“Slim, my papa and mama love each other as much as two people can. They don’t talk about it, of course, but what they’ve got is real special. Every once in a while, though, I see Papa standing on the porch watching the horizon, and there is a lonely look comes into his eye and I know he’s thinking of the sea. He misses it. He loves us, but there is this silent part of him that wonders what he might have done if only.” I sat up taller and smoothed the wrinkles out of my skirt. “I’d never want that to happen to anyone I loved. If someone I care about is going to dream about something, I’d rather it was of one more hour with me rather than one hour away so they could find out how the story might have turned out ‘if only.’ Wouldn’t you?”
He took my hand and pressed his lips to my palm. “I barely know you, but I love you, Evangeline. Is that possible? I don’t want to go.”
“I know.” I didn’t tell him that he had to go. There was no need to pretend to discuss what we both knew had been decided.
Papa was furious when I got home. I’d figured Mama would be the one who would want to skin me and Papa would be the one trying to talk her out of it, but nothing that day happened the way I thought it would. When I arrived, well after nine o’clock, Papa was pacing the floor and Mama was sitting calm in her chair, rocking and knitting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She told Papa to shush, that I was home now and that was the important thing. I explained about the airplane ride and that Slim and I had gotten to talking and lost track of the time. It wasn’t a total lie. I figured they didn’t really want to know the rest anyway.
“You won’t let it happen again, will you, Eva?” Mama asked, more to reassure to Papa than to exact any promise from me.
“No, Mama,” I replied contritely. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
“Worried us!” Papa barked. “I was half out of my mind with worry! You try a stunt like that again, miss, and I’ll take my strap to you! I swear I will!”
“Now, Seamus,” Mama soothed, “that’s enough of that. You’ve never laid a hand on her and you know you never would, for all your bluster. There’s no harm done. It’s late. We’d better get to bed. Eva, we’ll want to get started on those pickles early tomorrow, before the heat sets in.”
Alone in my room, I took off my shoes, dress, and slip, and poured water into the flowered basin. I lifted the sponge out of the washbasin and squeezed tiny streams of water over my skin before putting on my lightest nightdress, enjoying the feeling of the damp cotton against my body, a cool, caressing hand against my tingling new breasts and thighs. Would it last, I wondered, this burning, enlivening sensation that spilled, inside and out, over every part of me that he’d touched? Did it happen that way to everyone? Had Mama felt like this? Had stout Mrs. Dwyer who sold aspirin and cough syrup behind the counter of the drugstore? Or Corinna Leslie, Ruby’s cousin who’d gotten married last April? Picturing them each in turn—canning pickles, making change, hanging laundry—I couldn’t remember seeing a shadow of anything as wonderful as the awakening that surged through me. It couldn’t have been the same, I thought. Surely if they’d felt it, even half as strong as I did, they’d never be able to hide it.
I was glad to be alone, not because I wanted to escape Papa’s anger, but because I was afraid they’d be able to read what had happened on my face. I wanted to think, to hold it all close without trying to explain it, willing myself not to remember that in the morning Slim would be gone.
I opened the window and lay down on top of the quilt Mama had helped me patch when I was only ten years old, a blue and red Ohio Star pattern. As I lay there, looking at the moon and wishing for a bit of breeze to stir the hot night air, I could hear Mama and Papa getting ready for bed in the next room. The hinges of their door squeaked in a familiar pitch, and the drawer on their chifforobe scraped against the frame just like every night. Papa always swore he was going to oil the hinges and plane the drawers, but he somehow never got around to it. I was glad. Those night sounds were like a lullaby to me. I don’t suppose I’d have been able to sleep without them.
Papa’s boots thumped on the wooden floor, and I could hear the sound of his voice murmuring something to Mama as he walked to the window and struggled to open the sticky sash. Then I could hear his voice as clear as if he and Mama were addressing me face to face, but of course they weren’t. They’d have never shared with me the things they told each other that night.
“Just for tonight, Clare. The night air won’t kill us this once. It’s so hot, and I feel so restless. I’m suffocating.”
“All right, Seamus, but don’t blame me if you catch pleurisy. At least come away from the window and get into bed.”
“I won’t be able to sleep. I keep thinking about Evangeline, out with that boy, so late, in our field. In our field! I let him park his plane there, fed him at our table, lent him my tools, and he has the nerve to take my daughter up in his plane without even asking my permission. She could have been killed up there in that contraption of his!”
“But she wasn’t, and everything is fine,” Mama replied factually, “so come to bed and forget about it.”
Papa grumbled as he paced. “She was so late! What could they have been doing out there that time of night?”
I could hear my mother shift under the covers and roll over to face Papa. Her voice was quiet and more patient than it had been. “Seamus, you know what they were doing. You know,” she urged.
“Clare! What are you talking about? Evangeline hardly knows him. Never even spoke to him when he came to dinner. Besides, she wouldn’t, she—”
“Why not? Why wouldn’t she? I did, Seamus. We did.”
“That was different. We were in love and we couldn’t ... Well, it wasn’t like this. Some stranger passing through town. We were in love. It was for life, you and me.”
“Yes, I’d known you for three days and it was for life. What makes you think it isn’t just like that for Eva? Oh, Seamus.” Mama sighed, and I heard a rustling of bedclothes and then footsteps as she got out of bed and crossed the room to stand near him. I could see her in my mind’s eye, her arms wrapped around Papa as he stood looking out the window, frowning at the full moon.
“Did you see her when she came in?” Mama asked. “Did you see her face and how her eyes shone? It’s love for her, and for her it is for life, even though for them it may not be more than a night. She’s your daughter, Seamus. She wouldn’t have settled for less than the real thing.”
“The real thing,” he scoffed. “What would she know about that? She’s a child. The real thing is with someone who’ll stick around for more than a week; someone who’ll be there when the crop fails, or your sight grows weak, or the baby gets sick. There’s nothing fancy to real love, but you can count on it, like the earth under your feet. You don’t get that with some clown in a flying circus! Oh, leave it,” Papa huffed. “I don’t know why I’m letting you get me so tied up in knots over this, anyway. This is my Evangeline. She’d never waste herself on someone like that. Nothing happened,” he stated with finality. “I know it. She’ll wait for the right one. I know she will.”
“The right one? Just who do you think that will be?” Mama’s voice sparked with impatience the way it sometimes did when she’d burned the bread or broke a dish, but I’d never heard her speak that way to Papa before. “Seamus, Eva is all the things you imagine her to be. She’s bright and beautiful, and she’s crippled. That’s part of the package. It’s part of what makes her special. Why won’t you see that?”
Mama’s voice was cold and hard as she continued. “Her leg is twisted like a corkscrew, and no one around here is going to make her their wife, not ever. Even if they did, who would she find here? Clarence Parker? Harold Jessup or some other illiterate dolt with no imagination and no plans? It would suffocate her. No, I’m glad she was out in our field with that exciting, handsome boy with the big dreams. She deserves someone like that, someone as remarkable as she is.” She choked, and her voice lowered until it was al
most a whisper. “I hope it was wonderful, Seamus. Lord, I hope it was, because it’s going to have to last her a lifetime.”
Then I heard the muffled sound of Mama crying, and I knew that she was in Papa’s arms, her face against his chest, wetting his shirtfront with her tears. I buried my head into the mean comfort of my pillow and wept quietly by myself. I cried because I’d never known before how much Mama loved me—not just doing her duty, but really loved me—and how love forced her to see me sharper and deeper than she’d have liked. I cried because I’d always known what she said about my being crippled was true, but like her, I’d never said it out loud because that would have made it too real, solid and visible and hard, like words on a page. Once true words are released into the air you can’t ever take them back. I cried because the truth cuts so deep. Most of all, I cried because the night was nearly over and in the morning Slim would be gone.
I dreamed of Slim that night. We were back in Papa’s field, hidden in a den of sweet-smelling wheat, our arms around each other. Then, without any warning, the Jenny’s propellor spit and sputtered and spun all by itself, and the plane started taxiing across the field without her pilot. Slim had to run alongside and climb onto the wing to get hold of her, a rider racing after a renegade horse, before she took off without him.
I ran as best I could, limping behind them, but it was no use. I was too slow. Slim never reached his hand back to grab mine. I could see as I ran that the Jenny, which had formerly been a two-seater, now only had a cockpit for one. There was simply no room for me. I gave up the chase and stood where the little sapphire plane had rested a moment before, waving halfheartedly at its retreating shadow, my legs so heavy I couldn’t move another step.
Then, just when the plane was so far away it looked like a dot on the horizon, Slim turned back and flew straight toward me, dipping his wings and waving, like the first time I’d seen him. He sailed overhead, stirring the air the way a fountain troubles still water. Reaching skyward, I caught the breeze in my hand and felt Slim in it. His power and life, the cool familiarity of his skin, the rhythm of his heart, the pull and pain of his destiny were physical reality in my hand. I had eyes in my fingertips and knew everything that was coming, though I knew I would forget it all before waking. None of that mattered.
“All right,” I consented and let him disappear into a cloud, content to wait below, remembering how it was going to be. Then in an instant he was gone, and I was alone with only the hum of the Jenny’s engine to remind me that he’d ever been there at all.
The engine noise woke me. It took a moment to separate myself from the dream, though I knew for certain, sleeping and waking, the buzz overhead was real. Slim was leaving.
I could hear Mama in the kitchen, clanging skillets and making coffee. The smell of my favorite breakfast, pancakes and Virginia ham, wafted in from the kitchen, and I knew Mama had heard the plane leave too and was cooking comfort into my meal, whisking the unspoken words of understanding into the silky batter, knowing I wouldn’t miss her meaning.
I stood at the window until the engine sounds died away completely, until I was certain he wasn’t turning back, and a little longer than that. Finally I left off waiting and got dressed. There was nothing else to do.
Chapter 3
Life in Dillon plodded on. It was as if Slim and I were pebbles dropped into a pond, creating a brief, transparent disturbance on the surface, and when it was over everything returned to flat calm.
It didn’t seem right. The most important thing that had ever happened in my life, that probably would ever happen in my life, had come and gone, yet nothing had changed. I wished I had asked Slim for something, a lock of his hair, or one of his shirts, some physical evidence of our little time together, but it was too late for that. Resolved not to feel sorry for myself, I determined not to be surprised at how little effect Slim’s unheralded entrance and exit would have on the steady march of days and weeks in Dillon. What did you expect, I thought, that the sun would set a different shade of red because you love someone? Be satisfied with your moment.
Oddly, most of the time I was. In some ways, he was still very much with me, or, at least, I was with him. I can’t explain it, and I don’t expect anyone to understand it because I don’t understand it myself, but sometimes, at unexpected and cherished moments, I could see him, talking, resting, working, on city streets, in empty darkened hangars, in places I didn’t know. Not confused or cloudy like a dream, but bright, clear scenes, like a picture show, but in color and more true, as though I were actually standing next to him.
I can’t say that he saw me, or even sensed my presence, but that didn’t worry me. I didn’t ask myself those questions, not then. It was enough to wrap myself in his life and make it my own. His curiosity and excitement and ambition were always present, his driving, propelling need for something bigger passing through the atmosphere to me like a magnet until it became part of me. That summer and fall I clung to the smallest glimpse of his life and wore it as a disguise over my own, which marched on as predictably as every year.
The county fair was in September after the harvest was in. Mama won prizes for her pickles and for a Baltimore Album style quilt she’d made out of my old dresses the previous winter. Papa went to watch the cattle judging, at least that’s what he told Mama, but I’m pretty sure he snuck off to place a bet or two on the horse races. I’d wager Mama knew that too, though she wouldn’t admit it. Gambling was something she simply could not condone, at least not right out in the open, so she pretended not to know, and he pretended she didn’t know, and somehow that made it all right.
While Papa was off on his own, Mama and I went over to the poultry barn. The moment we walked in, the smell washed over me like a wave and I felt sick at my stomach. Mama had met a friend and was busy congratulating her on winning a blue ribbon in the pie judging, so I didn’t say anything. It seemed ridiculous after so many years of living on a farm that a little whiff of chicken manure should leave me feeling nauseous. I scolded myself for a being a weakling and willed the feeling to pass.
Mama turned around to include me in the conversation, “Eva, you remember Mrs. Stanley, don’t you?” When she saw my face her eyes opened wide in alarm. I thought I must look pretty bad off to see her look so worried, or not exactly worried, more like shocked. Her hand flew up to her cheek, and she said, “Oh my goodness, look at the time! Eva,” she lied, “we were supposed to meet Papa almost a half hour ago. We’d better run. Nice to see you again, Vera.” Then, quick as a shot, she grabbed me by the elbow and propelled me out of the barn.
Mama steered me over to the nearest bench and sat me down. “Breathe in, now, Eva. Breathe deep, and it will pass in just a minute. Put your head down between your knees if that helps. There you go. Feel better now? That’s my girl.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I said, fanning myself with a brochure for chicken feed. “I don’t know what came over me. I must be coming down with something. The smell! It just made me so sick, but it’s better out here in the fresh air. I’m fine now.”
Mama sat down next to me on the bench and took my hand in hers. “Eva,” she said, then hesitated. “You are fine. I want you to know that, you’re going to be just fine. I’m not going to be angry with you, but when were you going to tell me?”
I didn’t understand what she was talking about—until a frightening thought popped into my mind that maybe I did. Suddenly I felt butterflies in my stomach again, not from any strange smell, but because I knew that if Mama was talking to me so patiently, so serious, then something really must be wrong. I didn’t want to believe it. “Tell you what, Mama?” I asked softly.
She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “About the baby, Eva.”
I looked at her blankly, still not completely understanding, not wanting to believe what she was trying to tell me. “Didn’t you know?” she questioned incredulously. I shook my head, and tears started to well in my eyes.
“I’m not sure, Mama,” I ch
oked out. “Maybe I did. Remember when Ruby and I took a picnic down by the pond? I got sick after. For a moment, maybe I knew, but then I told myself it was the heat or maybe the mayonnaise had turned. I didn’t want to think about it.
“Oh, Mama!” I sobbed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! That night, we weren’t either of us thinking. It was just that ... We found each other, Mama. We were the only two people in the world that night and we had be together! We didn’t stop to think if it was right.” I fell into a fresh wave of weeping, and Mama held me, murmuring sounds of comfort that weren’t even words, but meant much more. She was so patient and calm, as though she were nursing a child with a cut finger that would soon heal, but I knew that inside she had to be churning, and with good reason.
Mona Gilroy’s parents had sent her away to visit an aunt three years before, and she’d never come back. Word in town was they’d shipped her off because Mona was going to have a baby and the boy wouldn’t marry her. Ruby’s mother said that she didn’t blame the boy one bit and that a girl who would give in to one boy might as easily give in to a dozen, so who was to say who the father was. The scandal was whispered around town for months. Mrs. Gilroy was so embarrassed that she never came to town anymore, and finally they sold their place and moved.
I started crying for real, thinking how I’d shamed my parents. “Mama! What are people going to say? What am I going to do? You can’t send me away, please, Mama!”
Mama’s look of patience suddenly turned hard. She grabbed me by the shoulders and held me still, her expression more serious than I’d ever seen it, and made me look at her. “Eva, stop that nonsense! Right now! What do you mean, what are you going to do? You’re going to have a baby, and then you’ll go on and live your life, that’s what you’ll do.” She shook me firmly, the way you shake someone out of a bad dream. “Listen to me! We’re not sending you away! The very idea ...”
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