Nonetheless, I called on Kitty the next morning when the girls were at school. The moment I saw her I felt terribly guilty for not having gone there sooner. She did look awful, thin and pinched, and her lovely hair no longer glossy. It is such a surprise to see the lifeblood sapped from someone once so vital. If I were a more spiteful person, it might have made me feel better to see such loveliness brought down. Instead my heart went out to her. I even squeezed her hand, which surprised her, though she did not jerk it away. Her hand was chilly.
“Oh, you’re so cold, my dear!” I exclaimed.
“Am I?” she asked absently.
I pulled the yellow silk shawl from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her. “I’m so sorry that you have been ill.”
“Did someone say I was?”
“Oh, I-” I grew flustered. “Maude-she said you’d had pneumonia some time ago.” That much at least was true, or so I thought, though from Kitty Coleman’s reaction I began to wonder.
“Is that what Maude said?” she asked. I wondered if Kitty would actually answer a question rather than ask one. But then she shrugged. “I suppose that may as well do,” she muttered, which made no sense, but I did not try to question her.
She rang a bell, but when the girl appeared-it was not their usual maid-Kitty looked at her blankly, as if she had forgotten why she summoned her. The girl stared back just as blankly.
“Perhaps some tea for your mistress,” I suggested.
“Yes,” Kitty murmured. “That would be good.”
When the girl had left I said, “Have you seen a doctor recently?”
“Why?”
“Well, for your convalescence. Perhaps there’s something you could take-a tonic. Or go to a spa.” I was trying in vain to name remedies for whatever afflicted her. All I could think of were novels I’d read in which the heroine went to spas in Germany, or to the South of France for the climate.
“The doctor said I must build up my strength with plenty of food and fresh air,” Kitty repeated mechanically. She looked as if she ate little more than a mouthful of food a day, and I doubt she went out at all.
“That is just what I was coming to speak to you about. I am proposing to take the girls on a little outing to the new library that is about to open on Chester Road, and I wondered if you and Maude would join us. We could go afterward for tea up in Water-low Park.” I felt a little silly, making it sound as if I were suggesting an expedition to Antarctica rather than a trip just around the corner.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s a bit far.”
“The library itself is quite close,” I said quickly, “and we don’t have to go all the way up the hill for tea-we could choose someplace closer. Or you could come to me.” Kitty had never been to my house. I did not want her to sit in my cramped parlor, but I felt I had to offer.
“I’m not…”
I waited for Kitty to finish her sentence, but she did not. Something had happened to her-she was like a little lamb that has lost its way and is wandering aimlessly in a field. I did not relish playing her shepherd, but I also knew that God did not intend for a shepherd to judge His flock. I grasped her hand again. “What is wrong, my dear? What has distressed you so?”
Kitty gazed at me. Her eyes were so dark it was like looking into a well. “I have spent my life waiting for something to happen,” she said. “And I have come to understand that nothing will. Or it already has, and I blinked during that moment and it’s gone. I don’t know which is worse-to have missed it or to know there is nothing to miss.”
I did not know what to say, for I did not understand her at all. Still, I had to try to answer. “I think that you are very lucky indeed,” I said, making my voice as stern as I dared. “You have a fine husband and a good daughter, and a lovely house and garden. You have food on the table and a cook to cook it. To many you have an enviable life.” Though not to me, I added silently.
“Yes, but…” Kitty stopped again, scanning my face for something. It appeared she did not find it, for she let her gaze drop.
I let go of her hand. “I am going to send around a tonic that my mother used to prepare for me when I felt low, with brandy and egg yolk and a little sugar. I’m sure it will be an effective pick-me-up. And do you have any brilliantine? A bit on your brush will do wonders to your hair. And, my dear, do come with us to the library ceremony on Thursday.” Kitty opened her mouth to speak, but I bravely talked over her. “I insist upon it. Maude will be so pleased, as she so wants to go with you. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her. She’s such a good girl-top of her class.”
“She is?”
Surely Kitty must know how well her daughter was doing in her studies! “We shall come to collect you at half past two on Thursday. The fresh air will do you good.” Before she could object I stood up and pulled on my gloves, not even waiting for the tea to arrive (their girl is very slow) before taking my leave.
For the first time since I have known Kitty Coleman, I was in the position to dictate the tone of our relations. Rather than relishing the power, I simply felt miserable.
No one ever said Christian duty would be easy.
Maude Coleman
I don’t know why Lavinia was so keen on going to the library opening. She seemed to think I would be thrilled to go as well, but she has confused celebration with function.While I am of course glad we are to have a local public library, I was more interested in borrowing books than in the ceremony. Lavinia is just the opposite-she has always liked parties more than I do, but she cannot sit still in a library for five minutes. She does not even like books much-though she is fond of Dickens, of course, and she and her mother like to read aloud Sir Walter Scott. And she can recite some poems-Tennyson’s “Lady of Shalott” and Keats’s “La Belle Dame sans Merci.”
But to please her I said I would go, and Mrs. Waterhouse somehow persuaded Mummy to come out with us-the first time she has been out at all since she was ill. I do wish she had worn something a little gayer-she has so many beautiful dresses and hats, but she chose a brown dress and a black felt hat trimmed with three black rosettes. She looked like a mourner among partygoers. Still, at least she came-I was pleased just to walk with her.
I do not think she understood very well where the new library is. Daddy and I had often gone on a summer evening to inspect the progress of the building, but Mummy had never come with us. Now as we turned into Chester Road from Swain’s Lane she grew very agitated at the sight of the southern wall of the cemetery, which is bounded by Chester Road. She even clutched my arm, and without quite knowing why, I said, “It’s all right, Mummy, we aren’t going in.” She relaxed a little, though she held on to me until we had passed by the southern gate and reached the crowd outside the library.
The library is a handsome brick building with tan stone trimmings, a front porch with four Corinthian columns, and side sections with high arched windows. For the opening the front was decked out with white bunting, and a small platform placed on the front steps. Lots of people were milling about on the pavement and spilling into the street. It was a windy day, making the bunting shake and men’s bowlers and women’s feathers and flowers fly off.
We had not been there long before the speeches began. A man stepped onto the platform and called out, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. It is my great pleasure, as chairman of the Education and Libraries Committee of the St. Pancras Borough Council, to welcome you to this most auspicious occasion, the opening of the first free library in the borough as the first step in adopting the Public Libraries’ Acts in St. Pancras.