!” It was like something from one of those forties films where all the women are young war widows being preyed upon by fortune hunters. Off in the distance people were weeping and wailing; slowly the screen filled up with something long and dark, moving closer-closer. It was a coffin and I knew who was inside. “Well, no wonder she couldn’t come to the wedding,” I thought.

I woke to find the wind hurling the maroon velvet curtains against the walls and rain dripping over the sill. We had to leave the window open a crack because of Ben’s claustrophobia.

Poppa telephoned the next afternoon. Ben answered the phone. When no voice responded to his hello, he promptly handed me the receiver.

“That you, Ellie? Can’t be long-have to unload a crate of bananas-but thought you would like to know that Paris received a postcard from Maggie this morning. Said she was still staying at that nice quiet place at the seaside.”

“Which seaside?”

“It wasn’t a picture card.”

“What was the postmark?”

Ben was making it hard for me to hear. He was walking in circles, making deep breathing noises.

“It was smudged.”

“Did your wife send any message for you?”

“She did. She told Paris to see I took my cod liver oil.”

I made encouraging noises to Ben. “That sounds very positive.”