At the Woodchopper's Ball Bk. 01 Ch. 02

Chapter 2

Despite all the talk of taking action and staying active, we found ourselves idling about the house for the better part of the morning. Mirrla and I finished our breakfast and tidied up afterwards. Subsequently, I made a brief visit to a nearby grocer to pick up some necessities. Later, Mother retreated to her study to attend to her correspondence, while Mirrla and I occupied ourselves by reading the newspapers and playing backgammon.

My mind was chiefly preoccupied with our trip over to Aunt Broni' place. I had not seen Aunt Broni or her family in quite some time and was looking forward to seeing them all again. Although not a blood relative, my sister and I felt more closely connected with Aunt Broni than any of our actual kin. It all stemmed from Aunt Broni's friendship with my mother. The two had been best friends before either had married. Enide, who was her eldest daughter, had been my playmate since we could grasp a rattle. Rebeka — Aunt Broni's youngest — was Mirrla's best friend.

There are times when I wonder if some celestial higher power had ordained that our lives should be interwoven. Mother and Aunt Broni were the same age. They had married around the same time. Less than two months after Mother had me, Aunt Broni gave birth to Enide. Aunt Broni's second daughter Rebeka had come along only a few weeks before Mirrla was born. And finally, in different ways, we had all been raised largely absent a father. Aunt Broni lost her husband to a mining accident, a landslide that had killed and injured many others. A year or so later, Mother and Father separated.

Mother called from the hallway, telling us she was going up to get ready. Mirrla and I glanced at the clock and followed shortly after, going to our respective rooms to assemble ourselves.

I cleaned up a bit and took my time getting dressed while butchering a tune I'd heard earlier playing on the wireless. Another man would have been brief with his lavation but after being away for so long, I was keen to make a good impression. In front of the mirror, I faced the difficult task of choosing a tie. This rather strung things out since the tie I had initially picked was not in harmony with the deeper subtleties of the shirt I had put on. In the end, I changed ties and, happy with the result, adjusted the bow and admired the effect.

'Fayard you scoundrel,' I told myself as I brushed my hair, 'you look like a doll and sing like an angel.'

To my relief, the ladies arrived at the bottom of the staircase shortly after I descended. A reputation for preening has dogged me for some time, although I maintain it is grossly exaggerated. Had my shilly-shallying dragged on any longer, I am sure I wouldn't have heard the end of it.

Outside, it was the clearest, brightest day imaginable. Aunt Broni lived far enough for walking to be a chore but for driving to seem indulgent. In the end, we almost always took the car. We all got in and I drove, my eyes tracing the tall, narrow trees that flanked the road as they cast alternating stripes of light and shadow across the car's bonnet.

I have yet to mention the contribution that the fluffy clouds made to the scene, but doubtless, all this talk of light and verdant trees must sound like some kind of ghastly bucolic idyll. However, despite nature's best efforts, there was a nagging fly kicking about the proverbial ointment of my psyche.

Although I was loath to admit it, I felt a nagging unease at the prospect of seeing Enide after so long. We had been friends from the beginning of our lives. During that strange stage of childhood, when boys resent girls and girls detest boys, even then, through an unspoken agreement we exempted each other from scorn. When Enide's father died, I'd felt compelled to be with her all the time. For a while, I became her shadow — it was all I could do to dull her grief.

In due time, however, I was sent away to school. We saw each other during visits, of course, wrote to one another regularly and knew all about what the other was doing. But inevitably, our paths had digressed during the past five years. We'd always had an easy rapport. While we had other friends, we were always each other's foremost companions. While my recollections of our childhood friends have grown hazy, I can always conjure up memories of the two of us gambolling in the fields and woods around Earnell.

Enide had even contemplated kissing me. It was an easy, uncomplicated thing. There was nothing romantic about it — we were too young for that. We'd seen others do it and wanted to know more. What was it that made people want to keep doing it? In the end, we decided against it, deeming it unsanitary and simply cracked on without giving it another thought. Back then, I don't think we thought of ourselves as 'boy' and 'girl'. All those things which pass between women and men had yet to claim us.

As I drove, I realised that I had unconsciously formed a vague picture of what my time at home would be like. School had been rewarding but also a difficult slug at times. Being away from home had often been a strain. In a few months, I would be leaving again to attend university and who knew what life had in store afterwards? I looked forward to this time with real anticipation — I wanted to re-make Earnell my home. It dawned on me that this was entirely contingent on being able to pick up the thread of my friendship with Enide.

"Well, Fayard," I thought to myself as we neared our destination. "Let's see how well you break the ice."

Aunt Broni's residence was one of those magnificent old houses built in a style which — despite being almost universally admired — has fallen out of favour. It wasn't the kind of architecture that degraded itself with sprawl or stooped to conspicuous ornamentation. Nor did it stray beyond the bounds of taste despite its impressive proportions. There was nothing crassly imposing about any of it and the building retained the character of a family home.

My mother and sister walked ahead of me as we approached the steps leading up to the entrance. The big, oak door creaked open and I heard Aunt Broni's voice an instant before I saw her. When I did see her, she was coming straight at me, practically pushing past Mirrla and Mother. What followed was, if anything, a more intense version of Mother's performance at the station. While I had seen my mother regularly during the past year, the last time I was in Earnell, Aunt Broni and the girls had been away on a trip.

Rest assured that being at the receiving end of this type of thing can do wonders for a man's heart. I was jostled about by my sweet Aunt Broni's affections as if I were a little boy again. She sang my praise and showered me with hugs and kisses. All I could do was steady myself and attempt to prevent us from tumbling down the steps. Eventually, Aunt Broni decided that she had greeted me with sufficient warmth and redirected her attention towards Mirrla and Mother.

Out of the corner of my eye, I'd caught sight of Rebeka. She had rushed forward as excitedly as her mother but then stopped short at the door, leaning shyly against the frame. I climbed up the steps and held my arms open. She smiled a big bright smile, her reluctance melting as she embraced me.

I heard Aunt Broni behind me, "I'm glad you are early!" Her voice was filled with gladness, yet it quivered as if she was holding back tears.

"We aren't early Broni," came Mother's wry reply.

Aunt Broni had always been quite flexible when it came to punctuality. This was one of the few bones of contention between her and my mother, who was habitually rigid about arriving on time.

Even though Aunt Broni had ushered us inside, we continued to chat and exchange pleasantries while lingering in the vestibule. There was no sign of Enide. I was straining to ask after her but the ongoing five-way conversation presented no gaps. All of a sudden, I heard a voice coming from behind.

"Oh... you are early!"

I had every intention of rolling my eyes once I had turned to face her but any smart-aleck witticism I was about to utter instantly vanished.

It's funny how the mind — without any prompting — can create expectations of what lies ahead. Inexplicably, I had envisioned Enide striding in from the garden, gracefully crossing the tiled floor in a light blue summer dress, adorned with a bow on the collar and possibly carrying a lovely wide-brimmed hat, all without any conscious effort on my part.

What I actually saw was Enide stamping toward me in a pair of shin-high rubber gardening boots. Her trousers were baggy and oversized — the kind a cattle hand might wear. She donned a greyish vest that was very loose, with armholes so expansive they ended below her ribcage. Beneath that, she wore a red vest that fit more closely, effectively concealing anything that may have been exposed by the top vest. Enide's blond, honey-hue hair was held up in a relaxed bun with a few stray strands trailing fetchingly around her.

Judging by Enide's attire, one would be forgiven for thinking she was a vagrant dockhand, a foreman at a lumberyard or the sort of chap you see repairing rail tracks as your carriage rolls by. The subconscious got something right at least — evidently, she had just arrived from the garden.

Once Enide reached me, she flung her arms around my neck and we embraced. She smelled faintly of freshly cut grass and soil. It took me a brief moment to reciprocate, but thankfully, I managed to do so before it became awkward.

Something was off. The airy hall now seemed airless. A lump had formed in my throat. Some kind of breathless fixation took me completely out of myself. My vision narrowed until I realised I was staring at Enide. I felt flustered and wrong-footed, watching as Enide greeted my mother and sister.

She came back to me, smiled a friendly smile and put her arm through mine. Aunt Broni led us into the lounge but my increasingly befuddled brain was not getting any less confounded now that Enide was beside me. She was as chummy and affable as I could have hoped. The awkwardness and distance I had feared was conspicuously absent. Something was gnawing at the back of my head — the problem wasn't Enide — it was me.

I tried to get a hold of myself, to gather my wits. Someone said something to Enide — it might have been Rebeka — and she looked down at her feet. She let go of my arm apologetically and retreated from the room. The functioning part of my mind reasoned that she'd probably left to take off her boots. Conversation flowed around me but I would not be able to recount any of it.

While Enide was gone, we arranged ourselves on various sofas and chairs. I replied to any remarks that were addressed to me, doing my best to appear engaged rather than vacant. I loosened the carefully orchestrated tie to undo the top button on my shirt.

Enide returned and sat by me on the sofa. I realised she must have splashed her face since the edge of her hairline was still damp. There was a sort of inner glow to her skin like the flush children have after a bath. She wore no make-up or other adornment. Her eyes were bright and glistening. The curve of her jawline blended seamlessly into her chin, imbuing her with a soft, girlish countenance. Her cheekbones were elegantly defined but not ostentatious. Every time her mouth even hinted at a smile, the loveliest dimples appeared across her cheeks.

I felt sure something had braced me across the head — hard. An indescribable sense of longing washed over me. I had never felt anything like it before.

I glanced over at Enide again while she interjected in an exchange between Rebeka and Mirrla. I tried to make sense of my reaction to seeing her. Enide had certainly blossomed and flourished since our last encounter but there was nothing I could point to as being drastically different. Yet it was as if I was encountering her for the first time — as if she was someone whom I had never met before.

She'd always been a pretty girl, but then so were Mirrla and Rebeka. I suppose I'd always thought of all of them as my sisters. A man's thoughts about his female siblings don't run along those lines. One can see they are attractive girls and so on but you don't take a fancy to them yourself.

Suddenly, I was struck with a sense of embarrassment. From the moment I'd set eyes on Enide, I'd turned passive and inward. Mother and Aunt Broni were deep in their own conversation. I turned toward the younger girls sitting across from us, wanting to express to them and Enide the happiness that was swelling inside me.

"I am very glad to be back," I croaked, then cleared my throat. "It's wonderful to be with all of you again... with all my sisters." It wouldn't have got me on the podium at a poetry competition but it was nonetheless a genuine sentiment.

Mirrla and Rebeka smiled, warm, unfeigned smiles you get when a girl is genuinely touched. Then, for the slightest moment, their eyes shifted to Enide and something changed, almost imperceptibly, as if some knowing secret had passed between them. I looked beside me at Enide, following their gaze. She smiled at me fondly and reached over to squeeze my hand.

"Remember Stasia?" Enide asked with a grin once the girls had resumed their previous topic of conversation.

"Ahh... I think so." I guessed she was talking about the girl who lived further along Cotton Lane from her. She was two and something years older than us and used to delight in bossing us around.

I probed for specifics. "Big girl? Sporty?"

Enide smirked. "Strong... upright," she countered.

"Voice like a drill sergeant... yes, I remember Stasia."

"She just got married. There was an uproar," Enide blurted out, gleefully.

"Oh," I said with raised eyebrows. "And why should that be?"

Enide shared the neighbourhood gossip with infectious delight. "Well... see, Stasia went off to visit a cousin, and when it was time to return, she sent a telegram informing her father when her train was due to arrive," she paused, beaming at me. "But also, how much she was looking forward to introducing her darling Arnau to him and her mother."

"Who is Arnau?"

"That's what they wanted to know!"

"I see... hence the uproar I suppose."

Enide nodded. "Imagine... you wave off your only daughter at the station, minus any entanglement, only to have her casually mention in a telegram that she's acquired a 'darling Arnau'," Enide scoffed. "The family were a bit startled — needless to say."

I nodded sympathetically, "understandably."

"They knew nothing about the fellow. Never heard of him. Stasia hadn't mentioned anything about an Arnau to anyone before."

"What did they do?"

"Do? There was nothing they could do. They simply had to wait and meet the blighter."

"Right... then what?" I asked.

"We've met him too," Enide declared proudly.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded enthusiastically, "We all went over to — you know — offer congratulations, wish them well... that sort of thing."

It was the correct and neighbourly thing but I had no doubt there was an element of gawking involved.

"Mother called him a wastrel."

"Poor old Arnau is not making much of an impression is he?"

"Aunt Faidra wasn't impressed either," Enide revealed.

"What!? My mother?" I asked. "When did she meet him?"

"Oh, she came with us," Enide said in a lively voice. "She called him a blot on the landscape "

Enide was guffawing and thoroughly enjoying herself. It only exacerbated my bout of sudden-onset craving.

"Stasia told me later that she knows Arnau has a few deficiencies but she is going to mould him."

"Mould him?" I asked in disbelief, "Has she acquired a spouse or a bowl of jelly!?"

Enide erupted into peals of laughter, as though I had said the funniest thing. It made me feel as if I were ten feet tall. She poked me in the chest with her finger and fell back against the sofa.

Afterwards, I felt more at ease around Enide. Good-natured prattle flowed freely. I could hold my side of conversations and crack a joke here and there. I spoke with Rebeka and Mirrla too and then spent time chatting with Aunt Broni.

Not to dwell on such a horrid notion, but I was certain that if anything had befallen our mother, Aunt Broni would have taken us in without a moment's hesitation. She was like a second mother to Mirrla and me. And strong too. I never saw Aunt Broni break down or flounder after her husband died. There was no wallowing in grief. I remember her crying a bit at the memorial, but even then, her focus was firmly on the girls. Aunt Broni didn't indulge in sorrow and kept everything on track.

Just before lunch, Enide and I went out to the vegetable garden to pick produce for the salad. Aunt Broni's culinary repertoire was limited. If it couldn't be fried in a pan with a dollop of lard, she didn't get involved. A jolly, slightly red-faced woman came over five days a week and fixed meals for the family. Everything we would be eating for lunch, the cook would have prepared on Friday, stacked in the refrigerator, ready to be heated up as needed. On the other hand, Aunt Broni did rustle up very good salads. She took pride in growing much of the produce herself, having maintained a flourishing kitchen garden for as long as I could recall.

I stood beside Enide while she pulled out radishes, shook off the soil and dropped them in the basket I held. "What a gallant chap that Fayard is," a derisive voice whispered in my head.

My attention shifted momentarily towards the poolhouse, which doubled as a greenhouse with many potted plants arranged both inside and along its exterior walls. It had been built a few years ago, not long after I had started at Fortunbrae. My mother had recounted with pride how Aunt Broni had browbeaten the architect and builder to insure the design of the pool house matched the style of the main house properly. Although the pool could be heated, usually it lay dormant until the weather became a little warmer.

My focus returned to Enide when she said something, to which I replied. We carried on chatting amicably about this and that until Enide paused and shifted the topic.

"Do you fancy doing a bit of social work?"

Besotted or not, I was set to prevaricate. But then I remembered something Enide had written about in a letter.

"I am not... hold on — is this about that business at Braxa? The suicide prevention group? The one you mentioned volunteering for, over at — what was it — the timber sniffer seminary?"

"They take umbrage at that you know," she said with a lopsided grin, "Religious scholars is the preferred term I believe."

"Scholars!?" I grumbled. "If I recall correctly, you complained that they haven't even the sense to kill themselves properly."

According to Enide's letter, despondent students at Braxa's historic seminary had been flinging themselves off the roof with alarming regularity. I knew the building. It was an undeniably magnificent edifice, but it ought to have been obvious to anyone with a disposition towards self-destruction that its elevation was inadequate for the task.

"Rody, it's no laughing matter," Enide chided, holding back her laughter. "The building isn't high enough to kill, but it's certainly high enough to maim," she wagged a finger at me in mock admonishment. "And," she added, "particularly dangerous for the people below."

Neither of us could maintain a straight face.

"I am not convinced that this suicide prevention centre of yours prevents any suicides," I managed to say.

"Well, we offer them a sympathetic ear and the cakes are good."

"If someone was determined to end it all, I don't think they'd stop for cake."

"Something has to be done. The place is suffused with an atmosphere of male barbarism. I'm sure you'll know all about that from your school," she announced with evident disdain. "In any case — you big clod — that's not what I'm asking you about."