Agnes Farrier looked out on the water at trail of foamy white waves being left behind as the passenger ship sailed. She looked off into the distance and it seemed as far away as her thoughts. “Mrs. Farrier?” The voice woke her from her daydream and she looked up to see a young man holding out a tray as he bent slightly toward her. She nodded without a word and reached for the envelope. The man bowed and she uttered a thanks before he left. Her eyes surveyed the address until she found the sender. Charles, dearest dearest, Charlie.
Dear Father and Mama,
On behalf of Huge, me and our families, we wish you the happiest of travels. Though I’m sure no wish is necessary as father has dreamt of seeing the islands for years. Father, I hope you listen to mother or she’s likely to hoodwink you into thinking you’ve had more than your share by watering down the whisky.
Sincerely,
Charlie
As she read the last line, she smiled wryly. Charlie knew her well and he knew her tactics. She tucked the message into her dress pocket and her attention was brought to Reginald. Reginald it was, as so it had been for a while. Not Reggie, or Reg as she so fondly had thought of him for years, yes years. She stood up and walked slowly along the isle until she found herself in the hall, three times as narrow as the isle on the deck, leading to her berth. She reached for the handle then paused. Glancing over her shoulder ,across the hall, she noted the closed door opposite hers. Remembering Charles’ words she thought twice and turned to face the door. When she wrapped on it she could hear the raucous clanging of glass, as if the unexpected knock had caused a great disturbance. It was only a moment later that the door opened and he stood there. His shoulders slouched forward and the suspenders digging into them as they lay tightly against his white cotton undershirt. “You’re arm. You took it off,” she said as she pushed past him, not waiting for an invitation to enter. “Is that what you’ve come for, to tell me I took off my arm?” He looked at her but a moment before turning to back to the small table where sat a glass and several bottles. He poured another concoction and took a drink as he sat down. “So what did you come for?”
“I came….I came because, Charles wants me to keep an eye on you. You drink too much. And… and I received a letter.”
She thought of handing him the message but decided against it. He knew how Charles felt, how both the boys felt about their father’s drinking. “Did you see it?” He pointed to an open paper on the small bed against the wall. She shook her head, not surprised for his refusal to offer further discussion on the topic. He took another long drink before putting the half-drunken glass down again. Picking up the paper he read aloud, in a tone forcibly jovial.
“On Wednesday, June 1st, 1949, a marriage took place between Mrs. Agnes Farrier, eldest son of the late Charles Farrier, and Mr Reginald Farrier, eldest son of the late Colonel Hugh George Belling—” Agnes didn’t wait for him to finish. His tone mocking and perhaps rightly so. “It was Charles, of that I’m sure. You know how he, even more than Hugh has wanted us to marry. He must have informed the papers of the happy event.” A laugh escaped her lips and the tightness of her face relaxed. “Who would have ever imagined us getting married after both of our sons?” She looked up and for a moment they stared at each other. She could she his eyes, the eyes that had stayed the same throw the injuries of war and through the years. The burns and loss of his arm and foot, and the years of aging had changed Reginald Farrier in every imaginable way but his eyes had stayed the same. They looked soft at that moment, almost loving as he opened his mouth as if to ask her a question but they shut tightly. He put the paper down. “It’s almost time for dinner I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Well, would it be a honey moon if the bridegroom didn’t have at least one meal with his bride?” He came towards her where she was standing just in front of the open door. “Come now, we can manage that, can’t we?” The stub moved up towards her as if it had forgotten its own uselessness without the extension of his prosthetic limb. She didn’t move when his good arm tugged at hers to exit into the hall. He closed the door behind them but when they had walked but a short distance she stopped. “Reginald, I’m tired. I…I need to lie down.” With that she pulled her arm away and tucking herself into the small room, she shut the door behind her. A long exhale proceeded and she clasped her hands to her chest.
Her thoughts went back to years and years ago, when she was still young, not the thin old lady whose hair was grizzled grey like her father’s when he died. She remember that man now, the good and the bad of him. But it was the bad that troubled her most because it was that with which she had justified herself in hating him. And yet the older she became the more she empathized with him. The more she was like him. For wasn’t it he who had married for love and been happy for seven years before his dear wife died? And she, married to Charles just one year more before he too had been taken from her. It was odd how years of living had changed her thinking. She was not that twenty-two year old girl who lay in bed wondering how and why so little love existed between her parents. Arthur Conway had never loved her mother Alice as he had his first love but it was never supposed to play out for Agnes in such a similar way. Her love for Reginald had been a deep friendship, a wingless bird, even before she and Charles had gotten married. It was not a full three months after Charles death that her heart seemed to burst with love again and perhaps if she and Reginald had been braver their love would have been expressed sooner and their son, named for her late husband, would have been born a whole year earlier than he had been. She slumped down onto the firm bed and sat, her head bobbing with the movement of the ship now. Another way of life they had said, with a great love it was supposed to overcome the boundaries that had been caused by the law, the law forbidding a man from marrying his brother’s widow. And anyone who read the wedding announcement would have believed it had. They had been together for twenty-six years, living in the same house, raising two sons, and sharing in their sons’ happiness when they too found love and married and had children of their own. But as she sat, her head now dizzy, she felt their lives had been as the boxes of cigars in father’s old shop, large and out for display for all to see, but when one opened it up it was as empty as the one to be thrown into the old wood stove. She closed her eyes and one thought remained in her head. Please, please, let there be more than this.
