I'll Remember April

By Jean Murray Munden

"I'll Remember April" is a love story that spans seventy years and three generations of a family. Louise Ferris is an elderly woman whose adored granddaughter comes to her with a problem of the heart. The girl's story prompts Louise to reflect on her life and loves, and those of her family, told from several perspectives, beginning at the outset of the Great War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796047615

Jean Murray Munden

Jean Murray Munden is a 76-year-old widow who has been engaged in storytelling in one form or another since she was a child. She grew up in a small town, moved to the city at 16, and then trained as a nurse in a large city hospital after she finished high school. She practiced her profession for only a short time before marrying a widower with three lovely children. They had a son of their own, traveled extensively, and a happy marriage of nearly 49 years. She lives alone, maintaining close ties with her family, and writes at her leisure.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

1985

My favorite grandchild, Lulu, came to see me today. I know one ought not to have favorites, but I cannot help it. She is the child of my son, the youngest of my children. He arrived long after I had thought our family was complete, in the middle of the last war, when my husband and I were middle-aged. As one can imagine, his impending arrival caused an enormous upheaval. Harriet, the eldest of my three daughters, was eighteen and acted as though I had become pregnant solely to embarrass her in front of all her friends. Sheila and Caroline, thirteen and fourteen, respectively, took it in stride, though there were blushes and giggles when it dawned on them in what activities their parents had been engaged. And although Harriet sulked for many months and showed no interest in her baby brother when he arrived, she now dotes on him, his wife, and their three children, Lulu being the eldest.

Her name is actually Louise, after me, but when she was three, the minister’s wife asked her what her name was, and all that came out was Lou-Lou. So she became Lulu. She was an enchanting child, as her father before her had been, and she still is today. Her mop of golden curls, now darkened to the color of liquid honey, is cut to surround her face like a halo, and her brown eyes are a startlingly dark contrast against the creamy skin of her face. She emphasizes them, of course, with mascara and eyeliner but uses only a hint of pearly-pink color on her mouth. Her skin is blemish-free, soft, and fragrant when she rests her cheek against mine.

I want my skin to be as nice as yours is when I am your age. Look, Gran! You have hardly a wrinkle, and your skin is soft as a baby’s.

I remember passing a mirror once and being startled by the reflection. Who is that old woman? I wondered for a split second and then laughed at my foolishness. I am eighty-eight now, and although my skin may not be quite as soft as a baby’s, and I have more than a few wrinkles, I have to admit I do not look my age. Is that vanity? I have always creamed my face every night and never have worn makeup—maybe the slightest touch of powder on a warm day to keep my nose from getting shiny.

I live alone in the small house in Point Grey that my husband and I bought when he retired twenty-five years ago. He died eleven years later, just before our fifty-first wedding anniversary. The family had organized an enormous party for our golden anniversary the year before, and friends and relations from all over came to celebrate with us. Our attendants were there, along with my husband’s sister and her husband from Ontario, my sister Norah, Norah’s husband, and several members of their family from Prince Edward Island, and the whole family here in the Vancouver area. Lulu was only seven at the time and was adorable in her party dress. She insisted on sitting on my lap and feeding me pieces of wedding cake. She still remembers it.

Harriet worries about my being alone, and every once in a while threatens to move in with me. More realistically, she would probably have me move in with her. It would not work. I am independent and enjoy my own routine, which varies from day to day. She would have me organized to the minute. I turn the volume on my record player up to fill the house with music. It would drive her mad. She has never married, having lost her beau, as she called him, in the final days of the last war. Whether they would have wed is a moot point; the fact is, she has remained single, and ever since her retirement at fifty, she has devoted all her spare time to good works, church committees, and volunteering for charity fundraisers. She is a worthy woman, but I find her exceedingly dull.

I have a wonderful cleaning woman who comes in once a week and travels through my house like a whirlwind, leaving it shining. Her husband is a gardener, and he keeps my small yard in pristine condition, plants my bulbs in the fall, mows the lawn, cleans my gutters, and prunes the bigger shrubs. I weed and prune my small shrubs and enjoy setting out the annuals in the spring. I have been so fortunate that I am not troubled by arthritis in my hands and knees. Friends my age have difficulty opening doors and certainly can’t get down on their hands and knees in the garden as I do. Twice a year, my gardener and his wife collaborate and wash my windows inside and out until they sparkle, and if I need other workmen, he interviews them first, ruthlessly asking questions and demanding references. Lulu’s father David and his wife Petra have always come by for a visit at least once a week, bringing the children with them, and my married daughters come when they can. Sheila’s husband and I have never cared much for each other, so her sister Caroline, who has been always called Carrie, usually picks her up when they visit. Both girls live away, up the valley, and are getting older. Freeway driving is not for them. But they telephone frequently, and if I’m not home, they leave long, chatty messages.

I am happy here, with my books and my music and my garden. I am coping all right alone. If I fall down the stairs and break a hip or become so forgetful that I leave the stove on and set fire to the house, or I wander off and get lost, that will be the time to move into a retirement home, but definitely not Harriet’s. Lulu insists that her aunt Harriet will probably be in the home before me!

Lulu chattered for a long time today about fairly trivial things: a movie that she had seen with her girlfriend Jaime and how she spotted a pileated woodpecker in the woods beyond her home. Lulu is an avid bird-watcher and attends the local naturalist society meetings. She talked about her brothers and how they are doing in high school and how Johnny, the younger, broke the record in high jump. She told me her mother has decided to stop tinting her hair and is dismayed by how much gray has grown in. She showed me the postcard from her fiancé Bruce, who is away at university in the East.

She is only twenty and in my opinion rather young to become engaged. I thought that she should get a university education, have a career, and do a bit of traveling before settling down. However, she says she wants to write and can do that and have babies at the same time. She and Bruce will travel together later on. They haven’t set a date yet, but it will be a year or so before Bruce finishes his studies and joins a firm. He has achieved a chartered accountancy and is presently working on his MBA. Like my daughter Harriet, he is worthy but rather uninteresting. Mind you, it is quite possible that there is no man in the world good enough for my darling Lulu.

Lulu sat in silence for a long time, twisting Bruce’s diamond round and round her finger, seemingly entranced by the sparkling gem. We were out in the garden, enjoying this unusually warm April day. On the West Coast, April can be as hot at times as July, the spring flowers bloom in profusion, and the trees are all in leaf. In contrast, Ottawa, where I grew up, can be still chilly, with patches of snow remaining in shady spots and the tulip bulbs barely showing their pale green fingers to the sky.

I waited patiently for her to speak, my eyes closed, savoring the feel of the sun’s rays on my face and listening to a white-crowned sparrow singing in the tree beside my back door. Lulu told me the bird’s name one day last year and gave me her field glasses to look at it. She pointed out the white stripes on its head and told me to listen to its song. We watched when it flew down and began to hop about, looking for food. She then went into my kitchen and refilled the empty bird feeder she had bought me for my birthday. It wasn’t long before a crowd of gregarious house finches was clustered about the feeder, cheerfully squabbling and jostling for the best position. I remember her pleasure in watching their frenetic activities. One flew to the top of the tree and began his warbling song.

Isn’t it a lovely song, Gran?

Yes, it is, I answered. It’s as though he’s singing a hymn of praise to the Creator.

She smiled at that in a way I remember. Yes, you’re right, she said, but I think the white-crowned sparrow is still my favorite.

She wasn’t hearing the song today, I thought as I opened my eyes and watched her twist the ring endlessly.

Finally, she looked up at me and said, Gran, I met a man last week, and I don’t know what to do. Her dark brown eyes were distressed, and her fingers twiddled the ring even faster.

You are attracted to him.

Oh, Gran, yes! But I promised to marry Bruce. How can that be?

I smiled. My darling child, it’s quite possible to be attracted to more than one man at a time. It’s chemistry. It doesn’t mean you’re in love.

But I thought I was in love with Bruce. How can I look at another man and wonder … She broke off, blushing.

And wonder how it would feel to be in his arms, making love to him? I asked with a little smile.

She looked at me in surprise. How did you know that?

I may be old, but I haven’t forgotten some things, I said.

She put her hands up to her cheeks. I haven’t talked about him to anyone, not even Mother, she confessed.

Will I do? I asked.

Oh, Gran …

My mind wandered for a moment, and a face appeared in my mind’s eye. Such a young face, looking so handsome above his uniform. I remembered eyes gazing into mine, one hand firmly in the small of my back and the other holding mine as we moved slowly to the music. Was it April then too?

His name is Denby, Denby Chalmers. He says he hates his name, but I think it’s rather nice … Gran, are you listening?

Yes, dear, his name is Denby, a nice, old-fashioned name. Probably his mother’s maiden name.

Lulu nodded. He teaches and is also a photographer, mostly a wildlife photographer, but he does people too. She paused, blushed guiltily, and looked down at her ring again. He was the guest speaker at the Naturalists’ Club meeting last week. He spoke to us and then showed these wonderful slides. She sat there, hands clasped in her lap, no longer fidgeting with Bruce’s ring. Her eyes shone at the memory. There were birds and sea life, marvelous shots of shorebirds, and views of the ocean and beach. He’s really very talented. She paused and gazed at me, her broad forehead wrinkling with worry.

I reached over and patted her hand encouragingly. Tell me all about it, dear, I said softly.

CHAPTER 2

The meeting was over, and now all that could be heard was the clatter of coffee cups and the buzz of conversation. Lulu remained seated in the corner and watched the guest speaker fold up his projection screen and put away his slides. It had been a marvelous show, and several members clustered around him, asking questions and making flattering comments.

Hannah Jacobs, who served as the club secretary and had introduced the speaker, waved her coffee cup at Lulu. Come and have some coffee, she called. As Lulu joined her, she added, Wasn’t Denby splendid? Shall I introduce you?

You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you? Lulu remarked.

Yes. He has a much older sister. She and I have been friends forever—in fact, I remember when Denby was born. We were eleven and not quite out of the doll stage yet, and Denby was a real, live doll for us to play with. He was a darling. She laughed. Gosh, that makes me feel old. She led the way to the group surrounding the speaker, which was now dispersing. His eyes lit up at the sight of his sister’s friend.

How did I do, Hannah? he asked. Everyone seemed to like it, but I never know if they’re just being kind.

It was very good, she told him seriously. I want to introduce a former student of mine, Lulu Ferris. She’s a keen bird-watcher, and I’ve been trying to persuade her to come on the executive board. We need young blood. Lulu, this is Denby Chalmers—though you know that, don’t you? She bustled away to the counter where the coffee was being served, picking her way among the groups of chatting members.

Lulu put her hand out shyly and smiled at him. I really enjoyed your talk, but the slides were wonderful. I especially liked that shot of shore and sky, with the flock of gulls squabbling over whatever it was they had found on the beach.

Warm amber eyes smiled back at her from behind large glasses. That’s my favorite too. Are you having coffee? Oh, here comes Hannah, struggling with three mugs. Thanks, he said, relieving the older woman of her burden.

Hannah smiled at them both and moved away to another group of people.

Have you known Hannah long? he asked conversationally, sipping his coffee.

She taught me English and science in grade eleven. A couple of years ago, she invited me to come to a meeting of this club. I’ve been a member ever since.

Do you go on the field trips?

Usually just the birding ones.

I’m leading the one on Sunday, since Peter Morrison is ill, he said. Were you planning on coming?

Lulu nodded. Hannah asked me to go with her.

They talked a short while longer—about what, Lulu couldn’t remember afterwards. She was watching his long, sensitive fingers wrapped around his mug of coffee. She liked the way his hair waved softly away from his face and curled down onto his shoulders. His hair was exactly the color of polished chestnuts. His eyebrows were bushy, and they moved as he talked. He wore a casual denim shirt tucked into dark gray corduroy trousers and an unbuttoned navy knitted vest. She detected the faintest odor of lemon-scented aftershave. Afterwards, walking home along the well-lit street, she remembered his mouth and the curve of his smile. That night his face filled her dreams.

The next day, she thought about him and wondered how she could have been attracted so suddenly to another man, especially one who was so different from Bruce, both in looks and in manner. Bruce had a solid, compact frame, short reddish hair, and broad hands with rather stubby fingers. His handsome features were classic, and his mouth was usually set in a straight line. Sometimes he didn’t understand her jokes, and she found herself explaining the punch line. It wasn’t as though he was unintelligent, for he passed his exams with excellent marks, but there were times when she wished he appreciated her humor and didn’t regard her attempts to make him laugh with the patience and perseverance of an adult humoring a child. He would explain things to her in the manner of a teacher lecturing a student, which annoyed her somewhat, which would then make her feel guilty. They shared a love of music, and that made up for a lot of things. Two months ago, the evening before he went off to his spring term, they had sat close beside each other on the sofa at his parents’ place, listening to a symphony by Dvorak. When it came to an end, she sighed with pleasure. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her. Lulu loved being kissed by Bruce. His kisses always left her breathless and wanting more. That night his kisses were more demanding than ever, and he whispered that they had the house to themselves for at least a couple of hours. Would she come upstairs to his room? Just for cuddling, no more, he said.

We’re cuddling here, aren’t we? she said sensibly.

Bruce kissed her again. But sweetheart, I want to lie beside you.

Lulu slid away, got up, and put on another tape. She would have liked to lie beside him too, but she was afraid of where it might lead them.

You’ve always wanted a virgin on your wedding night, haven’t you? she said.

Well, yes, but if it happens before we get married, it doesn’t matter, does it?

Lulu wasn’t ready for it to happen just yet. She knew half her friends at school had already slept with their boyfriends because they discussed it quite openly. Something had always seemed to hold her back, though, and when Bruce, whom she had known and admired all her life, last year had suddenly decided that she was for him, she was glad that she had not taken that step.

It’s only a year and a half, Bruce. We can wait, can’t we?

She wanted to give herself to him right then and there, and for an instant she was tempted to go upstairs. But no, she wanted her white wedding dress to mean something, so she would wait. In the middle of her attempt to explain this, he kissed her again and told her how beautiful she was and how difficult it was for him to keep holding back. He took her home then, and she felt that somehow it was her fault for tempting him.

Now she thought of Denby and wondered if he had a wife or a girlfriend. He hadn’t worn a ring at the meeting; she had noticed that. He was considerably older than she was, and when they had bade each other good night, she had called him Mr. Chalmers.

You make me feel old, he had said with a rueful smile, and I’m only thirty-four. Please call me Denby.

She had blushed and said, Good night, Denby. I’ll see you Sunday morning.

When Sunday morning arrived, it was teeming with rain, and she stared out her bedroom window with acute disappointment. On top of this, Hannah telephoned to say that she had a streaming cold and was going to stay in bed all day and drink gallons of hot lemonade.

You go anyway, Lulu, she said. A little rain won’t discourage many folks. And besides, Denby will be disappointed.

Lulu didn’t think Denby Chalmers would miss her if she failed to turn up, but she got out her rain gear and her plastic covering for her binoculars and notebook and sallied forth. When her father dropped her off at the meeting point, she told him she was sure that someone would drive her home in the afternoon.

Call me if you need a ride, chicken, he said, kissing her cheek.

There were only four others besides herself and Denby, and she could see how disappointed he was with the weather and the turnout. We’ll see lots of birds, he said comfortingly.

We’ll just get wet seeing them, somebody said with a laugh.

And they did get wet. Lulu’s binoculars misted up, and she dropped her notebook in the ditch, spoiling a month’s recording of birds. Finally, at eleven o’clock, the foursome, who had come together, decided to pack it in. They thanked Denby, and headed for the parking lot where thy had left the car.

Shall we go as well? Denby asked her.

She was still smarting over her ruined notebook. What a klutz he must think she was. He probably couldn’t wait to get rid of her. When she hesitated, he said, Look, I think it’s brightening up. Let’s give it until noon, and then I shall take you to lunch. How’s that?

I packed a lunch, she said.

So did I, but I don’t feel like a peanut butter sandwich and potato chips, he replied with a grin. I know a place in the village that makes the most wonderful minestrone soup, just what we need on a day like this. Come on, Lulu, just another hour. We haven’t identified a semipalmated plover yet.

Lulu found herself rather breathless, as though she’d been running. She nodded wordlessly, and they waved goodbye to the others, then turned and went back along the path to the shore. An hour later, as they returned to the parking lot, the sun came out and shone brilliantly. Drops of water on the new young leaves looked like shining jewels, and the waves in the bay sparkled and danced. They hadn’t spotted the plover, but they had enjoyed each other’s company. Denby had learned that Lulu was the eldest of three and that her brothers, Peter and Johnny, were in high school. Her parents were both physicians and shared a family practice. Lulu had discovered that Denby taught environmental studies and biology at the community college where she was taking a creative writing course. He was astonished and wondered aloud why their paths hadn’t crossed at school. Lulu explained rather diffidently that her course was only two hours twice a week and that was her total time spent in that building.

I want to be a writer, she went on shyly, and I try to spend every morning at my typewriter. I’d like to write children’s books.

He looked at her with great interest. Are you taking the course from Maxine Hamilton?

Yes.

She’s very good.

Oh, do you think so too? she asked eagerly. She’s so encouraging.

True to his promise, Denby took her to a small café in the village, and there they each had a large bowl of thick, satisfying soup, accompanied by thick slices of warm homemade bread. This was followed by a pot of tea and oatmeal cookies.

Lulu sat back and sighed with satisfaction. That was delicious! she exclaimed. Much better than peanut butter sandwiches and chips. Thank you! She smiled at him across the table.

Denby took off his glasses and polished them vigorously. Lulu, he said slowly, I’d like to take pictures of you, if you would let me.

She looked back at him, stunned.

He saw her expression and smiled, shaking his head. I don’t mean those kinds of pictures! You didn’t really think I meant that, did you?

Lulu felt her face turn scarlet with embarrassment. No! I mean, for a split second …

I should have phrased it better. I would like to take portraits of you—preferably outside, in the late afternoon when the light is good.

Lulu hesitated. You know I’m engaged …

He nodded. I’ve noticed your ring. It is lovely. Is it old?

She nodded. It belonged to Bruce’s grandmother. His mother inherited it and gave it to him when he told her he wanted to marry me.

Would your fiancé mind my taking pictures of you?

I don’t know. I don’t think so.

More important, would you feel comfortable?

Lulu decided that she would. He was a relaxing person to be with. She told him this and then added, I’m sorry for thinking that you …

He smiled and touched her hand briefly. Put it out of your mind. You have a face I’d love to paint, if I could paint. If you’d let me take some photographs, I’d be delighted.

When?

Fridays, I am always free by two o’clock. If it’s a nice day, I could call you and then pick you up soon after. Would that be all right?

Lulu found herself breathless again. She nodded. She wondered what she would tell her parents. Would they think it queer that a man wanted to take her portrait?

When Denby dropped her off later, she walked into the house with shining eyes and a smiling face.

Her mother looked up from her dinner preparations. I thought you’d be home early since it was such a terrible day, she said with a smile.

We went for lunch afterwards, explained Lulu.

When her mother later mentioned to her father that they all went to lunch, Lulu didn’t inform her parents that lunch had involved just her and Denby Chalmers. She wondered afterwards why she hadn’t told the whole truth. She didn’t know for sure that Denby was going to photograph her on Friday; it might be raining. And if she had thought for a second that Denby’s intentions weren’t honorable, might not her parents think the same?

Friday afternoon was perfect. She was spared explanations to her mother by the fact that it was her afternoon to visit patients in the hospital, so Lulu left a note for her brothers saying she was going to Stanley Park. She never knew when the boys would be home; besides, they were old enough to look after themselves.

Denby spent the better part of two hours taking photographs of both Lulu and views in the park. She found it an interesting experience to pose in various ways and offer different expressions for the camera as Denby demanded. He was entirely professional, and put her at ease at first by telling amusing stories and commenting on the birds he had spotted that week.

At the end of the session, he produced a notebook for her. As a thank you, and to replace the one that got ruined on Sunday, he told her seriously.

Lulu was delighted with it; it was especially designed for recording bird sightings, with an index, checklist, and some illustrations. You didn’t have to, she said.

I know, he said simply. I saw it yesterday, and I thought of you.

She blushed with pleasure.

When shall I bring you the photos? he asked, back to business. I shall be developing them tonight.

Lulu had been thinking about this, wondering what her parents would say if he came to her house. I’m going to be visiting my grandmother on Sunday, she said slowly. It’s Easter, and I always go to church with her. Why don’t you drop by her house later on in the afternoon? Gran would love to see them too. I’ll give you her address, she added, as an afterthought.

It was five o’clock and almost sunset when he dropped her off. No one was home yet, so she found the note she had left and wadded it up, tossing it in the wastebasket. Then she phoned her grandmother and asked if she could come visit Sunday afternoon. She didn’t mention Denby.

Am I being sneaky? she asked herself. She hadn’t told any lies, but she had omitted information her parents would have found interesting and perhaps questionable. Would she tell Bruce? And most important, what would Gran say?

CHAPTER 3

You’ve invited Denby here this afternoon? I asked as Lulu finished her narrative.

Beginning to play with Bruce’s ring again, she nodded. She glanced at her watch. He’ll be here soon. Do you mind, Gran?

Not at all, darling. I want to meet this young man who has made such an impression on you.

She blushed. Oh, Gran …

Why don’t you go inside and make tea for us? Then you can answer the door when Denby arrives. There are muffins, which I made yesterday. You’ll find them in the blue crock on the counter.

I had then used up the last package of frozen blueberries from last summer and made Lulu’s favorite recipe, knowing she was coming for a visit, as she always did on Easter Sunday. I still like to bake, though it takes me a little longer than it used to.

Are you sure it’s still warm enough for you out here? she asked anxiously, pausing on her way indoors.

I’m quite comfortable, I assured her, closing my eyes.

I must have dozed off, for I dreamed I was standing on the edge of a lake, looking at strings of lights on the far shore. Music was wafting on the breeze to me, and I could see people dancing. Then, as dreams do, the scene changed, and I was one of the dancers, moving to the music in the arms of a man in uniform. Was it Johnnie or Jeremy? I couldn’t look up to see. The music was familiar too. Then I was awake, and voices were nearby. I sat up and saw Lulu and a tall young man coming across the lawn to my chair. He was carrying a large tray with the tea accoutrements on it, and Lulu had my tartan shawl that I had bought years ago in Scotland.

Gran, this is Denby Chalmers. Denby, my grandmother, Mrs. Ferris.

Denby put the tray down on the table nearby, stooped, and shook my hand. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, he said. His voice was pleasant and deep, and his eyes smiled at me.

They sat down, and Lulu poured the tea. I gazed at Denby and saw a young man whose face, though serious in repose, lit up when he smiled. His mouth reminded me of Johnnie’s, sensitive but humorous. He had large hands with long fingers. He was slim and well dressed, and his hair, dark brown, had russet tints when the sun struck it. He wore glasses, but his eyes were entirely visible. I have always been able to read people very well and can usually tell when someone is insincere. Denby’s eyes smiled into mine naturally; he was polite and interested in what I had to say, and he didn’t attempt to charm or flatter me. He treated Lulu as he would one of his students but didn’t talk down to her at all. We discussed bird-watching and photography and touched on local politics and world affairs. He asked me about my family, and I’m afraid I boasted about all my grandchildren, Lulu included. My darling girl blushed when I mentioned her accomplishments but continued to sit (metaphorically, of course) at his feet and worship. I don’t know whether Denby even noticed, or was he used to his female students hero-worshipping him? I felt a momentary pang of sympathy for Bruce.

He showed me the photographs that he had taken of Lulu, and they were excellent. There were a few of Lulu as an accessory to a scene, but most of them were of her. He had captured her personality beautifully. There was one of her looking back at him with the light behind her. It was quite wonderful, and I asked him if I could have a copy. He smiled and nodded in approval, as though I had passed a test.

That one is the best, but my personal favorite is this one, he remarked, showing me one of her smiling wickedly at the camera. She had just told me a joke, and I was laughing so hard I could scarcely hold the camera still.

You managed all right, I said. I glanced at Lulu, and she was gazing at Denby with her heart in her eyes. Denby was still studying the photograph and wasn’t aware of her glance. When he looked up, she averted her gaze, eyes demurely downcast. I mentally shook my head. Oh dear, I thought, problems ahead.

The sun was getting low when Denby suggested a few photographs of Lulu and me. He retrieved his camera and equipment from the kitchen, then proceeded to order both of us to do this and that. By now, Lulu was quite comfortable being his subject, and she was relaxed and smiling as she posed for him.

He took a few of me by myself and then asked Lulu to sit by me and asked us to look at each other. Oh, this will be good! This will be very good, he muttered as he clicked away. Finally, he apologized for tiring me and suggested that it was growing cool, and the light was going, so we should go indoors.

Lulu picked up the tea tray and started back to the house while Denby helped me to my feet. It’s most annoying how stiff I become after sitting in one position for a while. As I straightened myself up, he offered me his arm, and we started across the lawn.

Are you a married man, Mr. Chalmers? I asked.

He glanced at me in surprise. No, I’m not, he replied. After a pause, he continued, I was engaged once, but it didn’t work out. He said no more, except to ask me to please call him Denby, and I didn’t probe.

In the kitchen, Lulu was busy washing teacups and putting away the muffins. She looked up and smiled at us as we came in.

How did you get here, Lou? Would you like me to drop you off on my way?

Lulu glanced at me, and I could see that she was torn, desiring to go with him, while at the same time wanting to talk to me about him.

It’s not really necessary. Gran’s coming to our house for Easter dinner later, and Aunt Harriet is picking her up. Isn’t that right, Gran?

Harriet is coming by at five thirty, I replied. I’m going to have a bath and change my clothes, so if you want to go now, that’s fine. We can talk later on.

Lulu glanced at Denby and blushed. If it’s not taking you out of your way …

Of course, it is, but it will be a pleasure, he said, smiling. He took my hand. It was also a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Ferris. I’ll come over with the photo proofs when I’ve developed them, and I’ll bring that one of Lou that you admired.

Lulu kissed me and said she’d see me later. Denby thanked me again for the tea, and they both went out the door. I watched from the front-room window and saw him open the car door for her. The sun had gone down, and evening was drawing in. It was that time of day when the lights have come on, and windows glow golden, but there is still light in the sky. I saw a painting once that reminded me of this time of day. I’ve forgotten the artist and where I saw it, but I remember the title. It was called Empire of Light, and I liked it very much. It showed a house with a streetlight illuminating the front windows, but the house itself and the trees surrounding it were a dark silhouette. Above, the sky was light blue and filled with puffy white clouds. I remember that I stood and gazed at it for a long time, thinking, How beautiful! and wishing I had a hundred thousand dollars so that I could buy it. In a sense I do own it, for it is still in my mind’s eye, and I can take it out and admire it anytime I want.

I went into the bathroom and turned on the water. I like a hot bath with scented water. Soon after my husband died, Harriet insisted I have a handle installed on the wall, to assist me getting in and out of the bathtub. It is useful, and I am glad she suggested it, but it serves to remind me of my advancing years. I took off my clothes and put them carefully away, tossing my underwear into the laundry basket. I put on my silk kimono that my husband brought back from Japan fifty years ago. It is black with a huge scarlet dragon on the back, and I have worn it back and forth from my bath for all these years. The silk still glows, and the dragon has not faded. I have always loved the sensual feel of silk on my bare skin. Harriet would be shocked if she knew that I still could enjoy that sort of thing. She also would be shocked if she knew how much I still miss my husband, and not just his companionship. We had an enjoyable sexual relationship right up until the day he died. As I lay in the steaming water, soaping myself with bath gel, I thought of the times when we would bathe together, as a prelude to loving. My body was younger then, my skin taut, my face unlined, and my breasts firm and high. They sag a little now, no matter how much firming cream I use. Getting old is not my cup of tea, but it is inevitable, of course. My mind is still with me, and my memories keen. So what if I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night? That doesn’t matter at all.

It took a little effort to get out of my bath, but I eventually climbed out and toweled myself off with one of the lovely bath sheets that Lulu gave me last Christmas. They are a beautiful shade of blue that matches my bathroom, and they are thick and soft. They are so big I can wrap myself in them. After drying myself, I rubbed perfumed body lotion all over, then put on my kimono and slippers and padded back to my bedroom, where I considered what I should wear to David and Petra’s home. I checked the time and saw that Harriet would be here soon, so I dressed, combed my hair, and put on some lipstick. I thought of Harriet, and I suddenly felt sorry for her. Has she ever made love to a man? I wondered. I didn’t think she had had a boyfriend since her fiancé died thirty years ago. I suppose her life has been satisfying to her. It never would have been for me. I feel blessed. I have loved two men (and been loved back), borne four children, and enjoyed wife and motherhood. It is ridiculous, though, that my daughter Harriet is sixty-three. It seems only yesterday that I was that age, looking forward to my husband retiring. In fact, we bought this house on my birthday, and my husband, with a gallant gesture, gave it to me!

I hope that Harriet won’t trouble me this evening with her fears and doubts about my living alone. If she does, I’ll have to ask Carrie to speak to her. Carrie is the only one who stands up to Harriet. It isn’t in Sheila’s nature to disagree with anyone, let alone her eldest sister, and David is too much younger than she. Harriet was grown-up when he was born, as I’ve said, and he’s always been rather in awe of her—though I think she would listen to him if he took my side in this issue. I shall have to gently bring the subject up one of these days.

Harriet fussed, as I was afraid she’d do. Lulu, to my surprise, took my part rather vociferously when my daughter announced to David that it was time their mother moved in with her. Petra kept quiet until Harriet asked for her opinion and then replied cautiously that she thought I was coping well, as far as she could see, and what did I think? I said I was happy in my little house. Harriet stated rather forcefully that I was too old to be on my own.

Aunt Harriet, Lulu said, growing rather pink, I think Gran is just fine in her little house. She’s got lots of help, and she’s happy there, aren’t you, Gran?

Harriet is a tall, commanding woman; in past days she would have been called handsome. Her hair is getting quite gray, and she finally succumbed to wearing reading glasses a number of years ago. She says her distance vision is as good as it ever was. Unfortunately, emotion makes her face red. She has always had this tendency. I can remember her as a small child, purple with rage because we wouldn’t return week-old Carrie to the hospital. Her nose was out of joint for some time, and when Sheila was born less than fourteen months later, Harriet was downright nasty. The two babies kept me very busy, and I suspect Harriet felt pushed aside. Her father was good to her, though, and the two formed a close relationship that lasted for over fifty years.

Now she glared at Lulu, and her face grew quite pink. I scarcely think that you are qualified to make those kinds of judgments, she said icily.

Aunt and niece regarded each other, and I suddenly saw a resemblance between them—and not just the pink faces.

I visit Gran a lot, and she is just fine in her house. She’s not senile or anything.

She could fall and break a leg or a hip and lie there for hours.

Mother phones her every day.

Look, I said, I really don’t like sitting here, listening to you two discuss me as though I’m not here.

It seems like such a waste for us to be maintaining separate establishments, when we could easily share, Harriet protested.

My dear Harriet, are you willing to give up all your things and move in with me? I noted her expression and nodded. Of course, you’re not. So why should you expect me to give away all my lovely possessions, some of which are the only things I have left of your father, and move in with you? When I am ready, I will consider one of those retirement villas where meals are prepared for you and a nurse is in attendance.

I was quite pleased with my courage to stand up to Harriet. Perhaps it was David’s encouraging face in the background or Petra’s smile or Lulu’s pink cheeks. Harriet backed off then, muttering that she only had my best interests at heart.

I know you do, dear, I said, hoping to mollify her.

No more was said, and when Harriet arose to take her leave, I went with her meekly, even though Lulu offered to drive me home later, if I wished. Of course, Lulu and I hadn’t had a chance to chat about Denby.

Come visit me after class this week sometime, I told her when Harriet went out to turn the car around and bring it close to the front door. Consulting my little daybook, I added, I’m playing bridge on Thursday, and that’s the only afternoon that I’ll be out. I kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, I think he’s a dear.

She blushed and glanced at her parents, who were standing