SEASONS OF LOVE
Chapter Three
The three-hour train journey seemed endless.
Mother and Father Macintyre whispered amongst themselves. I shut my ears and
stroked my stomach. Jack’s child was there and I knew I could never and would
never let go of him or her.
I wanted this child to know how handsome and
how talented its father was. How brave he was to save my life. If I were to
hand the baby over to complete strangers, it would never know this. I couldn’t
bear the thought that the child would grow up thinking that its mother didn’t
love it and didn’t want it and not knowing anything about its father.
Besides which, I knew that Jack would have
wanted me to keep it.
Thinking back, I always seemed to know what
Jack would have wanted. Although we only had those precious few days together,
I knew exactly what Jack liked, thought, and wanted. I was convinced I knew him
better than his own mother. What I really didn’t know, I think my imagination
made up for me.
The meeting was arranged at some other priest
friend of Father Macintyre. It seemed to me there was a whole network of
priests out there, fixing up everyone’s troubles. I took a deep breath, as I
knew that no matter what, I HAD to marry this Calvert man, to keep the baby. I
may be married to him, but as far as I was concerned, I would always be Jack’s.
The moment came and I was horrified to see
that Andrew Calvert looked old. I didn’t notice that he was tall and strong,
almost handsome. I just saw the black hair flecked with gray and the lines on
his face. He looked old enough to be my father.
I can’t remember what he said. Introductions
were made and my stomach flipped over so much I thought I was going to be sick.
He seemed polite enough, but he was so much older than I was.
I then found out he was thirty-nine and had
five children. Thirty-nine! My mother didn’t batter an eyelid, even though he
was close to her age. He had five children! I was supposed to marry this old
man and be a mother to his five children as well as my own!
I didn’t hear a word that was said. I was
engrossed in the sick feeling in my stomach and the screaming in my ears that
was coming from somewhere in my head. I wanted to run out the door, keep
running as far as I could. But a voice inside me tried to reason with me. If I
wanted to keep the baby, I had to marry this man and be a surrogate mother to
his brood. Maybe I could marry him, save up enough money, and run away with the
baby? Suddenly, a plan was forming in my mind. Maybe I could save up a little
of the housekeeping money or dress money. I could ask for dress money and save
it up.
I looked at Andrew Calvert out of the corner
of my eye. He was chatting away to Mother, quite relaxed. He had a slight tan,
as though he spent some time outdoors and as well presented in a smart suit.
His hair was groomed neatly, as was his mustache, and his eyes were soft and
blue. He certainly wasn’t as repulsive as Matthew Moore.
"So, Miss DeWitt Bukater, may I ask what
your interests are?" he directed a question to me.
"Art, Mr. Calvert. Paintings mostly. And
music."
"Well, there is a gallery not too far
away. I am sure we could arrange an outing at some point."
"How old are the children?" I asked
nervously.
"Rose!" Mother snapped. "Do
you not listen?"
"It's all right." He smiled.
"I guess it is a lot to take in at once. There is Andrew Junior, he is
fourteen, there is Richard, he is twelve, Ben is ten, Sarah is six, and Louisa
five."
My mind rolled as I tried to take this in. At
eighteen I would be mother to six children, one not much younger then me. The
prospect was terrifying.
The rest of the meeting seemed to flash by. I
learned that he owned a paper mill and Mother was quizzing him about his
financial aspects. He took all these questions in his stride.
I was quite numb. It was almost as if I was
the observer, not the party about to marry.
And so it was agreed that the wedding would
take place that very Friday, here in the church. Father Macintyre’s friend,
Father Riley, who was the priest of Mr. Calvert and family, was to do the
ceremony. A small, simple affair. No bridal gown of French satin and a train
for me this time. No bridesmaids or pomp and ceremony. Just a wedding and then
I would return with Andrew Calvert, my new husband, to his house. It was
simple, official, and almost clinical. Certainly a marriage of convenience. But
it served its purpose. He got a housekeeper and a governess; I got to keep
Jack’s baby.