Becoming Mrs. Lewis(18)
Renee came closer with a softer tone. “Bill told me what the doctor said . . .”
My eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“That you need to heal, that you might need to go somewhere to do so. We all need you, the kids especially, and if you’re sick and exhausted you’re no use to anyone. Not even yourself. And especially not your work.”
“I know, but leaving feels impossible. How could I leave my children? I’m not sure I could survive that either.”
“It may not be easy,” she said, “but it’s not impossible. I’ve done loads of things lately that I once thought impossible.”
“I have thought of England,” I said. “Of going there and getting some rest from these illnesses, of writing and talking to the one friend who might be able to help me. I’ve longed to see the English countryside, immerse myself in its history and literature. I have an idea for a book set there, but all I can do is keep trying to make things right here. Keep writing. Keep taking care of my family.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you dream of going to England, and your doctor suggests the same, then you should, Joy. We will be fine here.”
I stared at my cousin with wonder. Maybe it was possible: all the dreams and the wishes and the imaginings of England’s cool countryside.
“I don’t know.” I stared outside as if England rested on our Staatsburg acreage. “Chad went and it changed his life. When he came back he wrote his best work yet, and hasn’t quit.”
“It could change all of ours too, Joy. Maybe this is your one chance. Why not take it? I’m here to help.”
She smiled at me with the kindness one might bestow on a small child and then stood to walk away.
When the room was empty, my thoughts returned to something I’d said to Chad not so very long ago in Vermont, What would become of me if I should ever grow brave? Well, I believe I was about to find out.
Jack:
How is the visit with your cousin? With our house claimed again as our own, Warnie and I entertained a guest from Ireland—my childhood chum, Arthur Greeves—and we are now resting for the weekend. Even being turned down for a new professorship at Magdalen cannot dim my cheerful mood. And last week I gave a speech about children’s literature at the Library Association—I believe I shall take the speech and turn it into an essay; it contains much of what you and I wrote about in our letter—the good and bad ways to write for children. As has become the way: your words help to clarify my own.
Joy:
It’s been nice to have a female friend in the house. It does bring old memories of childhood, though. Renee has taken a job in Poughkeepsie, therefore we have money flowing back in now; she is deeply worried about carrying her weight. I am writing like a madwoman—the King Charles II book has opened a crack in my creativity and the words are flowing once again.
Exciting news: I am making plans to come to England. There are some logistics to unravel, but I believe it can be done.
One humid spring morning I went to both Bill and Renee and asked them to hear me as I told them of my plans to save us all.
We sat in the living room, Bill and I on the sagging corduroy couch and Renee in the stiff Naugahyde chair across the low wood veneer coffee table. The room was as clean as it’d been in months—between Renee’s ministrations and the return of our housekeeper, Grace, the dust and clutter had been temporarily excised.
“In April,” I began, “I’ll receive a check for my articles. I’d like to use that money to take a journey overseas.” I paused. “To England.”
Renee smiled at me, her eyeliner crinkling. Bill shifted, his back pressing against the armrest of the couch as if he was trying to get as far away from me as possible. “England,” he said in a sentence all its own.
“Bill,” Renee said in her sweet voice, “you know Dr. Cohen said she needed something like this.”
Bill glanced at Renee and then to me. “Are you feeling sick again?”
“You know how I feel. My body hurts. Everything in me hurts. But that’s not the only reason. I love you both and I love the boys, I know I do, but I feel numb to it, and lost.”
“And how will you live?” His voice sank lower, the Southern accent nowhere to be found.
“I have the articles, and a royalty check coming from Macmillan any day now, and I’ll finish or work on at least two books while I’m there.” I shifted on the couch, took in a breath, set forth the words I’d practiced. “When I close my eyes, I see the deep green of it all. It’s a place where we have friends I can stay with—Phyl is in London now.” I looked at Renee. “She stayed with us last winter during a crisis in her life, and she’s made it clear that I have a place to stay. And we also have a friend who might have some answers to help us all.”
“Mr. Lewis,” Bill said.
“Yes.” I hesitated. This was where I could lose my balance. “I’ve started the novel on King Charles II, and I think it could be a real moneymaker. But I need to go to Edinburgh to the library there for research. I could also complete the Ten Commandments articles, which might make an appealing book, all compiled. And to boot, England’s medical care is practically free. They don’t stop tourists from using it when on holiday. I could finally get all my teeth fixed and some checkups I’ve been putting off because—”