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Authors: Susan Meissner
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heard Dolly mutter under her breath, “Will this ever-lovin’ day never end?”
Just before the sun went down I was sent on another errand to the main island for a Polish interpreter and by the time I returned with one, the reception area had finally closed for the day. Dolly was waiting for me in the staff dining room many minutes later, but the chairs around her had filled with our colleagues while she looked for my return. There would be no discussing Lily Gwynn until later, and disappointment made her stab her potatoes in annoyance.
When at last we were in our room in our nightgowns, with the needs of the day finally silenced, I pulled out Andrew Gwynn’s pattern book from under my bed.
“What in the world is that?” Dolly asked as I unwrapped it from its canvas covering.
“It’s a book of tailor’s patterns. It belonged to Mr. Gwynn’s father. He was afraid it might get stolen in the baggage room.”
“It smells.” Dolly wrinkled her nose.
I held the book close to my nostrils and breathed in the scent of old paper and muslin. “I like this smell.”
“What has that book got to do with his dead wife?”
“Nothing. It’s just the reason I went to the baggage room.” I rewrapped the book in its canvas covering and shoved it back under my bed. I sat on my folded knees and withdrew the poetry book from the pocket of the apron I’d brought to the bed.
“Another book?” Dolly was unimpressed.
“This one was hers. I didn’t know which of the two trunks on Mr. Gwynn’s claim ticket was his. I thought his would be the smaller of the two. But I was wrong. The smaller one was Lily Gwynn’s. And when I opened it by mistake, I saw this poetry book and thought maybe he would like to have this, too. It was hers and it looked as if it had been special to her. So I took it to give to him.”
“And?”
“And when I got to our room to put them under my bed until later, I accidentally dropped the poetry book. These papers fell out of it.”
I handed the papers to Dolly and watched her expression as she read the contents of both.
“Good Lord!” she gasped.
“I know. Isn’t it terrible?”
“They had known each other only two weeks?”
“So sad, isn’t it?”
“And he
married
her?”
The depth of her astonishment silenced me for a moment. She seemed appalled more by Andrew’s marrying Lily than by Lily’s deceit. “What is so wrong about his marrying her?” I finally said.
She held up the letter and waved it. “Need I explain? He didn’t
know
her!”
A little geyser of indignation was working its way through me. “He thought he did. She wanted him to think he did. This is her terrible crime. Not his.”
“Well, foolishness should be a crime, then. Marrying someone you just met is a daft thing to do.”
“Give me those back.” I pulled the letter and certificate from her hands, and Dolly’s eyes widened like saucers.
“Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you.” I folded the documents and placed them back inside the poetry book.
“Yes, you are. Are you saying he was smart to marry someone he barely knew?”
“I’m saying it’s not for anyone else to say how long it takes to fall in love with someone. Or how short.”
“But that’s my point! She
didn’t
love him!”
“But he loved her.” I huffed. “Isn’t that obvious? You saw him today, wearing her scarf around his neck, barely able to answer any questions. He speaks English, you know. He understood everything Mrs. Crowley said to him. Grief made him act the way he did.”
Dolly shook her head. “He didn’t know her. How can you know someone you’ve only just met?”
She said it with such finality that I felt a weight, like a little cannonball, slam into my chest. I winced and she saw it.
“You think you can love someone you’ve only just met?” Her tone was soft and knowing, as if she had just figured something out, something that had been hidden before. She bent her head to make eye contact
Just before the sun went down I was sent on another errand to the main island for a Polish interpreter and by the time I returned with one, the reception area had finally closed for the day. Dolly was waiting for me in the staff dining room many minutes later, but the chairs around her had filled with our colleagues while she looked for my return. There would be no discussing Lily Gwynn until later, and disappointment made her stab her potatoes in annoyance.
When at last we were in our room in our nightgowns, with the needs of the day finally silenced, I pulled out Andrew Gwynn’s pattern book from under my bed.
“What in the world is that?” Dolly asked as I unwrapped it from its canvas covering.
“It’s a book of tailor’s patterns. It belonged to Mr. Gwynn’s father. He was afraid it might get stolen in the baggage room.”
“It smells.” Dolly wrinkled her nose.
I held the book close to my nostrils and breathed in the scent of old paper and muslin. “I like this smell.”
“What has that book got to do with his dead wife?”
“Nothing. It’s just the reason I went to the baggage room.” I rewrapped the book in its canvas covering and shoved it back under my bed. I sat on my folded knees and withdrew the poetry book from the pocket of the apron I’d brought to the bed.
“Another book?” Dolly was unimpressed.
“This one was hers. I didn’t know which of the two trunks on Mr. Gwynn’s claim ticket was his. I thought his would be the smaller of the two. But I was wrong. The smaller one was Lily Gwynn’s. And when I opened it by mistake, I saw this poetry book and thought maybe he would like to have this, too. It was hers and it looked as if it had been special to her. So I took it to give to him.”
“And?”
“And when I got to our room to put them under my bed until later, I accidentally dropped the poetry book. These papers fell out of it.”
I handed the papers to Dolly and watched her expression as she read the contents of both.
“Good Lord!” she gasped.
“I know. Isn’t it terrible?”
“They had known each other only two weeks?”
“So sad, isn’t it?”
“And he
married
her?”
The depth of her astonishment silenced me for a moment. She seemed appalled more by Andrew’s marrying Lily than by Lily’s deceit. “What is so wrong about his marrying her?” I finally said.
She held up the letter and waved it. “Need I explain? He didn’t
know
her!”
A little geyser of indignation was working its way through me. “He thought he did. She wanted him to think he did. This is her terrible crime. Not his.”
“Well, foolishness should be a crime, then. Marrying someone you just met is a daft thing to do.”
“Give me those back.” I pulled the letter and certificate from her hands, and Dolly’s eyes widened like saucers.
“Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you.” I folded the documents and placed them back inside the poetry book.
“Yes, you are. Are you saying he was smart to marry someone he barely knew?”
“I’m saying it’s not for anyone else to say how long it takes to fall in love with someone. Or how short.”
“But that’s my point! She
didn’t
love him!”
“But he loved her.” I huffed. “Isn’t that obvious? You saw him today, wearing her scarf around his neck, barely able to answer any questions. He speaks English, you know. He understood everything Mrs. Crowley said to him. Grief made him act the way he did.”
Dolly shook her head. “He didn’t know her. How can you know someone you’ve only just met?”
She said it with such finality that I felt a weight, like a little cannonball, slam into my chest. I winced and she saw it.
“You think you can love someone you’ve only just met?” Her tone was soft and knowing, as if she had just figured something out, something that had been hidden before. She bent her head to make eye contact
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