Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [28]
With a fearful clarity Hannah knew exactly what she meant. If Archie never came home, how much would she know about what his life was really like? What would she understand of the joy or the pain he felt, how he weighed his decisions, what guilt kept him up all night? Who was he, inside the carefully painted shell? Why did she not know? What would she tell her children of their father, if he was one of those who died?
She wanted to say something comforting to Abby, but this was not the time for salvaging tiny pieces. She needed to face the emptiness and recognize it now; then perhaps it would not have to be done again. This time she was quite certain it was right to take Abby in her arms and simply hold her until she had wept out her strength.
Afterward she took her to the bathroom and left her to wash her face and straighten her clothes. She made no mention of what either of them had said, as if they had quietly agreed that it had not really happened.
“Thank you,” Abby said, almost under her breath, as she stood by the front door to leave. “The apple pie was lovely. You . . . I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you are very like your mother.” And with that ultimate compliment, she walked out into the darkness, leaving Hannah with a tumult of emotions.
She went back inside and found Tom in his pajamas on the stairs. He looked worried. “You all right, Mum?” he said anxiously.
“A friend came by and she was upset,” she said.
“Why?” he asked, coming down the last few steps. “Has someone she loved been killed?”
“Yes. A little while ago now, but she just needed to talk about it a bit. Not everyone wants to listen.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you did that for her.” He turned to go back up again, then stopped. “Uncle Joseph’s still awake, Mum. I’ve seen his light go on and off a few times. I think maybe he can’t sleep either.”
“Thank you. I’ll take him a cup of cocoa, or something. Good night.”
“Good night, Mum.”
Hannah did not tell Joseph about Abby Compton’s visit other than simply that she had called. But she could not extinguish Abby’s words from her mind.
She could just as easily have been the one to realize in a single dreadful hour that she had turned her back on the chance to share the reality of all that love might be. It could still become her, if she did not confront Archie soon and face the things she did not want to know, and it seemed he did not want to tell her. But if she stayed shut out where it was safe, when she was ready to come in it might be too late. She would be excluded forever, as Abby was.
She was frightened that she would not have the courage to press him against his will. It would be so much easier to accept denial. She did not know what to ask, when to insist and when to keep silent. If she said something stupid, insensitive, or without understanding, she would never be able to take it back and pretend it hadn’t happened. Perhaps it was already too late?
Why couldn’t life have remained as it used to be? She had understood the problems then: love affairs that went wrong, childbirth and sometimes loss, quarrels, disloyalties, sickness, fractious children, long nights up watching the ill. Perhaps there had always been loneliness, but the long, quiet grayness of separation, not the searing scarlet of grief. But it had all been on a smaller scale, in homes and schools, churches and village greens; not on battlefields and in warships. It did not contain enough horror to drive people mad and divide men from women by gulfs they did