Watermarks

by Jarvis, J. L.

  "Me and Sophie?"

  "Sophie and I," she corrected reflexively. "I'm sorry. It just slipped out."

  Jake's eyes flashed with annoyance.

  He hated to be reminded of his educational shortcomings. Maggie knew that. If only she could kick herself with her own knee jerk reaction.

  Jake said, "Let me understand this. You followed me just to see Sophie and I?"

  "Me. And, yes, I did."

  "Because--"

  "Jake, don't be cruel. If you can't figure out--"

  "--You were jealous."

  "Well, I'd hardly put it that way, exactly..."

  Jake's lips widened into a near grin. "But..."

  "But what? Can we please go home now?"

  "As soon as you admit it."

  "Admit?"

  "That you were jealous."

  Maggie could not bring herself to speak it. Pride kept her from saying what both of them knew. Her heart felt exposed, and it stung. She longed for him to hide her in his embrace. But she could not let go and admit that she loved him. Loved him?

  Maggie did not appreciate the smile on Jake's face. He was enjoying this. Seeing her reduced to desperate acts--for him. He not only enjoyed it, he savored each uncomfortable moment. He had all the power and she was helpless to stop him. She wanted to go someplace safe where she could rebuild her defenses that now lay in shambles about her.

  Jake shifted his weight and started to reach for her hand, but let his arm drop to his side. Who could blame him when so many times she had pushed him away? Maggie's heart sank. At least Jake would see her safely home. She knew that much. It would have to be enough for now. Tomorrow she would try to get through one more day.

  Her plea was low and void of expression. "Now would you please take me home?" She looked into eyes dark as coal.

  He said, "Did you think had lost me."

  "Did I say that?"

  "I'm here."

  Maggie nodded. It wasn't enough.

  With a look that could melt, he said, "Maggie, I'll be here."

  She lifted her eyes to meet his, but could not see through her tears.

  Jake offered his hand in as gentlemanly a gesture as she ever had seen. This looks like friendship, she cautioned herself. She took his arm. He turned to take a step, but Maggie stopped him with gentle tug to his arm. He looked back.

  She said, "I don't deserve you."

  "I know that, darlin'," he said with a wink.

  Maggie looked down and nodded, as her throat contracted. Tears were filling her eyes and she could do nothing to stop them from spilling. "I've been a fool." The night was so quiet. "Jake?"

  "What?"

  "This is where you're supposed to contradict me."

  He grinned, and said, "I know."

  With too broad a smile, Jake touched her chin and lifted her face until she had nowhere to look but into his eyes. He just shook his head pityingly, then put his arm over her shoulder and said, "Let's go home, Maggie, darlin'."

  They arrived in front of Maggie's house and he hugged her. Beneath the crumpled cotton fabric of his shirt, she could feel his heartbeat. He lifted her chin toward his as though he might kiss her. Instead, he looked at her with that slightly amused expression of his, but this time there was something more in it. She could not read his expression. Jake was quiet. Through Maggie's mind, every possible feeling he might have flashed through her mind, until she could no longer imagine or guess at the truth.

  He took pity on her and said, "I know this is hard for you, darlin', so I'll let you off easy. You don't have to say anything more--"

  Her shoulders relaxed.

  "--much, except that you love me." He put his rough hands on her face and his own face lost its mirth. His dark eyes were ablaze as he leaned closer and said, "Maggie, say that you do, because I can't remember not loving you."

  If she hadn't fallen already she would have right then. "I do."

  He leaned so close that his lips brushed against hers. "You do...what?"

  "I love you," she whispered.

  His voice came out in a gravelly whisper. "Maggie--"

  His warm breath stirred her. She breathed in his scent. His lips touched hers and parted. She melted into his embrace, touched her palms to his broad back and shoulders and thrilled at each sinew. Their kiss deepened, the taste of him thrilled her. Their bodies molded together. Jake pressed his body against hers, then took a breath and pulled back.

  He shook his head and stared with dark and fiery eyes as he gulped the night air he hoped would clear his head. "You'd better go inside." Then he circled his arms about her and kissed her again. Abruptly, he stopped and said, "Goodnight, my Maggie."

  With a chaste kiss on the cheek, he turned her about by the shoulders and sent her up the walk to her house. Maggie reached the steps and turned back. He was standing and watching. She ran to him, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him again. "I love you!" she whispered, then ran up the walk and disappeared into the house.

  Beneath the dim moonlight, Samuel and Allison sat on the porch steps and watched the gentle ripple of the lake water, too lost in muted conversation to hear the floor creak behind them. With a hushed farewell, Samuel left.

  Allison still smiled with the warmth of his presence as she stood to go inside to bed. She turned and gasped. Powell stood silently watching through the screen door.

  "Powell! You scared me! How long have you--?"

  Allison hesitated. Powell blocked the doorway, and made no effort to move.

  "Sit with me for a spell," he said as he opened the door and stepped toward her.

  "It's awfully late. Perhaps another time."

  He took her arm and led her away from the door. "I've been trying to find time alone with you--"

  "Now isn't a good time--," she gently protested.

  "Just to be with you."

  "It's so late."

  Powell said, "I know you need time. I'll wait. I've got a great deal of patience." He reached for her hand but she pulled it away.

  "I'm afraid it's too late for this now." She turned and started for the door.

  Barely louder, he spoke with more force. "We belong together. You may not see it now."

  "I'm sorry. If I've given you the impression--"

  "I love you."

  "No."

  "I do and I'll have you. When you're ready, when we're married--"

  "Married?" Allison tried to quell her shock. "We will not be married."

  He was so calm and sure. "Not right away, but there will come a day."

  "There will be no such day. Mr. Sutton, please, do not hope."

  "I hope because I must. You should not be alone."

  "I'm not alone. I've got my family."

  "But there's a need, which family cannot fill."

  He stepped so close, she felt fearful. He gathered a handful of her skirt in his fist. Allison edged away nervously.

  "I have no such need, Mr. Sutton."

  "I see. Perhaps I've misjudged you."

  "You have," said Allison. She moved toward the door with short, nervous steps.

  "Or maybe you've already got someone meeting your needs in the dark, lonely nights."

  Allison stopped abruptly. Carefully, she turned to find him, his mouth twisted in a lascivious grin, and his eyes glowing in triumph.

  "Maybe the Widow Kimball likes to be in the dark, or likes the dark to be in her."

  Allison slapped Powell hard across the face and bolted for the door, but Powell grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Like a trapped animal, she stared at his devouring grin as her mind raced. Hiding her panic, Allison lowered her eyes and assumed a diffident tone.

  "Mr. Sutton, let me go or I shall scream."

  As he lifted a hand to cover her mouth, she jabbed her knee into his groin and escaped his grasp. With trembling hand, she pulled the doorknob and ran up the stairs. Revulsion rose within her as she gripped the inside knob of her bedroom door and twisted the key.

  Footsteps crep
t up the stairs. Through the door his voice whispered, "Do you want to be alone--loveless and childless--for the rest of your life?"

  Through the door his words came to assault her ears.

  "I will not be alone," she whispered over halting breaths.

  "We'll see about that," he said softly.

  The creaking of boards on the stairs followed after. Allison sank to her bed and breathed deeply to calm herself. But the look of his face, as she last saw it, haunted her. Even at night, harsh light shone through his eyes. The memory of it chilled her.

  The next afternoon, Jake met Maggie at the library to walk her home. A sudden rain sent them to shelter inside the general store. They paused in the doorway. Several others were milling about, some of them shopping, others just waiting. A group of men sat in a circle around the potbellied stove and talked in unhurried cadences. From time to time, one would pause and lean over the spittoon, then proceed to talk or nod in agreement. Maggie looked at the shelves arranged in neatly ordered rows and stacks of jars, bottles, boxes and tins; with barrels of flour and sugar in front of the counter. Her mind wandered to fond memories of their youthful walks home from school. She looked up at Jake with a glimmer in her eye. He took her hand and they went out into the rain, to the alley. They pressed their backs to the wall as they once used to do. His fingertips touched her hand, and their fingers and hands caressed and entwined. A soft smile spread across Maggie's face as she turned her head sideways and smiled. With a playful tug, she pulled Jake into her arms. They embraced, laughing, rain drizzling down strands of hair unheeded. And then they were not laughing or smiling. Jake held her to him and kissed her. He guided Maggie two steps backward, until she was pinned against the clapboard building. They kissed well past the point of scandal.

  "We can't stay here. Someone might see us," said Maggie.

  "Not in the rain. They're all inside."

  "We'll be soaked."

  "Then I'll have to keep you beneath me--to shield you from the rain."

  With a guilty look, Maggie said, "Lucky for us the rain's letting up."

  Jake lifted his face to the heavens. "Why now?"

  People began to emerge from the shops and resume their activity. A friend of Jake's mother peered into the alley. "Jake. Maggie. You can come out now. The rain's stopped."

  Jake smiled at the woman with a twinkle in his eye. "Thank you, Mrs. Bartley."

  The woman smiled slyly and walked on her way.

  Jake turned to Maggie. "And now, may I walk home the woman I love?"

  Maggie smiled. "And who might she be?"

  "Ah, she's the prettiest girl in this whole..."

  Maggie's face began to shine with pride.

  "...alley."

  Maggie gave him a petulant push. "You've a lonely walk ahead of you, Jacob O'Neill, --unless you want to go find your friend, Sophie."

  "Sophie?" She had caught him off guard.

  "Yes."

  "Sophie." Jake looked at Maggie in disbelief.

  Maggie's eyes widened with exasperation. "Yes, Sophie. The girl with whom--as far as I can tell--you've spent every waking hour all spring long."

  "You weren't thinking she...and I..." he did his best to look innocent.

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. "You know that I was."

  He let out a laugh.

  She ignored it. "I know a woman in love when I see one."

  Jake retorted, "But you can't recognize a man in love--with you."

  Maggie could not seem to rid herself of the sight of Jake and Sophie, head to head, in the library. "For a man in love--with me--you spent an awful lot of time with that girl in the library."

  "It seemed as good a place as any--"

  "Yes, well I think you made that abundantly clear."

  "--to teach her to read!"

  "To read?"

  "Yes. To read." Jake feigned impatience, but he knew fully well that he'd allowed her to misunderstand. He knew Maggie, and he was a tease. Most of all, he was in love, and he thought that a little jealousy--which, in his defense, she'd worked up on her own--might help his cause. And it had worked. He felt a little guilty about it, but he would get over that. He explained, "Sophie had to quit school to work when she was a little bit younger than me--" He caught Maggie's eye. "--I." Then he sent her a pointed look. He went on, "I guess I felt sorry for her, having been forced to quit school myself. So I taught her to read."

  "Well, by now you ought to have finished up with English and moved onto another language," Maggie said, dryly.

  Jake could not help himself. "Why, yes. We were about to take on the romance languages--one by one, of course. It could take years."

  Maggie set off in a huff. Jake headed her off at the alley entrance and stood, blocking her way, grinning. She stepped to one side, but he countered. She stepped to the other, but there he was. She heaved a sigh and stared impatiently. But when he stepped so close, and looked into her eyes--with his dark and confident gaze--well, she was only human. Still, he was frustrating. "Jake Donnelly!"

  "I love you, too," he said. Then he kissed her, and leaned his forehead on hers. "Now, may I walk home the woman I love, or shall I be leaving her in this alley?"

  An old man sat in a slat-backed rocker in front of Smith's Hardware and peaked over his newspaper with a sly grin as Jake emerged from the alley with Maggie on his arm, and strolled down the street.

  Beth sat on a bench, holding her sketchbook and pencil as she watched Robin skip around the fountain of Johnstown Central Park. Enchanted, she lifted her pencil and continued to sketch in short, deliberate strokes.

  "Mrs. Garvey?"

  With a start, Beth turned toward the speaker, a well-dressed gentleman with a handsome woman on his arm. Her face was soft and thoughtful and framed by soft brown strands of gently curled hair. Beth guessed she might in her forties, perhaps a few years older than her companion. She recognized him, yet was too shy to acknowledge it. Beth smiled politely.

  "Mrs. Garvey, I doubt you remember me. I am Eben Wakefield. We met under unfortunate circumstances several months ago when you were taken ill."

  "Of course? You must be the gentleman who took me to my neighbor's house."

  As she looked in his eyes and thought of him carrying her in his arms, the resulting image summoned feelings of intimacy that appalled her. And secretly thrilled her. She lowered her eyes, fearful her thoughts must be evident. Then she mustered the grace to say, "I have wanted to thank you."

  "Anyone would have done the same. It was nothing extraordinary."

  As she protested, Mr. Wakefield's companion leaned over to look at Beth's drawing. Beth said, "Mr. Wakefield, you saved my life. And I will never forget it."

  His kind manner pierced Beth's heart. Once more, she looked away, lest he see the tears that moistened her eyes. When had a man looked at her with gentleness? How odd that a stranger could shower such warmth upon her, while her own husband's glances were cold.

  A child's cry broke into the conversation. Beth arose from her seat and rushed over to Robin, who had fallen to the ground. Beth brought her child back to the bench and examined the injury. With a mother's consoling kisses, she sent Robin back on her way, skipping merrily as though nothing had happened.

  "May I?" Mr. Wakefield's companion had gently placed her hand on the sketchpad and pencil and was looking expectantly at Beth.

  "Certainly," said Beth. Nevertheless, she was more than a little embarrassed to have anyone look at her artwork. It was something she did for herself, which she had shared with only with a few close people.

  "This is lovely. Would you permit me?" The woman sought Beth's permission to turn the page of her sketchbook.

  Beth nodded as her face opened into a warm smile. The woman took the tablet and reached tentatively toward the pencil as she asked, "Would you mind if I drew something?"

  "No, of course not. Are you an artist?"

  "At times," said the woman.

  "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Wakefield. "Mrs. Garvey,
I would like you to meet a dear friend of mine from Pittsburgh, Miss Mary Cassatt."

  Miss Cassatt sketched--at times smiling, then squinting--all the while drawing. As she worked, Mr. Wakefield and Beth became better acquainted, with Mr. Wakefield doing most of the talking after his friend instructed Beth to be still. Robin was compliant, more from fatigue than politeness. She had been playing hard and welcomed the chance to rest in her mother's arms.

  As they spoke together, Beth found herself guessing Mr. Wakefield to be a bit older than she, but not by much. But then his age was of no consequence, she reminded herself. Yet it was against Beth's nature to deceive even herself. In truth, she was drawn to him and the interest he took in her. She confessed to herself that she found him not unattractive, taller than many, and more plain than some. The fine proportions of his face might render him unremarkable in a crowd, except to Beth. For upon close observation, he possessed a quiet confidence that distinguished him from any man she had ever known. And when he spoke, he forthright but gentle, with a lack of pretense that put Beth at ease.

  "After the war, I went home to become the doctor I was bred to be. It's a family heritage, you see. Generations before me have practiced medicine. Unfortunately, I was ill-suited for the work."

  Miss Cassatt looked up from her work. "My friend here is too modest to mention it, Mrs. Garvey, but he has elevated photography to an art form."

  "Miss Cassatt exaggerates."

  "Anyone can take pictures, but Mr. Wakefield captures moments of life."

  Mr. Wakefield was too polite to argue, yet to humble to agree. "I find myself inspired by the people I meet. In the past few years, I've traveled through America, trying to capture what I see."

  "Ah, here we are," said the artist, holding her sketch at arm's length for a final inspection.

  Beth's face shone. "Oh? It's beautiful!" She shook her head, overwhelmed as she looked at the sketch of herself, with her daughter's head resting on her shoulder. For in the simple strokes of pencil on paper, she had captured a mother's quiet and constant love.