Under Lock and Key

40: Casualties of War

Chapter 40: Casualties of War

Richard Pomroy, June 26th, 1950, Crescent City

8:00 am

My mother insisted, so here I am. At a small table, near the window, in one of our receiving rooms. A plate of split crumpets. A small bowl of clotted cream and another of strawberry preserves. A long willowware platter of bacon, black pudding and a mound of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs. The scent of tea perfuming the room, the pot still very warm. My mother's mother's tea set with hand painted lavender gracing the delicate porcelain. A set she preserved carefully after I smashed a few of the other plates when I was child, during some tantrum or another.

"Edith is coming downstairs in a few moments. You and she need to pick a date, this autumn is best. Make a preliminary list of guests for the reception, although of course all of your father's business associates will be invited. She must have many people her parents will like to include. The ceremony itself needs to be indoors due to the weather of course. There are several churches in town that are lovely although unfortunately with limited space. So make another list of those select few for that specific occasion. You may choose a location for your honeymoon, although please remember it must be brief as your father needs you here. You can also discuss if you'd like a home of your own, or if you will stay here after you are wed."

I nod, gazing out of the window, my stomach in knots. But I come to attention when my flustered mother slams a leather notebook onto the table, the delicate dishes jumping at this abrupt display of violence.

"Richard! Have you heard a word I've spoken?!"

"Yes, mother. I'm not sure why I need to be involved at all, though. Isn't this something you and Eddy can do without me. I really don't care about any of the details. Tell me the date and I'll show up looking presentable."

I wonder what her friends would think, the social circle she's a part of, to see my elegant mother's face beet red with anger. And then lose all color completely. Instead of yelling, each word comes from her mouth polished like cold, hard glass.

"Richard, your wedding is perhaps the most important day of your life. Definitely the most important day of your fiancée's life, barring the birth of your future children. You will participate and you will help make this day perfect for Edith. You will not shame your family, or your father's name or his reputation with any noticeable lack of care or attention. Do your duty, Richard, as we all must."

It's easier to shrug and agree. She leaves with her back ramrod straight, mouth pursed, only to smile genially and stop to hug Eddy as she enters the room.

My fiancee is dressed for our little breakfast in a simple sky blue dress that she drapes carefully over her knees, crossing her ankles as she sits. Without speaking she checks the tea and pours for us both, taking a small sip, eyes on the table. As I'm a gentleman, I prepare a plate for her, a laden crumpet and two slices of bacon, setting it in front of her before organizing my own.

I take a few bites of eggs, and decide to get this over with. Opening the leather covered notepad, I grab a pen and ask, without looking at her, "When would you like to get married?"

I wait to hear her blather on about Autumn harvests or a Christmas Eve gala, but there's nothing.

When I do glance up, surprised at her silence, she stares at me, the corners of her mouth twitching nervously.

After several failed attempts at speaking, she gasps, "I don't." Then takes a huge breath, looks down at her hands, and then back up, chin elevated, determined.