A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [66]
But only one life could be experienced. The other had to be imagined. Harrison brushed the snow off his head and retraced his footsteps in the snow. He glanced up at the rooms of the inn. On the second floor, there was a light but no one standing at the window.
Saturday
Innes woke cold and hungry. For an instant, before he had his bearings, he thought himself back at medical school. He raised his head and remembered that he was in his room at the top of the Fraser house in the Richmond neighborhood of Halifax. When he looked at his watch, he discovered that he had overslept. He had meant to be up by seven at the latest to read over the papers that Dr. Fraser had given him. At best, Innes would be able only to glance at them.
Shivering, Innes washed himself and dressed in his sole suit, the shirt clean, not the one he’d worn yesterday. He must ask about the laundry arrangements. He must also find a decent tailor. Mrs. Fraser would know of both. Unable to locate his socks on the carpet, Innes walked to the window and drew back the heavy blackout drapes. The view, coruscating and harsh, was of the harbor. The water scintillated between freighters, transport ships, and fishing boats. Despite the steam and smoke from dozens of boilers and furnaces, the morning was a fine one. Across the street, the breath of a warm house evaporated through a tin chimney into the cold, dry air.
Innes thought the harbor ugly, made so by war and commerce—by fuel tankers, textile mills, railroad yards, and busy wharves—and tried to imagine the land as it might have been a thousand years ago: the natural harbor sparkling, the shores of Dartmouth across the way forested. Two large ships in the harbor, Innes noted, were on the move.
Innes left his room and followed his nose to the dining room. Mrs. Fraser and Louise were seated at the table, each at a different stage in her breakfast. Her plate yet to be collected, Mrs. Fraser was making a list with pen and paper, a cup of tea beside her. Louise had just tucked into a substantial plate of steaming food. Innes reflected that even the dress of the women was vaguely military these days. Mrs. Fraser’s blouse had a wide sailor collar. Louise’s had epaulets with brass buttons. Innes said good morning and made his way to the mahogany buffet table on which sat several silver chafing dishes. Lifting the lids, Innes found Scotch eggs in one, kippers in another, a kind of porridge in a third. In a silver toast rack were thick slices of brown bread. An array of jams and condiments had been arranged on a platter.
Innes filled his plate with eggs and kippers (the kippers a delicacy) and two slices of toast. Not wishing to presume upon the chairs at either end of the table, Innes sat across from the women. He snapped open his linen napkin.
Louise and Mrs. Fraser had seated themselves so as to allow their guest the view of the harbor. Four arched and paned windows flanked the harborside wall, built especially, Innes imagined, for this view, which might, in peacetime, be more appealing. As a consequence of this arrangement, however, Mrs. Fraser and her daughter were in deep shadow because of the glare. Innes wondered if household etiquette required breakfast conversation.
“Mr. Finch,” Louise said finally, “you have a fine day with which to begin your apprenticeship in Halifax.”
“I do,” Innes said. “The skies are very clear.” He paused. “Last night, I asked your sister if she would call me by my first name, and I wonder if I might ask you to do the same.”
Mrs. Fraser looked up sharply from her list, and Innes at once regretted the remark. Doubtless, Mrs. Fraser was wondering