The morning after her birthday dawned with the sky a cloudless blue bowl of light, the sort of summer day that came only once or twice a year in the damp islands of Britain. It was a day when it was easy to believe that Gervase would return soon, intact and passionate and as glad to see her as she would be to see him.
Geoffrey was delighted to accompany her to the market, and they set off together, Diana carrying a basket and a list from Edith.(If you find raspberries, buy several quarts and I’ll put up preserves. Be sure the chickens are young.)In spite of their French cook, Edith would not let herself be driven entirely from the kitchen.
Geoffrey was in high spirits as he wove his way between pedestrians and vehicles with the jauntiness of a natural city dweller. Diana watched him with pleasure. In the last six months he had been having fewer seizures, and some days she even dared dream that he might outgrow them altogether.
As they walked to the market, Geoffrey laughed and chatted, skipping back and forth so that he covered twice as much ground as she did. As they approached the market, he asked, as he did at least once a week, “Do you think Lord St. Aubyn will be back soon?”
“I’m sorry, Geoffrey, I just don’t know. He could come back tomorrow, or next month, or”—she inhaled before saying something she had avoided until now—“or perhaps never.”
“Never?” Geoffrey glanced up at her, his deep blue eyes startled. “Why wouldn’t he want to come back?”
“It isn’t that he wouldn’t want to, but travel is dangerous. Sometimes ships sink, accidents happen. And there is a war going on.” She waved her free hand vaguely.
Her son considered that for a few steps before asking, “Are you going to marry him?”
“Why do you ask that?” she countered, uncertain how to answer. If he was thinking of her and Gervase in man-and-woman terms, the complications could be just beginning.
Geoffrey kicked a pebble across the cobblestones. “When we were at Aubynwood, you were together all the time.” She glanced at him, wondering if he knew just how much time they had spent together, but he didn’t seem to realize how literally accurate his statement was. “You seem to like each other.”
“Liking each other doesn’t always lead to marriage.” She felt her way carefully, wanting very much to know her son’s opinions. “Would you like to have Lord St. Aubyn for a father?”
His face furrowed in an expression of deep thought before he finally shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Yes, but . . .” His voice trailed off and he stopped to scratch an undistinguished but friendly dog. The dog gave a soft canine moan and leaned against Geoffrey’s leg. Her son looked up hopefully, but Diana said, “No, we do not need another pet. He looks well-fed and must have a home already.”
Geoffrey tousled the floppy hound ears, then walked on while the dog sat and looked after them with regret. Continuing his previous thoughts, he said, “I like Lord St. Aubyn, but when he’s around, you pay him too much attention.”
She’d known that jealousy was a possibility, though she had done her best to make sure her son received a fair share of her regard. But having been raised by three adoring women, anything less than total attention was likely to feel like deprivation. She was glad that he was aware of how he felt and could articulate it rather than just sulking.
Taking his hand, she stood on the street corner till a heavy dray passed, then crossed, not relinquishing his hand on the other side. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Geoffrey. I am very fond of Lord St. Aubyn, but that is separate and different from the way I feel about you. A thousand Lord St. Aubyns couldn’t make me love you any less.”
Deciding that it was appropriate to touch on another issue, she added, “It would be the same if I ever have other children. You are my firstborn, and no other son or daughter could ever take your place.” He glanced up, his fingers tight around hers, but didn’t reply. It was a lot for a small boy to think about, even a boy wise beyond his years in some ways.
The market was just ahead, and a sudden burst of voices sounded. Grateful for the distraction, Geoffrey pulled away and scampered up to a small crowd that was forming. Something about the voices and the way her son’s body went rigid warned Diana, and she lifted her skirts and hastened to join him.
In a circle of gaping onlookers, the proprietor of an egg stall was having a seizure. The middle-aged woman writhed on the ground, her body arched back and her tongue protruding as inhuman rasping sounds came from her mouth. Her flailing arms had knocked over baskets of eggs and she lay among smashed shells, bright yellow yolks running across the ground and staining her plain gray gown.
A man by the egg stall waved people back, saying gruffly, “Her’ll be right enough soon.” The bystanders watched with varying degrees of curiosity, pity, and revulsion.
After a quick glance at the woman, Diana turned to her son, seeing his trembling lips and the expression of horror and loathing on his face. Suddenly he turned and bolted away, fleeing blindly down the crowded street.
She half expected this, and followed, but it took two long blocks to catch up with him, and only then because his wrenching sobs demanded more breath than he could spare. He slowed to a halt in front of a confectioner’s shop, gasping for air, tears running down his face. Dropping her basket, Diana knelt and wrapped her arms around him, as if he were much younger than eight years old.
Through his gasps for breath, he managed to ask, “Is that . . . what happens to me?”
She hesitated a moment, then admitted, “Yes.”
Shaking his head violently, he said into her ear, “It’s dreadful, like being an animal. No wonder they stare. . . .” He struggled against his tears, then buried his face against her neck. “It isn’t fair! What did I do that God made me like that?”
She held him tightly, aching that she could do no more. To see a seizure for the first time was shocking; to know that he himself could be so terrifyingly out of control was far worse. Ignoring the people walking around them, she rocked him in her arms, crooning, “It’s all right, darling, it isn’t that bad.”
The trembling diminished, but his voice was anguished, no longer that of a child. “Itisthat bad. There’s something wrong with me, and I’m different. I’ll always be different.”
Diana sank back on her heels, holding his hands as she watched his tear-smudged face. “Yes, you are different. It may seem unfair, but God’s reasons are not easy for us to understand.Everyperson is different, sometimes in good ways, sometimes in hard ways, but it is our differences that make us what we are.”
He dragged a sleeve across his eyes, trying valiantly to master his distress. “I . . . I’m not sure I understand.”
