by Nancy Garden
“That’s nice of you, Roy,” Liz said evenly, “but…”
“I’d love to,” Nora said.
Liz stared at her, mystified.
“Good, wonderful!” Roy beamed at her. “Liz?”
“I—well, yes, on second thought, sure,” she sputtered.
“Great! How about tomorrow night?”
“Fine,” Nora said defiantly. “Is that okay with you, Liz?”
Numbly, Liz nodded. “What on earth,” she said when Roy, giving them a thumbs-up sign, had climbed into his car and driven off, “was all that about? I thought you hated his guts, just like I do.”
“I do hate his guts,” Nora said. “But, Liz”—Nora looked straight at her, her eyes swimming with tears—“if Father has to stay in some kind of—of psychiatric nursing home or something, and I think I have to face that he will, I’m going to have to pay for it. And I don’t know how I’m going to do that unless I sell the farm. I called around a little and asked a couple of nursing homes how much they cost. It’s more than I thought. There’s only enough money for around a year, probably, after Medicare runs out; they only pay for a while, Dr. Herschwell said. So if Roy wants to buy the place, and I can’t think of any other reason he’d ask us to dinner with Georgia, that could be the solution for him and—and my”—her eyes softened and she squeezed Liz’s hand—“my ticket to you. Permanently.”
Liz squeezed her hand back. “Are you sure?” she asked when she could trust herself to speak. “You love that farm, Nora, the outdoors, the quiet.”
“I don’t think,” Nora said softly, “that I want to live on the farm any more. Too many bad things have happened there. Besides, I looked at it this morning with fresh eyes, sort of. I pretended I was you, seeing it for the first time. What did you see, then?”
“I saw an old, falling-down house,” Liz said after casting her mind back to her first real visit. “I saw shabby rooms, and old, worn-out furniture. I saw a kitchen that created work instead of saving it. I also,” she added, her voice dropping, “saw the most extraordinary human being it has ever been my privilege to meet. And if we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to kiss that human being in the middle of the post office parking lot.”
“Let’s hurry up and get our mail, then,” Nora said, light coming back into her eyes. “And then let’s—I don’t know. What shall we do?”
“How about a swim? Unless we’re too drunk. Or your arm…”
“Drunk? I’m not drunk. And my arm’s better. Water’s good for injuries. I can swim one-armed anyway. And do, um, other things. Are you drunk?”
“No. Not on wine anyway,” Liz said. “Not on wine. Come on, let’s get the mail.”
***
Liz, waiting for Nora, rubbed her fingers over the dock’s rough surface—the dock, near which she’d learned to swim, to which she’d tied her first boat, from which she’d caught her first fish. Could I do it, too, she wondered. Could I do what Nora’s doing, sell the cabin, sell the land, if that’s what Roy wants?
It must be, she mused, as Nora came toward her in the borrowed bathing suit Liz had come to think of as Nora’s own. It must be what he wants. Why else would he invite both of us, and why with Georgia? After all, she remembered, watching Nora walk, the graceful way she carried her head, swung her good arm, and kept her hurt one close to her body, he was that interested buyer Georgia mentioned when I first met her.
“Last one in,” Nora shouted, breaking into a run, “is a rotten egg!” She ran past Liz to the end of the dock and jumped in, splashing Liz, who jumped in after her, swam to her quickly, dunked her, then hugged her.
Nora clung to her, her body molded to Liz’s as much as possible given her sprain, her hair streaming water onto Liz’s shoulders.
“You seem better,” Liz said. “Do you feel better?”
Nora nodded and stretched out her good arm, holding Liz by the shoulder. “I do. I feel—it’s strange, but I feel lighter, somehow. As if I’ve—oh, it’s an awful cliché, but I really do feel as if I’ve put down a burden. Or as if I’m in the process of putting one down, anyway.”
“That,” said Liz, kissing the end of her nose, “my brave one, is because you are in that very process.”
“And you?” Nora asked, her head on one side in the pose Liz loved. “How do you feel?”
Liz hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Happy for you. Proud of you. Very much in love with you. Grateful. But a little tentative, I guess, otherwise.” She ducked out from under Nora’s arm and flipped onto her back, floating.
Nora stood beside her, holding Liz lightly in place. “About?”
“About this place. About what I’ll do with it. About…”
“About me? About how you feel about me?”
Liz folded into a sitting position, then touched bottom with her toes and stood. “No, Nora. Not about you. I know exactly how I feel about you.”
“And I know exactly how I feel about you.” Nora moved closer to Liz and wrapped her arm around her, twining one leg around Liz’s, nuzzling her neck. “Can one make love in the water?” she whispered. “One-armed?”
“Yes,” Liz whispered back, trying to hide her surprise, “but it’s better at night when there aren’t any motorboats or fisherman around to interrupt.” She felt for Nora’s hand and grasped it, then kissed her. “Let’s go inside. If you really feel all right now?”
Nora kissed her back, softly, then long and deep.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, I do. Let’s.”
Book IV
Chapter Forty
Now it’s sleeting, Nora said to herself sleepily, spooning closer to Liz and displacing Thomas, who mewed and re-curled himself against her legs.
Liz grunted and pushed against Nora, her rear tight against Nora’s belly; Nora smiled, waking more fully, and draped her arm across Liz’s chest, right hand cupping Liz’s left breast. But then Brinna whined softly and thumped her tail. Nora, sighing, turned over and sat on the edge of the bed, thrusting her already sock-clad feet into slippers, and padded down to the kitchen of the old apartment attached to the Davises’ farmhouse, where she and Liz had been living for four months, since October; she let Brinna out onto the frost-whitened grass. The sky was gray and lightening; there was an orange-red streak just visible at the edge of the woods, over the vegetable stand’s roof.
A light went on in the main house, where Clara still lived with Harry who, in the months that had passed, had become a docile, nearly mindless shell.
Nora went back inside.
“Farmer’s hours again?” Liz came into the kitchen and hugged Nora from behind.
Nora turned, kissing her and nuzzling her neck. “Still. Besides, there’s a lot to do today.”
Liz groaned and opened the fridge, removing a half-full can of coffee; Nora inserted a filter into the plastic basket; Liz spooned coffee into it; Nora pushed the basket onto its track, switching the machine on as if she’d been using appliances all her life and sat down at the small oilcloth-covered kitchen table. Liz let Brinna in when she whined and poured the coffee when it was done; by then, Nora was buttering toast.
“Clara’s up,” Nora observed, “at least I saw her light go on when I let the dog out.”
“I wish she’d let herself sleep late. Is Sarah Cassidy coming today?”
Nora nodded. “It’s Harry’s bath day.”
“I’m thankful every bath day that it’s not you doing it any more.”
“Harry’s easy, compared to Father. And only twice a week is nothing. But that reminds me, I’ve got to take more of that lotion to the nursing home for Father. His skin’s breaking down again, and the stuff they use isn’t very good.”
“Can’t anything be done about that? I mean beyond the lotion?”
Nora shrugged. “They try. They turn him and try to get him up, and they bathe him. Old people’s skin breaks down. I don’t think there’s any more they can do since he refuses to get out of bed.” There was a defensive edge to
her voice.
Liz reached across the table and took her hand. “Hey,” she said, “no guilt, remember? You had to do it.”
“I know.”
It was true. Ralph had grown increasingly paranoid and belligerent during his evaluation, had attacked a nurse, grabbing her arm and twisting it, then done the same to the activities director, and had been generally disruptive. By October, a while after the psychiatrists had finally settled on the right combination and dose of drugs, it was clear that Ralph couldn’t go home, and they’d moved him to Hillside Manor, a nursing home with a specialized psychiatric wing. But the memory was still raw in Nora’s mind. Ralph had moaned and cried and pleaded at first when Dr. Cantor, Dr. Herschwell, and Charles Hastings had explained to him that Nora couldn’t look after him at home any more and that Hillside Manor was really a fine place. “Award-winning,” Charles Hastings had said, and Louise Brice had explained to Nora that her own mother had lived there for five years before she’d died. “Of course Mother wasn’t in the psychiatric section,” Louise made a point of saying, “but she came to like being at Hillside more than she liked visiting me and Henry.” Despite the fact that Ralph had finally agreed to go to Hillside on the grounds that Nora was “refusing” to care for him, he had cried and clung to Nora when the ambulance people wheeled him into his new private room, which Nora and Liz had filled with flowers and pictures. They’d also hung his clothes in the closet and tuned his new TV set to a football game.
It was the football game, oddly enough, that had calmed him down. The TV had been Liz’s idea and a stroke of genius; it had fascinated him and he had stopped his complaints about it as soon as they’d turned it on.
Nora stood now, shaking off the memory. “I’d better get dressed. I’ve got to finish that galley proof before we go to that party of Roy’s.”
“You okay?”
Am I, she wondered. The guilt and the sadness still came in waves. But, increasingly, so did the joy. “0 Joy, take care!” What was that from?
Nora bent and kissed Liz. “Yes,” she said. “Thanks. Are you?”
Liz nodded and kissed her back, then, when Nora had left, poured herself more coffee. It would be a busy day, first helping Clara clean, for that was part of the agreement; Liz and Nora were exchanging household help and companionship for living temporarily in the Davises’ apartment. Then they had to visit Ralph, and after that, see the lawyer about one or two final papers for both the house and the cabin, and afterward, if there was still time before the party, Liz knew she should correct a few papers. She’d gotten a teaching job at a private school in the next town, after an awkward session with the headmaster and the trustees during which she’d explained about Ralph’s accusation, news of which had spread more widely than she’d thought possible. But in the end they’d been very understanding, once they’d talked with Ralph’s doctors and the police. They’d been almost as understanding when Liz told them she was gay, especially once they’d received the recommendation she’d had Holden Academy send to them.
I wonder, Liz thought, getting up and stretching before rinsing the cups and the toast plates, if Nora really wants to go to that party.
***
Nora did, and hummed cheerfully while they dressed, Liz in sleek black pants and a red velour top that set off her dark hair, and Nora in a bright blue and green dress that Liz had given her for Christmas, having discovered that Nora had long supressed a desire for colorful clothes. But when they drove up to the old farmhouse and Liz swung the car around to the yard in front of the barn, which was already packed with cars, Nora exclaimed, “Look at that! I still can’t get used to seeing lights on.”
“I know,” Liz said. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Its soul is gone,” Nora said.
“Yes.” Liz turned to look at her. “Are you sorry?”
“Only for the shattered illusion. Not”—she took Liz’s hand—“not for anything else. Isn’t it a rule that you can only get something wonderful by sacrificing something else?”
“Is it?”
“In literature it is, I think. In fantasy and fairytales, anyway. And”—Nora squeezed Liz’s hand—“I got something wonderful. We’ve both had to sacrifice, after all. Let’s get this over with.”
“Right.” Liz climbed out of the car and walked around to the front door beside Nora.
“Oh, good Lord.” Nora pointed to a brass plaque beside the door.
“THE TILLOT HOMESTEAD,” it read. “1782.”
“Cheer up,” Liz told her, forcing a smile. “That must mean he’s not going to tear it down like he’s going to tear down the cabin.”
Georgia Foley, ostentatiously waving her left hand, from which shone a large diamond, greeted them at the door. “Oh, good!” she gushed, taking their coats. “You came after all. It is so good to see you, to see you both, I mean. It’s special to have you here; Roy will be so pleased. He’s been the teeniest bit worried,” she confided sotto voce, leading them through what had once been Nora’s dim front hall and was now brightly lit by a pewter reproduction of an eighteenth-century chandelier. “Roy and I are aware how difficult all this must have been for both of you and must still be. But we’re so glad the lawyers were able to put the finishing touches on that really stupendous financial deal. Well, here we are! Look, everyone, here are Nora and Liz! Isn’t it wonderful that they could come and celebrate with us?”
Several people in the crowd that filled the parlor (“My least favorite room, anyway,” Nora whispered to Liz) looked up and one of them, Louise Brice, looking regal in a long green velvet skirt and cream-colored blouse, came forward, ignoring Liz but seizing Nora in a quick hug and kissing the air beside her cheek. “Nora, dear,” she said, releasing her and looking keenly into her eyes. “Do you mind this very much?”
“No,” Nora said politely. “Not very much. It’s just a little odd, that’s all. You know. The lights, especially.”
“Come,” said Georgia, linking her arm companionably through Nora’s and hugging it against her body. “Come see the kitchen. We’ve got such wonderful new appliances, and Roy’s decorator has been so clever at keeping the old-fashioned motif; you’ll love it. Wait’ll you see…”
Before Liz could object or follow, Georgia had whisked Nora off and Roy had sidled up to her.
“So,” he said, holding out his hand, “no hard feelings? Now that we’ve actually settled it at last?”
“Right.” Liz forced herself to shake his hand. But really, she scolded herself, he helped more than hindered, in the end. “I guess we have.”
“Georgia and I are so glad you and Nora were able to buy the property across the lake from your old camp. You need any help finding contractors, you just let us know. I hope,” he added, leering a little and winking, “that you and Nora will be as happy as Georgia and I. You should be pretty safe from harmful rumors about that, anyway—you know, your relationship—since you’ll be teaching outside of Clarkston. Small towns really do operate in the Dark Ages.”
“Oh, really?” Liz said dryly, looking him right in the eye before she turned sharply and headed for the refreshments. “How interesting. Snake,” she muttered when she was out of earshot. She felt thankful all over again that she’d been honest with her new headmaster.
***
“That Liz Hardy,” Louise Brice said over the top of her champagne glass to Helen Whipple, “I don’t care what anyone says, I think it’s a terrible shame. It’s just not right, not normal, the two of them living together like a pair of old maids. I don’t care about Miss Hardy, but a nice young girl like Nora…”
“She’s not so young any more, Louise,” said Helen, “and she’s no fool either. If she wants to live with Liz, and she obviously does, why shouldn’t she? It’s high time Nora found some happiness, and I for one don’t care how.”
“Well, of course, no one wants more than I for Nora to be happy,” Louise huffed, fingering the gold pendant she wore around her neck. “But I still think Liz Hardy’s
the kind of friend who’ll be, well, possessive. If you take my meaning. For all we know she’s a”—Louise dropped her voice—“you know. A lesbian.”
“Oh, honestly, Louise!” Helen said irritably. “Nora’s quite old enough to take care of herself. And last I heard, lesbians are people, too. If Liz even is one. Either way it’s none of our business and I for one…” She stopped when Charles Hastings, his round face looking a little flushed above his clerical collar, came up to them.
“Hello, ladies,” he said heartily. “Wonderful party, isn’t it? And Roy and Georgia have certainly done a fine job with the house. Now let’s hope they do as well at developing the land. When’s the ground breaking for the first new house? Anyone know?”
“Early spring, I heard,” said Helen Whipple, welcoming the change of subject, pleased with herself, too, for she had been in a position weeks ago to figure out at last what Roy and Georgia were up to—not that she entirely approved, although it would, she supposed, be good for the town to widen the tax base. And of course a growing population would keep the post office open; the Postal Service had already begun to hint that they might close it down. But that would be unlikely now, with two new housing developments, the one here and the other out at Yellowfin Lake, expanding the town. “Roy Stark’s already set up a post office box for that corporation he and Georgia formed, and I think they’re going to start clearing the land right away. Is that right, Roy?” she asked, turning as Roy joined them.
“That’s right, folks.” Roy put one arm briefly around Helen and the other around Louise. “We’re going to start clearing some of the woods here at Tillot Farm Estates, and we’ll continue as long as weather permits, but we’re going to wait till spring for Piney Haven.”
“You’ll be leaving some trees there, surely?” said Marie Hastings, resplendent in scarlet chiffon and her long-dead mother’s garnet earrings.
“Oh, yes, absolutely. Here, too, but more at Piney Haven. That’ll be the resort, after all. Boat house, tennis courts, restaurant, beach, small tourist cabins among the trees, but you town folks’ll be able to use it by day, too. I expect all of you to come to sun yourselves and relax as soon as we open. Target date,” Roy added, beckoning to a waitress bearing a tray of full champagne flutes, “is a year from July. Right, honey?” he added as Georgia appeared and snuggled under his arm.