Read Online The Navigator of New York by Wayne Johnston - Free Book Online Page A

is no, I will not write to you again
.
    Yours truly,
Dr. F.A. Cook
    February 11, 1897
    By the time I finished the letter, my mind was a riot of half-formed thoughts and questions. I jumped with fright when the door off the landing opened and Uncle Edward stepped inside. He looked composed until he saw how
I
looked. I did not realize how badly my hands were trembling, and with them the pages of the letter, until I saw that he was staring at them with a look of sheer dread in his eyes.
    “It goes without saying,” he said, struggling to control his voice, “that Daphne would disapprove of your corresponding with Dr. Cook. If she were to find out about it, she would contact him and youwould never hear from him again. If you agree to receive letters from Dr. Cook, I will burn each one after you have read and copied it by hand, just as you will copy this one. You will stay and watch while the letter burns. We will meet from now on in your father’s surgery. Remember, it would be assumed that letters in your handwriting had been written by you, however advanced in style and content they might seem to be for a boy your age, so it would be foolish to show these copies to others, who would think that you were writing letters to yourself.”
    He motioned to the pen and inkwell on his desk.
    “Write your answer,” he said.
    I went to the desk, wrote “Yes” on the envelope, then handed it to him.
    He looked at the word I had written. He sighed, with resignation, relief, regret, it was hard to tell.
    “Copy the letter,” he said, handing me two blank sheets of paper. “And be quick about it.” I copied out the letter as fast as I could, Uncle Edward standing, arms folded, with his back to me, as if to ensure that he did not see a single word.
    “I’m finished,” I said.
    “Put your copy in your jacket pocket,” he said. When I had done so, he turned around.
    “The original letter,” he said. “Fold it first.”
    I did and held it out to him. He took it. Holding it at arm’s length between his thumb and index finger, as if he wanted as little to do with it as possible, he spun it into the fire.
    “Uncle Edward—” I said, but he raised his hand. He was as deeply into this subterfuge as he cared to go, his expression seemed to say. Why had he ventured even this far into it? He had seemed very anxious that I should correspond with Dr. Cook. What did he have to gain if I said yes or lose if I said no? No doubt he liked the idea of my going behind Aunt Daphne’s back, perhaps foresaw the whole thing driving us apart someday. He was jealous of me, as absurd as that seemed, believed she was fonder of me than she was of him. Perhaps he sawthese letters as his one hope of not spending the rest of his life second to me in her affections. But that, surely, could not be why he was acting as Dr. Cook’s “postman.”
    No doubt he thought that with him as go-between, there was less chance that yet another scandal would be put against the name of Stead. That Dr. Cook’s letter to me was of a scandalous nature he knew. That was clear from the way he was acting. He knew that Dr. Cook had asked me to write my “answer” on the envelope. But he really seemed not to have read the letter—it was still sealed when he gave it to me, and he had told me in advance that he would burn it when I gave it back to him, as if it was necessary that I see him burn it, be witness to the fact that he had never read it. Uncle Edward went to his desk and sat down, reversing his chair so that it faced the window.
    “I don’t know when Dr. Cook will write again, or when his letter will arrive. He must wait to hear from me before he sends it. Coming from”—he gestured vaguely at the ceiling—”from God knows where, it may take a very long time. I therefore tell you in advance that you must be patient. I doubt it will get here any sooner than December.”
    Three months from now.
    “This is how you will know that a letter has arrived.” When