Mattie

by Judy Alter

  Dr. Dinsmore and Sara met us at the train, both changed in the years since I’d seen them. Sara, now over thirty, had never married, still lived with her father and filled her days giving music lessons to small children and doing volunteer work at the college’s free clinic. I, who had so much to fill my life, felt hers was rather empty, and I pitied her. The bright, happy child I had raised and loved had turned into a fairly mild, colorless woman, and I ached for her lost chances for happiness. I wondered if the weak strain inherited from her mother was showing itself.

  Dr. Dinsmore was as commanding as ever, silver-haired now that he was in his late fifties but still a handsome man. My heart did a little flip when I first saw him, and a great tangle of emotions welled up. He was courteous and polite as always, giving me a fatherly hug and shaking hands with Em.

  Em, for the moment taken aback by Dr. Dinsmore’s dignity, was silent. Then he began talking, too much, in that stilted tone which always signaled me that he was nervous and uncertain.

  “Certainly good of you to meet us. Been years since either one of us has been to Omaha, and I’m sure we’d be lost. Course, I’ll find my way around pretty quick. Got to take care of some business.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Dinsmore said, and I blessed him for not asking what business.

  Nora was staring sideways at Sara, uncertain what to make of her and rather obviously disappointed. We had described a laughing, bright girl, and here was a somber lady who barely smiled.

  “Are you sure you stayed with me when I was a baby?” Her voice was skeptical.

  “Yes, Nora, I’m sure. You were very tiny, but you were determined.”

  “And still is,” Em laughed. “We certainly have missed you, Sara. Any time you want to come back to Benteen, we’ll turn out a royal welcome. Might be we could find you some strapping farmer to marry out there.”

  Sara and Dr. Dinsmore exchanged the briefest of looks, and I had the strangest sensation of untold stories of sadness and even grief. Dimly, I remember that Sara had almost married right after she was with us in Benteen, but I never heard what had happened to cancel the wedding.

  Nothing would do but that we would stay at the Dinsmores’ instead of the hotel. Their offers of hospitality were gracious and sincere, and Em leapt at them.

  “Certainly nice of you. I’m sure Mattie and Nora will be much happier with you while I’m off on business than they would be in a hotel.”

  I hesitated. “Are you sure . . . Isn’t it too much trouble?”

  And Nora was downright rude. “You promised me a hotel, Mama, with men to bring me my meals.”

  Sara smiled in her shy way again, but Dr. Dinsmore laughed openly. “And a hotel meal you shall have, my princess. I’ll see to it. But please stay with us. It will make us feel bad if you don’t.”

  Nora shot him a look that said she didn’t care how he felt, but his authority still had sway over me, all these years later, and I quickly answered.

  “Of course we’ll stay.”

  “Good. Sara will be delighted to have your company again, Mattie.”

  “Yes,” she echoed, “I will.”

  For the most part, the visit went well. Em disappeared each day right after breakfast, two times not returning until nearly midnight but always full of stories about the contacts he’d made, how well his work was going and so on.

  “What is your business?” Dr. Dinsmore finally asked politely.

  “Well, you know, I raise some cattle on Mattie’s old claim and some other land we have, but I’m really interested in politics these days. That’s what brings me to Omaha.”

  “Politics, eh? Unfortunately, I know nothing about it beyond worrying about state funding for our school.”

  The two had little to talk about, and I was just as glad Em was away so much. Dr. Dinsmore and I had long professional talks twice in the evenings, but no mention was made of the unhappy terms on which we had parted.

  The closest he came to bringing the subject up was one evening when he stared long at me and then said slowly, “You’re not happy, Mattie.”

  Pride bristled within me, and I tried to laugh his comment away, my laugh too short and harsh to be convincing. “Of course I am. What more could I want? A flourishing practice, a good husband, and an adorable child. No, I’m very happy. Just tired sometimes.”

  “I see.” And he said no more.

  Sara and I spent two whole days shopping, and I did buy myself some dresses that Em would think were feminine. One was a taffeta in soft gray-green, with a lace collar and cuffs, and the other was a challis print, very straight and plain but somehow classic and elegant because of its simplicity. I wore it to dinner that night, when Dr. Dinsmore took us to the hotel for the promised meal that Nora so looked forward to.

  “I told Mattie she needed some more feminine clothes.” Em seemed to me to be talking too loudly. “Doesn’t she look nice tonight?”

  “She certainly does,” Dr. Dinsmore agreed. “But I have always thought Mattie dressed attractively.”

  “Sometimes she ought to loosen up and spend a little money on herself,” Em persisted. “Fancy up a bit, like this tonight.”

  I blushed and wished they would change the subject, feeling rather like they were talking about me as if I weren’t there. But Em went right on.

  “Sara, I think I have you to thank for a good influence on today’s shopping trip. You always look so feminine, like you’ve really taken care to choose your clothes attractively.”

  Sara said a soft “Thank you, Em,” and I burned inwardly at the comparison, though I guess I had it coming. Sara did look lovely, as always, but I wished for that spark of life that I had once seen in her.

  We had one long, private talk, when Em had taken Nora on a tour of the city, hoping to run across a horseless carriage to show her.

  “Father doesn’t think you’re happy, Mattie.”

  “I know, Sara, but I am. At least as happy as I expect to be. I think true happiness is something you have only moments of, like genuine sadness, and most of life is lived somewhere in the middle. So yes, Sara, I’m happy. And you?”

  “I guess according to your definition, I’m happy, too, but I still want to live my life at the peak levels of happiness. Sometimes I think if only . . .”

  Her voice trailed away, and, uncharacteristically, I prodded. “If only what, dear?”

  Tears rolled down her face as she spoke. “There was a man I . . . I loved very much and wanted to marry. Father, well, he didn’t think the man was good enough for me, and he forbad the marriage. And now, why, I think I’ll just live here forever with Father.” She was sobbing openly when she finished, and I reached to take her in my arms. There was nothing I could say, and I knew that I was seeing the other side of that self-confidence and authority. Even if Em was flawed, and I knew then for certain that his flaws were major, I had done the right thing to flee Dr. Dinsmore. I wished I could also loosen Sara’s bonds, but that seemed impossible.

  The visit ended badly. At the time, I didn’t know why. One morning Em announced suddenly that we were to leave that day, two days earlier than we had planned.

  “Why, Em?” I protested sleepily, for it was early morning, and he had woken me with his announcement.

  “I just have to get back to Benteen. Don’t ask questions. I’ll wake Nora while you get our things together. The train’s at eleven, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, and two days from now I’ll be ready and on it, but not today.”

  “Mattie, we are going today.” He said it with more iron and steel in his voice than I had ever heard from Em in all our years together, and I decided to argue no more. We would go.

  We were packed and ready with a cab waiting in a remarkably short time.

  “Em, I have to say goodbye to Dr. Dinsmore and Sara. I can’t just leave. Where are they?”

  “He’s gone to the college, and she’s in her room with a sick headache.”

  “Well, I won’t just leave,” I said determine
dly, and headed for Sara’s room.

  “Mattie, ah, don’t disturb her. Dr. Dinsmore said she’s really feeling badly this morning.”

  “Well, sickness is something I know about. Don’t worry, I won’t disturb her.”

  I knocked softly but entered without waiting for an answer. Sara was buried in her bed, but she turned toward me and I knew instantly that her sick headache had come from long and hard crying.

  “Sara, Sara, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, Mattie, nothing. I’m . . . I’m sorry you have to leave early. I . . . I’ll miss you all over again.” And she collapsed in tears, burying her face in the bright quilt that contrasted so sharply with her own paleness.

  I tried to comfort her and stroke her hair as best as I could, but I didn’t want to force her to talk about whatever had made her so unhappy. Still, as I left the room, my head was spinning with questions.

  I got them answered on the train, and even I was indignant. Nora had been seated by a window some little distance from us, which gave Em and me a chance to talk.

  “Your Dr. Dinsmore is some fellow,” Em said bitterly.

  “Em, tell the truth about what happened, why we’re leaving early. What does it have to do with Sara?”

  He stared at the passing landscape and never looked at me as he spoke. “He accused me of making improper advances to her and ordered me out of the house. Said you and Nora could stay as long as you wanted, but I was to be gone before noon.”

  The words filtered into my consciousness slowly, but when they did, I was filled with naive disbelief. “Improper advances! Em, that’s ridiculous! You loved Sara like you do Nora. How could he ever get that idea?”

  Wearily, Em recited the story. He’d been unable to sleep and had gotten up to prowl about the house. As he stumbled through the dark, he heard crying from Sara’s room and had gone in to comfort her. Dr. Dinsmore found him sitting on the edge of Sara’s bed, his arms around her.

  “Didn’t Sara try to tell him it was innocent?”

  “Of course she did, Mattie, but the man’s obsessed with his daughter. He wouldn’t listen to either of us. Jumped to his own conclusions and stayed with them. It was an ugly scene, I tell you, truly ugly. And that’s where Sara’s sick headache comes from. He reduced her to tears and me to frustrated rage.”

  I was silent, trying to piece it all together. I knew Em had a lot of faults, but lust, I was convinced, was not one of them, especially not for a girl he had regarded as a daughter. And Dr. Dinsmore. Was he accusing because he had been guilty of the same sin? I had never dared tell Em the real reason I left Omaha, and now, certainly, it would remain forever my secret. Yet it was a secret I bore as a gigantic burden, because I wasn’t sure what it meant for me, for Em and even for poor Sara.

  The trip home was not pleasant. Em and I were silent, thinking, and Nora was angry. “I wasn’t ready to leave,” she informed us loftily. “You promised we wouldn’t leave for two more days.”

  Poor Nora. There was never any room in her life for compromise or understanding the problems of others. Telling her we were sorry but that an emergency dictated we return meant nothing to her. Her wishes had been thwarted, and Nora stood frustration even less well than her father.

  Over the years, Em had become increasingly angry and jealous, not of me but of men who had achieved the success that eluded him. We saw little of the Gelsons, in spite of my close friendship with Lucy, because Em resented Jed and the success he’d made of their ranching operation. Their cattle had increased, their crops prospered, their boys, grown strong and tall, helped on the farm, and their whole operation made Em’s look like small potatoes. Jed was active in the newly formed farmers’ group and was one of the most respected men in our region. Em hated him, though he professed to value the long-standing relationship. I suspect Lucy never liked Em, and so the separation was all right from both sides, except for me. I was caught in the middle.

  I never knew when Em’s anger would erupt, or over what. He would come home, happy and charming, and we’d have a wonderful evening of companionship. But other evenings he’d come home angry.

  “What’s in this soup? Last week’s garbage?”

  Nora would giggle appreciatively and echo, “I don’t like it either, Daddy.”

  I would say mildly, “Em, please, in front of Nora . . .”

  “She’s my daughter, and I can say whatever I want in front of her. She wouldn’t want me to lie to her, would you, baby?”

  And Nora would preen and assure him he was right. His anger, so frequently turned at me, never was directed at Nora, and she lived in a state of false security.

  I found out about the other woman by accident, or almost. Em had sold some cattle to a widow named Fisher, Lucinda Fisher, who lived about thirty-five miles from Benteen. He showed me the sales slip for three heifers. I was a little curious why a new widow, living alone, would want to increase her herd rather than sell it off and return to town or home, wherever that may be. But Em convinced me that this was a spunky lady who was determined to carry on with her husband’s dreams for their land. He felt sorry for her and wanted to help. I thought he was magnanimous, and as long as he was generous with his help but not our money, nothing troubled me. I even asked if he didn’t want to bring Lucinda to town to visit, but he said she really worked so hard she wouldn’t leave her claim, even briefly. So I sent an occasional gift, like a piece of the cheese given by a patient or oranges when in season and even a shiny new kitchen pot that caught my eye in Whittaker’s store. We were long distances apart, but I felt we shared, and I wanted to be Mrs. Fisher’s friend.

  Lucinda Fisher was far from central in my thoughts. I had other things on my mind, like the deteriorating relationship between Em and me.

  “People coming in all hours of the day and night. Man can’t have any privacy in his home.” He slammed a chest drawer so hard that a bottle of perfume on top fell to the floor.

  I picked it up, stood holding it and stared at Em, all kinds of retorts going through my mind.

  “Well, what are you staring at me for?”

  “Trying to understand your anger. What have I done to you?”

  It was his turn to be thoughtful and quiet for a moment, and when he answered, he surprised me. “Probably nothing I haven’t allowed you to do, maybe even forced you into.”

  His anger rarely was that rational, though, and other times he would yell, “If you’d give up that damn practice of yours, we could live like decent human beings, the way other families do.”

  “If I give up that practice, we could starve, Em Jones. Can’t you see the truth when it’s in front of you? My practice allows you to run all over the state doing heaven-knows-what and to keep that so-called farm going even though it never produces a penny of income for us.”

  “Running all over the state? Is that what you think of my career? You know darn well what I’m doing, and someday when I’m elected to high office in this state, you’ll have to eat those words.”

  Em’s theory was that he was testing the waters of his political career. When he would be ready to dive in never really came into the conversation.

  Once or twice, Em was physically abusive. The first time was one of those small incidents that can escalate before you know it. I had learned the hard way not to argue with him when he was mad, for it never got me anyplace. So usually I just bottled my feelings up inside. One evening at the dinner table, my feelings got the better of me.

  “I’m tired,” I commented to no one in particular.

  “I can tell. Dinner tastes like last year’s leftovers.”

  Nora giggled a little and played with the food on her plate.

  “Em, I’m sorry if you don’t like the dinner, but I’d appreciate it if you’d set a better example of manners for Nora.”

  “Example, huh? If we’re going to talk about examples, why don’t you set her a better example of woman’s work?”

  “Em, please . . .” My tone was pleading. I didn�
��t want to get into that kind of a scene. In truth, I was tired, exhausted, from a steady stream of patients and a restless night of my own the night before.

  “Don’t ‘Em, please’ me. I’ll speak when I want to. If you’d pay half the attention to cooking and cleaning and raising Nora that you do to other people’s problems, we’d all be a lot better off.”

  It was too much for me, and I wanted to be away from them before the tears came. I jumped from the table, ran into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Em was at the door in a minute, demanding that I open it. Sobbing on the bed, I ignored him.

  When he was silent, I assumed he had left. But I underestimated Em. A foot came crashing through the door, splintering wood all over the floor. A second crash and the door came off the hinges. Em strode into the room to stand over me and yell, “Nobody ever locks me out of my own bedroom.” Before I could duck or protect myself, he raised one hand and slapped me hard across the face. Then he left.

  Em was gone four days that time. For two days, I had a red mark on my cheek and had to lie to my patients about having fallen in the night and struck my face against the door frame.

  When Em came back, neither of us mentioned the incident. But neither did we make up with passionate love as we had earlier in our marriage. Those days, too, were long gone, and there was almost no physical contact between us. I tried occasionally to talk to Em about that, but he dismissed it as my imagination, though he once hinted I should make myself more alluring.

  The second time Em ever hurt me, he had been drinking heavily, and for some reason, he took it into his head to harangue me about Jed Gelson.

  “Son of a bitch never liked me, never gave me a chance.”

  I wandered innocently into trouble. “A chance at what?”

  “Developing that farm. He’s got all the luck, and our claim never gets anywhere.”

  “Em, it has nothing to do with luck. Jed is a hardworking man.”