Whatever Happens, Kurt
The apple orchard was in full bloom, but the scent was wrong. Spring had always been Gwen's favorite time of year. She knew how the smells changed with the wind, from faint to strong to gone entirely; how the blossoms accumulated and browned on the back porch; how the shadows danced through her kitchen window. Everything changed in the spring; and yet, everything was changing even more this spring. The shadows were too big and still, the fragrance too old and stale, the light too bright, the house too quiet. The postage stamp in her hand cost four cents. For Gwen's entire life, 23 years, stamps had been three cents. She had not expected them to change. Did the increased price mean that her letter was now more important?
She sat at the desk where her mother had read each of her father's letters during the war, often rereading a letter many times. It was Gwen's desk now; it had been hers since her mother died. It had never felt so solitary before. She realized, for the first time, that it might not have always been a happy place for her mother; that her mother, too, might have sat lonely and scared at this desk while her husband was away, his life at risk, no way for him to communicate with her. It was a disturbing thought. She had always seen her parents as being happy together; she had never thought about what they were like when apart, or before they were married.
The apple blossoms were not to blame for her mood. Neither was the desk, nor the stiff old chair with its flattened pad covered with a faded floral print. The scents weren't necessarily wrong, and perhaps even the light and shadows were as they usually were when the apple trees bloomed. She had written a letter, and she was afraid. She was also sad, and trembling a bit. Why was she scared? Writing usually came easily to Gwen.
“Dear Kurt,” the letter began, and that part at least had been easy. She wrote to him every couple of months; his reply typically arrived a month later. But this letter was different. This was the letter where she told him she was going to marry Robert Austin. Did he even know the Austins? Did he know Robert? What would Kurt think when he got her letter?
Kurt and Gwen had been friends for many years. Back when Kurt lived nearby in Nashua, New Hampshire, they had occasional picnics together, went to movies, a couple of times went all the way to Boston for a theater show. They wrote more often then, and talked on the telephone when that was possible. Four years ago, Kurt had gone to Colorado to teach skiing for the winter. The winter job turned into a summer rafting guide job, then he was put in charge of the other ski teachers, then he stayed on with the ski mountain year round. Other than for two long family holiday visits, he hadn't come back. It was a long and expensive train ride to New York City and then up to Boston. They kept writing. He always wrote back, almost immediately after he got one of her letters. But he never moved back home. And he never proposed. She had been wrong. They were not to be married after all.
Robert Austin had waited for years. He had money, good looks, and family connections. He was perfectly decent and well-behaved, as far as she could tell. He had never left Massachusetts. His family and Gwen's family had lived in Lowell for as long as anyone remembered, and his family history went back to before the Civil War. He made perfect sense as a husband. He just wasn't Kurt.
But Kurt had moved to Colorado.
Her letter covered the usual: news, weather, family, what she thought of as her girlish observations on the seasons. The Martin's old farm, just down Route 38, was barely a farm anymore; the inn now had a parking lot for cars, the silo was empty, the ox barn had a tractor but no oxen. There were still ducks (the inn needed them for its famous dinners), geese, chickens, cats, cows; but it wasn't a farm anymore, not really. She tried to tell him about the political, business, and sports news in both Nashua and Boston, because she knew he couldn't get local newspapers out at the ski mountain in Colorado, but she was much better at describing the changing scenery, changing families, changing houses.
Changes. The changes in her.
And so finally she mentioned, quite cheerfully (she hoped), that Robert Austin had again proposed, and this time she had said yes. They were to be married in September, or perhaps early the following spring. She had not yet told anyone else (not even her father, although she would not admit that to Kurt, it might send the wrong message), and there were details to be worked out. Robert had just asked her to marry him last night, and this time, for the first time after all his years of courtship and waiting and proposals, she thought that there was a bit of impatience, perhaps even an implied deadline, and Kurt was in Colorado, so she had said yes. Gwen had immediately gone out and purchased a stamp. It was worth the extra penny.
She wrote her letter, as she had written all her letters for years, in a little notebook with a gray cover and an embossed horse on the cover. The notebook had the name of her father's inn. He had once purchased a gross of the notebooks, a ridiculous extravagance, thinking he would sell them to guests of the inn. But the notebooks were too expensive for customers to purchase and too expensive for her father to give away, so Gwen had collected a few and wrote her letters in them. She liked the faint lines that kept her writing straight. She liked the dusty scent (or was it just dust?) that seemed to live in each book. When she was finished with a page, she would use a ruler and scissors to carefully cut out the page. When she was finished with a letter, she would fold the two or three or sometimes as many as five pages together into one envelope. The envelopes were plain; her father had not intended the notebooks for letter writing and had not purchased envelopes for the inn.
The last page still stared at her, with some hostility. “Whatever happens, Kurt, I do love you.” That wasn't on the page. The page was scolding her for its absence. She had wanted to write that, but a combination of her mother's training, two years at finishing school, a lifetime of reading good books, and pride—quite a bit of pride—kept that sentence off the page. Its absence felt like a challenge, a criticism, a scolding. Instead, the letter ended with, “Whatever happens, Kurt, you will always have a place near my heart. Yours affectionately, Gwenny.” He was the only man who had ever called her Gwenny, and this was the first time she could remember signing her name that way. How would he respond to that choice?
She carefully placed the ruler and cut out the page. Then she looked at the old writing desk, the very old wallpaper behind the desk, and the apple tree blossoms falling past her window. She thought about her mother and the way her mother had taught her to sit straight and proper, so that when she went away to school, she already moved, stood, walked, and sat slowly and with precision. She neatly drew a line under the last words, folded the page, folded it again, paused, then tore it in half and put the pieces in her waste basket. She rewrote the last page and mailed her letter to Kurt Dougal, c/o Alpen Ski Chalet, Mountain Spring Valley, Colorado.
Kurt Dougal was excited and confused. He liked challenges; he liked the outdoors; he liked big trips. He'd been captain of his college ski team, then left New England (partly to get away from his father, partly because the mountains were so much bigger out west) thinking he'd be an adventurer, and somehow he'd become business manager of a ski resort, combining both his love for the outdoors and his college training in business. He had intended it to be chaotic and fun, but it had turned neat and orderly. One year turned into four, and he hadn't thought about how long it would last before he returned home to settle in New England, marry Gwenevere Pierce, and get a city job. He only knew that he wasn't tired of any of it yet. Then he got the letter from his father. Father was starting a business and wanted Kurt to come home as a "partner", running the sales side of the business. William Dougal was well-suited for this work. He had the contacts, had purchased the factory, and knew how to run the machinery; he had started and sold businesses before, and he wanted this to be the last one, the one he would pass on to his eldest son. In some ways, it felt like the time had come for Kurt, the time he had always known would come. It was sooner than he expected, and he wasn't completely ready to work with his father. (Not “with”, he reminded himself; he would actually be working “for” his father, not with him, not a true partner. Would they be able to work together under those conditions?) He would write to Gwen to get her thoughts.
His father had purchased two tickets on a cruise ship departing New York City in six weeks. Kurt was to rush home by train, they would spend three weeks at sea discussing and planning the business, and then Kurt would move back home. The ocean trip was a “Welcome Home” gift. William Dougal knew his son well. Kurt loved travel, the longer and more exotic the better, and it would be a gentle way for them to reconnect, so that the business would begin almost organically, rather than under pressure. It left Kurt excited and confused. He was about to do many things he wanted to do, but he hadn't planned or chosen any of them for right now. He’d be going on a trip, going home, going into business. He would marry Gwen. It was a lot of change all at once. He had to tell his employer, but that shouldn’t be a problem. It was a good time of year for the ski mountain and they would be able to replace him. He would write to Gwen. But not to propose; that took planning, and a ring, and a gift. And perhaps he’d buy and wear a suit.
He bought his train tickets. One to New York City and one to Boston. He told his employers. They did not try to stop him. Perhaps they knew it was time for him to go. He had certainly stayed longer than either he or they expected. He still had to write to Gwen. He hadn’t done that yet.
He wasn't sure what to write. When they had lived somewhat near each other, he in Nashua and she an hour away in Lowell, he would write to tell her that he was coming to town the next week, or suggest a trip together the following month. This was different. He was moving back home. He wasn't suggesting an afternoon picnic.
The letter from Gwen came during his last week of work, before his train trip. He smiled when he got it. This would make his own letter easier. He could just answer her letter and tell her about the new business and his return home. He would be home for good in a few months, after the ocean cruise.
“Dear Kurt,” the letter began. Then some words. Some blurs. Some things she'd told him before. Some things that didn't sound like her. A complaint about the old Martin farm. A complaint about her father. A complaint about the ever-increasing traffic. Something was wrong. He was having trouble concentrating, looking for the message behind the words. And then finally:
“You will of course recall Robert Austin. His family has lived here forever. His mother was once secretary to Governor Winston, and his father is a Professor at Harvard College. Robert has been on at me about marriage for quite some time, and I have been quite rude about his interest, behaving in a perfectly childish and flighty manner. I am not at all certain why. In hindsight, it does not seem to have been particularly respectful on my part. But he is an honest and loyal man, and he has not taken offense at my youthful nervousness, and so he has again asked me to marry him. I have answered yes. It seems to be quite the right thing to do at this point in my life.
“I must confess, I had never expected to marry someone quite like Robert. I had rather fancied myself with someone different, as you and I both well know from those many romantic tales and dreams we shared when you still lived up here. I wonder now, what kind of place you are building for yourself in the Far West. What kind of woman do you find there? I hope you may see some or even all of your dreams come true. Although the childish fantasies we shared when we were young must of course change as we grow older, I still hope that Happiness will find each of us. I am certain that, in his way, Robert will provide for my comfort and I will find security and contentment in his home.
“Dear Kurt, I would not ask you to attend our wedding. (It is not yet scheduled, but we are on task to address these details forthwith.) I know that you live far away and travel between There and Here is quite difficult. I am content to have seen you when you came home for holidays these past few years. I hope that you will contact me when next you visit home and that we may see each other, that you may meet Robert (although I feel certain you have met him before now), and see the home that we are to create.
“Whatever happens, Kurt, I trust that we shall always be friends. Yours, Gwenevere Pierce.”
Kurt came home on the train, first to New York City, then to Boston. He did not go to New Hampshire. He took a bus to Lowell. He had written a short reply to Gwen, telling her of his trip home and asking her to wait before making any final decisions about marriage, but he reached Lowell before his reply did. She was surprised to see him. He told her about his father's new business and he proposed that moment, on her porch. He had not stopped to buy a ring or a suit. She did not care. They both cried. She said yes.
He could not imagine wasting his father’s cruise ship tickets, so she agreed to go with him, slightly scandalizing her father because they were not yet married. His own father was not disappointed, because although he would miss time with Kurt at sea, he knew that Kurt would now come home to stay, to focus on the business and build a family.
Kurt and Gwen called it an early honeymoon. They went on the trip and were married three months later, as his business in Nashua with his father was getting started. The cruise was indeed their honeymoon, as they did not take another long trip together for almost four years, by which time they already had two young sons.
Robert Austin did not come to their wedding.