Page 33 of Nantucket Longing

On Christmas morning, Madeline and Henry woke up at dawn and went for a long, chilly walk down the beach.They were quiet and soft with one another, holding hands and kicking their feet through the snow that lined the sand.The water frothed and stirred.When they were so far down the beach that they couldn’t see The Copperfield House anymore, Henry took both of Madeline’s hands in his and said, “I want to tell you something.Something crazy.”

“Me too,” Madeline said because she still hadn’t explained the story of Barbara Nowak and how, already, she’d bought a flight from Paris to Warsaw to see her grandmother’s performance.She knew Henry would understand; she knew he would have empathy for the tremendous undertaking this was.But she knew it meant more time apart—and a difficult comprehension of how the next year of their fledgling relationship would go.

“Can I go first?”Henry asked, laughing at himself.He really did look so handsome, his cheeks red from the cold, his hair flying around his face.He’d forgotten his hat, and Madeline itched with the desire to give him hers instead, if only to keep him warm.

She’d never loved anyone like this before.It was the greatest pain she’d ever known.It was also worth everything.

“I’ve been thinking I want to ask you to marry me,” Henry said.He said it so beautifully, in such an open way—a way that suggested he wanted to talk to her about this before making a grand proposal, a way that suggested he respected her opinion on a matter as great as this.

Madeline took a breath.She thought back to the previous few months of Parisian living, during which she and Henry had hardly managed to speak on the phone for more than an hour per week.She’d thought he’d forgotten about her.What did that mean?

“How long have you been thinking this?”she asked.

“Basically since we met on that plane,” Henry said with a funny laugh.“Listen.I know we’re young, and I know people don’t usually get married young anymore.But doesn’t that make it interesting?Doesn’t that mean we could grow together and change together and make art together?”Implied in what he was saying was the idea of being like his grandparents—forever in love and making art.

Madeline’s heart ached.She clung harder to his hands and said, “We haven’t seen each other for months.”Maybe he doesn’t mean it.Perhaps this is all in his head.Maybe it’s a bit of Christmas confusion.

“I don’t want to go through that again,” Henry said.His thumb swept over her hand.

Madeline swallowed the lump in her throat.“I have to go back to Paris.”And Warsaw.

“I know that,” he said, his voice hiccuping.“But my movie will finish up soon, and then I’ll have a small break and come see you, and then, you know, down the road…” He trailed off.“Who says we can’t live all over the world?Who says you can’t be a famous pianist wherever you want?”

Madeline laughed.“Is it that simple?”She knew it wasn’t.

Henry raised his shoulders.“Why can’t it be?”

“Because I’m still at the beginning of my career,” she said.

She meantI have so much to figure out.

Henry’s hands loosened on hers.His eyes echoed disappointment.A frigid wind rushed between them, ruffling their coats.

It was then that Madeline explained the story of Barbara Nowak.Henry was quiet, listening with narrowed eyes, as she talked about her fears and her reticence, her memory that Barbara hadn’t been with her or her mother at any point during the past twenty-plus years, her memory that nobody had stepped in to help after her mother had died.

“Where was she?”Madeline whispered, her eyes filling with tears.“I was all alone and so young, and I had nobody.I never even went back to Michigan.I started over completely.Blank slate.And I had no idea who I was.”

Henry wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to calm herself down.“You just told me you might want to marry me, and I’m a mess.”

Henry smoothed her hair gently and said, “I think helping one another through messes is a big part of marriage.”

Madeline pressed her nose to his.Her tears were frozen on her cheeks.

“I’ll come with you,” Henry said, his voice firm.

Madeline shifted against him.“What do you mean?What about the film?”

“I’ll figure something out,” he said.“I want to be there.”

Madeline had a strange hunch that Barbara wouldn’t take kindly to that—that Barbara would want Madeline to herself.But Madeline couldn’t refuse Henry.So she said, “Please.Come with me.”Her heart jumped into her throat.

Maybe everything would be all right.

Later that morning, Madeline and Henry sat cozily with Scarlet, Julia, Anna, and Rachel and ate Greta’s homemade cinnamon rolls until their bellies ached.Christmas presents were piled under the tree, stacked in a way that suggested none of the Copperfields were architects.Greta explained the schedule for the day, which was mostly food focused, and she said, “I don’t want anyone to tell me they’re too full to eat.The menu is set.”

“You won’t have any problems with us,” Julia said, laughing.

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