Page 17 of The Missing Pages
The words felt as though they were getting twisted in her mouth.
Violet’s face flamed red with each mangled verse. She was seconds away from clapping the book shut and running out of the classroom in embarrassment when suddenly a memory of Hugo flashed before her. They had been doing their homework together in the Yard. Hugo had been trying to find a connection between two of Shakespeare’s plays for a paper he needed to write. In a moment of frustration, he threw down his book, leapt to his feet, and began playfully acting outall of the voices inA Midsummer Night’s Dream. He had such happiness on his face as he bellowed out the words passionately and playfully gripped his chest. What had begun as comical relief became a conduit for his joy.
Violet suddenly felt a claw inside her, a yearning to seize that same emotion. The thought of Hugo being so utterly liberated helped relax her nerves and steadied her. She eased into the language, surrendering to the words on her tongue as though they were music.
“There at the ship’s stem
Wave-tossed, by cliff wall.
Cold fettered
My feet
Frost-bound
In cold-clasp,
Where cares seethed then
Hot at the heart;
Hunger within tore”
The elegy continued to pour out of her in a distinct, mournful cadence. And while the words she spoke did not exude the same joyfulness that Hugo had channeled only a year ago in the Yard, they had transformed from just verses on the page. Now, they were a means in which she could release her emotions.
The class had grown motionless, every student sat in their seat completely transfixed. Even Professor Jenkins appeared moved by the time she reached the end.
Violet wiped her eyes. At Hugo’s funeral, she had wanted to give a eulogy fitting for him. She had stayed up all night staring at her computer screen trying to compose a fitting tribute for someone she loved deeply. She refused to memorialize him as the golden boy athlete, his fellow crewmates could speak to that. She wanted to paytribute to another side of him. The sensitive, romantic, and poetic boyfriend who could create an ode to a chocolate croissant or a haiku to a snowflake on a cold winter’s day.
But that morning, when she arrived at the church, the sight of his grief-stricken parents and the throngs of mourners sitting shoulder to shoulder in the pews, she froze. She knew she couldn’t gaze out and see the face of Hugo’s mother, her eyes red-raw from crying, his father shell-shocked and motionless as stone. When the pastor announced her name to speak, Violet had been unable to rise from the pew. She handed over the sheet of typed words to Theo. And it was he who found the courage to step up to the pulpit and read them to the crowd.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HARVARD IS NOT A PLACE FOR THE TIMID OR THE FAINT OFheart. I learned that early in my first weeks there. Both of my parents were nervous that given my shyness, I might sequester myself in my room or the library between classes and not come out of my shell.
But a few months prior to my first semester on campus, my mother seized an opportunity to discuss my future living quarters when it was only the three of us in the smaller dining room of Lynnewood Hall.
“Harry,” she said after we’d all sat down around the mahogany dinner table, the deep-red walls and mounted brass ornaments giving it a homey cavern-like feel. “Have you given any thought about where you’ll live at Harvard?”
“No, I haven’t,” I admitted. I was more excited about my future classes there than where I’d be resting my head.
“Well, I’m assuming the dormitories on the Yard.”
“No. No.” She lifted her hand to stop me. “My friends have told me they’re just dreadful. No heat. And the rooms are supposedly so small there’s hardly any space for more than a desk and a bed!”
“I would be fine with that,” I said. “As long as I can squeeze in a bookshelf.”
“There won’t be any room from what I hear, darling.”
“He’ll figure it out. The boy won’t freeze, I promise you, Nellie.”
“Of course, he won’t.” Mother beamed. “Because I have excellent news!”
“What news is that?” Father enjoyed playing along with Mother when she had that certain exuberant look in her eyes.
“I had tea with Emily Havemeyer Potter yesterday. Her son Edward is entering Harvard as a freshman this fall.”
“Ah, wonderful. Harry will have a friend there right from the start then!” Father said as he cut into his steak.
