The Swallow and the Hummingbird(33)

‘He may never come back.’

‘That is something you will have to deal with when the time comes. Don’t fear things that might never happen.’

‘It’s hard not to.’

‘Live in the moment, Faye. Unhappiness comes from trying to put up resistance. Let the current take you too, don’t swim against it. What will be will be. Life is a long time.’ She took his hairy face in her hands and kissed him.

‘Darling Thadeus, what would I do without you? You’re so strong and wise.’

‘Do you know why I’m wise?’ he asked, looking at her with pale, sensitive eyes. ‘Because I have made a point of learning from every experience that life has thrown at me. No experience is worthless, however small, however painful. Everything that happens to you is for your own higher good. Don’t ever forget that. Through pain we learn and through happiness we celebrate our learning.’

‘I shall try to let George go with gladness in my heart. He doesn’t belong to me. I will remember that.’ Then she smiled at him timidly. ‘It won’t be easy, though.’

‘If things are too easy you are in the wrong class of life. After all, if we are not stretched we don’t learn.’ He stood up. ‘Come, let us play some music together. There is nothing like the magic of music to soothe the soul.’ She followed him inside and watched him pick up his violin. He placed it under his chin and poised the bow above the strings. ‘Let us play Chopin. It reminds me of my childhood. Not even the Russians could rob me of that.’ And he played while Faye sat and listened, her chin in her hands, her eyes misted with admiration.

When Faye returned home for lunch Trees was washing his hands while Mildred sniffed the boots that reminded her of walks in the woods and picnics on the beach.

‘How is George?’ she asked, hovering at the door. Her hair was once again drawn into a tidy chignon. Nothing about her appearance would give her away, only the rosy hue in her cheeks and the languor of her gait, but she knew her husband’s mind was on the farm and his walnut trees. He looked up and nodded thoughtfully.

‘I think his future with Rita is secure again,’ he replied.

Faye’s spirits rose. ‘Oh, I am pleased. Thank God. Is he going to take her to the Argentine? Did he tell you anything?’

Trees shook his head. ‘He hasn’t said a word.’

‘Are they coming in for lunch?’

‘That will be them now,’ he said, turning off the tap.

Light, happy voices signalled their approach at the back door. Faye left her husband drying his hands and went to greet them. She was delighted to see the colour had returned to their cheeks and they were teasing each other and laughing again.

‘What’s for lunch, Ma?’ George asked, taking off his boots.

‘Cold meat.’

‘A man needs a good lunch after a hard morning on the land.’

‘So does a woman,’ said Rita, putting a hand on his back to steady herself as she too removed her boots.

While Faye laid the table and set out the food George told her of their plans. ‘So we’ll marry the moment I return. You’ll look after Rita while I’m away, won’t you, Ma?’

Faye smiled at Rita with admiration. ‘You are a good girl,’ she said. ‘George is very lucky to have you.’

‘I’ll wait for him as long as he wants,’ she replied, enjoying the attention her self-sacrifice awarded her.

‘You have the rest of your lives to be married,’ said Faye, recalling with wistfulness Thadeus’ wise words. ‘Life is a long time.’

It was only during lunch, when Faye stifled a yawn, that George remembered his mother’s midnight parting witnessed from his bedroom window. A secret rendezvous, perhaps. With whom he did not know and he instinctively sensed not to ask. He watched his father tuck into the cold ham, his thoughts far away as usual. If his mother was having an affair his father would be the last to notice. Then he looked at Faye. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed but her expression was innocent, as innocent as an angel’s. He dismissed the idea as preposterous and felt ashamed for having entertained it. Faye was a devoted wife and mother and a good Christian besides. He took Rita’s hand and thought no more about it.

In the evening George drove Rita home, stopping on the way as they often did to sit on the cliff top and watch the sunset. It was breezy up there, a chilly northern wind that signalled for certain the end of summer. They both looked out across the sea and in the golden light of the dying day they felt the warm afterglow of an enchanted season.

‘Rita and George love each other again!’ squealed Eddie, running into the house to tell her mother the good news. ‘They’re sitting on the cliff kissing.’