Читать книгу The Crooked Olive Branch - Frederick Munn - Страница 9

Chapter 1

The beautiful August afternoon hummed with bees, wasps and sheer contentment.

Bluebirds trapesed in the cascading willows which fringed the river’s edge while swallows skimmed the sparkling waters and the green outfield oblivious to the crack of willow on leather.

Gnats danced in the shadows under an arc of trees, dragonflies shot unexpectedly into the open, their jewelled bodies flashing, reflecting sunlight as they performed breathtaking acrobatic displays of speed, stop, turn and hover. The day stoked up a thirst for lemonade, cream teas and memories. Old men yawned and yarned in deckchairs while the scorer peered down from the score box window to record each dot ball, run, no ball and soaring six outside the white-lined and picket-fenced boundary which marked the extremes of success or contained failure. If ever there was a moment in the annals of man which exuded peace and tranquillity, this was it.

Yet, in the shadows three men were considering a very different scene. Their minds focused on an impending, probable conflict which, win or lose, could destroy such moments.

Perhaps never to return. A few yards away in the pavilion, consideration of another possible conflict was hovering just below the surface, restrained for the time being, within knowing glances and sly smiles.

Pen and Henry, unaware of any such attention, leaned on the rail of a footbridge which spanned the river alongside the old drover’s ford.

Henry mused as he looked down at the sparkling waters as they bounced and gurgled over the pebbles at the edge.

“Minnehaha,” he murmured.

Pen smiled happily. “Laughing water … it does seem to, doesn’t it?”

Their conversation flowed as easily as the river. Both were comfortable in the long pauses while they took in the beautiful scene. The river bent gently round to the left towards the next crossing a little over a mile further downstream. The banks of the river were dressed by weeping willow, flowering shrubs and occasional felled tree seats along a well-used river path between the village of St. Mary Upperford and the market town of Bendesbury.

Pen, wishing to impress Henry with her knowledge, broke the silence.

“Longfellow,” she murmured just loud enough for Henry to hear.

After a short pause Henry replied, “Tall guy.”

Pen began to giggle.

“Mini Ha Ha,” said Henry to peals of laughter from Pen.

The Hon. Penelope Alice Amelia Bridge-Thompson felt as though she had freed from jail.

She understood now why Peter, normally reclusive, had made a friend of this American who was destined to become best man at their wedding. In his presence, she felt safe.

He exuded a quiet charm and warmth. Yet she perceived great strength. He was clearly comfortable in his own skin, in the presence of others, king or commoner, prince or pauper.

She smiled at the thought as they stood for a while in silence, just ‘being’.

Henry Steading III was not however all that comfortable in Pen’s presence. His upbringing would not allow for being remotely rude or dismissive. He was aware that she was sending out signals which were difficult to ignore. Sitting next to her outside the pavilion a short time ago had seemed not to be a good idea. At the first opportunity, he made an excuse to get away saying. “If you will excuse me, I will go and inspect the river. I’m sure drawn to water.”

To be followed shortly after by the persistent Pen.

It was Henry who next broke silence, whispering. “I fit.”

“What was that, Hank?”

“Call me Hal,” Henry replied. “I prefer Hal. Hank the Yank was Cambridge speak. Peter and the crew.”

“O.K. Hal.” Pen tried copying Hal’s Pennsylvanian brogue. “You fit.”

Another pause followed. “Sure, I could live here.” Henry sighed as he spoke.

“Don’t you find that we British are a little quaint, slightly potty?”

“Potty?” Hal chuckled “I guess you mean eccentric. Potty, what a super word!”

“And quaint?”

“No, I guess not quaint. Quaint is one description of the Drovers. It is hot and cramped and if that is quaint, I’ll take Potty.”

“Yet you fit?”

“Sure, I could live here.”

“You could?” exclaimed Pen, slightly surprised, secretly pleased. “But not in the Drovers?”

“No, I guess in one of those cottages around the Green.” Hal smiled at the thought as he added:

“with a wife and a couple of kids.”

Pen sighed. “You fit. You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Sure, I do, but I guess that’s just a dream.” He paused and chuckled again. He was happy sharing his thoughts. “A guy can always dream.”

“I fit. What a sweet way of putting it.”

“My Ma and Pa would really get this place. I just know.”

There followed a further pensive silence before Hal continued.

“Ma and Pa go up to New England each fall. Take a log cabin by the river. The first thing they do is to link little fingers and say, ‘I fit’, then they would recite a little verse. I guess it came from a Valentine.”

Pen turned to face Hal whose gaze steadfastly remained on the tumbling waters.

“What verse was this?”

Hal sensed they were entering dangerous ‘waters’ and that he had better not carry through.

To be rude however, especially to a lady, was not in his nature. He smiled at his memories. It clearly meant so much to him. He began to recite softly with such meaning that it seemed he was back in New England with his family. Once more, a carefree child.

“If I could choose a world to be,

I’d begin at once with you and me,

Then we would paint a Sky of blue,

white fluffy clouds, just one or two.

Spring and Fall with their tints would

intermingle with their stints,

And by the river’s sparkling flow

we’d go about our ‘to and fro.’

Then raise our thanks to heaven above

for all the beauty and our love.”

Hal’s resolve to keep Pen at arm’s length was immediately shattered. His reservations dissolved by his memories.

“That is beautiful.”

“When me and my brothers came along, we insisted that we join in. Join hands in a circle.”

“And you fit in St. Mary?”

“I guess I do. I really do.”

Instinctively, Pen linked arms with Hal. Shocked by this sudden move of affection he pulled away sharply.

“Howzat!” came the cry from the cricket field. “Out!” The umpire replied lifting his finger.