“Maybe he couldn’t say no, though. Maybe he was afraid to.”
“Ah, but then it’s not your responsibility, is it? Why must you wear so much guilt? Do you like it?” The younger woman shook her head and looked away.
“No. And the absurd thing is that he didn’t commit the rape. I know that. But the key to the whole thing is why he was in a position even to be accused of rape. And I can’t absolve myself.”
“Can you absolve the woman, whoever she was?”
“Of course, I …” And then Jessica looked up, stunned. She had forgiven Margaret Burton. Somewhere along the line, she had forgiven her. The war with Margaret Burton was over. It was one less weight on her heart. “I’d never thought of that before, not lately.”
“I see. I’m intrigued to know how you robbed him of his manhood, by the way.”
“I supported him.”
“He didn’t work?” There was no judgment in Bethanie’s voice, only a question.
“He worked very hard. He’s a writer.”
“Published?”
“Several times. A novel, a book of fables, several articles, poems.”
“Is he any good?”
“Very—he’s just not very successful financially. Yet. But he will be.” The pride in her voice surprised her, but not Bethanie.
“Then how dreadful of you to encourage him. What a shocking thing to do.” Bethanie smiled as she sipped her Campari.
“No, I … it’s just that I think he hates me for having ‘kept’ him.”
“He probably does. But he probably loves you for it too. There are two sides to every medal, you know, Jessica. I’m sure he knows that too. But I’m still not quite clear about why you want to get out of the marriage.”
“I didn’t say that. I just said that I thought the marriage would end.”
“All by itself? With no one to help it along? My dear, how extraordinary!” The two women laughed and then Bethanie waited. She was adept with her questions. Astrid had known she would be, and had purposely not warned Jessica. Bethanie made one think.
Jessica looked up after a long pause and found the core of Bethanie’s eyes. She looked right into them. “I think the marriage already has ended. All by itself. No one killed it. We just let it die. Neither of us was brave enough to kill it, or save it. We just used it for our own purposes, and then let it expire. Like a library card in a town you no longer live in.”
“Was it a good library?”
“Excellent. At the time.”
“Then don’t throw the card away. You might want to go back, and you can have the card renewed.”
“I don’t think I’d want to.”
“He makes you unhappy, then?”
“Worse. I’d destroy him.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, child. How incredibly boring of you—you’re being noble. Do stop thinking of him, and think of yourself. I’m sure that’s all he’s doing. At least I hope so.”
“But what if I’m not good for him and never was good for him, and … what if I hate the life I lead now, waiting for him?” Now they were getting to the root of it. “What if I’m afraid that I only used him, and I’m not even sure if I love him anymore? Maybe I just need someone, and not specifically Ian.”
“Then you have some things to think out. Have you seen other men since he’s been gone?”
“No, of course not.”
“Why not?” Jessica looked shocked and Bethanie laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, my dear. I may be ancient, but I’m not dead yet. I tell Astrid the same thing. I don’t know what’s wrong with your generation. You’re all supposed to be so liberated, but you’re all terribly prim and proper. It could just be that you need to be loved. You don’t have to sell yourself on a street corner, but you might find a pleasant friend.”
“I don’t think I could do that, and stay with Ian.”
“Then maybe you ought to leave him for a while, and see what you want. Perhaps he is a part of your past. The main thing is not to waste your present. I never have, and that’s why I’m a happy old woman.”
“And not an ‘old’ woman.”
Bethanie made a face at the compliment. “Flattery won’t do at all! I seem extremely old to me, each time I look in the mirror, but at least I’ve enjoyed myself on the way. And I’m not saying that I’ve been a libertine. I haven’t. I’m merely saying that I didn’t lock myself in a closet and then find myself hating someone for what I chose to do to myself. That’s what you’re doing right now. You’re punishing your husband for something he can’t help, and it sounds to me as though he’s been punished enough, and unjustly at that. What you have to think about, and with great seriousness, is whether or not you can accept what happened. If you can, then perhaps it’ll all work itself out. But if you’re going to try to get restitution from him for the rest of your lives, then you might as well give up now. You can only make someone feel guilty for so long. A man won’t take much of that, and the backlash from him will be rather nasty.”
“It already has been.” Jessica was thinking back to the argument in Vacaville as she looked dreamily into the fire.
“No man can take that for very long. Nor any woman. Who wants to feel guilty eternally? You make mistakes, you say you’re sorry, you pay a price, and that’s about it. You can’t ask him to pay and pay and pay again. He’ll end up hating you for it, Jessica. And maybe you’re not just making him suffer for the present. Maybe you’re just using this as an opportunity to collect an old debt. I may be wrong, but we all do that at times.”
Jessica nodded soberly. It was exactly what she had been doing. Making him pay for the past, for his weaknesses and her own. For her insecurities and uncertainty. She was thinking it out when Bethanie’s voice gently prodded into her thoughts again.
“Maybe you should tell me to mind by own business.”
Jessica smiled and sat back in her chair again. “No, I think you’re probably right. I haven’t been looking at any of this with much perspective. And you make a great deal of sense. More than I want to admit, but still …”
“You’re a good sport to listen, child.” The two women smiled at each other again and the older woman rose to her feet and stretched delicately, her diamond rings sparkling in the firelight. She was wearing black slacks and a blue cashmere sweater the color of her eyes, and as Jessica watched her, she found herself thinking again what a beauty the woman must have been in her youth. She was still remarkably pretty in a womanly way, with a gentle veil of femininity softening whatever she did or said. She was actually even lovelier than her daughter. Softer, warmer, prettier—or perhaps it was just that she was more alive.
“You know, if you’ll forgive me, Jessica, I think I’ll go up to bed. I want to ride early in the morning and I won’t ask you to join me. I rise at such uncivilized hours.” Laughter danced in her eyes as she bent to kiss Jessica’s forehead, and Jessie quickly lifted her arms to hug her.
“Mrs. Williams, I love you. And you’re the first person who’s made sense to me in a very long time.”
“In that case, my dear, do me the honor of not calling me ‘Mrs. Williams.’ I abhor it. Couldn’t you possibly settle for ‘Bethanie,’ or ‘Aunt Beth’ if you prefer? My friends’ children still call me that, and some of Astrid’s friends.”
“Aunt Beth. It sounds lovely.” And suddenly Jessica felt as though she had a new mother. Family. It had been so long since she’d had any, other than Ian. Aunt Beth. She smiled and felt a warm glow in her soul.
“Good night, dear. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”
They exchanged another hug, and Jessica went upstairs half an hour later, still thinking about some of the things Bethanie had said. About punishing Ian … it made her wonder. Just how angry at Ian was she? And why? Because he had cheated on her? Or because he was in prison now and no longer around to protect her? Because he had gotten “caught” sleeping with Margaret Burton? Would it have mattered as much if she hadn’t been forced to confro
nt it? Or was it other things? The books that didn’t sell, the money that only she made, his passion for his writing? She just wasn’t sure.
Breakfast was waiting for Jessica when she came down the next morning. A happy little note signed “Aunt Beth” told her there were brioches being kept warm in the oven, crisp slices of bacon, and a beautiful bowl of fresh strawberries. The note suggested that they drive over the hills in the Jeep that afternoon.
They did, and they had a marvelous time. Aunt Beth told her stories about the “ghastly” people who had lived at the ranch before and had left the main house in “barbarous condition.”
“I daresay the man was a first cousin of Attila the Hun, and their children were simply frightful!”
Jessica hadn’t laughed as easily or as simply in years, and as they tooled over the hills in the Jeep, it dawned on her how well she was doing without pills. No tranquilizers, no sleeping pills, nothing. She was surviving with Aunt Beth’s company, a lot of sunshine, and much laughter. They cooked dinner together that night, burned the hollandaise for the asparagus, underdid the roast, and laughed together at each new mistake. It was more like having a roommate her own age than being the guest of a friend’s mother.
“You know, my first husband always said I’d poison him one day if he wasn’t careful. I was a terrible cook then—not that I’m much better now. I’m not at all sure these asparagus are cooked.” She crunched carefully on one of the stems, but seemed satisfied with what she found.
“Were you married twice?”
“No. Three times. My first husband died when I was in my early twenties, which was a great shame. He was a lovely boy. Died in a hunting accident two years after we were married. And then I had a rather enjoyable time for a while”—she sparkled a bit and then went on—“and married Astrid’s father when I was thirty. I had Astrid when I was thirty-two. And her father died when she was fourteen. And my third husband was sweet, but dreadfully boring. I divorced him five years ago, and life has been far more interesting since.” She examined another asparagus stalk and ate it as Jessica laughed.
“Aunt Beth, you’re a riot. What was the last one like?”
“Dead, mostly, except no one had told him yet. Old people can be so painfully dull. It was really quite embarrassing to divorce him. The poor man was dreadfully shocked. But he got over it. I visit him when I’m in New York. He’s still just as boring, poor thing.” She smiled angelically and Jessica dissolved in another fit of laughter. Aunt Beth wasn’t nearly as flighty as she liked to make herself sound, but she certainly hadn’t led a dull life either.
“And now? No more husbands?” They were friends now. She could ask.
“At my age? Don’t be ridiculous. Who would want an old woman? I’m perfectly content as I am, because I enjoyed my life when I was younger. There’s nothing worse than an old woman pretending that she isn’t. Or a young woman pretending she’s old. You and Astrid do a fine job of that.”
“I didn’t used to do it.”
“Neither did she, when Tom was alive. It’s time she found herself someone else and burned down that tomb of a mansion. I think it’s appalling.”
“But it’s so pretty, Aunt Beth. More than pretty.”
“Cemeteries are pretty too, but I wouldn’t dream of living in one—until I had no other option. As long as one has the option, one ought to use it. But she’s getting there. I think your shop might do her some good. Why don’t you sell it to her?”
“And then what would I do?”
“Something different. How long have you had the shop?”
“Six years this summer.”
“That’s long enough for anything. Why not try something else?” Long enough for a marriage, too?
“Ian wanted me to stay home and have a child. At least that’s what he was saying recently. A few years ago he was perfectly happy with things as they were.”
“Maybe you’ve just found one of the answers you’ve been looking for.”
“Such as?” Jessica didn’t understand.
“That a few years ago he was ‘perfectly happy with things as they were.’ How much has changed in those few years? Maybe you forgot to make changes Jessica. To grow.”
“We grew …” But how? She wasn’t really sure they had.
“I take it you didn’t want children.”
“No, it’s not that I didn’t want any, it’s that it wasn’t time yet. It was too soon and we were happy alone.”
“There’s nothing wrong with not having children.” Aunt Beth looked at her very directly. A little too directly. “Astrid has never wanted any either. Said it wasn’t for her, and I think she was quite right. I don’t think she’s ever regretted it. Besides, Tom was really a bit past that when they married. Your husband is a young man, isn’t he, Jessica?”
She nodded.
“And he wants children. Well, my dear, you can always stay on the pill and tell him you’re trying, can’t you?” The older woman’s eyes hunted Jessie’s. Jessica averted her gaze slightly and looked thoughtful.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t, would you? That’s good.” And then Jessica’s eyes snapped back to Aunt Beth’s.
“But I’ve thought of it.”
“Of course you have. I’m sure a lot of women have. A lot of them have probably done more than thought of it Sensible in some cases, I imagine. It seems a pity to have to be that dishonest. You know, I was never that sure I wanted children. And Astrid was a little bit of a surprise.” Aunt Beth almost blushed, but not quite. It was more a softening of her eyes as she looked backward in time and seemed to forget Jessica for a moment. “But I really grew quite fond of her. She was very sweet when she was small. And simply horrid for a few years after that. But still sweet in an endearing sort of way. I actually enjoyed her very much.” She made Astrid sound more like an adventure than a person, and Jessica smiled, watching her face. “She was very good to me when her father died. I thought the world had come to an end, except for Astrid.” Jessie almost envied her as she listened. She made it sound as though life were less lonely because of Astrid, instead of more so.
“I’ve always been, well, afraid, I guess. Afraid of having children, because I thought it would put an obstacle between me and Ian. I thought it would make me lonely.” Bethanie smiled and shook her head.
“No, Jessica. Not if your husband loves you. Then he’ll only love you that much more because of the child. It’s an additional bond between you, an extension of both of you, a blending of what you love most and hate most and need most and laugh at most, of the two of you. It’s a very lovely thing. I can think of a good many reasons to fear having children, but that shouldn’t be one of them. Can’t you love more than one person?”
It was a good question, and Jessica decided to be honest.
“I don’t think so, Aunt Beth. Not anymore. I haven’t loved anyone but Ian in a long time. So I guess I can’t imagine him loving someone besides me—even a child. I know it must sound selfish, but it’s how I feel.”
“It doesn’t sound selfish. It sounds frightened, but not really selfish.”
“Maybe one day I’ll change my mind.”
“Why? Because you think you ought to? Or because you want to? Or so you can punish your husband some more?” Aunt Beth didn’t pull any punches. “Take my advice, Jessica. Unless you really want a child, don’t bother. They’re a terrible nuisance, and even harder on the furniture than cats.” She said it with a straight face as she stroked the calico cat sitting on her lap. Jessica laughed in surprise at the remark. “As pets go, I much prefer horses. You can leave them outside without feeling guilty.” She looked up with another of her saintly smiles, and Jessica grinned. “Don’t always take me seriously. And having children is really a matter of one’s own choice. Whatever you do, don’t be pressured by what other people think or say—except your husband. And my, my, aren’t you lucky to have me stomping about where angels fear to tread?”
The t
wo women laughed then and moved on to other subjects. But it amazed Jessica to realize the depth of the topics they discussed. She was finding herself revealing secrets and feelings to Aunt Beth that before she would have shared only with Ian. She seemed to be constantly showing Aunt Beth one piece or another of her soul, pulling it out to exhibit, dusting it off, questioning; but she was beginning to feel whole again.
The days were delightful and relaxing on the ranch, filled with fresh air and pleasant mornings spent on horseback in solitary canters over the hills or in idle walks. And the evenings flew by with Aunt Beth to laugh with. Jessica found herself taking naps in the afternoon, reading Jane Austen for the first time since high school, and making small idle sketches in a notebook. She had even made a few secret sketches that could be worked into an informal portrait of Aunt Beth. She was feeling shy about asking her new friend to sit for a portrait. But it was the first one she had wanted to paint since Ian’s, years before. Aunt Beth’s face would lend itself well to that sort of thing, and it would make a nice gift for Astrid—who appeared, much to Jessica’s chagrin, two weeks later.
“You mean I have to come home now?” Astrid looked tired but happy, and Jessica had the sinking feeling she’d had as a child when her mother had arrived too early to fetch her home from a birthday party.
“Don’t you dare come home, Jessica Clarke! I came down to see how Mother was doing.”
“We’re having a great time.”
“Good. Then don’t stop now. I’ll be miserable when you come back to the city and take away my toy.” She filled Jessie in on Katsuko’s trip to New York, and the spring line was doing better than Jessie had dared to hope. It seemed years since she had bought those pastels, years since she’d come home and Ian had been arrested, centuries since the trial. The shock of it all was finally beginning to fade. The scars barely showed. She had gained five pounds and looked rested. Astrid brought her a letter from Ian, which she didn’t open until later.
… I can’t believe it, Jess. Can’t believe I’d say those things to you. Maybe this disaster is finally taking its toll. Are you all right? Your silence is strange now, your absence stranger. And I find that I don’t really know what I want: you to reappear, or for that damn window between us to disappear. I know how you hate it, darling. I hate it as much. But we can overcome it. And how is the vacation? Doing wonders, I’m sure. You’ve really earned it. I suppose that’s why I’m not hearing from you. You’re “busy resting.” Just as well, probably. As usual, I’m all wrapped up in the book. It’s going unbelievably well, and I’m hoping that …
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