He looked up at her. His mouth hung open; his eyes seemed watery. "Bert, things can't be that bad."
"Oh, Paula," he said. He blinked rapidly and then scowled at her. "You're going to find out sooner or later, so I'll tell you now." He sat up defiantly. His voice was harsh.
"Tell me what?"
"Amy's pregnant."
Paula gasped. She wanted to slap him. She could not move her arm. She shook her head. "I don't believe it."
"She is."
"With your child?"
"Of course with my child. What do you think she is?"
Paula shook her head, trying to sort out her thoughts. If this got out, she could forget about her plans for Bert; the child of a hired hand's daughter would have a claim on this farm. "How many months?"
"I don't know." He waved his arms aimlessly. "Two months, I think."
"She'll have to go into town and get an abortion."
"She'll never do that."
She wanted to lash out at him, hurt him with her words. "She'll do what we say," Paula said, "because if she doesn't, I'll see that she and her father are thrown off the Carters' farm. And if she cooperates, we're willing to make it worth her while. I think you'll find that Amy's love will disappear rather quickly under those conditions."
Bert stood up. "She won't do it. She wants the child."
"Then she can have it," Paula said, clenching her teeth. "But she will sign a paper testifying that it is not yours and that it has no claim on this farm. You can take your choice." Her son's eyes widened. "She's just using you, Bert."
He shook his head. Tears ran over his blemished cheeks. "We'll leave," he said. "We can be migrants, or go to the city."
"You won't. That's not what she wants and you know it. It's over, Bert."
"No."
"It's over!" She was screaming the words. She looked around, noticing that Guy had come out of the barn and was looking toward them. Luis, in the garden, stood leaning on his hoe.
Paula was shaking. She pressed her hands together. "Go to your room, Bert."
"I'm not a—"
"Go to your room!" she screamed. Bert raised his arm, as if ready to strike her. Then he turned suddenly and stomped toward the house.
Paula waited until she was alone with Andy in their bedroom. She rolled him some marijuana, insisting that he would need it, and told him what Bert had told her.
He was silent for a few moments after she finished. He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling while she twisted her hands, wondering what he would say, feeling that somehow he would blame her for it all. She hadn't been hard enough with Bert, hadn't disciplined him. Well, it was Andy's fault, too, she thought angrily. He was too easygoing himself.
"I'll have to talk with Zeno Carter," he said at last. "I'll have to go over there with Bert, and fix things, and then we'll have to marry him as fast as possible. I don't want something like this happening again."
Paula sat up, folding her legs. She found herself feeling sorry for Amy Shulash. If the girl had been truly calculating, she would have been careful not to get pregnant; she would have encouraged Bert to marry someone else, and she would have settled for being his mistress. She could have run the house eventually, even had children later on, if Bert's wife turned out to be sterile. Paula knew there were families who lived that way, with a wife tolerating the other woman because at least it meant some help with the housework. Perhaps the girl really did love Paula's son, not that it mattered now.
"When will you go to the Carters'?"
Andy sighed. "As soon as I get the time. Maybe this week. I've got to settle it." He sat up, climbed out of bed, and crossed the room to his small walnut desk, where he kept his accounts. He unlocked one of the drawers and pulled out some papers. "I feel bad about this," he went on, "because I had a surprise for you. I figured after the fall, and after we had Bert married and settled, we could go away for a bit. I know you want a change." He came to the side of the bed and handed her the papers.
She squinted at them in the dim light. They were permissions to go South, to cross the border below Maryland. She leafed through the pages; they included permits to enter Miami Beach. Astonished, she looked up at her husband. "We just have to fill them in and get them stamped before we go," he was saying. "We can travel with a convoy to Maryland and get a train there; the railroad guards them fairly well and it's safer than taking a chance on a boat."
"But where will we stay?" she asked, still bewildered.
"I've heard that's no problem if you have some money."
"Miami Beach," Paula said, chuckling. "That sink of iniquity," she went on, remembering what her mother had told her. "And now we can't go, we'll have to spend the money getting Bert out of this mess, and—"
"Don't give up yet. I didn't pay out good money to buy us papers we can't use."
"But we can't afford the trip."
"Yes, we can," he said firmly. "I'm getting old, Paula, and things'll get harder for us, we won't have the chance later on. I want to see something different just once before I die."
He sat down and pulled her to him. The papers slid to the floor. He began to kiss her. I can't refuse him now, she thought, hating herself for thinking it. She leaned back, letting him pull the sheet away from her.
Unbidden, the image of Luis Ramirez appeared in her mind. It was Luis who held her, whose hands stroked her back and lifted her buttocks. She fought against that image, realizing that it aroused her. At last she gave in, pressing tightly against the man next to her, thinking of Luis. She closed her eyes.
Paula sat in the living room, her feet propped up on the low table in front of her. She reached for her glass and sipped the warm beer. I've had too much already, she thought idly, twirling the glass in her hand, watching the foam lap against the sides of the glass. She should be doing her sewing. There were clothes to mend. Her foot pressed against the basket of clothing on the table; she wanted to kick it onto the floor. She drained the glass.
The house was silent. Everyone was asleep; Andy and Bert had left for Zeno Carter's farm that afternoon. Andy had called her that evening, saying that they would stay there and take Amy to town the next day. Zeno had promised to keep silent, while hinting that one of his own daughters might make a good wife. Fortunately, Andy had promised him nothing. Paula hadn't cared; once Bert was married, Zeno could gab all he wanted to and it would not matter.
She wiped her forehead. Even now, in the night, it was too warm. She longed for rain. Everything was too dry. She poured more beer from the pitcher near her and drank it. It should have calmed her; instead, she only felt more agitated.
"Mrs. Boleyn?" Luis stood in the doorway, dressed in the blue shirt and dungarees Andy had given him.
She said, "I thought you would be asleep by now."
"I should be." He turned away.
"Don't go," she said suddenly. "Come on in and sit down." He entered the room and sat at the other end of the sofa. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you want some beer?"
He shook his head.
"I guess it must be hard on you, working here," she went on, "being from a university, I mean. My sister Jane Beeckman is a scholar. Maybe I could have been one too, if I’d worked harder."
"I’m grateful for the work," Luis replied.
"Still, it must be hard," she said.
He glanced at her. She felt disoriented and looked away from him. "It's probably harder on you, Mrs. Boleyn. There must be times when you want to get away."
"That's really no concern of yours," she said defensively. "I have a good husband and everything I need."
"Of course."
Something in his tone annoyed her. "Andy's even going to take me South this year. He already got the papers from the army." She raised her chin, wondering why she felt so impelled to impress the man.
Luis was silent. Her cheeks felt flushed; she swallowed more beer. "We'll have a wonderful time," she said. Her words sounded slurred. He moved a bit closer to her
on the sofa.
"Where are you going?" he asked softly.
"Miami Beach," she said. He was staring at her; she felt uneasy. "I’m very lucky." She pulled her feet off the table; she would have to go to the outhouse after all that beer.
Luis reached out with his arm and touched her sleeve. Paula pulled away, jumping to her feet. She staggered uncertainly, feeling dizzy. Luis smiled. She said, "Excuse me." She hurried around the table and out the door into the hallway. Then, more slowly, she walked down to the kitchen and out the back door toward the outhouse.
She went in, bolted the door, and sat there, trying to sort out her thoughts. She should call Andy, tell him she wasn't well, anything to get him back here tonight. But she would have to awaken Zeno Carter. She shook her head; she had drunk too much beer.
When she was finished, she crept out of the outhouse into the warm night air. She leaned against the door. Then she saw Luis standing near the house. She turned and ran toward the woods behind the outhouse.
She stopped, resting her right shoulder against a tree. Her thoughts were suddenly clear: I'll go back to the house, say good night, get some sleep. It was all very simple. She felt a hand on her arm, turned, and saw Luis.
He pressed against her. She lifted her arms to push him away and found herself clutching at him instead. He pulled her to the ground. She thought: Someone will see us. Part of her seemed to be observing the woman Luis held, despising the clumsiness of the endeavor. The image she had held of two people, overcome by passion, knowingly and carefully fulfilling each other's desires, dissolved into a reality of sweat, intermittent groans, clothing that would not come off easily, and hard, uncomfortable ground. Yet she continued to hold him, unable to let go. She moved against him, wanting to satisfy herself, wanting at last to banish the twisted images that had tormented her. But even as he entered her, she knew that she would fail.
She was drifting, yet something seemed to be holding her down. She tried to penetrate the mists that clouded her mind: she had been outside, she wasn't outside now. She tried to move her arms and could not. Luis had made love to her outside. The sharp pain of that thought made her open her eyes.
She was lying on her side in her bed. Her hands were tied together; so were her feet. Terrified, she tried to cry out, and realized she was gagged as well. She tried to move, but her hands and feet were tied to the bed. Someone had torn up her sheets to tie her.
She remembered something else: stumbling back to the house with Luis, drinking more beer, another tussle on the living room floor after making sure the door was closed. She blinked her eyes; tears trickled around her nose. Luis had asked her questions, insistently. She had stumbled up the stairs with him, one arm draped over his shoulder.
A light was on near Andy's desk. She twisted on the bed, trying to see. Tomas and Luis were there, prying at one of the drawers. She heard something snap. Tomas pulled out some papers.
Luis grabbed them, discarding a few. "Take the money," he said to Tomas. The boy stuffed the coins into his pockets. Paula tried to call out again, pulling at her bonds. Luis stuffed the papers under his jacket. He moved toward the door. Tomas was standing next to the desk, watching Paula. "Aisha, come on," Luis said. Tomas turned and they left the room, closing the door.
Paula was alone. Her body shook; she was ashamed. She had no strength left to try to free herself. She pressed against the mattress, wanting only to hide, to burrow deep and disappear.
By the time Andy and Bert returned, she had rehearsed her story, having already told it to Elaine and the hired men. James had been the first to find her; Elaine had been brought to untie her. She had told them that Luis had forced her into the room at knifepoint, opened the desk, and left with the papers, including permissions to travel South.
Andy had listened wearily as she told the story again. She had been unable to look at Bert as she told it, recalling her words to him about duty and self-control. Andy had not said anything when she finished,
As they prepared for bed, Paula struggled to think of something to say. Andy stood in his pajamas near the desk, staring silently at the damage. At last she said, "We can call the army."
His head jerked up. "We can't afford it."
"We could use the money you were going to use for our trip." She was choking on the words. She sat on the edge of the bed, thinking of the distant fairy-tale city she would never see.
Andy said, "They took some of that money. I had it here, with the papers. And thanks to your son, I've had other expenses lately." He came toward her. In the shadows, his handsome face looked old and tired. "I didn't want them here in the first place, but I had to listen to you and your talk about poor scholars having to work. You always did think more of them than of ordinary people, didn't you?" He stood over her and she looked away. "And somehow they found out there was something worth stealing here, worth taking a risk. I'd like to know how."
"Andy," she said. Her voice shook. "Please. I would have liked the trip, but I can get over it. I don't really need a change. You don't have to worry about me."
He slapped her. Shocked, she recoiled, rolling across the bed, pulling at the sheets. "I didn't get those permits just for you." He was shouting. "Don't you think I wanted to go? Don't you think I ever wanted something besides thinking about you and Elaine and the kids and running this farm?"
Paula was crying. She brushed at the tears with the sheet. She would have to make it up to him, never complain, do everything well. She clenched her fists, firm in her resolve. She looked up at her husband, and saw a stranger's face.
At the end of October, Paula realized she was pregnant.
SIX
Rocca
Rocca sat on the sand and stared out at the ocean. The sea was greenish-blue today and calmer; the waves slapped the sand lightly as they rolled in. Time for a raid into Titusville, Rocca thought vaguely. He didn't like the idea, but it was a choice between raiding the walled town or trying to steal something from the grimmies who had set up along the beaches. Titusville was easy pickings, compared to that.
Sometimes he had a hard time remembering things. Nothing changed much out here so he had time to think. He used to live in Titusville, but that was before his father came at him with a knife. He couldn't remember what the fight was about. Other times he wondered if he was thirteen yet. It was fucking hard keeping track of a birthday or any other day. But he remembered enough about how to sneak into town and out, and what was easy to steal and where not to go, and that was all a guy had to know.
Rocca sighed. It was tough, having to decide things. At least he could talk things over with the Snake first. He glanced down the beach. The Snake, wearing a straw hat over his red hair, was walking in the wet sand of the shoreline, leaving a set of footprints behind. He hobbled along, pointing his toes in, then waddled, pointing them out.
Next to Rocca sat Jo-Jo and Tina. Jo-Jo never had much to say for himself. He was sharpening his knife, scraping it against the stone he always had with him; his black hair hung unevenly to his shoulders. Tina was singing softly to her doll Myra, rocking the dirty stuffed toy in her arms. She stopped, gazing at Rocca with her large gray eyes, brushing back a lock of sun-streaked brown hair. "Myra's hungry," she said sadly.
Rocca said, "I know, I know." He wished Steeb was still with them. Steeb always knew what to do. She was always the boss, up until the day she waded out into the ocean and drowned herself. Now Rocca was the boss because he was the oldest. He wasn't really sure he was the oldest, but he was bigger than the others, and they didn't remember how old they were anyway.
The Snake was walking up the beach toward him. The red-haired boy's nose was peeling again. Beach living, Rocca knew, wasn't so easy on the Snake. The skinny kid had to wear a hat and a shirt and long pants. He sat down next to Rocca.
"How much you got left?" he asked the Snake, who was their treasurer. The red-haired boy peered into the large pouch he wore at his waist.
"I got a ring we can trade for some beer and
a couple of coins for candy."
"Any shells?"
The Snake shook his head. "All the good ones got picked over early."
"Get some dried meat and beer, no candy." Rocca's teeth always hurt after eating sweet stuff.
"Gator or dog?"
"Who cares? Take Tina with you."
Tina got up, put Myra into her pack, then hoisted it to her back, buckling it across her chest. She brushed the sand off her faded blue shirt and shorts, then followed the Snake up the beach.
Grimmies were up there in a driftwood lean-to today. He had seen their activity early that morning. A truck had arrived with a shipment and armed men. The armed men had set up shop. They would be there for a while until everything was sold, and then they would disappear for a week before they, or another crew of grimmies, took over the lean-to again.
Rocca thought about the grimmies, as he had many times. It was funny any way he looked at it. There were the grimmies, selling food to the beach people. The beach people, to pay for it, had to find interesting shells or something else valuable on the beaches. But there were never enough things to find out here, so the beach people had to make their way into Titusville or another city and steal something. The grimmies, after exchanging their goods for the stolen money or objects, would then skim off their profits, go back into Titusville or some other city, and buy more food. A lot of people bitched about it, but nobody did anything, because a lot of rich people had connections with grimmies and no one on the beach was going to be dumb enough to steal from a rich guy. Their security was too tight anyway. Rocca thought it was a good recycling system that spread everything around a little more. Besides, living on the beach was all right. A guy could go for a while not having to work, and it beat having his father come after him.
Rocca looked around the beach, putting one tanned hand over his eyes. Small groups of people sat on the sand. Beach people came in two kinds, basically; kids and old geezers. The old geezers were weaker, but they made up for it by staying in larger groups or teaming up with kids. A couple of times Rocca had been lucky, finding an old dead guy before anyone else got to him, taking his clothes and shells. But usually the other old people got to them first. Rocca squinted. He wished he still had his sunglasses, but he had lost them running from another gang of kids days ago. But, he could always steal another pair in Titusville.
The Sudden Star Page 9