Love Letters From the Grave(41)
He had to see her again.
Charlie knew that this was the proverbial ‘love at first sight’. He’d read a few novels in the prison library, and from how it was apparently meant to feel, he knew this was it: a pounding heart, a tunnelling of time and space, a feeling that the other half of his soul had just walked away with a carton of pencils.
And yet, how was that possible? He was a married man with three small children, and a fourth on the way – and not just a married man, but a happily married man. Wasn’t he? He was certainly still content in his married life, and there had never been any serious problems during nearly three years of marriage.
On the other hand, he had essentially no experience with romantic love, having married a very young Muriel immediately after being released from a twenty-year period of monastic life in prison, at the age of thirty-five. He had known family love before – and during – his incarceration, but prison was practically devoid of love apart from the bond of brotherhood that had bound them together as inmates, and, of course, his enduring devotion to God. His only connection to romantic love was what he’d read about in the prison library, and what he believed he’d felt for Muriel. Of late, he’d become increasingly aware that they might even have been falling short of Muriel’s own fantasies about what married life might be like, but he’d never for a moment imagined himself wanting to break his marriage vows.
But this? This was a compulsion, as if he were being propelled into extraordinary actions by a chance meeting with the love of his life.
If Charlie knew anything more than any other man, it was how the chance meetings in life could have astonishing results on what happened to a person. The last time, it had led to unimaginable horror.
This time, it could lead to a life-long passion, the coming together of a dream that he hadn’t even know he had. He had to do something.
The moment he had a break in the day, Charlie shot up the stairs toward the payroll office. Amos and he were still such very close friends, laughing frequently, that they seem to have swapped their neighboring cells for neighboring offices.
As ever, Amos was peering through his round spectacles, studying a list of figures and jabbing at the counting machine. He was far better at mental arithmetic, but always liked to have the sheet of paper typed out with all his calculations so that he could justify and demonstrate the factory’s wage payments. ‘I’m never going to be called a thief again, Charlie,’ he’d said to his friend when he’d first started, and he made sure he had paper trails that would have kept McCarthy happy.
He held a hand up to Charlie, entered a couple more numbers, and then relaxed with a smile. ‘Charlie boy,’ he said. ‘Is it lunchtime again? I’m sure I wasn’t here all night, but you never can tell …’
‘No, not lunchtime. I’m feeding my heart, not my stomach.’ Charlie closed the door behind him. ‘I need you to tell me someone’s name.’
‘For the new baby?’ said Amos, puzzled.
Charlie’s mouth went dry. This was not the time to be thinking of the new baby – or rather, with a fourth child on the way, this was not the time to be tracking down female colleagues. But he couldn’t help himself. Furthermore, he knew that Amos would understand this must be something very important to him. He’d known him for years, better than anyone, and the last thing Charlie could ever be was an uncaring philanderer.
‘I don’t know how to say this, Amos, but I … I think I’ve fallen in love.’
Amos leaned back in his chair. ‘You’re a married man, Charlie. A very married man.’
‘I know,’ said Charlie, ‘and I would never set out to hurt Muriel, but I can’t help myself. I … I just met her; I don’t even know her name, and yet I am convinced that this is the woman I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with.’
‘And she works here in the factory?’
Charlie nodded. For several moments, Amos fiddled with his spectacles and stared at Charlie, and he felt exactly as he always had standing before Warden Kelly, waiting for some great pronouncement.
Then Amos sighed. ‘All right. Most folks who work here have turned up in the office at some time or other, asking about their wages. I might be able to identify her. But I’m only giving you her name, okay? I don’t want to be party to anything underhanded.’
‘I understand. Thank you, Amos.’ Charlie could feel his chest flooding with heat. ‘Okay, so she’s … she’s an exceptionally lovely woman. Taller than most women, really quite tall, and slender as a stem of wheat. She has reddish-blonde hair like a harvest sunset, a heart-warming smile, and the voice of an angel.’
Amos rolled his eyes. ‘You really have fallen in love, haven’t you?’
‘Do you know who she is?’
‘I think so.’ Amos wrote a name on a blank wage slip, and handed it to his friend. ‘I think it’s the requisition clerk.’
‘Yes! She came to me for pencils.’
Amos laughed softly. ‘Well, there you have it, my friend. That’s her name. The rest is up to you.’
Charlie left the payroll office in a dream, staring at the name on the chit. Molly Goodwin. Molly. What a lovely name, he thought, his heart leaping with joy even at knowing such paltry information such as her name and where she worked. It made sense that she would have a lovely name. It would be even lovelier, he thought, if it was combined with his surname.