Page 93 of The Treasure House

“You don’t get to say ouch,” Cilla told him fiercely. “You’ve toyed with me for years, and now that you’ve wasted my youth, you’re running off to the army?”

“Wasted your youth?” Freddie got snappy himself at that. “Come on, Cilla, you’re not even twenty-two yet.”

Cilla made a sound like an angry cat. “Almost twenty-two and a bridesmaid at my own little sister’s wedding.” She threw the bouquet at him and then stalked off, her skirts swirling.

Freddie swore. Then he looked over at the catberry bush. “You can come out, half-pint. I saw you dive in there.”

Chagrined, Marly inched out of the bush. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said, although she kind of had.

“It’s not really eavesdropping when one of the parties is shrieking.” Freddie untied his bow tie. “I’m out of here, kid. You want me to walk you back to the hotel? You’re looking pretty done with it all yourself.”

Marly nodded. She had no interest in going back to the wedding party. “I’ll just tell my brothers where I—”

“No need,” Freddie said, wincing on her behalf. “They already headed off with Elton’s brothers to some bar in Rockport.”

Of course they had. Here she was alone, then. Again.

Except for Freddie. But even he was about to run off to the army and leave her.

“Come on, it’s lovely weather for a walk.” He offered her his arm and she took it. “Let’s cut through the woods and then down to the beach.”

As they crossed Tinker Street they could hear the sound of the wedding party winding down, glasses chiming as they were gathered up, voices grown soft and tired. The forest on the southern side was sleepy in the late afternoon, the dusty sunshine pouring through the firs. The needles crunched underfoot, and everything smelled like summer about to take full flight.

Marly felt the firmness of Freddie’s arm under her fingers, and she fixed every detail of the moment in her mind, to relive later.

“So. You’re joining the army,” she said softly, as they meandered down through the woods to the road, taking a path that wasn’t exactly a shortcut but was worth it for the beauty.

“I am.” He pulled away from her, tugging his arm from her grasp. He took his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder.

“When?”

He looked up at the branches above them, the new budding pinecones just showing their little heads. “End of the summer.”

“But… why?”

“Why not? I’ve got nothing else happening. Like I said to Cilla, the law isn’t for me. I’ve finished a bachelor’s degree, and I’m not interested in taking it further.” He lapsed into silence as they reached the edge of the firs and crossed the road to the cliffs.

Marly frowned. “By why the army?” She followed him until the cliffs declined and the sandy path down to the little beach appeared. The seaside daisies were in full bloom along the path, nodding their heads in the breeze.

Freddie fished in his jacket pocket for his sunglasses and slid them on. Marly wished she’d brought hers. It was still bright out, the sun still a couple of hours away from setting.

“My old man was in the army, you know,” he said.

The sandy path curved in switchbacks down to the beach. Marly stopped abruptly. “Keep your eyes on the beach,” she told him firmly. “I want to take my stockings off and go barefoot.”

“Sure, kid. Good idea.” He didn’t show the slightest inclination to steal a peek as she unhooked her stockings and rolled them down. He genuinely did think of her as a kid, Marly thought in disgust. Freddie took the time to take his shoes and socks off too.

She bundled the stockings up and crammed them in the toes of her shoes. “Okay. I’m done.”

He didn’t even look at her then. He just started off down the path again, his shoes swinging from one hand and his bare feet sliding through the golden sand.

“Your old man was in the army, you said,” Marly prodded. She wasn’t surprised to hear it. Mr. de Marche looked like he should be in a uniform.

“He stormed the beaches at Normandy.” Freddie hopped off the path and onto the little horseshoe beach at the foot of the uneven cliffs. “He got a Silver Star. He was in the European theater for the rest of the war, including the Battle of the Bulge.” Freddie stared out at sea. “He never talks about it.”

Marly didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet.

“I don’t understand him at all, you know,” Freddie said, turning back to look up at the cliffs. “But I keep thinking that at least he’s done something. Served something bigger than himself.” He bit his lip, making the silvery scar on his chin flash. “So, I don’t know why the army, except that. And that the draft might get me anyway, so why not take control of it and do it in a way that suits me?”