6
Fiona
When I arrivedhome from Li’s, Papa and Mama were in the study across from our sitting room. My father had his head in the newspaper, nodding in agreement with whatever he was reading. Mama, uncharacteristically, stared into the fire. An open novel rested on her lap.
I knocked on the doorframe. “May I have a word, please?”
The paper came down onto Papa’s lap, making that delightful crinkling sound I associated with him and mornings. Mama looked over at me and then beckoned me into the room with a wave of her hand.
“Fiona, where have you come from?” Mama asked.
“I went to see Li,” I said. “I wanted him to know we’re leaving sooner than expected.” At breakfast this morning, I’d told them he’d declined my invitation and asked that we consider going as soon as travel could be arranged. Mama had promised to put the travel arrangements together as quickly as possible.
“It’s such a shame he won’t consider accompanying you,” Mama said. “However, I understand his worries about Mrs. Wu’s health. He wouldn’t want to be so far away, especially with Fai being at school.”
I stood before them, with the roaring fire at my back. They sat in twin leather chairs separated by a small table between them. Oh, how the cheery little fire tried to warm my cold bones and blood, but to no avail. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my middle.
Mama raised one eyebrow. “Fiona, are you sure you want to go?”
“Yes, I want to.” A lie. But a necessary one, whether it was to myself or others. I must go. It was the only hope I had of forgetting Li.
“Only good comes from courage,” Mama said. “You’ll see.”
Papa stood, pulling me into an embrace. “It will only be for a short time, and then you’ll come back home.”
I buried my face in the rough fabric of his tweed jacket. He smelled of pipe smoke, coffee, and the spicy scent of the pomade he used for his hair. I looked up at the fine lines that were etched upon his face from a life of smiling and laughter. Time had been kind, creating a map on his face that told the story of a life devoted to love and family.
I would do this brave thing, to honor everything he’d done for me. All the ways he’d tossed kindness about as if it cost him nothing. And Mama? She’d come here to Emerson Pass when she’d never been parted from her mother and sister simply because she had to.
And here I was, sniveling about spending time in Paris with one of the finest teachers in Europe. I was a spoiled, petulant brat. But no, this was not the end of my tale. This was only the beginning. I would do this. I would be the woman everyone already thought I was.
Step off the train, dear one. Your life awaits.
That evening before dinner,I stood in my slip before my wardrobe. Dresses hung obediently, waiting for their turn. I’d take them all with me to Paris. Ones for day and afternoon teas and evenings out. While there, I’d have more made. Lucky, I thought. Blessed.
Then why did I feel as if a claw had scraped out my insides? Because there is no substitute for love, silly girl. All the riches of the world couldn’t cure a broken heart.
A sob rose from deep inside me. Please don’t cry, I begged myself. Be like Josephine and Cymbeline, stoic or obstinate, respectively, during times of trouble.
The tears came anyway. I lay across my bed sideways, crying as if I would never stop. A soft knock on the door roused me from my misery. I lifted my head. “Who is it?”
“It’s Cym and Jo.” Cymbeline’s voice. My sisters.
I wept harder, barely conscious that they’d come into my room.
“Oh, pet, what is it?” Jo asked as she sat next to me on the bed.
“I’m utterly wretched.” I sobbed as I rose to throw myself into her lap. “My heart’s broken.”
Cym came to sit on the other side of me. “What’s happened?”
“I told Li my feelings, and he doesn’t love me. He told me to go to Paris and marry a nobleman.”
“Oh, dear,” Jo said.
Cym’s face went from concerned to angry in an instant. “You’re too good for him. The louse. The sniveling little rodent.”
“Cym, really?” Jo said. “We mustn’t be unkind.”
“Why not?” Cym asked. “He’s hurt our Fiona.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t return your feelings?” Jo asked. “I find that hard to believe. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Yes, he was quite firm about it,” I said. “It was humiliating. I don’t know why I told him. Now I have to live with his pity the rest of my life.”
“If he doesn’t want you, then there’s something the matter with him,” Cym said. “You’re the best of us. The best there is.”
“What did he say exactly?” Jo asked. She liked to know the precise words people said and what order they were in so that she could understand the full story. What she seemed to often forget is that life was not as neatly packaged as a novel. There were no satisfying endings. At least not for me.
I told them as best I could the entire conversation, ending with our awkward goodbye this morning. “I went over there like an idiot. To tell him I was going, as if he cares.”
“I think it’s good you told him,” Cym said. “Now you know. Now you can go to Paris and dance with a thousand young men if you want.”
“It’s not a contest about how many young men she can dance with,” Jo said. “She needs just one. The right one.”
“I’ll never marry.” I buried my face in my hands. “Li’s my one true love. There’s no one else for me. I’ll be an old maid who teaches piano to children. Soon, I’ll be that old lady everyone’s afraid of, even my own nieces and nephews.”
“You could never be scary,” Cym said. “Even if you wanted to.”
“He can’t be your one true love if it’s unrequited,” Jo said.
“Is that true?” Cym asked. “How do you know?”