For two days at Christmas time Gilbert was let out of the clinic to be with his family. He sat by the fire, dressed in clothes which had grown tight, wearing slippers, and made a supreme effort to appear involved in the family activities. The children called out to him to look at their presents, at what they were doing, but conscious of his infirmity, he used a tentative voice. Pa, they said, Pa. Maureen, who, with Anna, had come abroad with the Finches, made a plum pudding which Gilbert complimented her on, yet other than a vague comment about the branches taking over the windows, he hardly said a word.

In the bedroom which Lilian thought of as hers, since Gilbert had not seen it till now, there were two twin beds. Lilian helped Gilbert into the bed she slept in and sat on the edge of it as she had sat on his bed at the clinic — in fact, it felt quite the same. She had hoped to be close to him, but till now had kept the hope in the back of her mind, not wanting to be disappointed.

Night, my darling, she said and bent to kiss him.

He looked at her with pale, pitying eyes. Poor Lily, he said.

Not at all, she said and smiled for him. It took her a long while to fall asleep.

39 • He does his best

39 • He does his best

Dear Winn,

Everyone is feeling today the suicide of a woman here only two weeks ago. They don’t tell us but of course we know. She used the cord which held down her mattress pad to hang herself. Any of us could have been there, knowing her feeling. One feels both sides of it, hers and ours, with the act having happened under our roof.

The children come once a week. Fay scowls and Sally stands with sagging lip. Porter marches off to investigate things. Sometimes it keeps off certain thoughts to see them till for no reason my mind blackens and I think they would be better off without me. I wouldn’t say so to Lilian, she watches with enough worry. I marvel at her every day, I’m sure she doesn’t know. Will you tell her?

I don’t know how.

Edith’s books are lovely. The nurses read them to me aloud. Please thank her.

Love,

Gilbert Finch

He wrote in other moods.

… It was the crazy things which spoke in me and I listened, you should too because they make sense, they speak the truth instead of plopping down words unthought like one does in the hallway. Think of all the idiocy coming out of people who say things because there they are, face to face, in the hall or with a pen or entertaining a room filled with people.