A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [40]
“How was your journey?” Louise asked.
“Cold, but remarkably easy,” Innes replied, thinking that Louise would be prettier if her face relaxed, the nervousness inherited from the mother, certainly not the father, who had shown himself throughout the meal to be taciturn, immune to the chattering of his younger daughter and his wife, a private moving picture show of wounds perhaps or of surgical instruments or of soldiers’ faces preoccupying him instead. For the wounded and dead soldiers were coming in “in boatloads,” Innes was informed in one of Dr. Fraser’s few pronouncements, a grim counterpart to Louise’s “droves.”
As the liver and bacon were served, Mrs. Fraser spoke of a new house, away from Richmond, in a better neighborhood, Young Street, did Innes know it? No, he did not. Mrs. Fraser registered her disappointment and added, in case Innes had missed the point, “where the better people are.” Innes, of course, was not one of the better people, though he had prospects to recommend him, which Mrs. Fraser, the wife of a physician, knew only too well. Did Hazel, hearing this exchange, smile? Innes thought she did. He wondered if the circlet of diamonds was a gift from a grandmother. But almost immediately, the name Edward was mentioned in close proximity to Hazel’s, the coupling causing a frown on Louise’s brow. So it was true, Innes thought. Hazel gone before a dozen sentences exchanged. Gone even before his arrival. He was aware of the absurdity of his claim, entirely out of proportion to the length of time he had spent in her presence. She had given him nothing except, perhaps, for that half smile. She was a stranger.
Innes’s attraction, however, was visceral.
“I inherited this house from my uncle,” Mrs. Fraser said in another attempt to remove herself from Richmond. “He owned a sugar refinery.”
“Will you be here long, Mr. Finch?” Louise asked, passing him the bowl of root vegetables.
“I’m to stay six months,” he said with a question lobbed in Dr. Fraser’s direction. Dr. Fraser did not respond.
“Through Christmas then,” Louise said. “Will you be here over Christmas, or will you have to return to your family? They are where?”
“Cape Breton.”
“Too long a journey,” Louise said.
“My work might prevent a journey home at that time,” Innes said carefully, embarrassed by Louise’s question. Very likely, the Frasers, wishing to be alone over the holiday, would want him away for a few days. In truth, Innes could not afford the journey to Cape Breton.
The elder Frasers ate with relish. Louise, eager to please, filled in all the gaps, her rapid speech more than just nervousness. Innes diagnosed mild hysteria. Louise’s hair, light brown, had been cut short and waved at either side of her face.
“We would welcome Mr. Finch at Christmastime,” Mrs. Fraser said politely, albeit a bit late.
Innes imagined Hazel’s fiancé. A man in uniform. A surgeon? An officer in France? Louise was speaking of a dance aboard a ship in the harbor and wondered aloud if Innes would like to go. Innes was reminded of his civilian suit, his one civilian suit that would not take itself aboard a ship full of naval officers in uniform.
“Mr. Finch,” Dr. Fraser said, rousing himself in the moments after the liver and bacon and before the pudding, “I have some papers I should like you to look over this evening. Meet me in the front hallway at nine-thirty in the morning. We will have a rigorous day. New wounds from France.”
The phrase, a low gas floating across the table, smothered conversation. The silence drew itself out, approaching unendurable. Even the voluble Louise was quiet, though she glanced sideways at Hazel. A guess was confirmed. Hazel was engaged to an officer in France.
“Fifteen ships lost last week,” Dr. Fraser added, seemingly oblivious to the effects of his remarks. Perhaps the women of the table were used to them. “They