Chapter Twelve: The Letter

 

Nan really could have been more gentle with the comb, but she had chosen to take out her frustrations with Lily on her desperately tangled hair rather than on the girl herself. When Lily had arrived home from the forest, she was soaked to the bone and shivering from head to foot. Nan had marched her straight upstairs and made her soak in a hot bath for half an hour, which Lily didn’t feel was much of a punishment, although Nan’s staunch silence was strangely unsettling and certainly didn’t bode well.

Now they were sitting in front of the kitchen fire, Nan armed with a very strong, very painful comb. As evening fell around the house, Strathclyde limped in from the garden wiping his hands on an old oilcloth, which he promptly threw into his grumpy wife’s washbasin.

“Well, Lulu,” he said, taking one look at Nan’s brutal combing technique and the grimace on Lily’s freshly steamed face, “looks like you were caught out in it, eh? Nothing like a nice long walk on an autumn afternoon, I always say. Except when it rains, that is.”

Lily laughed a little in agreement. Nan only combed harder. “Where were you that your shoes got so muddy, miss?” Strathclyde asked quite innocently.

“Oh, I was just wandering. I must have stepped in an old streambed when I was running back toward the house,” Lily lied.

“I see,” Strathclyde nodded, his keen eyes detecting the untruth in hers.

“Well, ladies, looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you. I suppose I ought to leave you to it. Good luck, Lulu,” Strathclyde grinned as Lily’s head bobbed and jerked under Nan’s comb attack.

“Now, Lily, I want you to sit here in front of the fire until your hair has dried,” Nan finally said, laying down her instrument of torture. “And it is against my better judgment, because you should be punished, but I cannot in good conscience keep it from you...You’ve had a letter. From India.”

From India! From Father! All thoughts of the forest evaporated from Lily’s mind as the joy of a letter from Father washed over her. “Oh, Nan! Thank you! Where is it? Can I read it now? Oh, thank you, thank you!”

“Here it is, Lily. Now don’t get yourself too excited. I am concerned about you catching a cold after having been outside in the rain. You just sit here and warm up until your hair is dry. Then it’s off to bed with you. We will deal with punishment in the morning.”

“Yes, Nan,” Lily said, mostly out of habit. She took the letter from Nan’s outstretched hand and looked at the unopened envelope. It was addressed to her, Miss Lily Watson, not Tom or Newton or even Mother. It was covered with strange stamps from strange places, and even the paper felt odd and exciting.

She carefully opened the envelope, trying hard not to tear it, and the moment the letter was free, a small orange flower fell to her lap. It had been dried and pressed carefully, and smelled of summer and sunshine and happiness—at least, that’s what Lily felt when she gently lifted it to her lips to kiss the precious gift. But even more precious were the words from her father. She hungrily unfolded the sturdy paper, glancing for a moment at her father’s strong, neat handwriting before losing herself in his words.

Dearest Lily,

It seems ages since I last saw you. Though I keep your picture close to my heart always—in my vest pocket along with your mother’s and brothers’—I cannot help but wonder how you have changed this year. I am sure you have grown taller and more beautiful. Your old dad, I’m afraid, has stayed exactly the same—no taller, and certainly no more beautiful...

“I think you are beautiful, Father,” Lily said quietly.

...but at least you will be able to easily recognize me when next we meet. Sadly, I cannot say when that day shall arrive, though I have hope that it will be before the year is out. Don’t grow up too much without me, my love. We have too many adventures yet to share before you become a proper young lady.

Lily smiled.

As for adventures, I have had quite a few here as of late. Most of them have taken place in the city, as I have come in contact with some of the most delightful Indian families. They are truly a hospitable people and I do long to bring you here some day. Just yesterday, I was invited to the home of a friend whose son works as a tiger tamer. And, Lily, you may not believe it, but a tiger joined us for tea, just as civilized and proper as a house cat! But, my, he did have a powerful purr!

Today, I am riding a train toward one of the southern provinces. My position in the government has, of course, entitled me to a berth in one of the first class coaches, where I have retired to write this letter, but I do love the Indian people so, that I just couldn’t bear to spend the entire day cooped up in this stuffy closet. No, my dear. Today I had my breakfast with an excellent chap named Dulal on the roof of the train! One can see the glory of India so much better from the roof. The greens and browns of the jungle stretched out on either side of us for miles, and the air was so clean and fresh after the dust of the city. Dulal and I ate uttapams and jackfruits and talked until afternoon as India sped by beneath us. Can you imagine that Dulal is, of all things, a Presbyterian? We discussed theology and talked of Christ and compared our churches. Did you know that in India Christians use bananas and coconut milk in communion instead of bread and wine? Wonders never cease, my girl! I have invited Dulal to join me in my berth, and we have spent a happy afternoon writing letters and talking. He is most anxious to meet you, for he has a daughter just your age.

My dear, it appears that we are pulling in to our station, and I must gather my things. I hope to send this letter at the first post. My Lily, I love you. Wait for your papa, won’t you? I will race home the moment I am released. And remember that I am very truly and forever,

Your loving Father.

Lily sat very still for a long time after she had finished her father’s letter. Then she read it again, more slowly, noticing his handwriting, and the way he used words, and counting the times he called her ‘my dear’, and ‘my love’. She imagined his strong hand moving across the page in that stuffy train compartment as he sat next to his new friend. Lily closed her eyes, trying to imagine how long her father’s beard must be and what he looks like in his uniform, and before too long, she found herself being led by the hand up the stairs, lifted into her bed, and tucked tightly into warm blankets. If only the mouth that kissed her forehead goodnight had been accompanied by a scratchy, perfect beard...

Lily was forbidden to leave the house the next day. She was confined to her room with a blazing fire and her charcoal pencils. Nan meant well; she only wanted to make sure that Lily had fully recovered from her soaking before she was allowed to venture back outdoors, but it was terribly convenient for the overwrought nanny that Lily also deserved a punishment, and was therefore doubly confined. The housekeeper came into the room from time to time to stoke the fire and bring healing foods like tea and stew, and Tom and Newton wandered by in the afternoon to (rather uncharacteristically) bring her some wildflowers they had picked in the lane. Nan, of course, invaded precisely on the hour, every hour, to check her temperature and remind her that she was being punished—warning her not to have too much fun.

But Lily couldn’t help having fun. She had her pencils and her special paper, and after writing a letter to her father in the morning, she spent all afternoon drawing portraits of the animals of the Rookery. She drew Titus and Romulus and the other rooks, and she drew the otter and the family of bats. She drew Sigmund stuck inside the spittoon, and Jack bouncing off it after having rammed it with his head. She drew a picture of the Rookery with a beautiful rainbow stretching from edge to edge of the paper.

Lastly, just as the afternoon was slipping into evening and the sky began to reflect the purple of the moors below, Lily drew Arthur. Her pencil traced the delicate circles of his ears and the strong lines of his whiskers. She carefully drew his furry arms and legs and sketched the outline of each finger and toe. Then she filled in his face. Arthur’s eyes were closed, and a barely visible smile rested on his lips. It was the look Lily had seen on his face the first time she ever saw him—sitting at his piano, lost inside his music. This was the look that had made Lily love him before they had ever spoken.

As she sat in front of the fire, gazing at her drawing of Arthur, a deep longing welled up in her heart. She missed the forest and the animals and the adventure of it all. But most of all, she missed Arthur.

“Lily, dear,” Nan said as she quietly walked into Lily’s room for the hundredth time, “supper is ready, and we all thought you might like to join us.”

Lily smiled and put down her drawing of Arthur.

“That’s a cute little drawing, Lulu,” Nan said cheerfully, her smile indicating that Lily was now no longer being punished. “Is it a mole?”

“A mouse,” Lily said, a bit more testily than she should have, considering that she had only just been released.

“Well, he’s lovely,” Nan said.

Lily practically ran down the stairs to supper. Everyone was there: Nan, Tom and Newton, still rosy-cheeked from their afternoon rambles, the grouchy housekeeper, and Strathclyde, who looked a touch less cheerful than normal tonight. Much of supper was spent discussing the letter the family had received from Mother about Aunt Sarah’s new baby. Then during pudding Lily shared some of the letter she had received from Father (but not all of it), and Nan and the housekeeper gossiped somewhat shamelessly about old Mrs. May two houses down who sprained her ankle while chasing rabbits out of her cabbages.

Strathclyde, being quite the gentleman, refused to join in the gossip and instead devised a plan with the boys to help Mrs. May tend her garden until she had recovered. But even the prospect of helping a neighbor, which usually gave Strathclyde immense joy, couldn’t shed any light on his cloudy demeanor.

Conversation died down as the family’s bellies filled, and Strathclyde was the first to leave the table after his wife had begun to clear the dishes. He filled a pipe and sat down by the drawing room fire with a book, a sure sign that he did not wish to be disturbed. Lily and her brothers spent the evening playing card games by the fire, but Lily could not help noticing that though Strathclyde appeared to be immersed in his book, he didn’t turn a page all night.

Eventually, the boys wandered off to other parts of the house, and Nan and the housekeeper retired to the kitchen for more pie and gossip, leaving Lily and Strathclyde alone with the fire. Strathclyde had given up pretending to read and stared just as blankly at the fire as he had at his book.

“Strathclyde?” Lily said. “Can you tell me a story?”

“I don’t know where it is…” he mumbled.

“Where what is?” Lily asked.

“But it couldn’t be…” he replied.

“Strathclyde?”

The old man started, as if he had been in a trance. “Eh? Lily?”

“You don’t know where what is?”

“Oh! Well…I can’t find my spade. I’ve been looking for two days. Not in the shed, not under the apple tree, not in the hedge, not under the rows, it’s nowhere. I’m going as batty as my old man!”

“Oh that’s not true, Strathclyde!” Lily sang, climbing into his creaky old lap. “Besides, you have other spades, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t like that this one has disappeared. I keep thinking about my old man and his fairy stories…” His eyes drifted back to the fire.

“Oh, do tell me a story. Please, won’t you?”

“A story. Hmm…Yes, I will tell you a story, Lulu, but you must tell me something first,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

 “I want to know where you have been disappearing to. I know you’ve been lying to us. The women can’t see it, but I know lying eyes when I see them. So tell old Strathclyde the truth.”

“Um, well, ok…I’ve been wandering near the forest. I saw a bird’s nest there and I’ve been visiting the birds. I know I’m not supposed to go so far but I am so curious,” she lied, careful to look into the fire and not at Strathclyde.

“I see, I see,” he said, not entirely satisfied. “Lily, the forest is a dangerous place. I know you are a curious child, but please, exercise some wisdom and stay on the moor, or better yet, in the village. Stories about that forest have been passed down for generations. In fact, my father used to tell me fairy stories about the forest—about talking birds and ancient battles, and about a spade.” He laughed quietly. “He used to say, ‘Where a spade doth appear, ‘tis the herald of fear!’ I’ve been thinking about that silly story all day. What could it mean when a spade disappears? Crazy old man…Well, lass, it’s off to bed with you. Keep an eye out for that spade of mine, won’t you?”

Lily didn’t mind that Strathclyde had forgotten to tell her the story he had promised. Somehow she suspected that she had already heard the story he was going to tell. Her mind was racing. How curious that Strathclyde knew the rooks’ proverb about the spade! Could it be that he knew about the Rookery as well?

She longed to tell Arthur about the strange coincidence and find out more about the conflict with the hawks. She missed the Rookery and it’s animals, and she wondered how they were faring after the fire. She knew she wasn’t allowed to go to the forest, and what’s more, she hadn’t been invited, but in her longing for Arthur, for adventure, she resolved to go to the Rookery the very next morning anyway. Alone.