SERGEANT GEORGE ROWE,
TENTH REGIMENT, UNITED STATES CAVALRY,
UNDATED LETTER TO HIS BROTHER IN PHILADELPHIA
*
Phoebe
The camp--it was a term she used only because he did, but in her mind it was much more of a cottage--belonged to another trooper's parents, and it was cozy and comfortable and it had a view of Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks that must have been worth a small fortune. The older couple only lived here through Halloween, however, and then they drove south to a place called New Smyrna, Florida, where they spent the winter and spring in an apartment on a golf course. In her opinion there were a tad too many Hummels on the shelves that lined the living-room walls and in the center of the table on which she and Terry ate breakfast and dinner; moreover, all the furniture seemed a little big for the five small, low-ceilinged rooms that comprised the single-story cottage. But there were big picture windows in both the living room and the bedroom that faced the mountains across the lake, and the few times the sun shone when she was there, she had a glorious view of the winter sunset over Marcy, Haystack, and Whiteface--great snow-covered monoliths now, older and infinitely more primeval than the softer mountains she was accustomed to seeing in northeast Vermont.
She'd been here with Terry since Monday, almost four days now, and she was starting to think about the possibility of getting a job in this corner of the state, instead of one in Waterbury or Montpelier. She figured Middlebury College could always use administrative minions, and there seemed to be a great many small businesses--microbreweries, software entrepreneurs, companies that made awnings or gourmet cheese or wooden toys--that on any given day had a want ad for a bean counter in the local newspaper. In theory she was supposed to be back at work at the general store next Monday, and her father expected her home that weekend...but maybe she could give Frank and Jeannine notice (Notice? Notice? she thought. She was leaving the cash register and meat slicer at a general store in the middle of nowhere, for God's sake!) and explain to her father once and for all that it was time she got on with her life.
She discovered that she liked living with Terry--or, to be precise, she liked hanging out with him for a couple of days in what really amounted to an extended vacation. He'd called her the day after New Year's to tell her that Laura had asked him to move out for the time being, and they spoke on the phone a couple of times before agreeing in the second week of January that she should come to the cabin for a visit. She'd have dinner with him on Monday, that was the plan, and though they never verbalized the notion, it was clear she would spend Monday night with him, too. What was she supposed to do, drive all the way home at ten or ten-thirty at night? It was a two-and-a-half-hour drive, and the weather seemed to be in one of those deep winter phases where it was cold and snowy and the roads were often as hard and slick as the skin on a bowling ball. The next day, Tuesday, was one of her days off, but she called Frank anyway to tell him she felt poorly--physically and emotionally--and she was going to take her first vacation since she'd started to work for him and his wife. It wasn't a whole lot of warning, but slicing turkey and ham and selling Slim Jims wasn't rocket science, and he'd be able to find someone to fill in. Then she told her dad essentially what Laura had told Terry when she asked him to leave: They needed a little distance. She phrased it more nicely than that (at least she hoped that she had), but the fact was, her father had treated her like dirt since Christmas Day. She owed him nothing, at least not right now. And if Frank and Jeannine should call for any reason and get her father, well, he might mention her bouts with morning sickness (now, wouldn't that get their tongues motoring behind the cash register!), but neither Frank nor Jeannine would be all that upset. They might be surprised and they might worry about her as friends, but they wouldn't give a damn as her bosses. They were shocked and pleased that she'd stayed around as long as she had, and had both said in one way or another that it was time for her to get a real job again, anyway.
SHE TOOK THE apple pie out of the oven early Thursday evening while Terry climbed out of his uniform and into a pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt from the police academy. She'd only made the pie because she had the oven going for a meatloaf and baked potatoes, but she liked the way the apples and the cinnamon made the whole cabin smell. She heard Terry humming to himself, and she was pleased he was happy. Certainly she was. She kept reminding herself that they were really only playing house--this wasn't actually living together, if only because not a soul in this county even knew she was here--but spending time with Terry was proving very easy. During the days she had read and tried out the snowshoes she found in the closet, or driven into Middlebury to go shopping. On Wednesday she'd gone north into Burlington and had lunch with a girl she'd remained friends with since high school, even though they only saw each other once or twice a year.
When Terry emerged from the bedroom, he poured himself a beer and put a mug with water and a tea bag in the microwave oven for her.
So, you really like those snowshoes, don't you? he asked.
I do. They're fun. Up where I live, everyone either rides snowmobiles or goes cross-country skiing.
I was never much for either. Russell has a Polaris; he's probably been living on it the past week. But I never took a liking to the sport. Too loud, maybe.
Oh, I agree. My family are big snowmobilers, all of them, and I just don't get the attraction. I have a niece and nephew in elementary school--and I mean first and third grade--who got their own machines for Christmas. I'll tell you, though, I think they would like snowshoeing, too, if they ever gave it a chance.
Where'd you go today? You get far?
Pretty far. I was able to walk all the way down to the lake, and I couldn't have done that in either boots or skis. Too steep. Too much brush. Then I probably went a mile and a half or two miles south of here. Till I hit that inn.
I hope you didn't overdo it.
It felt good. I'm careful.
See anything interesting?
Some animal tracks. Actually, a lot of animal tracks. And, across the lake, the smokestacks from that big paper mill. I'm sure the people who own that inn--hell, the whole state tourism department--just love the view we have of that baby.
It's a monster, isn't it?
She opened the oven and put a long metal skewer into one of the potatoes to make sure it was done, and then reached for the padded mitt to remove all of them. The bell for the microwave chirped, and Terry handed her the mug with her hot tea.
Cheers, he said, tapping the glass against the porcelain.
Cheers, she said, and then, after she had taken a small sip, he leaned forward and kissed her on her lips. She hadn't planned to, but she opened her mouth and felt his tongue glance off hers: It was cold from the beer, and she liked the taste of the alcohol. They kissed for a long moment, and then she pulled away from him and put the mug down on the counter.
We don't want the meatloaf to get too dry, she said, and she realized she was a tiny bit breathless.
No, of course not, he said, and she heard in his voice a slight tremor. He reached around her and turned off the oven, and she realized he was going to help her get their dinner on the table. They hadn't made love since the night she arrived, as if denying themselves this pleasure once the edge had been taken off their desire allowed them to hate themselves--and what they were doing--a tiny bit less.
SHE TRIED TO convince herself that she really didn't have any serious worries as they went for a short walk later that night after dinner. They bundled up in their parkas and then strolled up the long, thin driveway that led to the road. The driveway was wooded, but the fields around the road were largely cleared and it was like emerging from a forest into the closest thing Vermont had to big sky country. They thought they might see the northern lights, but a thin layer of clouds had moved in and blocked out virtually everything above them but the faint glow of the moon. Still, it was nice to be outside, especially with the knowledge that there was a warm bed and a warm body
to come home to. Sometimes he walked with his arm around her shoulder and she wrapped her arm around his waist, and she realized what was gnawing at her was the fact that Terry was going to have lunch tomorrow--Friday--with Laura. She had a sense that Terry was pulling away from his wife of his own volition (she tried hard to believe that she was no more than a catalyst) and she was convinced that she and Terry might even fall in love if they just hung around together long enough. Maybe, in some ways, they already had. Neither of them had said such a thing to each other. But it was clear they liked being together a very great deal, and they were most certainly linked by the little baby inside her.
Nevertheless, there was no way on God's green earth that Terry was going to ask out of the marriage, no matter how much he enjoyed being with her, and there was no way she was going to ask him to even consider such a thing. If his marriage was over, it was going to have to be his wife who said so.
He pulled her close and pressed his nose against hers. We should get you back inside, he murmured. Your nose is as cold as an ice cube.
So's yours. After they had started back she added, It's funny, but I don't think I went for a single nighttime walk this fall or winter when I was home. Not one. I used to walk in the afternoons sometimes, when I was done working at the store for the day. But never at night. I wasn't scared--it's pretty safe. I just never did it.
Pretty safe, maybe. But nothing's completely safe. Fourteen-year-old girls disappear in broad daylight in Brattleboro, female hikers seem to fall off the face of the earth while they're on some major trail up on Mount Carmel. I'm glad you didn't take walks at night alone.
You just worry because you see so much.
I do. Even on a good day, I'm likely to see some real nasty stuff. And I try and help, but a lot of the time--maybe even most of the time--there's very little I can do.
A gust of wind blew across their path as they walked, swirling the snow around their boots and their knees. It sounded to her a bit like an owl.
I imagine you do more than you think.
He started to laugh. My dear, I couldn't even keep my own children safe.
Oh, God, Terry, don't go there. There was no way you could have known your daughters would be in danger that day.
I know. Really, I do. But that's exactly what I mean: Things happen all the time that are completely beyond our control. Even--hard to believe, I know--the control of a sergeant with the Vermont State Police.
But at least you try to make things a little safer, a little better. Look at what you tried to do with Alfred.
I take no pride in anything I did with or for Alfred. We never connected, and that's nobody's fault but my own.
You tried.
Not very hard. Maybe if I'd gotten him a couple years ago--a couple houses sooner--I could have done something for him. Helped turn him around. Hell, maybe Laura still can. Maybe she has a magic silver bullet I don't. That wouldn't surprise me. She was always a great mom.
Well, I'll bet you were an amazing dad with your own girls.
I was okay. Maybe even pretty good. But they were amazing kids, too. Even I couldn't screw them up too badly.
She stopped walking, and he paused with her. I have to say something, she began, and this is important. I have enjoyed these last few days a lot. I've enjoyed all the times I've seen you. But if tomorrow you and Laura figure out that you two should be together, I will be...not unhappy. How's that for an honest waffle? I will--
Phoebe--
Look, I'm not being a martyr, she went on, and she took his gloved hands in hers. I believe you'd be as good a father as my baby--our baby--could ever have. And, at least when we're naked, we certainly seem to have a lot in common. But I just found myself actually worrying about your lunch tomorrow, and that's not a good place to be. It's not good for me, it's not good for you.
She felt the wind whipping her bangs into her eyes, and she hoped it was only the cold that was making them start to water. What I'm trying to say, she said, before her voice broke abruptly and she was crying and he was pulling her against his chest.
What I'm trying to say...
Shhh, he murmured, shhh, and he pressed one index finger, still sheathed in its leather glove, against her lips.
If she'd finished the sentence, she thought, her mind muddled by tears, she would have said, What I'm trying to say is I want you to break this thing we have off because I'm selfish and I haven't the strength to do it myself. But she realized she was too weak to even verbalize the idea, much less push him away and end their affair.
"It wasn't until this winter that I even realized I was lonely. It may have been the presence of these tiny Indian girls, but the fact I have nieces and nephews in Philadelphia I've never met has begun to trouble me more than ever."
SERGEANT GEORGE ROWE,
TENTH REGIMENT, UNITED STATES CAVALRY,
LETTER TO HIS BROTHER IN PHILADELPHIA,
MARCH 15, 1877
*
Laura
The barracks were within a mile and a half of the county animal shelter on Route 7, but because they were to the south of the building, she never had to pass the site where Terry would usually begin and end his shift. She knew that he, however, had to pass the Humane Society at least twice a day, since he was staying out at the Labarge family's winterized camp on Lake Champlain. The reality, of course, was that he probably drove by the shelter considerably more often than that: Much of his district spread out to the north, and both the courthouse and the state's attorney's office were in that direction. Sometimes, when she was in the room with the cats in the front of the building, or walking one of the dogs and getting some air herself, she would find herself staring at the two-lane state road down the hill from the shelter, half-expecting to see his green cruiser spin by.
She was meeting him for lunch today at a casual restaurant called Rosie's, and it would be the first time she'd seen him since he and Henry came by the house so he could get his pickup and a couple suitcases of clothes. They'd spoken on the phone five or six times since that afternoon, but they hadn't laid eyes on each other. She sat now at a table in the sunniest corner the hostess could find, a woman alone with a sheaf of papers about animal vaccines and contagious diseases, and sipped her tea and waited, wondering what it was she wanted from the lunch--what, if anything, they would resolve.
When he arrived he waved at the waitress behind the counter near the front door, and he had to clap the shoulders of two men who, based on their own uniforms, worked in the service department of one of the nearby auto dealers. Perhaps they serviced the barracks' cruisers. Perhaps they were volunteers with the local fire department or the rescue squad, and their paths crossed with Terry's at small (and, alas, large) fires and accidents.
Even the hostess knew him and they, too, shared a small laugh as she guided him over to her table. Was there anyone in this part of the county Terry didn't know at least slightly? Probably not.
He stood for a brief second before her as the hostess retreated, then awkwardly leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. When he sat down across from her, he was smiling.
It's good to see you, he said. Really good.
She put the papers in the wicker tote she used as a pocketbook and sat back in her seat. It didn't seem fair to her that she'd spent twenty minutes that morning thinking about which blouse and sweater and shade of lipstick she should wear, when he got to slide inside the same clothes every single day. Of course, it was like that to some degree for all men, but it was particularly easy for him.
It's good to see you, too, she said. I didn't notice you pull into the parking lot.
He put his campaign hat on the empty chair beside him. I'm parked around the side. There weren't any spots out front.
She almost commented on how busy the restaurant was, but she didn't: It would sound, in her mind, as if they had just begun dating and needed small talk to get through the awkward moments.
You're looking good, he said when she only nodded. You hanging in
there?
I am. It's quiet. Lonely. Must be for you, too.
Can be.
I called the cabin last night. There was no answer.
Yeah, I went for a walk after dinner, he said, and he looked down at the menu. That's where I must have been when you called.
She had a sense that he wasn't telling the whole truth, but she didn't press it because she wasn't here to pick a fight.
You get the chimney cleaned? he went on, his eyes still on the menu. Earl show up on time?
Earl always shows up on time.
He does, doesn't he? And the furnace hasn't been acting up?
You'd know if it was.
I guess. I just feel bad that I'm not there to keep the house pasted together.
The house is fine. I'm a big girl: I can carry in my own wood, I can pick up the phone and call the chimneysweep. I can even read the pressure gauges on the furnace.
You lose power in the windstorm the other night?
We did. I think we've lost power twice in the last week.
Twice?
Neither time for very long. And one time neither of us was even home. You?
Once.
Furnace go out?
It did.
You don't have a woodstove out there. You must have been freezing.
It was a tad nippy for a night, I grant you that. And I had to go get a torch to unfreeze the water pipes the next day. You'd know what to do if our pipes ever froze, right?
She nodded. Of course.
You'd call me.
Actually, I'd call a plumber.
Well, if you can't get a plumber, call me. Please.
He looked briefly back at the menu and then at the specials written in chalk on one of the blackboards in the large room. I always have the turkey here, he went on. Especially this time of the year. I don't know why I bother to look. The open-faced turkey and gravy. He flipped the menu shut and shrugged. So, how's Alfred? he asked.
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