ONCE GARETH HAD DECLARED his love, he traveled on the high road of optimism. He had total confidence that whatever obstacles stood in the way of complete fulfillment of his dream would be removed in time. His few moments of uncertainty were infrequent. When they came, it was from, of all places, an unexpected source.
He had heard the description “inscrutable Oriental,” but as he met Mitsuiko’s gaze, he had the firm conviction that she knew something. Not only about his feelings for Brooke but about something else. What? He couldn’t tell. There was something in her eyes—understanding, sympathy? Whatever it was quickly vanished when he looked at her, trying to find it out. She would quickly lower her eyes, making it impossible for him to read anything in them.
After that evening they never discussed the future again. Gareth believed his love was strong enough to overcome Brooke’s arguments. He would prove to her that his conviction was able to surmount any difficulties she could put forth. It would just take a little more time to convince her.
Little did he know he was living in a fool’s paradise while Brooke, facing the reality, was making her own plans. Time was running out.
Both of them dwelled in a subtle fantasy of never-ending time. Fragile as the fluttering butterflies among the flowers were those hours of unspoiled happiness they spent in the garden. Yet there was always the shadow of those events happening in other parts of the world. One could not completely erase the screaming headlines, the horror of what was going on in England, where the Montrose family had ties.
It was, in all respects, a bittersweet summer, a summer that came too swiftly to an end. It was time for Brooke to leave, for her and Mitsuiko to return to Japan.
On an early September day, golden with sunlight, the maple leaves just beginning to display their vivid autumn colors, Brooke knew she could delay no longer. For a week she had known but had not been able to bring herself to break the news to Gareth. Her tickets had arrived from the steamship line, her train reservations to the West Coast were confirmed, and all that was left was to tell Gareth.
It was a beautiful evening, clear and cool and full of stars, as Gareth drove to Arbordale. His heart throbbed with anticipation, longing for the evening ahead with her. In his corduroy jacket pocket was the little blue enameled brooch, set with tiny Australian crystals, he had found almost by chance. Actually, he had been searching for some sort of beautiful ring to give her as an engagement ring. He had been looking in the window of the small jewelry store in Mayfield that specialized in antique and estate jewelry and individual designs, when he spotted it. It was about one inch across. In the shape of a tiny turtle, it had reminded him of the one in her Netsuke collection. He had gone in and bought it, knowing it was just the sort of whimsical thing she would love.
As Brooke waited for Gareth to come, all the many impressions, incidents, times spent together, merged in her thoughts. It had been an idyllic summer, far more special than she had ever imagined it would be. She had planned a summer of rest, relaxation, tranquillity. She had not dreamed of love.
Brooke recalled the first time she had met Gareth Montrose. He had the air of a man equally at home in a cabin or castle. His physical presence was intense—tall, well-built, his skin healthily tanned, his hair thick, dark, wavy, his eyes clear, truth-seeking. She had felt almost overwhelmed by his strength and vitality. Now that she had come to know him, she realized he had another kind of strength, a spiritual one that was even more powerful. Gareth was pure, in a way few men are. It shone from his intensely blue eyes, it spoke in his every sentence, his every action. He was generous, kind, intelligent, unselfish. In another lifetime he would have been one of the idealistic band of King Arthur’s Round Table. She smiled at her own analogy, knowing Gareth would be embarrassed and scoff at such a description.
She knew she had to tell him she was leaving, and the thought of doing so left her cold and a little shaky. It was even harder than she had anticipated.
Gareth reacted first with shock, then disbelief, then anger.
“But you knew I would have to … someday,” she protested gently.
“But not this soon. Not now. Not when you know I love you.”
He paced the room with long strides for a few minutes, then whirled around, came over, knelt down beside her chair, took both her thin hands in his, brought them to his lips, kissed them.
“I don’t want you to go. I can’t bear to think of your going.”
“I have to go, don’t you see that? I promised Mitsuiko’s family I would take her back with me within the year. I can’t break my promise.” She paused, then asked softly, “You wouldn’t want me to, really, would you, Gareth? A promise is a promise. Honor is everything in Japan. To break your word is about the worst thing you can do.”
Gareth, brought up as he had been with the ancient code of chivalry and the honor imbued in every Southern gentleman, shook his head slowly. He searched her face lingeringly, then said in a very low voice, “I wish I could make time stand still. Just as it is. Now. I don’t want anything ever to change.”
“But Gareth, don’t you realize nothing stays the same, not ever? The world is spinning constantly, and we’re each of us changing minute by minute. That’s what makes life—change. That’s what makes it so interesting and exciting.”
“No!” he said vehemently. “I’ve just found you, Brooke. Never before in my life have I been so sure of anything as I am that we were meant for each other.” He held up his hand to ward off any protests she might be readying. “You must marry me. We’ll get a place in the mountains. Higher elevation, better for your health. I’ll build the cabin myself. It will be rustic but will have all the amenities … and a good road so that if you need to be checked regularly by a doctor, that can be managed. The pure mountain air will equal what you told me about that place in Japan. Oh, darling Brooke, we’ll be so happy. Please just say yes. I love you and I promise to cherish, protect, and care for you all the days of my life. I can’t let you go. I won’t let you go.”
He was on his knees now beside her chair. His arms circled her waist and he looked up at her.
Brooke’s resistance broke. She was being offered the pearl of great value, the one thing she thought was lost to her forever. The devotion, the love, of a man. And such a man. Maybe this was God’s gift to her. She would be ungrateful not to accept it.
“Oh, Gareth, dearest—” Her voice trembled. “If you really think … if you really want …”
“I do! Say, yes, Brooke, say yes!”
They talked for another hour, an hour happily mingled with long, tender looks, soft words, gentle kisses. Brooke explained she had to go ahead with her plans now but would return and then, God willing, they would be married. In the meantime Gareth would look for mountain property, start designing their rustic retreat.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked, as if the words hurt him physically to say.
“A few months at the most. I’ll have to close up my little house, say good-bye to friends.” She smiled. “You know, the usual things—packing up belongings, books, and so on I left behind.”
He looked so miserable, she touched his cheek with her palm, stroking it lightly. “Gareth, dear, it won’t be long. The time will pass before you know it.”
She tried to make the tone of her voice optimistic. She had to ignore the dark premonition lurking in her heart. She knew she must keep her own fears, her foreboding, to herself, not let it spill over and somehow darken his bright hope.
Gareth, my love, remember that I love you, that we love each other. No matter what the future holds, this time we’ve had together will always be one of my most cherished memories—
As if he had read her mind, Gareth burst out, “Please let me come with you. I could help you tie up loose ends, do whatever needs to be done. That way it would go faster. We could come back together—”
She shook her head. “No, that would be impossible. In Japan things are not done that way. Americans are always in a rush; they want to get things done, finished, as quickly as they efficiently can. In Japan there is protocol, the formal way of doing things with courtesy, tradition.”
“I can hardly stand to think of your leaving. I never wanted this summer to end. I wanted us to go on and on. I love you and will love you for two thousand years. Forever.” He looked at her with great intensity. Her gaze met his and held and lingered as if they were looking into each other’s souls.
After a lingering good-bye, he left and went down the path, through the gate, in a haze of anguish.
When the sound of Gareth’s truck faded and finally could not be heard, Brooke turned from the front door. She felt suddenly exhausted. The emotion of their parting had wrung her. She went to the staircase and stood there, holding on to the newel post before starting up to her bedroom.
As she took the first step, her legs trembled. She clung to the railing for support, wondering if she could make it up the stairway. Her heart beat rapidly. “Mitsuiko!” she called weakly. She felt the choking cough come. “Mitsuiko!”
At Avalon, Gareth tossed restlessly. He told himself things always seemed worse at night. In the morning everything would seem better. Things would work out. In the sunlight—when corners were not filled with shadows, and the gloom was not seeping in like fog into the room, wrapping itself around his heart and mind, dragging him down—everything would regain its normal perspective, its ordinary size, not loom over him like monstrous giants of despair.
The day Brooke was due to leave for Richmond to take the train to San Francisco, she woke unrested from a dream-ridden sleep. She felt she had spent a sleepless night. It was gray dark when she woke up, the furniture hardly discernible in the dimness of the room. Her heart was heavy.
Yet during this long night—mystics sometimes call it the dark night of the soul—Brooke had begun to see that it was not a question of courage, was not that she felt she could not relinquish her responsibility to Mitsuiko’s family. It was what Gareth asked, what he deserved, what her love for him longed to give. She could have made the commitment in good faith in happier days, but now there was always the dark possibility hanging over them that she might not live to return and fulfill her promise to marry him.
She had not told Gareth about her bad spell. Mitsuiko, alarmed at her call, had come running from her bedroom to help Brooke up to bed. Brooke protested that a day’s rest would revive her. But there had been too much emotional strain. The idea of their approaching departure had been taxing. It was the very thing the doctors had warned her about. She called Gareth the next afternoon, disguising her weariness. Giving the excuse that she and Mitsuiko had many things to attend to, she told Gareth that it would be better for him not to come for a day or so. He offered help but finally accepted her word.
In those few days when she did not see Gareth, an inner knowing grew within Brooke that was more than intuition. She felt bereft. She tried to shake it but it would not go away. It was something she couldn’t define. A shadow hovering on them, threatening their future happiness.
On the day of their departure, Gareth, already fighting sadness and depression, drove Brooke and Mitsuiko to the train station. Brooke sat in the front beside him, and he held her hand most of the way, except when he had to shift gears. Mitsuiko, in the back, which was piled high with their luggage, smiled happily. Why not? She was going home. It would be a long trip, but at the end of their journey she would be welcomed by parents, family, friends. She was going to something she knew and loved, not leaving anything behind.
At the station there was much to be done to get them settled in their compartment. He helped them stow their luggage, demonstrated to Mitsuiko how the little table between the windows came up, and opened the door to show her the tiny washroom. She smiled, bowed, shiny almond eyes sparkling. Then they heard the conductor coming through the train, down the aisle. It was time at last to say good-bye, for Gareth to get off and watch the train pull out, taking his beloved with it.
“You will telegraph as soon as you get to San Francisco, let me know how the trip was, won’t you?” he said, and his voice sounded unnaturally stern. “Or phone long distance from the hotel. I’ll wait for your call.”
Brooke protested. “Oh, Gareth, I don’t know. There’s a time difference, you see, and—”
“I want to hear your voice, Brooke,” he said, and his own broke a little.
“All right,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Yes, I will.”
They looked at each other for a long time—an eternity, it seemed—each memorizing the face of the one they loved.
“You’d better go, Gareth,” Brooke said at last.
“I know.” He took her slowly into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she closed her eyes, feeling for one last time the strength of his embrace as his arms tightened around her slender waist.
“God keep you, darling,” she said.
He found it impossible to speak. She turned her head and their lips met in a kiss.
In that kiss was everything they felt for each other. But mingled with it was the heartbreak of inevitable farewell.
They heard the conductor’s last call coming from outside. “All aboard!”
“You must go, Gareth, love.” Brook drew back from his embrace. “Good-bye.”
“Take care of her, Mitsuiko,” he flung over his shoulder as he left the compartment, rushed down the aisle, not looking back. He swung down from the car and stood on the platform until the train started rolling along the track. Then he began running alongside as it moved forward, gaining speed. Brooke pressed her cheek against the window, keeping his tall figure in sight as long as possible. Then with a deep sigh she fell back against the upholstered seat, shut her eyes, two tears rolling down her pale face.
It must be some form of masochism, Gareth told himself roughly as he swerved his pickup into the driveway of Shadowlawn. Already the yard and garden showed signs of neglect. He needed to check with Lynette, find out what she and Frank planned to do with the house over the winter. He got out of the cab, slammed the door, and went around to the side of the house where he and Brooke had spent so many languorously happy hours together.
He felt her presence strongly, as if she were about to enter the garden, come through the trellis, look up from her book with a smile—Brooke, Brooke! Her name was like a sharp stone in his chest. He missed her so much. He longed to see her, to kiss the gentle mouth, smooth back the fine silky hair from the pale brow, the shadows of her long lashes on her cheeks …
For a minute he stood very still and let the sense of her presence come over him. It was almost as real, as tangible, as her absence. But it was gone almost before he could grasp it…. He certainly could not hold on to it. He was reminded of the haiku she once read to him out of a slim book of Japanese poetry: “Happiness is like a butterfly, impossible to capture; all one can do is hope it will alight on your shoulder for a brief moment.”
Gareth clung to every memory they had shared. Holding on to them made Brooke seem closer. But even as he willed it, the reality of it slipped away. Each empty day, each day without her, made the memory of those months dimmer. Her letters were few and far between. He read them line for line, hoping, praying, for some definite word of her plans to return. Weeks went by, slipping into months, and then …
Lynette, in her dressing gown, was at the breakfast table, eating a leisurely morning meal. She picked up the newspaper still folded at her plate. Then she saw the headlines: “Japanese Intern All Foreigners, American Nationals.” She gasped. She wondered if Gareth knew. She didn’t think her brother even took a daily newspaper. He did get the Messenger that was delivered once a week, when he went into Arbordale to pick up his mail, but sometimes she didn’t think he even bothered to read it. She put the paper down and went into the hall, picked up the phone. With stiff fingers she started to dial Gareth’s number.
Then she replaced the phone. No, that would be too big a shock if he hadn’t seen the paper. She would have to go over there, tell him herself. She turned and rushed up the stairs to get dressed.
She ignored speed limits as she drove over to Arbordale, her hands clenching the steering wheel of her little car, her mind already rehearsing how she would break the news to Gareth if he hadn’t heard. Oh, dear God, this was tragic. Lynette had always thought his romance with the lovely Brooke Leslie had been doomed from the beginning, for a number of reasons. But this was so unexpected.
At the landing she did not wait to be ferried across to the island but instead hired a small boat and rowed across to Avalon on her own.
She hurried up from the dock and found Gareth in the gardening shed. He looked startled at her sudden appearance, and his cheerful greeting died on his lips with one look at her face.
“What is it, Sis? What’s happened?”
Wordlessly she showed him the headlines.
Gareth turned ashen. He took the paper she handed him and scanned the lead article, then dropped it, sank down on the wooden bench, and put his head in his hands. “Dear God,” he moaned.
Lynette stood there helplessly. Her heart was breaking for her brother. She made a tentative move toward him. But how could she comfort him? What could she say that would help?
Finally he raised his head and looked at her with haunted eyes. “Internment. Do you know what that can mean? I’ve read what the Japanese do to their prisoners. The atrocities they committed on the Chinese they captured …”
“But these are civilians, Gareth, not soldiers. There are international laws about the treatment of civilians, and we’re not at war with the Japanese.”
“We may well be soon, if things keep going as they are. Brooke told me there was a strong military presence in Japan that constantly talked about expansion, about how they needed more land …” He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I’m so worried. The conditions in those internment camps can’t be anything but horrible. Brooke’s health …” He lifted his head and looked at his sister with tortured eyes. “My God, Lynette, she could die there.”
Deeply moved by his emotion, Lynette reached to take his hand, searching for something, anything, to say but knowing all she could offer was to listen tenderly and sympathetically and let him pour out his heart.