Marriage to a Stranger

by Dorothy Phillips

  Afterward, she didn't know how she got through the rest of the evening. Only her strength of character kept the inner misery from surging up and boiling out of her.

  When Adam came to her, she looked at him with vacant eyes.

  "Would you like a drink, Molly mine?" he asked softly, intimately.

  She shook her head. Deceit comes to him as naturally as breathing, she thought. A mask of politeness moved over her face.

  "Excuse me. I'll get the dinner on."

  For a long while she didn't have to speak or look at any of them. Donna was at the end of the room. The "personal message" program was being broadcast for the second time that day and she was listening and laughing with the two men about the advice given Mrs. Watson regarding her lumbago and the report of the Johnson's groceries being left at the wrong stop.

  "I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "Imagine, having everyone in the North knowing about your lumbago!"

  "That's how Adam knew to meet us at the tracks," Patrick told her. "He heard it on this program."

  "Is that true, Adam?" Donna turned the full force of her blue eyes on him. "You knew I'd be there with Patrick?"

  "No. They just said visitors were coming."

  The murmur of their voices surged over and around Molly, although she was near enough to join in the conversation if she had wished to; but the words they spoke were inaudible to her numbed senses. An air of unreality settled over her. With the perfectly groomed table prepared, and the food on it, she approached the others and told them that dinner was ready.

  She served the meal calmly and efficiently, exchanging pleasantries with Patrick, asking him about the food in Australia. Her glance passed indifferently over Adam. He and Donna talked together about some person unknown to her. One time Donna's voice directed a question to her.

  She looked in her direction, and her face suddenly blurred, so she turned away and ignored her.

  Patrick helped with the cleanup. She would never know what they talked about. The time seemed to go terribly fast and they were finished.

  "You've worked enough for today, Molly, Come sit by me." Adam beckoned to her.

  She shook her head, not bothering to answer. A frown came over his face and he came toward her.

  "What's the matter with you? What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong, I'm going to bed." She started toward her room. He grabbed her arm and turned her around.

  "You're not going to bed!" he grated. "We have guests."

  She stood still, looking down at the hand holding her arm. A shudder of repulsion shook her.

  "Your guests. Not mine."

  "You said you didn't mind Pat coming and Donna is your cousin," he hissed at her.

  "I'll prepare their food, but that's all. Let me go!" Her voice was deadly quiet.

  He released her arm. "I don't understand you."

  "No," she said, "I guess you don't." She left him looking after her with a look of astonishment on his face.

  In her room she fumbled in the dark until her fingers felt the familiar lamp and turned it on. Her dazed eyes took in the articles on her table and the clothing strung around the room. She clicked off the lamp, not wanting to see these things, and undressed in the dark. She found her gown under her pillow, slipped into it, and crawled into bed. Her body was weary and her head throbbed. Her troubled mind whirled and she sought the sweet oblivion of sleep. Worn out by the emotional upheaval she had been through she immediately sank into a deep sleep.

  She awoke and sat up in bed. The illuminated dial on her watch told her morning was several hours away. The events of the day before were clear in her mind. Knowing who was sleeping beside her, and not wanting to look at her, she kept her eyes averted and slipped out from under the covers. The air in the dark room was icy cold. Hastily she reached for her flashlight then donned jeans and a flannel shirt. She brushed her hair back, secured it with a rubber band, and left the room. The fire had burned down in the cooking range and the big log in the fireplace was almost used up. She shivered as she tugged the fire screen aside to poke at the coals on the grate. After selecting several small logs from the woodbox she carefully piled them on the burning coals and replaced the screen.

  The house was unnaturally quiet. She cocked her head to one side and listened. Suddenly it occurred to her: the clock on the mantel was still. Aiming the beam of her light on the clock she found the glass door of the clock case was open and the pendulum had been removed. She replaced the pendulum, wound the clock, and started the pendulum swaying. The familiar ticking was comforting in the quiet room.

  She stoked up the fire in the kitchen range and made coffee in the granite pot. Cupping her cold hands around the steaming cup she sat in the chair close to the fire and leaned forward to soak in the heat. The flickering flames cast a cozy glow around the dark room. The clock on the mantel struck five times. It would be awhile yet before the unwanted people in her home would be up and around.

  She began to tremble and picked up the afghan from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. She rocked gently. The firelight threw her shadow on the wall and she watched it, not thinking or feeling, just rocking. The kindling snapped and popped and the flames spread to the larger logs and flared.

  She got up, walking carefully, like someone in great pain, and refilled her coffee cup. They could keep love, she thought, as she sat down again. It wasn't worth the price.

  She tried to think of her father, tried to remember how happy he had made her when he brought her here to this house, but her thoughts kept straying. With a jerk she would drag them back from the forbidden territory, but back they would go as soon as she relaxed her restraint.

  It was very odd to be sitting here, making plans to leave. From the very first moment she had known she would be leaving. Her pride warred endlessly with common sense even as pain stirred in her stomach. It hurt her. Oh, God, how it hurt! She would have done anything in the world for him… anything. It didn't seem that all this had really happened to her. How could her father have made such a ghastly mistake in judging a man's character? He would understand that she was doing what she had to do. She would go to Herb Belsile and tell him she couldn't accept the terms of the will. Tim-Two would look after the house until she could return.

  She leaned forward and looked out the window The light was definite now and the old Indian was coming toward the house. He made no sign that he was surprised to see her up, but stoically went about his chores of refueling the range and the fireplace. She poured him a cup of coffee. He sat at the trestle table. When he was finished, he nodded and went out.

  At the first stirrings from the bedroom Molly rose and started breakfast; first setting the table and then slicing the bacon. She was deep in thought when a hand descended on her shoulder and swung her around. Adam stood there.

  His eyes searched her face and his black brows drew together, but his expression held no terror for her. Suddenly his face changed and his eyes smiled into hers.

  "Did you miss me last night as much as I missed you?"

  She raised one hand then let it fall despairingly. She shrugged her shoulders and looked at him with dull eyes.

  He seemed startled as though he had expected her to say or do something.

  "Molly?" The silence lengthened after his voice died away. He made a grimace of displeasure.

  She shrugged her shoulders again wearily and attempted to turn away. He yanked her arm and pulled her up close against him. She stood passive in his embrace. A wave of anger hit him and his mouth came down hard on hers, parting her lips and forcing her head back. His hands roamed over her, cupping her hips and holding them tightly against him. She made no protest and no response. When he lifted his head to look at her, she unhurriedly pushed herself away from him, and at that moment Patrick came into the room.

  "Morning, Molly. Sleep the headache away?"

  She nodded and gave him a half smile. "How many eggs, Patrick?" she asked quietly.

  "However many you fix old A
dam. I'm not as big as he is, but I eat as much." If he noticed any tension between them, he was ignoring it.

  Adam sat at the table and Molly poured coffee. Patrick kept up a constant chain of chatter for a while, then fell silent because he wasn't getting much response from either of them. After serving the breakfast, Molly sat in her chair by the hearth and picked up her knitting.

  Unconsciously she started to knit, then it dawned on her… she was knitting the sweater for Adam. Slowly she removed the needles and placed them on the table beside the chair and started unraveling the almost finished garment, rolling the yarn into a ball. She rocked as she pulled the soft wool, her fingers carefully winding the yarn. Adam came and stood over her, watching, then turned on his heel and went into his room.

  Patrick brought his coffee cup and sat in the chair opposite her. She glanced at him and went on with her work. The thought drifted across her mind that this friend of Adam's was nice and she could like him if things had been different. I'll never get the chance to know him now, and he'll despise me when he can no longer use the files.

  Donna came out of Molly's room. She was wearing a white woolly robe and big fluffy lamb's wool slippers. Her silver hair was brushed back and held with a blue ribbon. She was plainly in a bad mood.

  "I've never been so cold in all my life," she said crossly, coming to stand close to the fire. "Well… do you serve coffee or not?" Her question was directed to Molly.

  She sat as if she hadn't heard.

  "I'll get it, and don't be such a grouch, Donna." Patrick got up.

  As he was speaking the clock on the mantel started striking the hour. Donna turned, her face a mask of fury.

  "I hate striking clocks," she grated. "I stopped that damn thing last night and I meant for it to stay stopped!" She yanked open the glass door of the clock case, jerked off the swaying pendulum, and threw it into the blazing fire.

  Molly let out a cry and rushed to get the iron poker. Frantically she raked the burning coals until she had pulled the small disc and stem out of the flames. She raked it out onto the stone hearth and looked at it, her head bent.

  "That was a rotten thing to do, Donna!" Patrick was angry and it showed in his voice.

  "I hate clocks and she knows it. She just started it again to spite me," she said hatefully, not one bit put off by Patrick's anger.

  "That's no excuse! You're a guest here."

  "Guest? Adam's guest, not hers. She'd poison me if she could!"

  Patrick knelt down beside Molly. "I don't know as I would blame her," he muttered. He took the poker from Molly's hand, returned it to the rack, and picked up the piece of metal, shifting it from one hand to the other as it cooled. "It isn't damaged, Molly," he said reassuringly.

  Her face was white and the violet eyes, surrounded with dark circles, were bright with tears. She took the disc from him and put it in her pocket.

  "Thank you," she whispered, and sat back down in the rocker.

  "I don't know how Adam can stand this godforsaken place!" Donna hugged herself with her arms. "That bathroom is positively primitive."

  Patrick stood looking from one to the other; Molly rocking and winding the yarn, Donna prancing around the room in a temper. He had seen Molly smile only once or twice since they had been here and the relationship between her and Adam certainly wasn't as he had been led to believe it was. As for Donna, he had seen dozens like that bitch and would never have brought her, but for her being Molly's cousin. After seeing the difference between the two of them, it seemed strange Molly would invite her. Suddenly it hit him! How stupid can I be? The blond bombshell is still after Adam and she thinks the country cousin is no competition! But if I'm any judge of old Adam…

  "I suggest you get your own coffee and sit down, Donna," he said coolly.

  "You don't have to be so nasty about it, Patrick. You may be used to living like a peasant, but I'm not!" She flounced into the kitchen and looked disgustedly at the big granite coffeepot.

  Patrick stood uncertainly. He didn't want to leave Molly at the mercy of this cat. He wasn't sure, but something was very wrong here. Molly seemed to be in a sort of daze. She couldn't be like this all the time—an emotionless shell of a girl! She wasn't at all the picture he got from Robert and Aunt Flo. He wondered if he should talk to Adam about it.

  Tim-Two came in the back door. Donna gave a shudder of revulsion when she saw him. He looked about the room then walked to Adam's door, opened it and went in, closing it behind him.

  Molly could hear the murmur of voices, then what appeared to be a curse word in Adam's voice. Tim-Two came out of the room and toward Molly, stopped in front of her, and said one word.

  "Dog."

  Molly understood the urgency in the one word. Alarm filled her and she got to her feet.

  "What's the matter with Dog?" she asked shrilly.

  Adam came out of the bedroom putting on his parka. He went to the gun rack, lifted out the rifle, and checked the load. Biting her lip to keep back hysteria Molly ran after Tim-Two, grabbing her coat from the peg as she fled out the kitchen door.

  Adam was shouting at her. "Stay in the house, Molly!"

  Paying him no mind, she ran on and caught up with Tim-Two as he rounded the shed. She took one swift look and her steps faltered. Dog was lying in the snow behind the shed. She ran to him and dropped to her knees beside him. The impact of what had happened began to hammer in her brain. The snow was red with Dog's blood. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he was gasping for breath.

  "Dog! Dog!" Dimly Molly heard her own anguished voice.

  At the sound of her voice Dog tried to lift his head and focus his eyes, but the effort was too much for him and his big head sank down on the snow.

  "Don't die. Please don't die!" Dog opened his eyes and tried to see the owner of the dear and familiar voice.

  "Don't die, Dog," she pleaded. "I'll have no one!" Hiding her face in the soft fur of his neck, she talked to him beseechingly.

  "Molly!" Hands were lifting her up. "You'll always have someone. You'll have me." There was an agonizing note in Adam's voice.

  A great roaring noise was in her ears; she swayed and would have collapsed if the hands had not held her. About to cross the thin line into hysteria, she turned on him and jerked herself away.

  "Get away from me," she gasped, and then, with rising hysteria, "Oh, God! You're going to kill him!"

  "I've got to, Molly, can't you see that?" His hands were reaching for her, trying to hold her.

  A thin, shrill scream tore itself from her throat. She brought her hand up and tried to claw him. His hands held her arms pinioned to her sides.

  "You've taken everything," she screamed at him. "Still you're not satisfied! You'd kill my dog! My dog, the only thing left in the world that I love and the only thing that loves me!"

  Adam knew he couldn't reach her and reason with her through her hysteria. He stood helplessly for a moment and looked at her. Her face was deathly white and the dark-rimmed eyes were bright and darted wildly about. He shoved her toward Patrick who had come up beside him.

  "Get her in the house and keep her there," he said harshly.

  She burst into tearing, retching sobs and flung herself into Patrick's arms. He scooped her up and carried her to the house. It seemed as if the dam had finally burst. The emotional stress of the last day and night was finding release in the rush of tears that spilled out of her eyes and flooded down over her cheeks.

  He had just sat her down in the house and closed the door when the sound of the rifle shot reached them. Molly clutched him and he held her tightly until the hard sobs ceased shaking her.

  "Molly," he whispered in her ear. "Adam did the only humane thing to do. He put the poor beast out of his misery. He'd been in a fight with a bear, or maybe a wolf, and only managed to drag himself home. He would have been dead before night. You wouldn't want him to lie there all day and suffer." He tried to look into her face. "Surely you understand."

  "Well, I'll say on
e thing for her," Donna's grating voice broke the silence of the room. "She sure knows how to play up a good scene. Good riddance, if you ask me. That dog smelled like a pigsty!"

  "Shut up, Donna!" Patrick's patience with Donna was almost at an end.

  Quiet now, Molly wanted desperately to be alone. She lifted her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  "Thank you, Patrick." Her voice barely reached him.

  She left him and walked slowly to the door of her room. She closed it behind her and leaned her weight against it as though to keep all of them out. Her disjointed thoughts whirled around in her brain. She must leave! She must get away from these people. A sudden sense of purpose sent her limbs into action, but how could she go and where could she go? She looked at her watch—if she were to leave at once… but… supposing he saw her and tried to stop her? Supposing he…

  Adam had come into the house. She could hear his voice and the soft purring voice of her cousin. She never wanted to see either of them again as long as she lived! It had been a cruel, bitter lesson she had learned. She would never, no never, love anything again, she vowed. She had loved her mother, she had loved her father, she had loved this house, and she had loved Dog. She had loved… him. They all had been taken away from her!

  When Adam and Patrick were settled into their work in the study, she would leave the house. It shouldn't be to difficult to slip out the kitchen door and walk away toward the rail lines. If she could make it to the tracks by the time the train for Anchorage passed, she would be on her way to Herb Belsile. Now that her mind was made up, there were things to be done. She changed from her jeans to heavy wool slacks and pulled on a sweater over her shirt. She lay out her fur mittens and thermal socks. She put what cash money she had and her checkbook in the pocket of her snowmobile suit and zipped it shut. She wished she dared take the snowmobile, but the noise when she started it would alert Adam.

  Molly looked about the room she had always kept so tidy, and made a grimace at the disorder. Her cousin's belongings were everywhere. Suddenly the entire weight of her wretchedness hit her and she could hardly wait to leave this room, this house, where she had been so happy and where she had felt the blackest despair.