A bucket of ashes

A bucket of ashes by P.B. RYAN

Book: A bucket of ashes by P.B. RYAN Read Free Book Online
Authors: P.B. RYAN
trusted me. I thought you knew me. I thought we were friends.
“And, um, he did it once in Shanghai a few months ago, but he was in a very melancholic frame of—”
    “Shanghai?”
    Nell just sighed. How could one rationalize Shanghai? There was no greater haven of sin in the world. “He really is through with opium,” she said, declining to mention that he’d weaned himself off it by injecting morphine, on which he’d been dependent for another half year.
    “Nell, I wish I could share your confidence, but from what you’ve just told me, he doesn’t seem to be able to resist the lure of Morpheus for very long. Whenever he’s feeling out of sorts, he goes right back to it.”
    “It doesn’t have its talons in him the way it used to,” she said. “When I first met Will, he was... ravaged. He’d had a miserable upbringing in England, after having been torn away from his mother a young age because Mr. Hewitt couldn’t deal with him. Andersonville was a nightmare. He saw his brother murdered, for which he blamed himself, and then he escaped after taking a bullet in the leg—but his parents were told he’d died of dysentery. He spent nine months making his way back North through enemy territory, using opium just so he could stay on his feet. After the war, he was alienated from his family, haunted by his memories, and still in constant pain. He literally didn’t care whether he lived or died. But that’s all changing. He’s a different man now. I can’t imagine him ever using opiates again.”
    “I have no doubt he must be a good man at heart, to have earned your esteem, but from what I’ve been able to gather, he doesn’t seem to have changed as much as you would like to think. Men don’t go to Shanghai for cultural fulfillment, Nell, they go there to steep themselves in depravity. He won’t commit to Harvard, won’t commit to being a real father to Gracie...”
    “It’s complicated,” she said. “
He’s
complicated.”
    “So was Duncan.”
    Appalled that he would make such a comparison, Nell said, “Will is nothing like Duncan—
nothing
.” Her hard tone of voice surprised her; she’d never once spoken in anger to Cyril Greaves.
    Cyril looked surprised, too—and chastened. Pushing off the balustrade to take a step in her direction, he said, “Of course he isn’t. I had no business saying that. Please put it out of your mind.”
    Nell nodded pensively.
    She thought he would bid her goodnight then, but instead he said, a little hesitantly, “Viola... She took me aside before dinner. She’s worried about you, Nell. She said you became violently ill a few days ago, and she heard you being sick again yesterday. I told her I’d seen you growing faint. She has, too. She wants me to examine you.”
    “I don’t need to be examined,” Nell said. “I’m not ill.”
    “Just the heat, eh?”
    “I’m fine, really. I’m sorry Viola has been fretting over me. The next time you’re here, please tell her there’s nothing wrong with me.”
    “The next time? Does that mean you want me to come back?”
    “Of course I do. I do, Cyril. I’m enjoying getting to know you again.”
    “And I you. Well.” He put his hat back on. “I suppose I should be going. Goodnight, Nell.”
    “Goodnight.”
    He set out again for the carriage house, his shoes crunching on the gravel drive. A bit too shaky to go inside and face everyone quite yet, Nell sat on the stone bench beneath the window, hugged a little needlepoint pillow to her chest, and closed her eyes, listening to his footsteps retreat into the night.
    When they were almost inaudible, they abruptly ceased. There was no sound at all for about a full minute, and then the crunching started again, growing louder this time as Cyril retraced his steps. He climbed back up onto the porch, took his hat off, and came to stand before her.
    “I’d like you to marry me,” he said.
    She stared at him.
    “If and when your divorce comes through, of course,”

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