No.
I found it difficult this time to play his game.
"Mr. Puffin, have you heard from David?"
He narrowed his eyes at me and Mrs. Puffin tilted her head.
"You know," he said slowly, "that's interesting, you calling Smithers by his first name right out like that. I always thought... 'Course I never knew anybody before 'at had a housekeeper." His eyebrows and shoulders rose a bit to show his disapproval. "I always thought they was Mr. and Mrs. to their help, huh?"
I didn't react to his suggestion that I might be more than a housekeeper, just sat quietly and looked at him calmly. I'm sure my eyes were flashing though, because Mrs. Puffin started clearing her throat and he stopped playing the cat and mouse game with me.
"Well, how'd you guess I'd heard from Smithers? Guess you figgered they'd be back soon, huh?"
I nodded.
"Well, well. You're right. Tomorrow in fact."
I started, my mouth opening with surprise.
"Surprised ya, huh? Me too. I'd thought he'd want me to come pick them up but he got some fella there with a big ol'-fashioned horse and buggy outfit who was coming over this way to visit his folks." He was obviously disappointed that he wouldn't get to show off his machine again.
"'Course I couldn't go now anyway. My busy time you know, people thinking about spring plantin' and all, and getting ready for summer visitors." He always called them visitors, never tourists.
Tomorrow! I bought sugar, flour and chocolate. Puffin had just got a ham in from one of the farms and I bought that, too. I walked home in a mind fog. Sampson seemed light, even with the groceries in my other arm.
I laughed about nothing and he laughed with me. I started humming when we were on a flat space on the path, and he started humming with me, singing with me. My heart just about burst right there, excited about wanting to share this latest trick of his with David. And Amy.
Sampson's little mouth moved around trying to make the same sounds I was, it was so cute. Oh, he was adorable. I couldn't wait for Amy and David to be back to share him with. I was so full of excitement, the waiting of the last weeks was about to be over. We could get back to normal living. I'd clean the house.
Sampson saw flowers beside the path and he pointed to them. "Pret-ty."
I about dropped him in the excitement of hearing his word. They were the first spring flowers we'd seen and it was the first word he said without prompting.
We stopped right there and picked them. Sampson clutched them in his little fists all the way home. He bent the stems but I knew David and Amy wouldn't care. I put them into a vase and told Sampson, "Don't touch. For Daddy and Amy." And he didn't, other than to just go up and touch the vase, and then look at me and say, "Pret-ty? Da Da?"
I'd smile yes and he'd touch again with just the tip of his finger.
He was probably as happy to see me happy and not yelling at him as he was at the idea of Daddy and Amy. I don't think he knew what was happening. Tomorrow didn't have much meaning to him, but he responded to my joy with his own smiles. When he went down for his afternoon nap he hummed himself to sleep.
I did love that boy.
26. Daddy's Smile
When they pulled up late the next afternoon I had the ham baked. Cornbread was keeping warm in the side oven. I was ready to heat some canned tomatoes from last summer's garden, and I had baked a three-layer chocolate cake. Everything was waiting, as were Sam and I.
I grabbed my little boy and stuffed him into his coat. He wrapped his arms and legs around me and we ran down the steps to meet them.
That's the day everything changed.
I can't blame Lily. She was only a baby, but she stole my David away from me.
I'd thought David was silly and daddy-proud when Sampson was born, but it was nothing compared to the way he made over that little girl.
When I saw him stepping from the buggy I thought my heart would bust. I hollered, "Hello! Welcome back."
He turned to see me running towards him. He only had to take a couple of steps before he threw his arms around both of us. He smelled and felt so good. With the buggy driver right there he couldn't kiss me, but after a long hug he took Sampson and kissed him hard, laughing all the time.
"It's so good to be back. And look at my little Sampson. So big. Look Amy, how big he is." And hugging him again he said, "Boy did we miss you both."
Not "I," but "We." I didn't notice the difference until later.
Amy called from within the coach, laughter in her voice, "Sophie! David! Help us out."
I went to the door and Amy handed me a bundle of warm baby. Lily was so wrapped up against the cold that I only saw a bit of her pink face through the opening in the blanket. David helped Amy out, one arm tight around Sampson, who, frightened by all the noise, was squirming to get back to me.
Amy kissed me on the cheek and squeezed me, "Oh, Soph, I'm so glad to be here. We thought that ride would never end. I can't wait to get into the house. I'm so tired."
She looked wonderful to me, though her face was pale. Her hair was cut in a new style, curling softly around the edges of a new cap that fit close to her head. Her eyes sparkled as she smoothed the bundle I held. "We've got to get her inside so I can show you our treasure." Looking at Sampson, she said, "I've got some huggin' and squeezin' to do."
Within a short time we had babies, adults, boxes and trunks moved down into the house. As soon as the door shut and we were all alone Amy took the baby and, laying her gently on the table, unwrapped the blankets, untied her knit cap, and lifted her gently to me.
"Lillian May, meet your Auntie Sophie."
I looked down into a face that was baby beautiful. Like Sampson, she had hair. but it was blond. Curly hair, like Amy's. Little curls brushed her tiny face that was the color of rich cream. She had bright rosy cheeks, but it was her eyes that were amazing.
"Look, Sophie," crowed David. "Amy's grandmother had violet eyes and I think Lily will too." He sounded like this was some special talent that he could take credit for.
"Here." He took the baby from me. "Watch this." He rocked her slowly up and down and tickled her under her chin. "Daddy's little dumpling going to smile for Aunt Sophie?"
Her mouth twitched. She had David's mouth, and it spread out into David's big grin but with tiny dimples at the corners. Daddy's smile. He was too satisfied with himself. "Ain't she a corker?"
But now the smile faded into a frown and she started crying.
"Oh oh, Momma. I think our girl's hungry."
I settled Amy into her chair with her feet on the cushioned stool. David handed Lillian over. Amy unbuttoned the top of her dress and David watched with intense interest until the baby found the nipple, stopped crying and started sucking.
"There," he said, as if he'd done it himself, "Lily May sure knows where dinner is."
After dinner for everyone was over--David didn't comment on the special cake, but Amy did--we sat around the table. They, David mostly, told me all about Lillian's birth.
There'd been no special problem, just a very long labor, over twenty hours, which David threatened to repeat in length and detail.
Amy interrupted him. "But it was worth it. I'd gladly go through it again, twice so, except..."
There was a short silence during which I looked from one to the other, wondering.
David closed it. "Right after she was born, as soon as it was decent, according to the nurse, I went in and... Well, it's just a shame you weren't there. Amy was holding Lily and looking more beautiful than ever, if that's possible." He looked at her, she beamed at him.
I felt like an intruder.
He continued on with detail after detail of Lillian's first weeks, her first feeding, her first bath, how she slept so quietly that it frightened him, on and on. At last Amy, sounding exhausted, said "David, I simply must go to bed."
We helped Amy and the baby upstairs. David put Lily in the cradle he'd made for Sampson and that I'd prepared before they came home.
While he settled them I put Sampson to sleep in the small bed David had bought from a neighboring farmer, through Puffin.
Tired from the trip both Amy and the baby went to sleep quickly. David hovered around Lily a while to make sure she was okay, 'til I laughed and said, "Come on, she'll be just fine. Let the poor babe sleep in peace. You're worse than a brand-new mother hen."
He grinned that proud grin. "Yeah, I guess so, but ain't she fine?" he whispered as we went downstairs.
Frankly, I could hardly wait to get downstairs. I wanted to be alone with him. Wanted very much to be alone with him.
He still hadn't kissed me. I was tired of waiting, so, before he could start unpacking or doing something else, I grabbed him and kissed him. He seemed surprised. I was seldom aggressive.
But he didn't resist. He moaned until he made me stop.
That was a switch. I was confused and my feelings were hurt.
"I think we'd better take a walk," he said. He wasn't acting like my David. Was there something wrong with me? Or him?
I put on my heavy, hooded jacket as he got the gas lantern from the hook by the door. He put his sou'wester on and lit the lamp. His hands were unsteady, he had difficulty holding the match still.
I followed him out. We picked our way carefully down the path. At the steep, tricky part at the end, he handed me the lantern, felt his way carefully. When he got to the bottom, he took the lamp to set on the sand and held out his arms.
I nearly knocked him over wrapping my arms around him. He wasn't a big man but he stood strong, caught me and held me so tight I had to loosen his grip to breathe.
We left the lantern wedged between rocks near the path and walked. He took my right hand in his left and put them both deep in his coat pocket. We walked like that for a long time, along the water line with only pale moonlight to show the way.
The roar of the surf and a harsh wind swept away the questions I cried aloud. "What's the matter, David? Don't you care anymore?"
I didn't dare say "love." What if he said, "No?" Besides, his kisses were more loving than ever, so that couldn't be it. It couldn't.
My questions went unanswered, as if he didn't hear.
Finally he turned and ran his fingers across my lips, gently, to silence me. We walked for a long ways before he veered off the low tide to a sheltered place along the bank. We sat down on the damp sand and held each other without speaking.
I began to get angry. He was acting so strange, yet not at all like a man who had quit loving.
"Okay, David, what is it? What the hell's the matter with you?" I always could swear easier in the dark.
"Nothing's the matter. You don't have to be mean about it." Now he was offended.
I ignored his complaint. "I just would like an explanation, that's all. One minute you're hot, the next cold. What's going on?"
"Well, Sophie. To be truthful..."
I wanted all of that.
"I don't mean to have more children."
"What?" I wasn't sure I'd heard right.
"Sophie," he pleaded. "Listen, please. For twelve years I had one wife and no children and now all at once I have two wiv-- Well, I have both you and Amy, and now Sampson and Lillian." He threw his hands up from my shoulder. "It's enough," he said, so quietly I had to lean closer to hear his words.
That was all. He didn't want any more kids, so we couldn't-- But surely there was a way-- "Sampson is almost a year old and we've... I'm not pregnant, so--"
"Don't be stupid. Can't you see how foolish we've been? There's only one sure way...when people don't want any more children...well, they don't. That's all. They stop."
I knew better than that. I couldn't believe he was so ignorant, "David, there are ways." I didn't know what they were but I expected he could find out. It wasn't my place. After all, he was older, certainly more experienced. And I was a woman. An unmarried woman. Where was I to go to find out?
"Sure, there are ways, but I'm not taking any chances right now. The doctor told me Amy shouldn't have any more children. When I asked how, he just said to leave her alone for a few months, then come see him late this summer and he'd tell me what we could do.
"If Amy and I can't... I don't think you and I...should. It wouldn't be right."
"But, what about me? You didn't think about how to not get me pregnant?" He hadn't demanded an answer right then, because he hadn't thought about me, at all.
"I couldn't."
He wasn't giving me a choice. The responsibility of being a minister's son always fell on him at the wrong time.
"Well, I'm sure glad you didn't seem over-anxious." I stood up, brushing the damp sand from my clothes.
He jumped up. "But, I still love you as much as ever. Nothing's changed."
I looked at him.
"Well, a little. But, I'll fix it, you'll see." He tried to laugh. "After all, bigger men than I--"
He stopped when I started laughing.
He went to bed with Amy that night and the next night he was back with me but I found his closeness almost worse than when he wasn't there. Now I was willing, even with Amy in the next room.
But he wasn't. It just didn't seem fair.
27. A Long Narrow Box
The room was dark and chilly with only coals from the fire sending a red glow into the room. I looked at Aunt Sophie who was getting up slowly.
"We're going to have to put some more wood on that fire. Got those berries done just in time." She went to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
"It's starting to rain." She ran her hand slowly back over her head, then brushed down the front of her dress and apron, as if wiping away old memories. "Been dry too long anyway, I like to see it rain."
She turned on a light over a small table in the corner. The table with the drawer that no children could get into. She always told us, "I keep my private things in there. If you don't get into my things I won't get into yours."
Aunt Sophie could be real nasty if we got into her pocketbook, or opened her mail, so we learned not to. And we could trust her not to pry into our lives either. Consequently we told her many things we couldn't tell our parents, and left things at her house we didn't want them to see.
She pulled the drawer open slowly, her hands trembling with fatigue and emotion. Taking out a long, narrow box, she set it on the table. She felt under the drawer until she found the key that was taped to the underside. She pulled it loose. Slowly, her hands more steady, she unlocked the box, lifted the lid and started to reach into it. But then she put the lid down and walked slowly across the room, to me.
She put the box in my hands. "Here, you look through it if you want to. I'm going to bed."
There were lines in her face that I'd not seen before. She looked old, and sad. I was seeing her for the first time as the adult she now trusted I was.
"I'm too old, and tired. It was all a long time ago. I don't know if I even care anymore."
I wanted to say, "You brought it up."
I didn't. I just held the box, feeling the comfortable weight in my hands.
She went into her bedroom off the living room.
Leaving the box on my chair, I added some wood to the fire and went into the kitchen to make some instant cocoa. When I got back her door was closed. No light showed underneath so I settled with the box into the familiar old chair.
28. Brittle, Yellowed Letters
The pungent fragrance of cedarwood was strong when I opened the box. In a neat stack lay a collection of old newspaper clippings and letters, the painful record of love gone awry. Only a few items appeared to have been handled much. I'd guess the others were simply put away and not touched again, being the kinds of things it is difficult to keep, but impossible to throw in the trash.
I read the papers as I came to them, in the order they'd been placed in the box.
DAVID SMITHERS died at his home in Cannon Beach yesterday, August 23, 1964. He was born in Natural Bridge, Va., July 20, 1884. He was preceded in death by Amy Smithers, his
wife of 57 years, July 12, 1964. Mr. Smithers was a well known artist who had resided in Cannon Beach for many years. He is survived by son Jonathan S. Smithers, of Cannon Beach and daughter Lillian M. Lawnrose of Laramie, Wy.; by grandchildren Davie Smithers of Damascus, Or., and Gregory and Jennifer Lawnrose of Depoe Bay, Or. And great grandchildren Amy and Alica Smithers, Damascus, Or., Funeral arrangements are pending.
I put David's obituary aside and picked up the next paper. It was Amy's death notice, in July 1964, listing the same survivors. Had David died because without her there was no longer a reason to live?
Perhaps. I wondered. No cause of death was listed for either.
I wondered too about their house. Was it still there or had it been torn down to make way for an A-frame, or more likely, turned into a Gift Shoppe of Unusual and Rare Items From the Sea, with parking space behind the building? Asphalt over Sophie's cabin?
I looked at the next item, an envelope.
It held a letter from Sophie's son, written at sea, the date placing it during World War II. It appeared to have been opened only once and then put back. The pages were fresh, the pencil writing clear and unsmudged.
On one of Uncle Sam's ships headed for only the Brass knows where.
Dear Mother,
It seems strange to call someone besides Mother Amy as Mother, but you are my mother, so I will.
This whole letter might seem strange to you, after so many years of not hearing from me but I've seen some bad things in this war and it seems to me if I can only make one thing right in this world at least that's one less wrong, and maybe every little bit helps. I hope so.
I'm writing about that letter I wrote to you on my 14th birthday. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I guess I meant it at the time but I'm older now and I hope not so stupid. Dad and Mom don't know what I said, they thought it was the usual thank-you note.
When I come back, if I come back, I've seen some awful things and sometimes a person gets scared, but, when I come back I want to come see you. Would that be all right with you? I would just like to see you and talk with you for awhile.
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