by Orrie Hitt
"Like hell."
"Yes. Like hell."
She walked over the surface of the lake, paying little attention to where she was going, thinking, remembering. The girls at Mrs. Reid's thought she was Jerry's girl—well, wasn't she?—and that she was getting from Jerry, or giving to Jerry, all of the things that he had given or received from the other girls.
"Be careful," Evelyn Carter had said to her. "You know how I am."
"I know how you are."
"I thought it was love, too. But I found that it doesn't have to be love, that love doesn't always have anything to do with it. All it has to be is one little mistake."
"I won't make it."
"Don't be too sure. I thought I was sure. You never can be."
She hadn't made the mistake and she never would. She was in complete control of Jerry. Every way that he had tried, every way he had sought to get her, she had fooled him. If she hadn't been sure of that, of herself, she wouldn't have come out to the lake with him.
She turned now and looked back at him. He was busy cutting another hole in the ice, and the ice was flying in all directions. Strong, she thought. Powerful. A violent young man with violent ideas.
She smiled and resumed her walking. No one, she was sure, suspected the depth of her association with Helen. Well, maybe Mrs. Reid did. Mrs. Reid looked at her rather oddly at times. But that would change as soon as she moved up to the dormitory. There would be no chance for doubt or speculation then. Perhaps, although less convenient, it would actually be better for them that way. She could rent a place for them downtown, a room or an apartment, and they could go there every opportunity they got.
She was close to the shore now, walking rapidly, still swinging her arms. Jerry didn't know what he was talking about. With the weather this cold there couldn't be any open spots and if there were she would see them.
She was worried about Helen, very worried. At times Helen seemed terribly concerned about something but she had been unable to find out what it was. At first she thought that Helen was tiring of her, that their love was dying, but this had not been so. Helen was as devoted as ever, perhaps more so. But the thing that was bothering her was always there, always haunting her.
"Is it money?"
"Nothing's the matter."
"There is. I can tell."
"I love you," Helen would say, avoiding the issue. "I love you."
And she would.
Most weekends Helen went away and these days and nights were lonely for Peggy. These were the nights when she would have welcomed Jerry's presence but he was never around. Sometimes, when her imagination ran riot, she would think of the two of them together but that, of course, was, silly. Helen went to visit friends and it was difficult to tell what Jerry did. Sometimes, on Monday morning, he looked as though he had been drinking heavily.
"I have to get away from this place once in a while," Jerry often said. "You put a guy in a house with a lot of crazy dames and it's enough to drive him crazy, too."
She didn't know whether she liked Jerry or not. When she was near him and his hands were on her, trying to move under her dress, she hated him. But later, when she was alone, when the night was close and black around her, she wasn't quite sure. There was something about him that was brutally fascinating, .something magnetic and powerful that she did not understand.
"One of these nights you'll let me," he said.
"No, I won't."
"We'll see."
She had thought about it, thought about it a lot. No man had ever touched her, no man had ever known her. When she thought of Helen's love she could compare it with nothing. This was all she had ever known, all that she had ever had. The book said it was wrong, society said it was wrong. But was it? Was it wrong to love and to feel love? Was there any kind of love, no matter what kind it was, which could be totally wrong?
"It is right," Helen would say. "It is right and beautiful. It is us."
Peggy's body told her that this was so, but her mind did not. Only during the luxury of an embrace, the wildness of a kiss, was her mind convinced. After that, after the searching flame of love had died, she was always ashamed at her vivid response, ashamed that her need had been so great. Wrong, her mind would scream; wrong. Right, her body would reply; right and beautiful.
Which was the truth?
She did not know.
And there was only one way to find out. Just one.
She was equally ashamed and shocked at that thought. To find a man, any man, and to let him possess her for the sake of an experiment was more horrible than the crime itself—if what she had done was indeed a crime. To do this to herself, or to do it to a man—to Jerry—would be the greatest crime of all.
Jerry was shouting something to her but she continued walking along the shore and paid no attention to him. She had nothing to fear. The ice was thick, so thick that a horse wouldn't break through it.
And then, suddenly, without warning, her instant, muffled scream ringing in her own ears, she was going down through the frozen shell over one of the natural springs, going down into the icy waters of the lake.
Catch the edge of the ice, she thought desperately; catch it! But it was too late for that. She was already under, all the way under, the coldness of the water numbing her entire body.
Don't lose your head, she thought; keep calm.
She wanted to cry.
Her woolen clothes, now completely soaked with water, made it impossible for her to swim. With a strangled moan she threshed with her feet, trying to touch bottom, trying to find something. She moaned again. There was nothing, nothing.
She was drowning. She knew that. Unless something happened and happened right away she would die there. Die!
She in an instant saw her life as it had been, and as it should have been. There was nothing to be proud of, nothing to be happy about. And now she was dying, dying.
She held her breath, lungs aching, her hands over her head, reaching up hopefully. The ice. Find the ice!
She couldn't.
Something touched her hand, moving, coming down, finding her hair. It was Jerry's hand, big and powerful, his thick fingers taking a firm grip on her hair.
"Damn you," he was saying as he pulled her up out of the hole. "I told you to stay away from the shore."
"Jerry—"
"Shut up and help yourself onto the ice. What do you think I am, anyway?"
She smiled up at him, briefly.
"I think you're wonderful," she said huskily.
And she meant it. In that instant she meant it more than she had ever meant anything in her life before.
"Dumb women," Jerry said when she was on the ice, standing there and shivering. "Show me something dumber than a woman, will you?"
She tried to keep her teeth still but she couldn't.
"You can't," she said. "Not dumber than this woman."
His right arm was soaked all the way to the shoulder but he didn't seem to notice it.
"We've got to get you dry," he said. That was the one thing she wanted more than anything else.
"There's a heater in the car."
He shook his head. "You'd have pneumonia before that thing did any good." He turned and looked down the lake. "There's a cabin over there, back of the trees. If I remember correctly there was a big fireplace inside and plenty of wood."
"You've been there?"
"A few times."
"With friends?"
"With a girl from the West End."
She didn't know why but she wanted to hurt him.
"Was she nice?"
He swung around and a hint of anger crept into his eyes.
"She thought she was," he said.
"And you didn't?"
He kicked a lump of snow aside.
"You ask a lot of questions."
"Well?"
"There are a couple of things I can tell you about that cabin. The key is hidden under the front porch and there aren't any sheets or blankets in the place."
<
br /> "You would know about that, wouldn't you?"
"Naturally."
"Naturally. What else?"
"That's what I like about us," he said. "We fight like hell."
The wind came down the lake, blowing harder, and her teeth started to chatter again. "I'm cold," she said tightly.
"Well, you're the one who's waiting, not me." They started down the lake, walking rapidly.
"I thought you were going to drown," he said once.
"So did I."
When they reached the woods he glanced back. "Wouldn't you know it?" he said. "I get a bite and I can't even take care of the tip-up." She wondered if he really cared.
In a few minutes Jerry had a fire going and she began to feel the warmth of the flames against her hands and face.
"The clothes won't dry on you," Jerry said. "I'll have to find a rope and we'll have to hang them in front of the fire."
She took off her coat and handed it to him. "Not just that," he said. "Everything."
"What?"
He grinned and poked at the fire.
"Well, not everything. Just about.”
"You can put on my coat if you're so damned modest."
"Of course, I'm modest."
He shrugged and unbuttoned his coat. "You wouldn't be the first girl I saw in bra and panties," he said.
"Or nothing."
"That's right. Or nothing."
She didn't want to undress but she knew that she had no choice. Even with the heat from the fire her body was cold.
"I'll wait in the kitchen," Jerry said. "You hustle out of those things so we can get them dry and get out of here." He paused in the doorway. "I always heard that if you wanted to go fishing you should leave the women home. I think I heard right."
She smiled, waited until he had gone, and then began to undress. Yes, he was rough in some ways but he was gentle, too. He was, she decided, a strange man, a very strange man.
She remembered some of the things the other girls said about Jerry and she wondered if they were the truth.
"The best," Evelyn Carter had proclaimed. "Once you have Jerry you never want another man."
"Or need another man," somebody else had added.
Peggy took off everything, down to bra and panties, and then she stood in front of the fire. Lord, but the heat felt good! She turned slowly around to let the fire dry her.
"You ready?"
She picked up Jerry's coat and put it on. "I'm ready."
He came in from the kitchen, carrying two glasses and a piece of rope.
"Our lives are complete," he said. "A clothesline and a couple of shots of good brandy."
"I don't drink," she said, feeling almost naked in his short coat. The coat came down to her hips, barely covering them, and below that her legs were naked and straight. "You know I don't drink."
He held out one of the glasses.
"It isn't a question of drinking," he said. "It's a question of getting you warm. The fire helps on the outside and this does the job on the inside."
"No."
"You think I want to get you drunk and take advantage of you?"
"Maybe."
"One drink wouldn't make you drunk."
"No, but it can make you feel funny if you aren't used to drinking."
"Don't be silly. A doctor would tell you the same thing. There is rye out there and I could have given you that but brandy is better. And if I wanted to take advantage of you I wouldn't have to use any booze to help me. We're out here in the country, all alone, and you wouldn't have a chance if that was what I had in mind."
"That would be rape," Peggy said.
"It would be your word against mine."
"Would it?"
"You came here with me," he said, still holding the glass. "A lot of people know that you did. Weren't they kidding you at breakfast about going fishing with me?"
"Well, yes."
"All right, there you are. What more do you need?"
A chill swept through her and she began to shake.
"Get my clothes dry," she said.
"After you take the drink."
"No."
He threw the rope on the floor.
"Don't be so silly and stubborn," Jerry said. "I never saw a dame with such crazy notions. You stand there half-frozen and you don't want to do anything about it."
Another chill seized her and this time it went down into her stomach, lying there like a ball of ice. She held up her hands and they were shaking. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need something.
"Okay," she said.
"That's better." He seemed relieved. "Old Doc Jerry will get you fixed up yet." Her eyes met his, steadily.
"I hope you don't mean that the way it sounds."
"I don't."
She accepted the glass and lifted it to her mouth. Her hands were still shaking and some of the liquid spilled down her chin.
"I guess I do need it," she said.
"I guess you do."
The brandy had a funny taste and it burned her throat. She could feel the warmth of it going down to her stomach, chasing out the cold. The brandy had an almost instant effect; the glow seemed to spread through her blood.
"Boy, that's strong!" she exclaimed.
"You need it strong."
The top button on the coat had come open and she closed that again. But Jerry was not watching her. He was busy stringing up the line and hanging up her clothes.
"It shouldn't take too long," he said.
"How long?"
"Maybe an hour."
"Or more?"
"Or more."
He pulled the davenport over and they sat down. The movement made the coat pull up and nearly all of her thighs were exposed. She crossed her legs but that forced the coat up higher, and she uncrossed them.
"We fight a lot," he said, lighting a cigarette.
"Yes, we do."
"I wonder why that is? I never fight with girls much."
"Maybe most of them do what you want them to do. Maybe that's why."
"Maybe."
The fire was hot and steam began to rise from her wet clothes. She was aware that he was staring at her bare legs, especially at the spot where the coat parted at the bottom, and she began to feel uncomfortable.
"You had a close call," he said.
"Yes."
"For a few minutes I thought you were all through with this life."
"So did I," she agreed, trembling a little as she remembered.
"You cold?"
"No."
"Still scared?"
"Something like that."
He stood up and moved toward the kitchen. "You need another drink, that's what you need."
"No."
But she didn't protest beyond that. She was too tired and it didn't seem very important, anyway. It was warm in the cabin, she was safe, and what more did she want?
That was a laugh. There was plenty that she wanted. She wanted to be normal—the one thing that had gone through her mind when she had been there under that ice —and she didn't know what to do. She just didn't know.
"Here."
She took the drink. "Luck," Jerry said, sitting down. She lifted her glass, the way people were supposed to lift glasses.
"Luck. But I don't really need it. I've had my share for one day."
The brandy tasted better this time, didn't burn so much, and when she had finished drinking it she thought her face must be flushed. She was warm all over, burning up, and her mouth was dry.
"You hot?" he wanted to know.
"Plenty."
"You'd better unbutton the coat."
She would not unbutton the coat. To unbutton the coat was to have hardly anything on. And she was alone with him, alone in this cabin. The brandy had done something to her, changed her, and if she wasn't careful…
"All right," she said.
Slowly, breathing heavily, she unbuttoned the coat, letting it hang loose about her body.
"Better?" he inqu
ired.
"Yes."
"You're very pretty."
"Let's not start that."
"But you are."
"Jerry—"
"You're very pretty and I hate to see you the way you have been."
"How is that?"
"Running away from something."
She laughed at him.
"What makes you say that?"
"I don't know. I just feel it. You lead me so far, let me almost kiss you, and then slam the door. It's almost as though you get some sort of a kick out of it. Why?"
"Am I that way?"
"You know you are. You go out with me, knowing what they say I am, and yet you aren't that kind at all."
She looked up at him for a long time. She was conscious of the coat being opened, of her body almost exposed. But she did not care and she was not ashamed. There was something hidden here, something different, something that she had to find.
"Would you want me to be that way?" she asked him.
His reply was nearly lost in the sounds from the fire.
"No." His voice was soft.
"I'll bet not."
"I wouldn't," he insisted, leaning close to her. His eyes were serious, his lips barely moving. "There are enough of the other kind and not enough like you. I mean that, Peggy. You've done something to me that no girl has ever done before."
"What's that?"
"Made me act like a human being. Made me see what a fool I've been. Made me see all of the things that I never saw before."
"It's the brandy," she said.
She knew that he was going to kiss her, that his lips were going to come down on her mouth, but she did nothing to prevent it.
"You're right," he told her. "The strongest brandy in the world. You."
And then his lips were there, burning hotly on her mouth, his hands on her shoulders, the force of the kiss pushing her head back against the cushion.
"No!" she cried.
"You want me to."
"No!"
His lips lifted from her mouth.
"I won't if you don't want me to," he said.
She didn't know. She couldn't think. Everything was mixed up, frightening, the whole world closing in on her. Helen, she thought; Helen, Helen, Helen. And, quickly she thought: no, not Helen, never, never Helen, not ever again. Helen was her own kind, a girl, and that was not right. This with Jerry might not be right but it could not be so wrong; nothing, nothing, could be so wrong.