Closeness by Y. L. Wigman

Author:Y. L. Wigman [MacTague, Lise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781642471847
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2021-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

In the early morning gloom, Ruby said, “What do you call this?” Irene’s drowsy head was languishing on her shoulder, one arm and a leg slung across her torso.

“This?” Irene’s eyes fluttered open. “I call this unutterable fondness. At home. At ease. Closeness.” She glanced up. “A particular understanding.”

“Ah, we have an understanding. And you go home today.”

Irene moved and propped herself up on an elbow. “Needs must. I have a husband who relies on me for certain business matters. He is a good man. Kind, considerate, and generous. And attentive, although he longer troubles me with manly needs of the flesh.” Then she sat up, putting a pillow behind her back, against the brass uprights. “Ruby, whatever this is between us now, I had no inkling when I made a promise before God when I married him. He has done nothing to warrant my breaking that promise.”

“I can appreciate that…respect you for it.”

“And you have a future mapped out for yourself here. An exciting future because you are so very capable and determined. With ten thousand miles between our very different lives, you and I are worlds apart.”

“All too true.” Ruby sat up and flopped a pillow behind her. She took Irene’s hand between both of her own. “If I may ask, what is your age?”

“Goodness, what an odd question! I’ll be thirty-two later this year. And you?”

“Just turned twenty-eight. It’s only that I want to remember every detail.” She lifted Irene’s hand to press her lips to its inner wrist. “Because I know I won’t ever find another to compare.”

“Oh, Ruby. My dear sweet girl. I shan’t ever forget you. Or this extraordinary time we’ve had together. It’s been a revelation, unlike anything I’ve ever dreamed of or could have imagined if I’d tried. Let’s keep in touch. And I’m not just saying that. I mean it with all my heart. Writing may be too painful or too difficult. It’s up to you. Tell you what. How about a postcard every Christmas, letting me know where you are, come hell or high water? Promise me, please?”

“A postcard once a year.” Ruby pinched her eyebrows. “I can do that. It’s a promise.”

“I’ve something for you.” Irene climbed out of bed and rummaged through her clothing to find her hat. Fiddling with it, she sat on the bed. “It’s in here somewhere…this is it.” She pulled out a long hatpin with a flowery clump at the blunt end. “Eighteen-carat gold and all the gems are real. It’s been my fallback, should I lose my belongings by hook or by crook. I want you to have it in case you run short. Here, take it.”

Ruby held the six-inch-long spike gingerly. “I can’t accept this.”

“My very word you can. And if you have to flog it, don’t accept a penny less than twenty guineas!”

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