Later,at home, I warmed water on the stove for Grandmother’s nighttime tea. She made it from a concoction of dandelion leaves, mint, and rosemary, claiming it gave sweet dreams to all who drank a cup before bedtime.
Grandmother, to my surprise, had not retired to her bedroom when I brought the tea out to her. Instead, she sat in her favorite chair by the fire with a kitten on her lap. I’d put a few logs on the fire when we returned, hoping to warm the house a little before we went to sleep.
“Grandmother, would you like your tea here?”
“Yes, please. My little friend is cozy.” She stroked the kitten’s head with the pad of her thumb.
I placed it on the small table next to the chair. “Can I get you anything else? A cookie?”
“No, thank you. I had quite enough at the party.” She lifted the cup to her lips. A slight tremor in her hands caught my eye. Time robbed us of too much. Youth gobbled us up in ferocious bites until one day wrinkles and age spots covered hands that shook during the simplest of tasks.
“Come sit with me for a moment,” Grandmother said.
I did as she asked, lowering myself into the chair next to her.
“Tell me, love, what troubles you tonight?” Grandmother asked, before taking a sip of her tea.
“Nothing at all.”
We sat in silence, other than the sound of the wind against the outside of the house. The room’s hushed light hid many things, but not my grandmother’s all-knowing eyes.
“There’s Fiona and Paris, of course,” Grandmother said. “The inevitable.”
“Yes.” I closed my eyes for a moment against the crushing pain. “She’s going soon.”
“She’ll be back. Like you, she has her chance for studying and experience, and then she will return to her family.”
“Yes, it’s quite nice for her, isn’t it? Such an opportunity.”
I leaned my head against the back of the chair and examined the ceiling. My eyes ached from the unshed tears. An image of Fiona’s lovely face as she cried came before me. I’d have taken her in my arms if I could. However, not doing so was what she actually needed. Not tonight but later, when she came to her senses and realized how futile her adolescent feelings were for me.
“Lizzie doesn’t want her to go,” Grandmother said. “She’s afraid of the debauchery of Paris. Is that the right word?”
“Yes, that’s a good one.” My grandmother had learned English from working beside Lizzie for the last several decades. Her accent remained thick, but all of us in the household could understand her perfectly.
“They all underestimate her,” Grandmother said. “Her docile nature hides a great strength. She will be fine.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps she’ll find a man of noble birth to marry.”
“He’ll have to fall in love with Colorado if he wants Fiona.” I said this with more than a hint of bitterness. My Fiona. That’s what I wanted to say tonight and every night. My Fiona. My love. My wife.
We sat in silence as she finished her tea. When she was done, I helped her to her feet and into her room.
Instead of going to bed, I sat by the fire until it was nothing but embers, contemplating my future. But all I could see was an empty wall, devoid of Fiona. Devoid of joy.
“You lookas if you didn’t sleep at all last night,” Grandmother said the next morning as she nibbled on a piece of toast.
“It wasn’t the most rest of I’ve ever had, that’s for certain.” I spread a generous amount of strawberry preserves over my piece of toast.
A knock on the door drew us from our breakfast. “I’ll be right back,” I said, getting up from the table while wiping my mouth with a napkin.
Fiona stood there, dressed in a light blue dress and wool hat with a sassy blue feather that wobbled in the wind. She looked tired and drawn. Dark smudges under her eyes told me of a hard night.
“I’m sorry to come by without an invitation,” Fiona said.
“No apology necessary.” She’d never apologized before. We came and went from each other’s homes as easy as a summer’s breeze. There was an awkwardness between us now, as I’d worried there would be if one of us confessed our feelings. I was right.
“I came by to tell you how sorry I am for my behavior last night. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s nothing. Forget it.”