Margaret of the North (18 page)

Margaret caressed his cheeks and
pressed her lips to them, whispering in a tremulous voice.  "And I love
you even more each day.  You make everyday something I eagerly look forward
to."  She settled her head against that comforting niche on his neck and
added, "Believe me, that is quite a change, not just from the trying time
when I first lived in Milton, but also from those safe, pleasant dull days in
London.  Thank you again for being so constant."

"Margaret, my love." 
He tilted her face up to his and kissed her.  Then, he pulled her down on the
bed on top of him.  That night, he took his time making love to her, gazing
into her eyes, whispering into her ears, caressing every part of her and
relishing each touch.  And, once again, he was thrilled at how ardently she
responded to him.

Margaret and John arrived at the
Port of the Bay of Cadiz on a blazingly bright day in mid-June when
temperatures could easily exceed 30 degrees Centigrade.  They stood on the top
deck, watching the approaching city of Cadiz—a small peninsula jutting out like
a tongue into the vast blue Atlantic Ocean and separated from the rest of
Andalusia by the less imposing Bay of Cadiz.  As the ship slowly entered the
bay, John and Margaret waited among the dense crowd of passengers for the ship
to come to a full stop and dock at the Port.  Everyone listened intently for
the announcement that they could disembark. 

Margaret held on to her hat as
the warm persistent sea breezes threatened to blow it away.  She did not mind
the breezes at all.  They tempered the nearly unbearable heat that would,
otherwise, have made her sweat profusely by now.  Margaret wanted to present
her best self or, failing that, at least to appear calm and collected.  In fact,
she was trembling a little, anxious to see and hold her brother close again and
to make a good impression on his wife whose beauty and perfection she had heard
so much about. 

She had taken some care dressing
up that morning and, the night before, she envisioned the meeting vividly in
her mind and even planned how she should act.  She looked up at John, standing
by her side, and smiled a simultaneously anxious and joyous smile.  He smiled
warmly back at her and pulled her closer in a gesture of reassurance.  She was
shaking a little.

Margaret, surveyed the mostly
dark-haired, colorfully-dressed crowd on the pier from her higher perch on the
ship and saw her brother at once.  His brown hair shone like bronze under the
bright coastal sun and he stood at least half a head taller than most of the
crowd waiting to welcome passengers from the ship.  A petite woman with
abundant curly dark brown hair that cascaded down her back clung on his arm. 
Margaret waved at Frederick and then turned to John.  "Frederick.  Do you
recognize him?"

"Vaguely; I saw him only for
an instant in a dark train station but, in this crowd, he looks unmistakably
English and does stand out.  That must be his wife."

"Yes.  Dolores.  Isn't she
beautiful?"

He nodded with a smile and then he
grasped her around the back of her waist and led her towards the ramp to join
the other passengers who had begun to disembark.

With so many passengers on the
ship waving at those on the platform, Frederick did not immediately see his
sister but he did see John's tall dark figure looming a head above the largely
Spanish crowd that slowly moved towards the ramp.  He waved his hand
frantically in their direction and Dolores, taking her cue from him, waved more
daintily.  Margaret kept her eyes on her brother as she took her turn down the
ramp, impatient to reach him right away.  She had forgotten all the preparation
she had done in her mind for this meeting.  John, behind her, held her arm in a
steady grip, concerned that she was heedless of the danger of the steep ramp in
her impatience to reach the platform.

As soon as Margaret stepped on
the pier, Frederick ran toward her, oblivious that he was leaving his wife
behind.  He clasped his sister in a long tearful poignant embrace, kissing her
repeatedly on both cheeks.  They held on tightly to each other, bound by the
remembered sorrow of the not-too-distant losses they suffered in common, but
apart.  For Frederick, the memories were laden with guilt that he was not there
to share the pain, to comfort his younger sister, to assume the burden of
unpleasant decisions that needed to be made; for Margaret, they unleashed the
grief she had already bottled securely within her but which now once again
flooded her whole being as violently as it had done when it was fresh.  This
time, however, there was an unburdening, a pouring out of her grief, of the
desolation and the uncertainties that battered her spirit for too many months. 
She was shaking in his arms, her face wet with tears.  He was not trembling any
less than she was and his eyes were equally brimming with tears.

John stood nearby, watching and
waiting, so drawn in by the emotional meeting playing out in front of him that
he almost missed the faint "hello" coming from behind him.  Before he
could turn, Dolores was there, standing in front of him, smiling engagingly,
and he heard her introduce herself in foreign-accented English.  In a
spontaneous move that surprised John, she placed her arms around his shoulders
in a brief but tight hug, and then she stood on her toes to offer her cheeks to
him.  Unused to such exuberance, he gave her a quick embarrassed buzz on one
cheek and introduced himself.

Margaret and Frederick,
eventually roused from their emotional reunion, turned simultaneously towards
their spouses.  Frederick, his eyes red and puffy, smiled tremulously at his
wife and, looking contrite, whispered an apology into her ear.  She kissed his
tear-stained face.  He placed an arm around her waist and, turning to John, he
reached out to him with his other arm.  John had been rooted in place,
bewildered, hesitant, and watching his wife with concern. 

He grasped the offered hand with
both of his but in a quick gesture that he did not anticipate, Frederick
clasped him in a tight embrace.  "John, I feel as if I have known you for
a long time from Margaret's letters.  Welcome to our family! 
Muy encantado
,
as we say in Spanish.  You have met my wife Dolores?"

John nodded and smiled warmly at
both of them, "Yes, she has already taught me one of your charming
customs."

Frederick turned to his sister
who was finally regaining her composure, and presented his wife.  Margaret,
cognizant of Spanish customs from her brother's letters and already predisposed
to like Dolores, embraced her for a long moment and kissed her on both cheeks. 

"I feel that I know you
quite well from Fred's letters.  His letters are often short and to-the-point
but he fills pages talking about you."

Dolores blushed and smiled with
some embarrassment, "I hope I meet your expectations."  Self-conscious
about how her English sounded, she glanced at Frederick who nodded in approval.

"Dolores is unsure of her
English but, in fact, she does quite well.  Her English is better than my
Spanish."  Addressing John, he added, "Margaret and my father were
the ones good in languages."

Margaret smiled warmly at
Dolores, "You are even more beautiful than I imagined from Frederick's
description and you make English sound lovelier and more musical."

Frederick nodded gratefully at
his sister for her reassuring words.  Dolores had agonized for days, anxious
for the approval of the sister-in-law she was meeting for the first time. 
Dolores, pleased at Margaret's remarks, hooked her arm around Margaret's and
led the way.  "Fred—he does not explain well.  Like most men.  He said, my
sister, she is strong and her spirit, formidable."  Dolores hesitated on
the last word and glanced at Margaret for approval.

Margaret nodded with a smile and
Dolores continued, "He made me anxious with his words.  Now I see you. 
You are kind, sweet and you have the most beautiful large blue eyes I have ever
seen, more beautiful than his."

"I can see we will get along
well for we are both anxious to like each other."  Margaret replied,
smiling.

Frederick and John followed their
wives and, as they walked behind, Frederick said, grinning widely, "You
know we have seen each other before?  At a train station at night, I believe,
more than two years ago.  I recognize you from that time, even hidden somewhat
by the shadows.  You have a rather memorable countenance although you look much
younger under our Andalusian skies."

John grinned back at him,
somewhat embarrassed, uncertain what had passed between brother and sister when
they talked about him.  But determined to be pleasant to Frederick to secretly
atone for having been jealous of him for a long time before learning that he
was Margaret's brother, John answered in a self-deprecating tone.  "It
must be that I appear less stern without a scowl.  But then, you must
understand, to me you were, at that time, a stranger embracing the woman who
meant the world to me."

Frederick laughed and gave him
another hug, "I like you already.  I hope you were not left out of our
family secret for too long."

John shrugged, "I would have
liked to have known about it earlier but I am here now and that's all that
matters, I believe."

**************

John and Frederick got along
almost as well as Margaret had hoped for.  Frederick, having lived in Spain
more than seven years, had adapted to the slower, informal pace of life and the
warmer, more spontaneous demeanor of Southern Spain.  He was as casual, open,
and affectionate with John as he was with his sister.  John initially felt
uncomfortable with such informality and warmth.  At home, Frederick and Dolores
were even more demonstrative, touching, holding and kissing each other with a
loving playfulness that John felt free to engage in with Margaret only in the
privacy of their bedroom.  But Frederick and Dolores acted so unreservedly
towards each other, even in company with him and Margaret, that their natural
ease began to have an effect on John.

The constant balmy heat was made
for loose informal attire and Margaret was unprepared for it in her full skirts
and long-sleeved blouses.  She considered getting rid of her crinoline when she
noticed that not all the women of Cadiz bothered with them.  Before she could
do so, however, Dolores insisted on giving her clothing more appropriate to the
sultry climate.  She said, "The skirt and your blouse, they are too hot
for this weather, no?  Also, your body, it is beautiful.  You do not need
the………"  She groped for the words as she gestured with her hands around
her torso.

"Stays," Margaret said
with an encouraging smile.

"………stays, yes.  It is
cooler without them, you think?"

"Yes, you are right.  I am
burning in these clothes."  Margaret agreed with a laugh and accepted the
offered garments gratefully.

That afternoon, Margaret emerged
from her siesta wearing her new outfit, a relatively sheer short-sleeved deep
rose blouse, a forest green flowing skirt that clung to her limbs when she
moved, no stockings, and a pair of sandals open at the toes.  John was a little
taken aback.  Up until that time, he had only seen his wife dressed formally in
company and seeing her in scantier clothing outside their bedroom bothered him
somewhat.  And, yet, he thought she looked so beautiful in them and they showed
her graceful figure to advantage.

Frederick, who was pouring
drinks, saw the scowl that passed almost imperceptibly through John's brow. 
After serving everyone their drinks, Frederick sat down next to John. 
"Isn't my little sister beautiful?  You know, when we were children, she
hated wearing petticoats because she could not run fast enough to keep up with
me.  So, she would drag me to the fields away from Dixon's watchful eyes where
she could take them off.  Without them, she did sometimes outrun me, partly
because of sheer determination, I think."  He laughed a little as he
finished with another recollection, "Unfortunately, after she was sent to
London, she started acting more like a lady when she came home and she was not
as much fun anymore."

John, replied without taking his
eyes off of his wife.  "She is indeed alluring.  I suppose I always
thought I was the only one privileged to see her dressed so………casually."

Frederick chuckled, "You are
on the Andalusian coast!  We put on a public persona when we leave the house
but in here, what you do is between only you and your conscience.  You make
your own rules.  Most of the year, we cannot dress as you do in Britain.  This
climate encourages an informality that I find good for the spirit."

"But does not the Spanish
temperament figure into it?"

"It must.  It is
spontaneous, less inhibited, well-suited to this particular area of Spain where
nature is all around us and trade brings in such a diverse group of people.  To
live here, one cannot always insist on proper decorum and be resistant to
change.  Take me, for instance, I was bred to be a proper English gentleman and
I believe I am now closer in disposition to a Spaniard.  Their outlook on life
has influenced mine entirely.  It did take years, though."