Chapter Fifteen, part two

The next morning, Charlie stood at the door of the breakfast room. It was silent within until a voice said, “Good morning, Mister Tremblay.”

“Anna.” It was always a comfort to hear her. “Are we the only ones up this morning?”

“It appears so, sir.” She sounded closer. “Is there a seat you prefer?”

“Any one out the twenty will do,” he said, crooking his elbow so she could help him. Strange that Violet wasn’t down yet. Maybe the talk with Sadie had gone late—or gone badly. There had been a static snap in the air between them last night. He hoped Violet wasn’t upset. If she was upset, he’d have to fight the urge to put his arms around her.

Anna placed his hand on the back of a chair, and Charlie’s heart relaxed a notch, just holding the smooth wood. Chairs were pockets of calm in a storm. He got settled, thanked Anna for bringing him breakfast (oeufs en cocottes, black coffee), and put his napkin in his lap. He was startled by his own good mood. He hadn’t felt this upbeat since…when? Before France? Certainly, before it had happened. Maybe these early nights agreed with him. Maybe, he thought with a smile, holding hands with Violet under the sand agreed with him.

“No complicated trips to the beach to prepare for today, eh?” he said to Anna.

“No, not today,” she said. “We never quite know what Miss Flora will think up, but my understanding is that Mister Reggie is taking everyone to see his horses at Sand Point this afternoon.”

Charlie paused, spoon raised. Horses. For a long period in his life, he had spent hours a day with horses. As boys, he and Leo had ridden the trails of the White Mountains and fantasized about riding all the way to Canada. Blue, his father’s hunter jumper, was brave and willful and loved to be brushed. Cloud was the dapple grey that he’d ridden at Harvard, a calm soul who trusted Charlie to keep him away from cars, trains, and other horse-hunting machines.

I want to smell a horse, he thought. I want to touch a horse.

After breakfast, Anna escorted him to the Morning Room where he resumed his work, typing Violet’s agendas. When he finished, he rolled a fresh piece of paper into the typewriter. Power seemed to buzz from his fingertips. He could write again! He could reach beyond the walls of this room and send a message out to float on the wind. Or to reach one particular person.

He double-checked the paper, then began to type a letter to Paul Maynard, the ambulance driver who’d escorted him home. It was slow going. Not only did he have to press the bar after every letter, but he had to make sure he didn’t type too many letters before pressing the return key—or else he’d run off the side of the page. More mental gymnastics.

Dear Paul,
I’ve been thinking of you and hope you are doing well. I remember how morose we both were on our trip home, how close to despair I was. I thought of putting an end to it all on that trip. You were a real brick to see me home.
Is your pain any less? Can the doctors do much for you?
As for me, I’m much the same. Still blind, but I’ve made a new friend. Less black and blue lately. Happy to have found this typewriter.
If you’d ever like to visit the east, my parents will gladly put you up. And I would be glad to see you.
Sincerely,

When he finished, he sat back, shoulders relaxing. For months, he’d wanted to thank Paul, and to ask how he was doing. The fact that he’d been able to accomplish it—on his own, without anyone’s help—lifted him as high as the clouds. He took the paper from the typewriter and placed it on the table, his fingers running across its face, edge to edge.

Heels approached, then a voice—Violet’s. “Good morning. Goodness, I’m late coming down.”

“Headache?”

“Yes. A brutal one. Better now, though. Remind me to invest in aspirin when the war’s over.”

Charlie smoothed his palm over the letter again. “I’ve finished your agendas.”

“You have? That’s wonderful! Alva will be so pleased! How can we thank you?”

“No thanks needed. It felt fantastic to be able to do something for once.” He pressed his fingertips against the paper. “I also wrote a letter. To a friend. Would you read it for me? See if I’ve made any errors in my typing?”

She slid the paper away from him and was quiet for a moment. “Only two. I’ll write in the corrections. Are you going to sign it?”

“Can you help me?”

“Of course.” She put a ballpoint pen in his hand and guided it to the right spot. “Sign right there. Perfect. Do you have his postal address?”

“In my room. I’ll get it later. Thank you for that. I—this is something I’ve wanted to do for some time.”

Silence dangled between them.

“Am…I the friend you mentioned in the letter?”

He swallowed. “You are. Is that all right?”

“Of course.”

There was an odd note in her voice—was it because calling her a friend was saying too much or saying too little? He felt that she was far more than a friend. That didn’t mean, though, that he was ready to say such a thing in a letter. “Are things all right with you and Sadie?”

She sighed. “Almost. I think.” Her voice dropped an octave. “Sadie’s been losing at cards in the evenings. She was farther in debt that I could have dreamed possible.”

“I lost an embarrassing amount the first time I got into a real card game. It’s a hard way to learn a lesson.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope she’s learned hers. We can’t be losing Vanderbilt-sized amounts every day! Even when she’s married, her husband won’t want her gambling their savings away.” Her fingers tapped the table. “Do you think this might be why Mother was worried about her? Or, well, if that was a message from Mother?”

“It certainly could have been.”

“Yes. That’s what I think too. Well. Enough about that. What are your plans for the day?”

“I understand there’s a trip to visit Reggie’s horses this afternoon.”

“Oh,” she said—and there it was again. A constraint, a hesitation. Was this still about Sadie? If only he could see her face! “Are you going? I’m headed over to see Alva this morning, to drop off the agendas, but those are my only plans.”

“I thought I might.” He took a gamble. “It would be more fun if you joined. If we went together. Henry could drive us.”

“Who’s Henry?”

He exhaled. Her voice sounded more relaxed now.

“The Breakers chauffeur. He hasn’t had much to do since everyone here seems to have their own car. I could ask him to take us.”

“All right. That sounds nice. I’ll make sure Alva knows I need to keep it short.”

Charlie realized then that his toes had been clenched. He uncurled them, pleased that a ride with Violet and horses were both in his future.