Second Chances in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #3)

38. Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

A s Mark became a more frequent visitor, he started bringing some of his records over with him. His preference was classical music by composers whose names Diana did not recognize and could not pronounce. Tchaikovsky. Rachmaninov. Some of it she liked, but she wouldn’t want a steady diet of it. It added to her perception of him being stodgier than his age would dictate. She wondered if it was on purpose.

They continued to play chess a couple of evenings a week. By this time, Diana had begun to understand the game, but it was rare that she won a match. And when she did, she suspected that Mark had let her, although he’d never admit it.

One evening as they played, they listened to the radio and the endless chatter about Korea. North Korea had invaded South Korea, and America was going to war again. It was unbelievable. They’d barely recovered from the last one.

Mark moved his queen toward Diana’s king and said, “Checkmate.”

Diana leaned back in her chair in defeat, tired of all the talk about war and not in the mood for chess. She sighed. “I’m not smart enough for this game.”

Mark’s pipe almost fell out of his mouth. “Diana, please don’t ever speak about yourself like that. Just because you’re not book smart doesn’t mean you’re not intelligent. Your self-talk has a bearing on your life. Keep it positive.”

She made a mental note of his advice and changed the subject.

“Can you believe we’re going back to war?” she asked, helping him put the chess pieces back into their box. It was hard to imagine. The conflict was so far away it seemed as if it was something that had no bearing on them.

He pulled his tobacco pouch from the pocket of his suit jacket and refilled his pipe. “Yes, I can believe it. History has a tendency to repeat itself.”

Reading between the lines, she asked, “Are you against this war or just war in general?”

He struck a match against the matchbook, the flame briefly illuminating his features, and lit his pipe, taking a few puffs to get it going. He waved his hand to extinguish the match and set it neatly in the ashtray with the rest of the discarded ones. “I’m against all war. I abhor any kind of senseless killing. War is nothing but barbarism, death, and deprivation.”

“But you fought in the last war?”

He nodded. “I did.”

“Why? If you abhor it?”

“I believed in the cause. And I couldn’t stand by and let someone else go off and fight for me.”

“What about Korea?”

“It was an act of aggression. And the Communist threat is real. But Americans have—I’m sorry—I should say some Americans have a romantic idea of war, of bravery and courage and defeating evil. It’s not as simple as that.”

“I suppose not,” she said.

“People who go off to war, if they’re not killed, they come back changed. It’s something that can’t be helped.”

He sounded like he spoke from personal experience.

“My goodness, all this talk about war is depressing,” Millie said with a forced smile, getting up from her rocker.

Mark stood up. “Apologies, Mrs. Quinn.”

“I’ll make us some tea,” Millie said.

Diana unfolded her legs from beneath her and got off her chair. “Ma, sit down, I’ll get it.”

She made the tea and sliced up some cake, setting it on dessert plates. When she returned with the serving tray, Diana put a question to Mark. “Why can’t women go off to war? Why is it always the men?” She tried to add gravity to her voice so her tone wouldn’t imply that she felt her sex was missing out on all the fun.

Her mother spoke before Mark had a chance to answer. “War is no place for a woman.”

Mark appeared thoughtful and added, “It’s no place for a man either.”

But Diana wouldn’t be denied. “Isn’t a woman just as capable as a man?”

Mark thought for a moment before answering. “Some would argue not, but I think it has more to do with historical chivalry. For as long as anyone can remember, women were always regarded as the fairer sex, in need of protection. In my own experience, I’ve met women who were braver than some of the men I knew.” His gaze had turned inward.

This was one of the things Diana liked about their neighbor: the intelligent conversations. It was a pleasant change.

“Maybe we could talk about something more lighthearted?” Millie suggested. “Mark, why don’t you play one of your records. Music always cheers people up.”

“But not that one—that Requiem or whatever you call it by Mozart. Too sad,” Diana said.

Mark grinned. “So you have been paying attention.”

She smiled back. “Maybe a little bit.”