My Oxford Year

“Everything all right, Eleanor?” Antonia asks.

“Yes!” I chirp. “Sorry about that.”

“No need, love. But, if we may . . . we have something for you. William and I,” she clarifies.

William moves to stand behind her chair. They look as if they’re posing. In fact, I’m reminded of the photograph in Jamie’s dining room and realize that it was taken in this library. William sets his hand on her shoulder while she reaches into her pocket and takes out a small blue velvet box. Its edges are threadbare, showing its age. As Antonia extends her arm, presenting the box palm up, my heart drops into my stomach.

“It appears they’re proposing,” Jamie drawls.

At my hesitation, Antonia thrusts the box closer to me. “Go on, then.”

I take it. I try to keep my hand from shaking. I try to breathe. I open the lid. It’s exactly what I didn’t want to see. It’s a ring. A diamond ring. I move to hand it back. “Antonia, please, this is—”

“The diamond is flawed,” Antonia blurts. “It has no monetary value, really. No need to refuse. Jamie told us that you’re not a jewelry person,” she says, smiling. “It’s for your love of history, a keepsake that you might find of value.”

I gaze up at her.

She takes a breath. “Before the war—the first one—a wealthy American woman married into this family. Quite unwillingly. She was more than content with a young clerk she had decided upon, but her father refused their engagement and shipped her off to the wilds of Scotland. This was the ring her clerk had given her.”

I look back down at it. Emeralds encircle the diamond, which is small but well set. The band looks brand-new. Never worn.

“She kept that ring in the back of her nightstand drawer. Now, you might pity her, but don’t. She had a surprisingly happy marriage here. Had four children. My father was her eldest, actually. My grandmother and I were quite close.”

William interjects awkwardly, “She was my grandmother-in-law, you see.”

The entire room pauses. Antonia looks up at him and smiles, giving his hand a loving pat. “Yes, dear, very true.” She turns back to me and continues: “She never heard from her clerk again. She did what was asked of her—well, if it comes down to it, what she was told—yet she had a fine life regardless. Now, we don’t always get to choose what happens in life, don’t we all know. However, we can choose what we do with what we’re given.” Antonia pauses. “And so this ring is for you. A thank-you from two parents who are quite impressed with the choices you’ve made in this situation you’ve found yourself in.” She glances quickly at Jamie and smiles back at me.

I’m caught in her eyes. Eyes that hold the weight of her two sons. One here, one not. And still, she chooses to smile at me. To thank me. To give me a family heirloom like a daughter.

I know my mouth is hanging open. I turn to Jamie. He shrugs, says, “That story’s correct.”

I see Maggie, Charlie, and Tom exchanging confused, curious glances, but they’re too polite to speak up, to ask for clarification.

Then, as if none of this ever happened, Antonia glances at her watch and stands. “I must talk to Smithy about the roast. Happy birthday, love.” She bends down and kisses my stunned cheek, straightens, and walks to the door.

Jamie calls after her, “Aren’t you going to tell her your grandmother’s name?”

“Oh, bother, of course.” She sighs, turning back to me, briefly. “Carolina Vanderbilt.”

I AM SO full of so many things right now and none of them have anywhere to go. “Jamie, where’s the bathroom?”

“I’ll take you.”

“No, just point the way.” It comes out sharper than I intended.

Jamie shows me where to go and I take off across the grand foyer and down a long hallway. I want to bolt out the front door, a horse out of the corral. Instead, I’m going to go lock myself in one of the twenty-seven bathrooms for a minute. Just a minute.

I finally find it, and close the door, leaning against it, breathing. In and out. In and out.

I see myself in the exquisite mirror over the sink. It’s as if I can see the thoughts running in and out of my head like Metro Center at rush hour.

I want to look at the ring again, focus on that for a moment. I take the box out of my pocket and pop it open. The ring really is beautiful, trinket or not. I gently take it out and—dammit!—it slips from my hand, falling into the copper sink. I dive after it, trying to grab it before it goes down the drain. It escapes one hand and I pounce with the other, trapping it with my palm. I slowly lift my hand, pinching at it with my thumb and forefinger, but end up shooting it closer to the drain. Jesus! I lurch forward with both hands, a final, desperate grab before it disappears into drain hell. Got it!

I steady my hands before I oh-so-gently pluck the ring out of the sink and carefully put it back in the box.

I’m never taking it out again. It’s as if the ring knows I’m unworthy of having it.

I look in the mirror. A newly appointed deputy political director stares back at me.

THERE’S NOTHING LIKE the smell of good food being prepared by people who know what they’re doing. Smithy is one of those people. “Before we leave, will you show me how to make coq au vin?” I ask her.

Her face lights up. “You like it, do ya?”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever had.” I’m not blowing smoke either. I’ve become addicted to Smithy’s coq au vin.

Charlie, Maggie, and Tom are exploring the grounds and Jamie is taking a nap, tired from the drive. I watch Antonia and Smithy put the finishing touches on dinner. They’ve given me a menial task, folding napkins. Which they had to teach me how to do first. I had no idea there were so many wrong ways to do it.

Suddenly William walks into the kitchen, his determined gait interrupted by my presence. He has a moment of hesitation, as if he’s stumbled into the women’s bathroom at a restaurant. “Hello,” he mutters. “I’ve finished for the day. I came to see if there’s anything I can do.”

I glance down. “Wanna help me fold?”

“Surely one person is more than enough.” He looks to Antonia. Then, seeming to hear his answer on a delay, he glances back at me. “But thank you.”

Antonia bustles over to him, wiping her wet hands on her apron. She takes him by the elbow and steers him toward a beautiful old door with handcrafted ironwork, which I’ve been peering at, trying to figure out where it leads. “Go down to the cellar and pick out some wine. Champagne to start.”

“Colin can choose, you know I’m not the best at—”

“I have complete faith in you,” she drawls. “Now shoo!”

William sighs, looking like a reprimanded child, and leaves through the iron door, disappearing down a spiral staircase. It’s endearing, the way this overbearing, hotheaded man defers to his wife.

Antonia goes back to the island where she’s been chopping an onion. After a moment, she says, “William is actually quite happy to see you. He knows you had everything to do with getting Jamie here. He’s thrilled. He’s talked about it for days.”

“Have they said anything to each other yet?”

Smithy glances between us as she kneads dough, lips pursed, tracking everything. “When the two o’ thems don’t speak a word is when they say the most, if ya ask me.”