Between Us and the Deaf

By Gudmundina Haflidason

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450070676

Gudmundina Haflidason

Miss Haflidason is 100 percent Icelandic. The author is a daughter of a late sea captain, Sigurdur Rósenkar Haflidason of Reykjavik, Iceland. The author arrives from a long line of Icelandic writers in her family and began composing poetry on her native language when still a child. Iceland has more writers, more bookstores, and publish more books than any country in the world—per capita. Icelandic writer Haldor Laxness is a Nobel Prize winner for his novel Independent People. During Miss Haflidason’s visit in Iceland, her cousin, Όlöflavia Arnadóttir, a renowned poet, and she payed Haldor Laxness a short stay at his small modest home by the sea. He was not at home. The door was unlocked. They went in. Icelanders never lock their doors.

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Copyright © 2010 by Gudmundina Haflidason.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Betwixt Truth and Fiction

Dedicated to my dearest nephews and nieces,

Delores, Peggy, Bill, Johanna,

Yvonne, Signy, Thorunn and Alan.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Nichole hurried into the taxi. Logan Airport, please, she called out to the driver. The taxi circled down the winding driveway of the university.

Gazing out of the window, she took a last glimpse at her home of four years. She felt a quickening of her pulses from the excitement of having received her Bachelor of Science degree . . . and for returning home. It was stimulating to be young and beautiful, moreover, the future sent a rush of emotion through her being.

Rolling down the window, she breathed in the fresh, sweet air, then with an expellant sigh, inclined her body back against the seat of the taxi so as to relax during her ride to the airport.

All at once her thoughts focused on Peter Redfield whom she had been dating weekends when she came home from school. Peter was powerfully charming, flashing his enigmatic smile at every young woman he met, and he was very much aware that the opposite sex found him extremely sensational. Nevertheless, Nichole could not be manipulated by his enchanting personality, nor his wealth. And it was quite cognizable that Peter’s strongest attraction to her was her virginity. After he had been drinking all evening, they generally ended up in a hassle over his sexual desire for her.

Drawing up to the airlines terminal, Nichole glanced quickly at her watch and told herself that she would be in Connecticut before her father, Dr. Lancaster, would arrive home from the medical center. She would have plenty of time to visit with her mother.

The small bon ton New England town lay calm and serene after the long, cold winter. Tall birch and oak trees swayed gently in the soft, late spring wind.

Dr. Lancaster closed his medical bag, and left his office. Walking to the parking lot, he moved with velocity, anxious to get home to see his daughter. He stepped into his Mercedes, and headed for home. Now that Nichole had graduated from the university, he was praying that she would not marry Peter Redfield; but his wife, Pam, was holding out hope that their daughter would marry the handsome, wealthy attorney. And, although it was an established fact in the affluent Connecticut town that Peter was an excessive drinker, and a man on the make, Pam Lancaster was only aware of his family’s money.

Pam had always been active in social affairs, having little time for her daughter and husband, yet, she was forever making decisions for her family. And now that Nichole was twenty-one, Pam was artlessly choosing her a husband.

Dr. Lancaster pulled up to the stone house and hastened out of his Mercedes. Entering the massive foyer, he removed his jacket, and threw his medical bag into the closet. He was about to advance to the living room when Nichole came running out to the foyer to greet him. Oh, Dad! she called out throwing her arms around his neck, it’s so wonderful to be home!

Wonderful to have you, sweetheart, and this time for good.

Not for good, Dad, but there’ll be plenty of time to talk about that after dinner. She brushed a bright red curl away from her forehead, and her soft green eyes revealed her tender, sensitive nature, which often enabled her mother to use her domineering influence on her daughter. Pam would often remark, The problem with you Nichole, is that you’re weak like your father.

Dr. Lancaster crossed into the living room with his arm draped around Nichole’s shoulder. Pam, retouching her nails, glanced up when they entered the room. I’m glad you’re home early, Tom. I’ve requested Olga to serve an early dinner.

Don’t tell me you’re going out again!

The girls and I are getting together at Mrs. Kelly’s to discuss the fundraising drive for the fashion show at the club.

I should think you’d want to stay home on Nichole’s first night home.

You amuse me, Tom, replied Pam, vaulting to her feet. Do you think our Nichole has nothing better to do than sit around with us old folks?

I just don’t understand you, Pam!

Oh, Mom! cried Nichole. Do you have to start an argument every time I get in the house!

We’re not quarreling, dear. Your father can’t get it into his head that you no doubt have a date with Peter this evening. Pam blew vigorously on her wet nails. So there is no earthly reason for me to stay home. She rested her pale-blue eyes on her daughter. You did tell Peter that you’d be home from school today?

Yes, I told him, replied Nichole indifferently. But I didn’t make a date with him. Naturally I wanted to spend my first evening at home with my family. She moved to her mother’s side, placing her arm around her waist. Mom, I’ve been thinking about my future. I think it’s time that we . . .

Later, dear, interrupted Pam, suppressing her curiosity over Nichole’s remark regarding her future. She then feigned a cheerful air. Why don’t you pick up the phone and give Peter a ring?

Not now, Mom. I’m fond of Peter, but I’m not really sure how I feel about him.

You’re seldom sure about anything, Nichole. You never have been. Moreover, it’s a good thing you have your mother to look out for your best interests, or you’d really have a problem.

Maybe you’re my problem! she cried, tears beginning to flood her eyes. You’ve never allowed me to think for myself. Well, that’s going to change. I’m not a child any more.

That’s enough, Nichole! barked Pam. Cognizant of the change in her daughter, Pam was experiencing a feeling of defeat. Control your daughter, Thomas! she said, her face flushed with anger.

Olga, the maid, appeared in the doorway. Cuse me, ma’am, dinner is served.

A period of painful silence washed over the dining room. Dr. Lancaster’s spirits were brought down when he noticed Nichole’s excitement of being home was sinking to a low level. Thankful when dinner was over, Dr. Lancaster rose and simulated a pleasant mood. Well, girls, let’s adjourn to the other room. In the living room, he sat down on the gold brocaded sofa and lit his pipe. He blew thoughtfully, large gray circles of smoke into the air. Come and sit over here, Pam, he smiled.

I can’t, dear. I have to run. Mrs. Kelly is expecting me at seven thirty.

I’m sorry I got so carried away, Mom, but I really have a lot to tell you, and I want you and Dad to be the first to know about my plans for the future.

What’s so important that can’t wait until tomorrow? said Pam dryly.

You’re right, Mom, my plans aren’t important, replied Nichole in a somber tone of voice.

Of course they’re important, sweetheart, responded Dr. Lancaster.

Pam glanced into the gold-plated mirror hanging on the living room wall, admiring her reflection in the glass. She had been a fashion model before her marriage, and was proud that at age forty-three she was still wearing the same dress size. Pam fluffed out her black shoulder-length hair, then touched up her blue eye shadow which corresponded with her satin dress, having the color between green and violet. Bye! she called out, waving and leaving them with a flare.

Dr. Lancaster rose and tapped his pipe against the stone fireplace. Don’t let your mother upset you, sweetheart. She means well.

You know, Dad, I’ve never been able to discuss anything with her. She has always planned my whole life for me ever since I can remember, and she treats you the same way. Her stern, troubled face became tender. You’re a good man, Dad, or you’d never been able to take it all these years.

I’ve always loved your mother, Nichole, but constant quarreling can separate people mentally. He lowered his head and his feelings were intense. I think this type of separation is more difficult to bear than a physical one.

Nichole slipped off her high-heeled sandals. You know, Dad, sometimes I definitely don’t want to get married.

All marriages aren’t like your mother’s and mine, sweetheart. And don’t think I’m complaining. Your mother is a wonderful woman, and I’ve always credited her frivolity for a cover-up. Deep inside she carries problems of weightiness, and that’s the girl I love and married. His features softened, and she could hear the quick intake of his breath as he spoke. He then continued. I’ve grown used to your mother’s ways, Nichole. Rising, Dr. Lancaster walked across the room and gazed out through the large picture window. And, sweetheart, as far as your mother pressing you into a commitment with Peter is concerned, it’s only because he can afford to give you the material things that you’re accustomed to, and more. He noticed that she was tensing up when she began wiggling her toes through her nylons. We don’t have to talk about this, you know.

I want to, Dad. She glanced at him hesitatingly, then spoke. You’ve always been honest with me, and there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you really like Peter?

What’s important is, do you like him?

You’re not answering my question, Dad.

He’s a charming fellow, sweetheart. I can understand how you or any woman could be attracted to him. But I’m interested in only my own daughter’s well-being in this matter. Dr. Lancaster emitted a deep sigh. I believe you’d have an unhappy life with Peter. It takes more than money to be happy. I think your own parents are a good example of that.

I am attracted to Peter, Dad, but I don’t love him. And I’ve tried hard to love him for Mom’s sake. It seems to mean so much to her.

I believe every woman needs a man with a little maturity, and I don’t mean maturity that comes about with age. Peter lacks the kind of maturity that I am talking about. A human being should continue to develop, to grow. I don’t think Peter has the capacity for that. He looked at her curiously. Peter is quite a bit older than you, isn’t he?

He’s twenty-eight.

I hate to be so blunt, sweetheart, but Peter is nothing but a milk sop. If he were not such a weakling, he wouldn’t hide behind a brandy bottle.

I know he drinks a lot, but I hear that women see him as a cavalier servente."

All they see is his money, and his bright red sports car. And, sweetheart, I believe any woman who marries Peter will be going to sea in a sieve.

Every adventure has risks, Dad.

I would hardly call marriage an adventure. No, sweetheart, you need a man with stability. And, Nichole, you said yourself that you don’t love Peter, so why do you keep dating him?

I told you, Dad. I find Peter very attractive.

Dr. Lancaster stretched his back, then passed back over the large living room to the sofa. You women are all alike, but I can tell you one thing, sweetheart, when your special man comes along you won’t bother asking anyone for their opinion of him, not even me, he smiled. You, yourself, will know he’s right in all conscience.

Nichole picked up her sandals and sauntered across the soft carpeted floor to the stairway. Thanks for the consultation, Dad. I think I’ll turn in now.

The crepuscular light of the early dawn peeped through the windows. Nichole awakened refreshed, stretching and yawning into the cup of her white, delicate hand. Vaulting out of bed, she threw open the glass doors which led to the terrace. A bluebird perched on a branch attracted her attention. She smiled at the little fellow, then focused her eyes on the red rambling roses which were climbing over the cobblestone wall. Breathing in the sweet fragrance of the flowers, she then returned to her room.

After she had slipped into a sea-green satin dressing gown, she glanced into the mirror, then forth dashed down the winding stairway, her long red hair flowing to her waist. When she entered the solarium where her parents sat eating breakfast, her face clouded, detecting that they had been quarreling again. This was not an unusual scene to her, for she had grown up in a disharmonized household. After her parent’s altercations, her father would display an epigram of words. Nichole pulled out a chair. Good morning.

Hello, dear, replied Pam. did you sleep well?

Nichole nodded.

Dr. Lancaster rose from the table. Good morning, sweetheart. Excuse me, girls. I’ll see you both tonight, he said, picking up his medical bag and planting a kiss on Pam’s cheek. I’ll be a little late getting home. I have a house call to make in the Rutman district.

Rutman district! God, man, those people must be charity cases! exclaimed Pam with a cantankerous air.

They’re honest, hard-working people who need a doctor when they fall ill like anyone else.

But house calls this day and age?

Um-hum . . . This day and age, he grumbled, leaving the house.

Nichole moved to the large picture window and glanced out as Dr. Lancaster stepped into his Mercedes and sped away in towering rage.

Pam folded her table napkin and rose, fluttering across the solarium. I have to run, dear. I have an appointment with my hairdresser this morning, then Mrs. Kelly and I are going to the club for lunch.

That’s terrific, Mom. You’re much too young and beautiful to sit around the house and get old.

I wish your father could see it that way.

Oh, he does, Mom. He just would like to spend more time with you.

Pam, desiring to wander from her daughter’s remark, paid no regard to her comment. Ask Olga to fix you something cool for lunch, dear, she said abruptly. It’s going to be a very hot day. I can feel it already, added Pam, blotting up the perspiration from her forehead with a tissue.

Okay, Mom. Have a good day.

Flow of time brought the sultry day to a close, bringing little relief from the heat. When Olga noticed the Mercedes drawing up in the driveway, she knew the dinner hour had arrived and hastened into the dining room to light the tall, white tapers in the silver candelabra.

A soft, radiant glow flickered from the candles, illuminating the table where the family sat dining. Nichole’s gaze settled on her father’s pensive features; his soft brown eyes manifested his tender, compassionate nature, and she was never more aware of her love and respect for him than she was at this moment. Well, Dad, how was your patient on the other side of town? asked Nichole.

Quite ill, sweetheart.

What’s wrong with this person?

"The widow has