Wait until Morning

By Ruth Adkins

A story of denial and despair, follows Kate Rothwell through her life with a doting father, an interfering mother; an unreliable husband and her own deteriorating mind. The story is set in Victoria in the 1950s.
Kate Rothwell is an escapist. She denies the truth, until forced to choose between harsh reality and complete despair.Should she leave him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diamond River Books
• Release date: Oct 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986659874

Ruth Adkins

A writer, presently living in Victoria, BC. Born and educated in Toronto, Ontario. Graduated at Branksome Hall Private School and a former student of the Ontario Collage of Art. She has three children and four grandchildren. She's also a poet. Previous publications have appeared in Beginning's Magazines (New York), Island Writers Magazine and more. She won the 2006 Pandora Box Contest, as well as the 2006 Tickled by Thunder Contest.

Book preview

Wait until Morning

A novel

by

Ruth Adkins

Wait until Morning copyright © 2011 Ruth Adkins

ISBN: 978-0-9866598-7-4

Smashwords Edition,

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The author and the publisher make no representation, expressed or implied, with regard to the accuracy of the information contained in this book. The material is provided for entertainment purposes and the references are intended to be supportive to the intent of the story. The author and the publisher are not responsible for any action taken based on the information provided in this book.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Publisher/Distributor

Diamond River Books

#41–2785 Wallbank Road,

Shawnigan Lake,

British Columbia, Canada. V0R 2W2

www.DiamondRiver.ca

Dedication

To my children

Philip, Paul and Maureen

Love, always

Acknowledgements

I want to thank Joelene Heathcote for her editing help and support with this novel. She was my teacher and became my inspiration.

I was also inspired by F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and by Marguerite Duras’ The Lover.

I also want to thank my son Paul, who actively encourages my creative efforts

The Lost Leader

Let him never come back to us!

There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,

Forced praise on our part—the glimmer of twilight,

Never glad confident morning again!

Robert Browning

Chapter One

Some people cannot remember. Some people do not want to remember. Sometimes it is better not to remember. Kate wanted to shut out all her memories; they were too painful to bear. She was unaware of the train rattling the cups on the linen tablecloth, the shimmering silverware, or the black waiter, napkin over his arm, who cleared away their plates. She was unaware of nearby conversations, the footsteps of passengers in the carriage and was only barely aware of her father and young son.

The train hurtled down the track. It didn’t turn left or right and was going too fast for her to get off. The train was in control. She wondered how she might ever change her life.

Kate was in the middle of a difficult pregnancy. It strained her mind and she felt her body was too delicate for this extra burden. Her legs were swollen and painful. She imagined them filled with her blood. Her breathing was shallow, as though she was inhaling smoke.

The black waiter poured their coffee. An elderly lady touched Kate’s son’s golden curls as she brushed by their table and Kate’s father, Mr. Hayward, finished his French toast.

He watched his grandson spill juice on his bright red rompers and said to Kate, Philip’s arms look awfully thin, and you, Kate, have left almost all your scrambled eggs.

Mr. Hayward pushed away his empty plate that shone with syrup and wiped his lips on the linen napkin. He produced a thick wallet and smiled generously at the waiter as he placed a ten dollar tip on the silver dish.

Kate, her father and son left the dining car and returned to their compartment. They ensconced themselves on the stuffy red velvet upholstery. Mr. Hayward sat back, relaxed and, pulled a House of Lords cigar from his pocket. He rolled it around in his mouth like a cob of corn, then nipped the end, took a wooden match, poked the other end with it, flicked the match with his thumbnail and lit the cigar.

Kate couldn’t shut out all her memories. She was haunted by the terrible quarrel with her husband, Richard, just before she left Toronto.

Why, the bloody hell, Kate, do you want to move out west? I don’t want to move there! I’d have to leave my two positions here! Don’t you know that?

Kate’s mind was muddled by her sickly pregnancy, but she replied, I have to go! I hardly see you anyway. I don’t feel well and I need my mother. Don’t you know that?

Go with your father, then, if you’re so set on it! Richard yelled.

—o0o—

The endless naked terrain of the Prairies was covered in February snow that stretched as far as her eye could see until it met the blue sky. The landscape irritated Kate and she rubbed her eyes. The quick flashes of snow from her window reminded her of the way the television light had flickered across her mother’s face on a summer night long ago.

Kate had stood in front of her mother, Grace, paused then said, Mom, I’m going to have a baby.

Her mother rose quickly from the sofa, her face pale, and demanded to know the name of the father. Kate told her it was Richard’s baby.

Her mother gripped the edges of the sofa.

I see, she said.

Kate looked at the floor and said, I’m sure, Mom.

Well, at least you know who the father is. Now how am I going to explain your condition to your relatives?

Kate stepped back. I don’t know, Mom. I didn’t mean it to happen this way. I really love him. I really do love him.

Her mother turned off the television, turned the table light on and snapped, What doctor examined you?

Dr. Poland, Kate answered. Richard wanted to have a woman gynecologist for some reason.

Some men are like that. We will have to make plans. I always imagined you would be married in white. Now, you’ll have to be married in pink, she said bitterly. She took a cigarette from the coffee table and held it tightly in her hand. Kate wrinkled her eyebrows.

Kate, you look tired. The cigarette her mother held fell from her hand and rolled off her lap onto the rug. She bent to pick it up and said, I’ll take care of everything.

The haunting trains whistle blew just before the train stopped at Calgary. Kate became lost in the wonder of large snowflakes trapped on the window like white feathers and forgot her mother’s words. She watched them shiver as one by one they freed themselves from the glass. Passengers who were getting off chattered as they brushed by Kate.

It was hot on the train. She could feel the stuffy red velvet upholstery where she sat. New passengers filed on and one sat beside her. Kate looked defensively at the woman; she was so close that she could smell alcohol on her breath. She was a hard-looking woman in flashy clothes and wore too much makeup.

The woman whispered repulsively in her ear, When are you expecting, honey?

Kate didn’t reply, but put her hand protectively on her swollen stomach and held her son’s face close to her side.

The prostitute looked at her and said enviously, I had a sweet little kid, once. That was a long time ago, you know. She then yawned, rummaged through her handbag and found a small mirror. She stroked her blond bangs with her licked finger and pasted more bright lipstick on her dry lips.

Kate’s father shook his newspaper, then swiftly bent his arm and looked at his watch. He asked tenderly Are you hungry, dear? Lunch will be soon.

No, Kate answered. She was warm. She put her moist hands on her swollen belly. She couldn’t deny what she and Richard had shared on that hot summer day. The heat made the air disappear over their heads. Kate’s mind housed the excitement she saw in Richard’s eyes. It was a spirit she no longer understood. They had both rested upon the sand while frogs leaped and splashed along the lake’s edge. Kate was captivated by Richard’s eloquent English accent and his mischievous wit as he talked endlessly about himself and England, while he rested his chin on one palm and leisurely drew a sailboat in the sand.

Then, without words, they covered their feet in sand and periodically gazed at each other. The water was calm and the reflections of trees on the shoreline reached forever deep into the lake. A whippoorwill’s call carried across the water. Kate, perplexed, lifted a handful of sand and slowly sifted it through her fingers. She studied Richard’s perfect cheekbones and spirited blue eyes.

I desperately want to kiss you, Richard said, and gently pushed her onto her back. He pressed her hands into the sand and kissed her small mouth. They hugged and kissed and rolled over and over until they were powdered with the silky sand.

Suddenly, Richard sat up and yelled, I’ve been bitten by a bloody mosquito. The damn things are all over the place!

Kate screamed, I can’t stand it! and tried to wipe the blood off her leg with her skirt. There will be more to come, she warned. They smell blood.

They squirmed, swatted and scratched until the blood ran down their legs. The mosquitoes marched into their lovers’ territory like an invading force.

Richard stood up. Let’s get in the water. Darling, don’t be shy, he told her. Take everything off.

You mean everything? she asked incredulously. She looked at Richard with her fiery eyes. He was adding more fuel to an inflamed situation.

Yes. Everything, dammit!

He freed himself from his clothes and his shirt billowed onto the hot sand.

Kate blushed. Richard, you’re wicked.

He smiled and said, Darling, only the wicked live a long time. I’ll give you a long time. I’ll give you anything you want.

Kate took off her clothes slowly to deliberately frustrate him.

Now hurry, he commanded, He kicked at the sand as if to get rid of it. Suddenly more mosquitoes savagely descended and blinded Richard. Dammit, he yelled, and furiously brushed them away. When he opened his eyes Kate stood before him. I’m almost afraid to touch you. I’m afraid that you might vanish. You’re everything I want, darling. Come.

He led her delicately into the still water. In the water they felt immortal. Their bodies felt supple and anticipated their arousal. Richard caressed Kate’s slippery curves and he fondled her. The more he did it, the more Kate wanted him. Finally, Richard’s impatience overwhelmed him. He stroked her gently and whispered, Kate darling, let’s get in the car. Grab your clothes and let’s get the hell out of here before we get eaten alive!

They laughed all the way to the car. Their bright bodies impatiently flashed among the trees.

Neither the cold hard leather nor the dampness on their skin destroyed their eagerness. The water made a silky sheet between them and intensified their moves. They melted into one and Kate’s hips slipped back and forth under him. Richard buried her in the warmth of his sincere and passionate words.

I love you, darling, he panted. Do you believe me?

Yes, she answered. I believe you.

—o0o—

The gate at the Hayward estate closed behind her as she entered the large Tudor house, which was typical of the houses in this upscale area of Victoria. The five days’ travel from Toronto blurred together. She looked up at the black-beamed ceiling, then at her mother and asked if she had heard from Richard.

Her mother frowned. No. Anyway, you know Richard: he always has to be different, she said. Her mother twisted a tea towel in her hands. I’m scared of flying. That’s why I insist you take the train. If I know Richard, he’s probably driving out. Go upstairs and see your father in his office.

Kate walked heavily up the stairs. She was worried about where they were would live and if Richard could find a job. She opened the French door, and held onto the crystal doorknob. She noticed the skeleton key was still in the lock. Her father sat at his large steel desk that was illuminated by the gooseneck lamp. He was bent over a muddle of papers. His cigar smouldered beside him. He looked up at Kate and clutched a crumpled newspaper.

I’ve got to phone about Peterborough in Ontario and the sale of the property. Then he asked, Dear, are you all right?

Kate momentarily put her hands on the desk, as she pulled them away she left damp fingerprints. Daddy, what is Richard going to do here? What is he going to do for work?

Her father answered comfortingly, I took him away from his job in Toronto, so I will see what I can do. He smiled and pointed to the door. Now go and take little Philip down to the beach before it gets dark.

Kate wrapped herself in her camel hair coat and took Philip by the hand to a tiny beach. She sat on a log, picked up some pebbles with her gloved hand and gave them to Philip. He threw them one by one into the ocean. Philip didn’t say anything; the silence was punctuated by the sound of the stones splashing into the sea.

Then Kate’s mother called, Kate! Kate!

She came down the semi-circular brick steps and the March wind blew away the ashes from the cigarette she had squeezed between her fingers.

Richard just phoned from Oregon and complained that he’d run out of money for gas so we had to send him some. Why doesn’t he think? What on Earth is he doing down there, anyway?

Kate answered, I don’t know, I don’t know. She was puzzled and angry and fidgeted with the buttons on her coat. He didn’t tell me that, honestly, Mom, he didn’t!

Kate could see by her mother’s worried look as she