Part Four
The Mainland
Chapter 25
Spring 1954
For young Matthew, the crossing on theArgylewas a grand adventure. All he knew of the world was his sturdy little island home of sand and grass, but the ship was anything but sturdy. It rose and fell under his small feet, traveling fast, slicing through the salty ocean, generating its own waves that rolled off the steel hull. The big city that lay on the far side of the sea was a mystery to him, and he was restless with anticipation.
When at last they steamed into Halifax Harbour under a gray sky, Emma—seven months pregnant and showing it—stood at the rail with Matthew and took in the city, as if for the first time, through his innocent eyes. She pointed at the white clock tower on Citadel Hill and explained that it had been built in 1803 as a gift from Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, who’d been commander of the British forces in North America. But Matthew was far more drawn to the fleet of Canadian naval warships docked in the harbor—frigates and destroyers with gun turrets and missile launchers.
“Did Captain Harris work on those boats?” he asked, surprising Emma with the question.
She laid her hand on her belly. “No. Those are Canadian ships. He served in the British Royal Navy during the war, before you were born. The ships would have been similar, though.”
Emma paused the rest of her narration because the question had awakened her heartache. Where was Oliver at that moment? In Boston or New York? Back in Manchester with his family? Or somewhere else, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, fighting a squall on his way back to her?
Clearly, she still clung to old hopes and dreams. Maybe she always would.
Curses on him for not coming back! Or for not at least writing to tell her that he’d changed his mind or couldn’t get a divorce. Whatever the reason, she deserved to know.
It was thenotknowing that made it unbearable.
TheArgyledocked on the Dartmouth side of the harbor, where Ruth stood on the wharf, waving exuberantly at Emma and Matthew as they descended the gangplank steps, their hands gripped tightly on the handrail. When they reached solid ground, Emma took hold of Matthew’s hand and walked briskly toward Ruth.
“It’s so good to see you!” Ruth cried, wrapping her arms around Emma. “I couldn’t wait for this day to come.”
They drew apart, and Ruth bent forward, hands on knees, to greet Matthew at eye level. “The last time I saw you, you were barely a month old. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”
Suddenly shy, he sidled close to Emma’s hip. She bent to speak softly in his ear. “Hold out your hand and say hello to Aunt Ruth.”
He did as she asked and spoke politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Ruth replied and shook his hand with a warm smile. “Now, let’s go to the car. I tipped a porter handsomely to deliver your baggage.”
“Of course you did,” Emma replied, feeling blessedly restored as she took Matthew by the hand and followed Ruth across the dockyard.
Ruth’s blue Victorian town house was unchanged. Flower boxes underscored every window, each one spilling over with pine boughs left over from the winter season. The front door was a delightful burst of color. It gleamed gorgeously with a fresh coat of glossy red paint.
Emma stepped out of Ruth’s car and stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the house.
Suddenly, with unexpected angst, she found herself recalling the moment when she’d pushed Matthew’s stroller around the corner at the end of the street and had seen police cars parked outside the house.
The memory of that day was a jolt to her heart: Logan in handcuffs. Shock and terror. Later, a wave of betrayal and fury, neither of which had drained from her spirit.
Holding tight to Matthew’s hand, Emma fought to expel that day from her mind, and she quickly climbed the front steps.
“Tell me something,” Ruth said that evening after Emma had settled Matthew into bed and returned to sit by the fire. “Are you all right?”
Emma’s mouth fell open slightly. “In what sense?”
“You seem different. I know you’re trying to be cheerful, but I can see something’s wrong.” She inclined her head. “Emma, darling. You’re hurt, and it’s obvious. Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s not much to say, really. Except that being back here makes me remember what happened with Logan and how awful that was.” Feeling suddenly frustrated, she raised her hands in mock surrender. “What is wrong with me that I keep falling in love with men who lie to me? How can one woman be so unlucky?” She shook her head wearily.“Or maybe it’s not bad luck, but stupidity. I still can’t believe it about Oliver. I know I should take his ring off this chain around my neck, but I can’t. I’m still hoping he’ll show up at the door.” She pulled it out from under her blouse and showed it to Ruth.
“What if he comes back at some point with a reasonable explanation?”
Emma tucked the chain back under her blouse. “I suppose it would depend on the explanation. But I don’t want to spend the next ten years of my life checking a mailbox every day, waiting for a letter. I’ve done enough of that. And even if he did come back today and grovel and beg for my forgiveness, I think I’d find it difficult to ever trust him again.” She pressed her fingertips to the space between her eyebrows. “How could I have been so wrong about him?”
