William Pennington’s
demonic grin gave Lillian only a moment’s forewarning. Not nearly enough time
to pick up her skirt and dash out of harm’s way. Willie’s Comanche yell
bellowed wildly, causing everyone at the garden party to pause in their
conversations to observe the brother as he hunted and captured his younger
sister.
“Oh, Willie, please
don’t!” Lillian pleaded as her brother scooped her into his arms and
effortlessly ran to the edge of the pond. With strength provided by temper, he
flung her into the air.
Lillian’s indignant yowl
ended as she plunged into the cold water. Her breath, knocked out by the icy
impact, made her inhale before she resurfaced. The layers of her new petticoats
and dress dragged her to the bottom, and in stunned confusion she flailed
helplessly under water.
“She’s drowning!”
Timothy Hughes, one of Willie’s comrades from boarding school warned.
“She’s faking!” Willie
countered, but not before Timothy dove into the nearly freezing water.
In seconds, he located a
stunned Lillie and pushed her head above the water. Within a couple of steps,
his feet found purchase and he scooped the girl into his arms.
“She’s faking!” Willie
called from the pond’s edge, trying to hide the beginning of concern as he
watched his friend struggle under the limp form of his sister.
“Is she alright?” Mr.
Pennington helped Timothy place Lillian on the grown, shifting her head to
clear her throat. The girl sputtered, gasping air into her lungs with sudden
force, and then she coughed uncontrollably.
Someone brought a picnic
blanket, and Timothy gently wrapped the girl in its wooly warmth. Her eyes
fluttered open, but her shaking didn’t subside as he roughly rubbed the cloth
against her frozen skin.
“You’re fine,” he
reassured her when he saw the panic in her eyes. “You’re fine,” he repeated as
he scowled at her brother. “Can you put your arms around my neck? I’ll carry
you back to the house. That’s a good girl,” he praised as he lifted Lillian,
still wrapped in the blanket, from the ground.
“I’ll dash ahead and let
the servants know what’s happened,” Willie volunteered, making a hasty exit
before his father and their friends decided to turn on him.
Lillian’s breathing
eased as Timothy marched across the meadow. She nestled her head against his
neck, snuggling into the warmth of his skin. When they reached the back door,
Timothy shrugged aside offers to let someone else carry her. Instead, he strode
through the kitchen, and followed Mrs. Pennington and several maids as they
escorted him up to Lillian’s room.
The young man stood, a
trail of rivulets running from his soaked clothing, as the women rushed to take
care of Lillian. Mr. Pennington entered the room long enough to ascertain his
daughter’s safe care, and turned to his son’s friend.
Taking Timothy’s elbow,
he nudged the young man out of the room. “We’ll leave Lillian to her mother’s
care now. Why don’t I find you a change of clothes? And a drink?” The older man
guided Timothy down the hallway, opening the door to a room. “Someone will pick
up your wet clothes. I’ll take you back to see my daughter once you’re both
dried.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned on his heel, entering his
daughter’s room once again.
Half-an-hour later,
Lillian sat propped against pillows, a pile of down quilts pressing warmth onto
her feet and legs. She sipped cautiously at the steaming tea her mother
insisted she drink.
Her mother’s creased
brow eased a little as the color returned to Lillian’s cheeks. When the soft
knock sounded on her bedroom door, Mrs. Pennington called, “Yes? Come on in.”
Timothy Hughes’s damp
head peeked around the door, a charmingly disarming smile spread across his
usually serious face. He walked immediately to Lillian, took her free hand into
his own, and bowed with honest concern. “I’m so glad that you are safe.”
Mrs. Pennington caught
the confused look in her daughter’s eyes and explained, “Dear, Timothy is the
one who pulled you out of the pond. He saved your life!”
And at that moment,
fourteen-year-old Lillian Pennington fell in love.
Years later, she’d tell her friends how she knew
she’d never, ever love any man but Timothy Hughes. Willie teased her
mercilessly about her infatuation, and he made certain he reported every
romantic encounter of his friend. But Lillian’s adolescent pining gave way to a
stubborn determination that Timothy would marry no one but her. Because of the
bond with her brother, Timothy often visited their home, and Lillian made
certain she wore her prettiest dresses and spoke the perfect response. She
managed to press herself closely to Timothy when they danced, and to sit next
to him whenever possible. He enjoyed her adoration, grew to count on her as a
fixture in his life. The Pennington and Hughes families regarded the marriage
of Lillian and Timothy as inevitable. Everyone knew he only waited to propose
because he wanted to “give her time to finish growing up.”
The young couple elected
to wed by the pond, where Timothy had saved Lillian. The Penningtons purchased
a home for them that abutted their own property. Timothy happily settled into
business with his own father while Lillian spent her days selectively
decorating their house. She toiled over fabric swatches and paint samples. She
designed beautiful gardens and sunburned her nose as she directed the planting.
She threw her heart into making their life together perfect.
Year after year, she
yearned for a child. She hid her disappointment behind brilliant smiles and
hoped no one sensed her disillusionment as her days stretched out in tedious
repetition. Every morning, she sat in silence as Timothy submerged himself in
the daily news. Her thoughts drifted aimlessly to the mind numbing visits with
friends or family that she felt forced to make. The weight of her sadness pulled
her down and under until she felt herself drowning in the indifference
surrounding her.
“A penny for your
thoughts,” Timothy set aside his newspaper one morning in response to a heavy
sigh from his wife. He watched her make certain their maid left the room before
she began.
“That’s the problem,”
Lillian’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m so bored. I have no new thoughts to add
to our life. I don’t want to chatter on about fabrics, paint, or plants.” She
pointed an accusing finger at her husband. “Your eyes glaze over whenever I try
to explain the value of velvets for the curtains.” At Timothy’s smile, she
continued, “This is not the life I dreamed of having.”
“It seldom is,” he
seriously agreed.
Lillian shook her head
and continued, “I’m drowning, Timothy. Just as certainly as all those years
ago, when you hauled me out of the pond. Only this time you haven’t even
noticed.”
Timothy eyed his young
wife shrewdly, noticed that her delicate mouth nudged downward in a pout, not
of pettiness, but of sorrow. He folded the news into a neat pile, drummed his
fingers upon the table as he concentrated on his wife, probably for the first
time in months.
“Adele told me about the
baby.”
“Baby?” Timothy asked.
Lillian leaned forward
in her chair, her face serious and eyes determined. “I’ve thought of nothing
else since yesterday, and I think I have the perfect plan.”
“Plan?” Timothy took his
wife’s cold hands within his own.
“Yes. You see, we tell
everyone I’m pregnant and that the doctor says I’ll need rest. I have to get
away. Adele’s my maid, so it’s only natural that she’d come with me. No one would
ever suspect that she’s the baby’s mother. And if we’re lucky, the child will
favor you.”
“Favor me?”
“Of course, Adele couldn’t
come back here. I’m ready to forgive an affair, but she cannot live anywhere in
this region. So you see, no one will ever suspect that I’m not the mother,” she
squeezed his hands tightly. “I will love the child as my own.”
“Affair?”
“Will you stop repeating
me?” exasperation filled Lillie’s voice. “I’m telling you that I still love
you. That I want this baby more than anything else in the world. Can you do
this? Will you do this—for me?”
“Have you spoken to
Adele about your plan?”
“I wanted to discuss it
with you, first.”
“I don’t want to disappoint you,
dear. But Adele’s baby isn’t mine.”
“Of course it is! I’ve watched how
the two of you flirt!” Timothy shook his head. “I’ve seen you in whispering together.
Getting quiet when I enter the room.” Timothy shook his head again. “You’re
certain you’re not having an affair?” The irony in Lillian’s disappointment made
Timothy laugh. She tugged her hands from his clasp, and irritation slapped pink
on her cheeks.
“Darling,” Timothy smiled, “I do
believe you’ve given me the most loving gift today! Forgiveness for an affair I’ve
never contemplated and the offer to raise my illegitimate child as your own. I’m
not certain any man deserves a wife like you.”
“Don’t look so smug!” Lillian
thought a moment. “What about Adele?”
“I think we need to talk to her.”
“She said the baby’s father could
never marry her. That she’s alone. She cannot go back to her family with a
baby.”
“Then we’ll talk to her about
letting us adopt her child. Ring for her,” he shifted back into his chair and
shook his head one more time in amazement at Lillian’s misinterpretation and
obvious generosity.
As Lillian rang for Adele, she
quipped, “Just don’t take this admission of mine as permission to have an affair
with someone.”
“Of course, dear,” Timothy said as
he picked up his newspaper.
 |
| William McGregor Paxot, The Breakfast (1911) |
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