Against the Season

by Jane Rule

  “The numbers are in the library.”

  “Oh.”

  Agate went into Miss A’s room herself and pulled a blanket off the bed. Back in the bathroom, she covered the old shapeless body, knowing the cold was underneath her, unable to do anything about that.

  “How do you feel?”

  Again she couldn’t hear until she moved down beside Amelia.

  “Broken.”

  “Where?”

  “Hip? Leg?”

  “Your good one?”

  Amelia nodded slightly. “Have you hurt your head?”

  “I don’t know,” was the soft answer.

  “Cole’s calling for the doctor now. It won’t be long.”

  Agate pulled the bathmat from the side of the tub and sat down on it right next to Miss A. Then she took the hand that lay quiet on the floor.

  “Careful of the baby,” Amelia said.

  “Sure.”

  “You’re a good child,” Amelia said.

  “Don’t talk. Rest.”

  Cole came back up the stairs on the run. “The ambulance is on its way,” he called and then arrived at the door of the bathroom. There lay Cousin A, under a blanket like a corpse ready to be pitched into the sea, and beside her in a short, transparent nightgown Agate sat, primal, exposed, an arthritic old hand in hers. The sight fixed him in a calm insanity. “I’ll stay with her while you get dressed.”

  Agate looked down at herself. He was right. She couldn’t really greet the emergency men like this, but she didn’t want to leave Miss A. She didn’t want to move.

  “Is she…?”

  “Broken her hip, she thinks,” Agate said. “We mustn’t move her at all.”

  “No.”

  Agate got up clumsily, taking the hand Cole offered. When she had gone, he took her place and the hand she had left.

  “Good children,” was all Amelia said to him, but even in the faintness of her voice there was a reassuring lucidity.

  “They’ll be here soon,” Cole said.

  Soon. There was pain, but it was distant, and her head seemed clear enough though she couldn’t remember exactly how she had fallen and didn’t know how long she had been lying there. She did not think she had called out to anyone. Then she remembered the word “Sister” and knew she had not spoken it. No use in it, aloud. Still an absolute comfort. She had no hallucination now. She knew first Agate had sat beside her, taking her hand, and now she was clearly aware of Cole, his grasp gentle rather than limp, peculiarly calm. The children. She had had so many of them over the years, wanting them as some people had wanted babies. The children having them, those were hers, and for the last year Cole, who was not all that different from the girls in what he must learn of himself and recognize.

  “Now you go change,” she heard Agate say.

  “Don’t sit on the floor again. It isn’t good for you.”

  The downstairs bell rang, and Agate went to it. Alone for a moment, Amelia felt the fear of being moved. The distant, new pain she hadn’t yet really become acquainted with would land and command all the others. She did not want to cry out.

  Two men stood above her, perplexed. There was not room to set a stretcher down beside her. There was not even room for gentle purchase. They spoke briefly like movers with an awkward piece of furniture, decided, and began.

  Her cry was sharp, involuntary.

  “Be gentle with her!” Cole commanded angrily.

  “They can’t help it,” Agate said, a hand on his arm.

  With their next maneuver, Amelia was unconscious.

  “Maud Montgomery has called the head office, the church, the mayor,” Rosemary said tiredly, drinking after-dinner coffee with Cole and Agate in the library. “You can’t stay here alone while Amelia’s in the hospital.”

  “It’s just plain stupid!” Cole said.

  “I agree.”

  “Somebody’s got to look after the house,” Agate said. “I can’t just go back to the hostel.”

  “No. I think the solution is to get somebody else to move in,” Rosemary said.

  “Who?” Cole asked.

  “Well, you have a number of volunteers.”

  “I hope Mrs. Montgomery isn’t top of the list,” Agate said.

  “Fortunately, she has Arthur. Peter would be glad to. Harriet’s offered. Dina said she’d come. And I’d be glad to.”

  “We could have a real house party,” Agate said.

  “I’m going to leave you two to discuss it,” Rosemary said. “Let me know in the morning.”

  “Look,” Cole said, “it would be an awful inconvenience to any of you. Can’t you just say somebody’s here?”

  “Amelia’s not going to be out of the hospital for months,” Rosemary said. “It might be just as well to have somebody else here for when Agate has the baby.”

  “Oh Christ!” Agate said.

  “We don’t need any help with that,” Cole said.

  “Listen to him! ‘We’ he says!”

  “I just meant I could get you to the hospital.”

  “Maybe we should all just move to the hospital right now,” Agate said.

  “I really do think the simplest solution is to let one of us move in for this last couple of weeks. It wouldn’t be any problem. Talk about it tonight.”

  Rosemary got up to leave.

  “Would you suggest secret ballots?” Agate asked.

  “I’d suggest you decide who would be the least nuisance to you. Good night.”

  But both Agate and Cole showed Rosemary to the door, and then Cole followed her out to her car.

  “I’m sorry, Cole.”

  “Oh, I know,” he said. “It can’t be helped. Agate will phone you in the morning.”

  Cole turned back as tiredly as a husband accustomed to arguments before any decision could be made. Agate could so easily be perverse now, as the old ladies would say, “her time was near.” Agate was perverse anyway. But he would not hear of Peter in the house, and, if Harriet came, they couldn’t keep Peter away. The choice, therefore, was between Miss Hopwood, “Rosemary” as he was now to call her, and Dina. Wouldn’t it be a little difficult to ask anyone but Miss Hopwood since she was there to offer? But Agate might feel pretty strongly about having her social worker hovering over these last couple of weeks. Dina was the only possible solution.

  “Let’s ask Dina,” Cole said, as he came back into the house.

  “Dina?” Agate answered in surprise.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I don’t really know her,” Agate said. “I just met her that once at the party. Peter or Harriet…”

  “I don’t want either of them.”

  “Well, I’m not wild about having a social worker in personal attendance!”

  “I knew it! I knew it! Even a simple thing like this, and you’ve got to make a big thing out of it.”

  “Who’s making a big thing?” Agate demanded. “I’m being sweet reason itself.”

  “As usual!”

  “All right,” Agate said quietly. They had both been through more in the last twenty-four hours than they had strength for, and she didn’t feel much sorrier for herself than she did for Cole. It was time to try to be sensible. “I know you’ve got a thing about Peter; so no Peter. But why not Harriet? She knows the house. She’s easy to get along with.”

  “You can’t very well tell Peter he can’t come to see her.”

  “Would that be so awful?”

  “Yes,” Cole said.

  “Well, I suppose it has to be Rosemary then.”

  “What’s the matter with Dina?”

  “I don’t know her,” Agate said.

  “You’d get to know her. You’d like her. I don’t want you to have somebody in the house you don’t want to have.”

  “The person who ought to come, the person Miss A would feel easy about, is Harriet,” Agate said. “We wouldn’t have to have Peter for dinner. Nobody would expect that anyway.”

  Cole stared for a moment, not ans
wering.

  “Cole?”

  “That’s true,” Cole said finally, sighing.

  “And if he tries to rape you, I’ll…”

  “That’s not funny!”

  “Isn’t it? Are you really afraid of him?”

  “Of course not,” Cole said.

  “What is it about him, anyway?”

  “It’s too dumb to talk about.”

  “That hasn’t stopped you before,” Agate said, rude but coaxing.

  Tm afraid he’s… dishonest.”

  “Embezzling?” Agate asked with real interest.

  Cole shook his head impatiently. “Maybe he isn’t really in love with Harriet. Maybe he’s marrying her just as a convenience.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I don’t know,” Cole said. “It’s probably dumb. Shall I call Harriet?”

  “Yes,” Agate said. “Then I’ll call Rosemary tonight and let her know it’s all settled. You don’t really mind, do you?”

  “No,” Cole said. “You’re right.”

  Whether Harriet and Peter were aware of Cole’s embarrassment and arranged to see each other away from the house, or whether they simply wanted the privacy, Agate couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she did not have to run the interference she had promised herself she would, once Cole had agreed to Harriet. In fact, Agate’s role in the house changed markedly with Harriet’s arrival. From having free run and almost complete control of the house, she became instead the center of kindly attentions, for Harriet accepted her job less as a chaperone than as some kind of tending mother, not in the wisdom that she thought of as Miss A’s province but in the ordinary tasks of the day.

  “No more ironing for you now,” she would say, moving Agate away from the board, or, “Tonight I’m coming home to cook dinner.”

  Agate at first tried to protest. She was, she pointed out, being paid to do what she was doing. But her own real fatigue, combined with the obvious pleasure Harriet took in moving about the kitchen or library doing proprietary little jobs, made her give in to Harriet more comfortably than she ever would have to Miss A.

  “You love this house, don’t you?” Agate said one evening as they sat together with books, free of Cole, who was out at a movie.

  “Yes,” Harriet said. “I know it’s not as practical as some of the new ones, but when Peter and I get around to buying a house, I hope we can find an old one … not grand like this, of course, but with space, with high ceilings, with the sense that people have really lived in it before us.”

  “Does Peter like that sort of thing, too?”

  “Yes,” Harriet said and smiled. “Isn’t that lucky?”

  Agate nodded and turned back to her book.

  “What kind of a house do you want?” Harriet asked. “I mean…”

  “When I grow up?”

  “It sounded like that, didn’t it?” Harriet said apologetically, “I suppose I really just mean I talk too much about Peter and me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Happiness can probably be just as much of a bore as ailments and miseries… without the excuse.”

  Agate shook her head. “I like you happy. Not having to work at it. Miss A says, ‘Harriet’s got a happy disposition.’”

  “You sound just like her.”

  “I’ve practiced.”

  “Shall I tell you something dreadful?” Harriet asked. “I used to envy people so who could live here that I used to think I might get pregnant just for the excuse.”

  “It’s a better reason than most people have.”

  Harriet did not know how to go on, to encourage Agate to talk about herself. Surely she must, in these last days, be frightened. Miss A had said, in the hospital this afternoon, “Do what you can for her. She doesn’t really quite want to give the baby up. It’s a hard time for her.” Harriet, in useless sympathy, had tried to think of something which might really help Agate. Even for a wild hour she had thought of suggesting to Peter that they adopt the baby. The idea wasn’t all that far-fetched, but the timing was impossible. They couldn’t very well apply for a baby before they were even married, and, because they knew Agate, the authorities wouldn’t hear of it anyway. But surely there was something Harriet could do aside from taking some of the work and responsibility away from Agate. If Rosemary had been here, they would probably have had long, useful talks. Harriet didn’t have that kind of training, and there was no use pretending she had any compensating experience. She was as hopelessly bookish about unmarried pregnant girls as she was about falling in love and marrying.

  “Don’t perch,” Agate said suddenly.

  “Perch?”

  “Talk to me about what clothes you’re going to buy. What china are all the old gals going to give you? Distract me.”

  “Do you know, I wish I could wear bright colors the way you do? I’m awfully tired of being drab, but somehow I don’t think I could manage them.”

  “Get Peter the bright colors,” Agate said. “What you want to be is subtle. I couldn’t ever get away with that.”

  “But I don’t really know how.”

  When Cole came home, he found the two women busy over sketches Agate was making of Harriet’s trousseau. Harriet’s light, young laugh seemed to him a little silly, but he was glad that Agate had found something to absorb her attention. The vacancies she had begun to fall into since Cousin A had gone troubled him much more than her edgy temper and rudeness had done.

  “Was it a good movie? Should Peter and I go?”

  “Just a movie,” Cole said. “That’s a nice one. I like that one.”

  Agate glanced up at him.

  “Can I get anybody else a drink?” he asked.

  “Beer,” Agate said.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking so much beer,” Cole said.

  “He’d make a great male nurse,” Agate said.

  “Why don’t I make us all some tea?” Harriet suggested. “Or better still, Larson hot chocolate.”

  She was on her feet and gone before either could refuse.

  “Everything okay?” Cole asked, putting a hand on Agate’s shoulder.

  “Did you see her tonight?”

  “Yes, for a few minutes.”

  “How is she?”

  Cole shrugged.

  “I’m glad you saw her.”

  “I thought maybe we could go over together tomorrow night,” Cole said.

  “Well…”

  “She’d like to see you. Are you afraid to go to the hospital, Agate?”

  “Scared shitless,” Agate said quietly. “So let’s not talk about it. Let’s just be good kids and drink our hot chocolate.”

  XIX

  THE SENTENCE, LIKE A fish rising to the bait every time Rosemary did or saw anything to remind her of Dina, came now as she tipped the watering can to the fuchsias: “That is not to be forgiven.” Passive, impassive, as without identity as Dina’s eyes, waking. That sentence and nothing more. All the rhetoric it might have introduced, Rosemary had to invent for herself afterward, out of scraps of Dina’s conversation or out of her own talent to provide herself with something hysterically angry, sometimes calmly detached and technical, but in no matter what mood with no matter what evidence, she finally arrived again at the only thing that had actually been said: “That is not to be forgiven.” Until the afternoon of Amelia’s party when Rosemary had called by at the shop, as if casually, to see if Dina would come along with her.

  “I don’t go to things like that,” back turned, boots bracing a bottle of beer, boys watching.

  Instead of making the scene she had rehearsed in so many styles, Rosemary had walked away, driven away, light-headed with anger, and was angry still when Dina walked into the garden. Then, at the end, Dina had turned to her.

  “I didn’t realize it was expected of me,” she said.

  “No,” Rosemary agreed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For?”

  “Would you have supper… at Nick’s?” “No,” R
osemary said, “I don’t go to places like Nick’s.” What difference did it make that she had said such a thing? Not to be forgiven offered a certain freedom, surely, a license for some kinds of decorous cruelty. But she did not like the quick glimpse she had had of Dina’s face.

  “What do you expect?” Rosemary asked quietly of the flowers. “What do you expect?”

  There the huge space opened between loving and wanting to love, between fact and fantasy. Rosemary knew perfectly well what Dina expected: a friendship, immune to inconvenience or threat. But that was a fantasy. Dina had to realize also what was expected. She couldn’t live out her life in that kind of ignorance. In that kind of brutality. “A Greek, to marry well…” “For you it’s different You are a widow.” A widow!

  “I couldn’t have been expected to go on with that,” she said. “I simply couldn’t.”

  Only the dead can be forgiven;

  But when I think of that my tongue’s a stone.

  A stone.

  Sweating. Why hadn’t she gone to Nick’s? Don’t feed the hand … All right. Move about. Be amused. Bitter. Beatrice: you survive the grave, unforgiven. And Mother and Father and Jimmy. If another dying made Ida bury them all again, another to love made Rosemary resurrect them all again to marry her failure to their own. There wasn’t any way out. A widow? Jane was the widow, along with all the others walking around the world alive.

  The doorbell rang. Rosemary turned, tears starting, and ran to open it. There, unprepared for the threat of embrace, was Agate.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You were expecting someone…”

  “No…no, I wasn’t. I’m sorry. Come in,” Rosemary said, catching the tears with forefinger and thumb.

  “Look, no, I won’t,” Agate said.

  “Please…”

  It was too awkward not to.

  “It was a lousy whim,” Agate said, resigned.

  “On the contrary,” Rosemary said. “As you can see, I need distracting.”

  “With what, though?”

  “Nearly anything would do,” Rosemary said. “You’re much better than I could have expected.”

  “A case on a Saturday?” Agate asked. “I came over to find out if you knew any way I could turn my badge in.”

  “Your badge?”

  “Yeah. I just decided this baby’s having me, and I’m tired of it. I don’t want to go through with it. It’s silly.”