Tender Is The Night

On a late August mid-day, I was in the sunroom, reading Anna Karenina with a soft blanket covering my bare legs. The newly hired maid knocked on the door and said cautiously:

"Mrs. Murphy, a Mr. Charles McGrath is at the front door. He said he won't leave until he sees you."

"Bring him in," I said.

"But Mr. Murphy said no one's allowed in unless he said so," the young maid was afraid.

"And I told you to bring him to me," I said harshly. "You can tell Mr. Murphy all you want when he comes back."

"I didn't mean that way, Mrs. Murphy," she said sheepishly. 

"Go then," I ordered. "Go on."

"Yes, Mrs. Murphy," she nodded anxiously.

I put the book on the side table and straightened up. I wasn't expecting to see Charlie again after that day, but now he was at my door uninvited. Had he heard what happened? He must have. Lindley would be delighted to tell him. Was he worried about me? It would be best if he wasn't.

He was in my sunroom, showered by the bright, golden light. With nervousness and concern on his doll-like face, he carried his brown ivy cap in his hand.

"I'm sorry I came unannounced," he swallowed, too shy to look into my eyes. "May I sit down?"

"Sure," I patted the space next to me.

He nodded. With his cap in his hand still, he came to sit next to me on the camelback couch. He was close to me, so close that the fabric of his pants was touching my barely covered thigh.

"I hope it's fine for me to be here," he said.

"No, it's not." I narrowed my eyes. "You know you aren't supposed to be in this house. Thomas could've been here, and he certainly wouldn't entertain the idea of your presence."

"It's been so long since I last saw you. Lindley said you were stabbed and shot," he paused and turned to me abruptly. I waited. "If I'm smart, I wouldn't bother thinking about you. But I'm not."

"And why is that?" I asked, unsure what I wanted to hear from him.

"Because I'm worried about you. You look so frail," his voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat and said, "I understand, Mrs. Murphy, that I may be nothing to you. I know that, and I also know I shouldn't have given much thought about you. You're an outlaw, and I'm a cop. If anything, I should wish for your demise."

"Charlie," I said his name. "Stop. You need to stop."

"No, please let me talk," he clenched his cap. "It's stupid, isn't it? Stupid Charlie, you probably think, a foolish young man. I'm not like that, Mrs. Murphy, I have a heart, and my heart worries about you. I thought you were dead. I asked Lindley, and he didn't know. So, I told myself that you're dead and I should forget everything about you. With that thought, I was supposed to be relieved, but I was left with nothing but grief. I had to come, and I had to know if you're still alive."

"Poor thing," I said with empathy. "I'm sorry you feel that way. And I'm sorry if I've misled you in anyway."

His eyes were wide.

"Please, forget about me," I was sincere. "Nothing good will come out of it if you don't. You're a good man. Don't get yourself mixed in with this family."

-----

Charlie wasn't the first to call me frail. Not long after Lizzie visited, at an ungodly hour in the morning, there was a knock on the bedroom door. I opened my eyes and switched on the night lamp. Between the thin gap of the heavy curtains, there was no light.

"Yes?" I called out, reached for the revolver in the top nightstand drawer, and hid it under the pillow.

The door opened quietly, and slipped in through the gap was Wesley, who carefully and silently closed the door behind him.

"Hey," he whispered, "how are you?"

"What are you doing here?" I frowned. "How did you get in?"

"I'm sorry if I startled you," he brushed my questions off. "Are you feeling any better? You look rather frail."

"I'll be fine," I sighed and sat up. "Now tell me, what are you doing here? I presume Thomas doesn't know."

"No, he doesn't want me to see you," he pursed his lips. "But I want to see you."

"I'll be all right," I said softly. "Worry not."

"It's hard not to worry when you almost died," he stood on the side of the bed. "I guess I'll have to tell you that Emma is worried too, although she's too weak to visit you."

"I heard the same from Lizzie," I shook my head. "Is she going to be fine?"

"I can't say," he slowly shook his head. "I'm concerned."

"Have you been getting along?" Seeing his reaction, I chose not to press on.

He nodded.

"Good to hear." I tried to sound cheery. "Be good to her, will you? She's the sweetest soul. I'm sorry your party was ruined."

"Thomas' party was ruined, not mine," he said. He was solemn as if he was trying to figure out whether I was being genuine. 

"Thomas seems to trust you," I changed the topic. "I heard he's been giving you more and more responsibilities. I…."

"I don't want to talk about work," he interrupted. "Not now."

"Don't cross his trust by being here," I said sincerely. "It's not worth it. You need to survive."

He was quiet. After a long, tensed silence, he spoke while staring right into my eyes:

"If you ever get a chance to leave this family, take Lawrence with you. And if you ever need any help, I'll be there for you."

"Why are you this keen on me leaving and taking Laurie with me?" I narrowed my eyes dubiously. "This is the second time you said that. Wesley Lee never repeats himself."

"I feel guilty," he said straight-faced. He pulled out a pack of cigarette from his pocket, took out a cigarette, held it between his lips, and light it up with a lighter. "I know you know Thomas exchanged his brother's happiness for clearing the bounty over my head."

"Wesley," I said, "it's not your fault."

"Please, don't act like we are strangers," he took a puff, and as he blew out the smoke, he handed the cigarette to me. "Call me Hyuk."

-----

The day after Charlie showed up, I laid on the camelback couch in the sunroom, with the same book in hand, and thought of nothing.

I heard the door open. Lazily, I turned my head a little. Thomas was walking towards me.

He dressed in his usual tailored suit, with a calm, empty, guarded look in his brown eyes. He picked up the cigarette case I left on the side table and sat down on the same couch as I was lying without saying anything. I watched him light a cigarette. He stared into the distance, beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and into the void.

He smacked his lips: "I let the new maid go."

I raised my eyebrows: "Why?"

"She told me about McGrath's unannounced and unwelcomed visit," he said, "I wouldn't appreciate having a snitch working in this house."

"Hmm," I dropped the book on the floor and gently reached to touch his forearm, "aren't you going to ask what he was doing here?"

"Sure," he shrugged as he moved his arm away. "What was he doing here?"

"I told him to forget about me."

"Good," he was approving.

"Tell me, Thomas," he was about to stand up when I raised my voice. "Why don't you care about Laurie and I's affair?"

"Why would I?" He stood straight and curled his lip.

"I'd appreciate it if you could answer my question," I insisted.

"It makes everyone's life easier in this family," he said. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Perhaps," I said lightly.

"All right then," he let out a deep breath, almost as if he was relieved. "Victoria asked to see you over dinner tomorrow."

"Dinner?" I frowned. "Can't she come for an afternoon tea?"

"She said she'd like to have dinner," he said, "maybe you can take the chance to get a confession out of her."

He didn't elaborate on the kind of confession he wanted from her, and I didn't ask. Confession of poisoning the late Mr. Murphy, confession of causing Mary's disappearance, or admission of resenting her husband. It didn't matter. Any confession was good enough to use against her if he wanted.

Clearing his throat and nodding, he was ready to go on with his day. The conversation had ended in his mind. He expected me to say nothing more. But not this time. This time, I reached for his hand and held it tight. A puzzled expression appeared, and he tilted his head a little.

"Why won't you set me free?" I pleaded. "Why won't you set both of us free?"

"Don't demand things you don't truly want," he pulled his hand out of my grip. "I've told you I'm trying to mend, and you should too."

"What's there to mend when there's nothing left to start with?" I scorned out of frustration.

Without warning, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me up. His face was inches from mine, and in those eyes was bewilderment. 

I thought he'd say something threatening. I wanted him to say something threatening. The stillness and silence ceased a moment later when he abruptly set me loose and walked out of the door without a word.