by Brenda Joyce
Sofie was fully alarmed despite his calm tone. Suddenly they heard the sound of glass breaking and objects crashing down. Edward moved to the window, holding up the flickering candle. “The electricity’s out,” he said grimly, “and it’s hard to see, but a tree just blew down Main Street. Get dressed, Sofie.”
Sofie hurried to obey, her heart racing with fear. The banging continued, louder now, and the sky outside had turned to a strange, opaque gray. She managed to get on her clothes, but could not button up her shirtwaist—Edward had to help her. She was trying to braid her hair when a knock sounded frantically on the door. “You folks!” shouted the proprietor over the deafening noise of the storm. “Got to go down to the cellar!”
“Forget your hair,” Edward cried, grabbing Sofie. They ran across the room, but when they opened the door, it flew so hard against the wall that it broke off its hinges. The innkeeper was cowering there with an old-fashioned lantern, ashen. “All the windows on the other side of the house have blown out!” he shouted. And as he spoke, the sky appeared above their heads as a part of the inn’s roof was sucked away, and rain poured down upon them with bruising force. Sofie screamed when a sudden gale slammed her backwards down the corridor towards the stairs.
Edward caught her before she was blown to the floor below. He lifted her in his arms and shouted for the innkeeper. They raced downstairs and outside. Through the torrents of rain Sofie saw Edward’s beautiful Packard smashed beneath a huge, uprooted oak tree. “Oh, Edward!”
“Forget it!” The wind tried to push him backwards, but he forced his way on, following the similarly afflicted innkeeper. They turned the corner and came to the cellar doors. The innkeeper went down first. Edward pushed Sofie down before him, clambering down last himself and pulling the doors shut behind him.
The proprietor’s wife and daughter sat in one corner of the cellar with a pile of blankets and another kerosene lamp. The girl, about Sofie’s age, was sobbing. The innkeeper joined them, his wife gasping with relief, then he handed a blanket to Sofie and Edward. Edward spread it out near the earthen wall and sat down. Sofie sat next to him, huddling close. He put his arm around her.
They looked at each other. Suddenly Edward smiled, and so did Sofie. Suddenly they laughed, in utter, shaky relief. Across the cellar, the innkeeper began to chuckle, too, and so did his wife and daughter. It was good to be alive, and everyone knew it.
And then Sofie remembered. She stopped laughing, unable to even breathe. Last night Edward had asked her to marry him. For all the wrong reasons. As atonement for his sins. How could she possibly agree?
A few hours later, they left the cellar. The sky was a robin’s-egg blue, with fat, puffy, pure white clouds drifting by. The sun was shining brightly, merrily. It was as if last night’s storm had never happened, as if the hurricane had been a bad dream.
But standing outside the inn, they looked around. The picket fence had been blown away. The houses across the street had all suffered damage; many windows were blown out. One half of an entire roof was missing on one green house; on another, a second-story balcony had collapsed onto the front porch. A cedar-shingled shed had been crushed by a fallen elm tree, and telegraph poles and lines were down.
Edward held her hand. “Wow.”
They turned back to the inn. The southeast corner of the roof was gone, and almost all of the windows on that side of the house were missing. Edward still held her hand, and Sofie thought about how easily they might have been hurt.
But they hadn’t been hurt. They were both fine. Did he even remember proposing to her?
Sofie swallowed and gazed up at his handsome profile. Perhaps it was better if he did not remember, because if the topic was forgotten, she would not have to say no.
But it hurt. How it hurt. Loving him hurt enough as it was, without the added factor of his having asked her to marry him out of a sense of decency and duty, instead of out of love and need and a desire to remain together for all of eternity.
Upstairs, they gathered their few things among the mess made by the storm. Desolate now, Sofie found her fringed silk wrap and reticule. How she dreaded returning to the city—how she dreaded the future. Edward waited for her in the doorless doorway. “How will we get back to New York?” she asked, hoping he had not detected the quaver in her voice.
“We can rent a horse and buggy. I inquired and the trains aren’t running yet. There are trees and debris on the tracks.”
Sofie nodded.
Edward added, his gaze direct, “We could spend another night. The landlord told me that he has some rooms downstairs which are fine. But your family must be hysterical with worry by now.”
Sofie did not say anything, because they were moving on to risky subject matter. Yet Edward would not let the topic go. “Of course, once we tell them our plans, I’m sure it will all blow over,” he added.
Sofie froze in the center of the room, filled with dread and anguish. She had never dreamed a broken heart could hurt so much. “What plans, Edward?” Her tone was thick with tears.
He started, unsmiling. “Our plans to get married.”
Sofie found her voice, one of the greatest efforts of her life. “I did not accept your proposal, Edward.”
He stared.
She hugged her wrap and reticule to her chest. “It is very gallant of you to propose matrimony, of course,” she said, trying to sound calm and composed and sensible, “but it was not necessary.”
He stared at her in disbelief.
“I did not become your lover to force you to marry me,” Sofie said, chin high. She knew if she cried now, he would guess how much she loved him and why she was refusing, and it would be a miserable, pathetic coil, to be avoided at all costs. It appeared that she had nothing in this life but her pride—and of course, her memories and her work.
“Sofie.” Edward was pale beneath his rich tan. “You were a virgin.”
“I am aware of that. But that is not a good reason to get married.”
His blue eyes were wide and piercing. “Sofie—I made love to you three times.”
She felt herself blushing in response to his bald statement of fact, remembering the passion they had shared, at moments wild and thoroughly carnal, and at other moments, achingly tender and gentle and so loving, it almost defied description and recollection. “What does that have to do with anything?”
His jaw clenched. His temple throbbed visibly. His mouth had turned into a hard, light line. “What if you’re pregnant? With my child?”
It was salt on her open wound. “It’s not that time of month,” she lied.
His mouth seemed to soften slightly. “Sofie, we should get married. It’s the right thing to do.”
She was so very close to weeping. It was not the right thing to do—not like this. Marrying for love was the right thing to do, but that was not going to ever be. Not for her, not with him. Sounding unnaturally calm and almost like a schoolteacher, Sofie said, “I have no desire to get married, Edward. Have you forgotten? Next May I turn twenty-one and I am going to Paris to continue my studies of art. I am sorry.” Her voice broke. It was so hard to continue. “I cannot marry without love, Edward.”
He did not move. He looked as if he had been dealt a solid and painful blow in the region of his solar plexis. Then, abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode away. “I’ll wait downstairs.”
Sofie sank onto the bed, still redolent from their love-making, gripping the covers, crying. It was over, then, before it had even begun.
The house was in an uproar when they returned, but Sofie had known it would be.
She felt a moment of sickening dread when, as they alighted from the hired carriage, the front door flew open and they could hear Mrs. Murdock inside crying, “She’s here! She’s here! Sofie is back!”
Edward did not touch her. He had not touched her since she had refused his offer of wedlock six hours ago. Nor had he looked at her even once. And he had only spoken to her a few moments ago, to tell her that th
ey would insist that nothing had happened. In other words, they would lie—since she did not want to marry him. Edward seemed to be angry, as if expecting her to change her mind before it was too late. But Sofie had agreed to participate in his plan.
Sofie had no choice but to allow Edward to help her down from the carriage. His touch was so impersonal now that she almost broke into tears on the spot. And she was so sick at heart that there was no room for shame or guilt. Everyone would be thinking the worst—and everyone was right—but Sofie did not give a damn.
As she and Edward walked up the steps, Lisa flew down them, in tears. “Sofie, thank God! Are you all right?” The sisters embraced on the front stoop.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Sofie said, holding Lisa’s glistening gaze. “I really am fine.” Her own eyes had become moist.
Lisa stared, then turned to look at Edward, both accusing and incredulous.
Suzanne stood in the doorway, ashen. “I should have known,” she said tersely. “Sofie. no one had any idea where you’d gone—dear God!” She started to cry.
Sofie left Edward and hurried to her mother, embracing her. “I’m sorry,” she said tremulously while Suzanne shed harsh tears. In her mother’s arms, it would be very easy to cry her heart out as she longed to do. “Edward took me for a drive and then the hurricane hit and we got stranded in Oyster Bay.”
Suzanne broke the embrace, blinking her eyes and turning furiously towards Edward. “I should have known that you are at the bottom of this.”
“Hold your horses, Mrs. Ralston.” Edward said coldly. “We had no choice but to remain out on the island last night. Had we tried to return, we might have been killed. As it was, my automobile was smashed in two.”
Suzanne started, her face draining of color.
“He is right,” Sofie said, and this much, at least, was the truth.
Suzanne put her arm around Sofie’s shoulders and pulled her close. Her face was twisted with revulsion. “What have you done to my daughter?”
Edward’s expression was impossible to read. “Nothing. Your daughter is the same as ever,”
“Mother,” Sofie said, attracting her attention. “I am fine. Really. You need not worry on that account. Edward was … a perfect gentleman.” She forced herself to smile. She knew that Suzanne had noticed the hesitation. She hated lying, but to marry under the circumstances would be far worse.
Sofie saw a hard and cynical look in Suzanne’s eyes and knew that she did not believe them.
Benjamin suddenly appeared on the threshold, joining the gathering on the front step. He paused beside Suzanne, grim. “Sofie, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Edward. “Are you going to do the right thing, sir? Now that you have compromised her thoroughly?”
Edward stiffened.
But Suzanne broke in smoothly, touching her husband’s sleeve. “Benjamin, nothing happened. I know my daughter, and she would not deceive us—just as she would never allow herself to be truly compromised.” Suzanne smiled reassuringly.
Benjamin regarded his wife. “She has assured you of that?”
“Yes. And I am certain that we can weather this small scandal, if there even is any scandal at all.” Suzanne smiled again, at Edward. “Mr. Delanza, you must be exhausted; why do you not come inside for some refreshment? And you must be tired, too, Sofie. Dear, why don’t you go upstairs and have Clara draw a bath? I will have some hot food sent up to you. You need not come down to supper, not after such an ordeal.”
Sofie knew her mother realized the truth. She could not fathom Suzanne’s motivation in supporting her lie. It did not matter. She was relieved that Suzanne was taking charge of the affair, diverting Benjamin from the role he was ready to assume as an enraged stepfather. Sofie did not wait to hear Edward refuse Suzanne’s offer of hospitality. “I am more than tired,” she said. She nodded at Edward, knowing she must now act as if on the Shakespearean stage. “Thank you, Edward, for seeing me home safely. And I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you.”
He bowed briefly. His words were mocking. “It was my pleasure.”
Sofie fled.
Sofie lay in bed, wrapped in a thick cotton robe even though it was seventy-five degrees out, a perfect and balmy summer evening. But she was chilled through and through, to the very bone, to her very heart. It had occurred to her that she would never see Edward again.
She told herself that she would survive, but she did not believe it.
Sofie turned onto her side, cuddling her pillow. Perhaps she had been wrong to reject his proposal. Perhaps it would be better to be his wife even if he did not love her, than to lose him forever. Already Sofie missed him more than she would have ever thought it possible for her to miss anybody.
Had she not boldly seduced him, he would still be a part of her life. He would still be her friend, her champion. Tears filled Sofie’s eyes, but she could not regret the night they had spent together. Unquestionably those memories would last a lifetime. But so would the terrible, aching yearning and the grief of his loss.
“Sofie?”
Sofie sat up to face Suzanne, whose gaze was piercing. She closed the bedroom door and came to sit down beside her daughter on the bed. Sofie was tense, knowing how easily her mother lost her temper. But Suzanne did not shriek or yell. She said, “Are you all right?”
Sofie meant to nod her head yes. Instead, she shook her head no and a big tear trickled down her cheek.
Suzanne embraced her. “I know you did not tell the truth.”
Sofie clung. “I am sorry. We decided we must lie.”
Suzanne stroked her back, then pulled away. Her own eyes were red. “I would like to kill him!”
Sofie dared to look her mother in the eye. “It was not his fault. I seduced him.”
Suzanne started, appearing appalled.
“I love him,” Sofie said, in self-defense.
Immediately Suzanne cried out, sweeping her into her arms, crushing her there. “I wanted to protect you from him! I wanted to spare you this! Oh, God, Sofie, I know how you must feel!”
Sofie wept yet again, in her mother’s arms. When she had finished crying, Suzanne handed her a handkerchief. Sofie wiped her eyes, then saw that Suzanne had been crying, too. “Mother?”
“Your father broke my heart, too. Many, many times.” Suzanne fought for composure. She sniffled. “I knew Edward was just like him.”
“He asked me to many him,” Sofie said.
Suzanne froze.
Sofie’s eyes filled with tears again. “Of course, I said no. But I am not sure I did the right thing. I miss him so. Perhaps I should—”
“No!”
Sofie started.
Suzanne gripped her shoulders and shook her hard, once, twice, three times. “You have already been a fool! Do not be a fool again!”
“I love him. I know he doesn’t love me, but—”
“Sofie, no! He will destroy you if you marry him, exactly the way Jake destroyed me!” Suzanne shrieked.
“You are probably right,” Sofie said, but in her heart, she did not quite believe it.
“I am right. There is no probably about it. You would not be able to stand the other women. To lie in bed alone, night after night, listening to the clock ticking, counting the minutes, waiting for him to come home, praying that he will? To finally confront him at dawn, when he is wearing another woman’s scent? I will not let you do it, Sofie.”
Sofie sucked in her breath. Vividly she recalled that day at Delmonico’s when Edward had told her that he could not be faithful to a wife.
But Suzanne would not let the subject drop. Her eyes welled with tears. “You are so naive. So naive, so young. Even if he were faithful in the beginning—as Jake was—do you really think you can hold the interest—the desire—of a man like that for an entire lifetime? Do you think you can compete with the likes of Hilary Stewart and so many others like her?”
“No,” Sofie whispered, paralyzed by the ugly scenario he
r mother had painted. Suzanne was right. Wasn’t she? She was merely Sofie O’Neil, small and plain and lame. Somehow, she had forgotten that.
“What makes you think that he would have even bothered to end it with Hilary at all if you had accepted his suit?” Suzanne said very bluntly. “Could you marry him knowing he keeps a mistress? Could you?”
“I am not marrying him,” Sofie said, her mouth trembling and turned down. Somehow she had forgotten that, during their brief relationship, Hilary had still been in his life, she had still been there for him at night. Sofie could not help remembering the passion she had witnessed once between them. She was sick.
“Ending it like this is for the best,” Suzanne said fiercely. “For the best! It should have never happened, but in time, you will forget.”
Sofie knew she would never forget a single instance of her life since Edward Delanza had first sauntered into it, but she did not say so. And if she had conceived during their brief but glorious liaison, their lives would remain linked, no matter how much of the earth separated them physically. Sofie hugged her knees to her chest, suddenly wishing desperately for what could only be considered by society to be the worst fate to befall an unwed woman.
“What is wrong, darling?” Suzanne asked sharply.
Sofie lifted her gaze. “What if I am pregnant?”
Once again, Suzanne paled. “It is unlikely, after one time.”
Sofie looked at her toes, curled under the sheets.
“It was just one time?”
“No.” Her voice was almost inaudible. Sofie was not going to reveal to Suzanne that Edward had loved her three times in a single night. Then she choked back another sob, because it hadn’t been love, not for him, it had been lust.
“When was your last monthly?” Suzanne asked, fear in her voice.
Sofie did not look up. “Less than two weeks ago.”
Suzanne’s jaw clenched and she lost the last of her color. Then she took her daughter’s hand. “Do not be afraid. I am sure you did not conceive. And if you did—” she inhaled “—you can go away to have the child. There is always adoption. No one need ever know.”