by Susanne Beck
To say that our first few weeks of co-habitation in our new home were filled with carnal and spiritual bliss would be overstating things by a good margin. Well, perhaps not the ‘carnal’ part. That was most definitely bliss of the highest order, and, if I’m to be totally truthful, still is.
But there were bumps along the road which, I suppose, happen to any couple setting up housekeeping for the first time. The roadblocks were a great deal smaller than when I had spent time doing the very same thing with Peter years ago, but they were there nonetheless and, given the love I have for Ice, were far more jarring to me than similar problems with my deceased husband ever were.
One of the first things I discovered was that my love of open spaces might well have put a nail into a coffin not even built yet.
If there is any one thing that Ice guards more zealously than her privacy, I haven’t found it yet. Even in the Bog, the very antithesis of a secluded retreat (even in solitary, you’re watched more closely than a hawk choosing his dinner menu), she managed to make it quite clear to all and sundry that if she was in her cell and her door was closed, god help the woman, guard or inmate, who attempted to intrude without a written invitation.
But in a cabin with few rooms and even fewer doors, a private space for either of us was something sorely lacking, and something I wished at the time I had had the foresight to think of before the place was finished. Particularly when I moved my ‘classroom’ from Ruby’s study to our house and young people seemed always to be underfoot. Paying gig or not, it began to get a bit much, even for so gregarious a soul as myself.
However, since spilled milk only gets sour when you shed tears over it, the only real choice we had was to just go ahead and make the best of the situation.
One of the first changes I made was to turn the back porch into a classroom of sorts. It was comfortable, brightly lit, and glassed in to protect us from the elements. It also kept curious eyes out of the main part of the house, unless the bathroom needed to be utilized, and when that happened, they went accompanied by me.
That way, when Ice came home, all she needed to do was go into the main cabin and close the door behind her, giving her all the privacy she needed after a long day working with people. At least until ‘school’ was out and I came inside to join her.
She always seemed more than ready to see me by then.
As for myself, well, I’ve never really needed all that much private time. And when I do crave it, a long, luxurious, solitary bath complete with sweet smelling bubbles, candles and a good book fills the bill quite nicely.
As Autumn’s chilly hold on the weather deepened, I also began to notice signs of restlessness in my partner. Ice has always been, and I believe always will be at heart, a woman of action. The building of our home, combined with the hard work Pop gave her to do kept her mind and body busy during the long spring and summer months.
But now, with the cabin built and the work slowing down with the ending of the summer tourist season, there really didn’t look to be that much for her to do besides chopping logs for our ravenous fireplace, a task which she took to with a relish usually reserved for a blind person gaining sight.
And so, the restiveness began to assert its hold. It showed itself in small ways. Like when she began to leave the warm nest of our shared bed at ungodly hours of the morning to strap on running shoes and go charging through the forest at breakneck speeds, perhaps chasing her demons, perhaps running from them. There was also the meticulously stitched canvas bag filled with god knows what suddenly hanging from the eaves in the corner of the house. Sounds of her beating it into quivering submission became a nightly occurrence around the ol’ homestead. Though, to be honest, I’ve done my share of damage to that bag in the time we’ve been here. Self-defense skills, once learned, need to be kept up as silver needs to be polished to avoid tarnish.
Besides, it was fun to have a crack at something that didn’t hit back. Much, anyway.
But, since the winter’s snows weren’t far in the future, I knew that even these activities would soon be but a memory. And if she couldn’t keep her body busy, I needed to find some way of keeping her brilliant mind that way.
And then an idea came to me and I kicked myself for not having thought of it sooner.
As I got to know him better, I developed a sort of kindred-spirit relationship with Pop. Like I had been in the Bog, he was the man to see if you needed something you couldn’t otherwise get your hands on. He had his fingers in a great number of pies, and if he liked you, he wasn’t at all adverse to sharing the spoils. For a price of course. Though in my case, the price was so low as to be negligible.
And so I went to him on a certain Fall day with several requests, and, with a knowing glint in his eye, he accepted the challenge and agreed to do his best to get me what I needed. With Pop on the case, I knew my merchandise was as good as in my hands.
Sure enough, not more than a week went by when I received a call asking me to come and retrieve my packages. And for the price of one home-cooked meal, I took home some things that I hoped would help get Ice through the long winter ahead.
She came home that night, sweaty and disheveled from a day cutting wood, not only for our own fireplace but, by the amount of moisture gluing her shirt to her body, for half the town as well. She had also been helping some of the townspeople replace the roof on Mrs. Symmonds’ house before the snows set in.
After letting her shower, sharing dinner with her, and talking about nothing important, I handed her a slim square box wrapped up in pretty paper.
I was treated to a raised eyebrow before she looked at the box in her hands, turning it over in the light.
"Well?" I asked, impatient as always. "Aren’t you gonna open it?"
"I dunno. Will it bite me?" Her grin was one of pure devilment.
"No. But I might if you don’t open the damn thing."
"Oooo. Now there’s a frightening thought." Her eyes positively radiated amusement.
I gave her back my best scowl, and considered throwing in a pout for good measure. I was pretty sure I could even manufacture tears if it would get her to open the box faster.
With a truly pious look of beleaguered long-suffering, she set to opening the gift I’d given her, ripping the paper down to the box below, setting aside, then opening the box itself. Her gaze, when it finally met mine, held within it an interesting mixture of curiosity and fondness. "Brings back some memories," she said, smiling.
I returned her grin. "Yeah. Mostly stupid ones, for me. Still, if you hadn’t asked, I never would have met you, so my naivete aside, they’re pretty good ones."
Walking over to me, box in hand, she gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. "Thanks."
"You’re welcome. It ...um ...it’s part of a larger gift. If you’ll follow me?"
After a moment, she nodded and followed me to the door beneath the stairs which led to the front porch, whose screens were covered with glass windows in anticipation of winter, and therefore made a perfect home for my gifts.
Turning on the recessed lights we had installed, I stepped back and allowed her to precede me onto the porch. I stood in the shadows, waiting and hoping against hope that she’d be pleased with my gift.
The expression on her face when she turned to look at me left no doubt in my mind that she was.
"I ...um ...know you were never able to get the ones you left behind, so I figured that you could just replicate them here." I shrugged, the tiniest bit embarrassed. "Or do whatever with them."
I wanted to say more, to perhaps explain myself better, but found myself suddenly engulfed in an embrace I never wanted to leave.
Ya done good, Angel, I heard Corinne’s voice say in my mind. Ya done real good.
And with a shift of her strong body, I felt myself borne aloft and carried with the utmost grace and gentleness out of the porch and up to our bed.
To be thanked, properly, for the four bonsai trees spending their first night on a long table on the porch of our home.
If March is said to sometimes go out like a lion, October went out like a sunning rattler who’d just had his tail stepped on by an annoying tourist trying to get that ‘perfect’ shot of the wife and kids in front of the Grand Canyon.
Which is to say, a very nasty mood indeed.
The rains moved in, apparently liked what they saw, and decided to stay around a good long while, loitering like a guest who wouldn’t know a hint if it hit him between the eyes.
Everything in town came to a halt and our neighbors began to make nervous jokes about arks when the lake began to overrun its boundaries and started to encroach on the surrounding properties, most of which were year-round housing for the town’s residents. Ice and I kept pretty busy helping our friends and neighbors weatherproof their homes and prepare for winter’s long siege.
One afternoon saw the sky dark and dangerous. Just a degree or so below freezing, the storm unleashed its fury, sending sheets of sleet pounding against our windows as if trying desperately to get inside. Outside, the world looked like a fairyland, the trees hooded in cloaks of shimmering ice.
I sat on the couch in front of a roaring, toasty fire, wrapped comfortably in my warmest robe and listening as Ice idly hummed along to an aria playing on our sound system as she leafed through some magazine or other. The paper sat on my lap unread as I took in the beautiful sounds of her voice, allowing the music to flow over and through me, warming spots even the fire couldn’t touch.
Leaning my head against the back of the couch, I closed my eyes and smiled, pleasantly sleepy and very much content with my lot in life at that particular moment. While Mother Nature spewed out her worst, I was warm, and dry, and loved.
Ah yes, and well loved at that. We’d spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon in a loving tangle of insatiable passion, relishing the opportunity to do so whenever our desires took us without fear of prying eyes or ears.
I let those thoughts flow through my mind and body, smiling wider at the tightening in my groin from the sensations they produced. Then I opened my eyes and shook my head, chiding myself for my foolishness. Picking up the paper and shaking it out, I lazily flipped through the pages of newsprint, looking for something to spark my interest.
A subscription to the New York Times had been a housewarming gift from Ruby, whose newspaper I had always pilfered while staying under her roof, depriving her of her much beloved crosswords. While I didn’t miss living in the U.S. per se, it was still nice to keep up on what was going on over there occasionally and so the paper was a welcome gift.
Turning to the world news section, I idly scanned the headlines, looking for anything of interest, when something caught my eye. I stopped, blinked, and read again. And then again. When I finally looked up, it was to find Ice watching me intently.
"You alright?"
"I ...don’t know. I think so. I’m just ...not really sure, I guess."
Laying her book down on the table, she rose gracefully to her feet and came to stand behind the couch. "What’s up?"
I handed the paper to her. "Would you mind reading this over and telling me if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing?"
After a moment, the paper was handed back down to me again. "Yup."
I looked back over the printed text, trying to wrap my mind around what it was telling me.
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA (AP) - America's oldest female inmate will soon enjoy her first taste of freedom in 45 years.
Corinne Weaver, 71, is set to leave Rainwater Women's Correctional Facility near Pittsburgh on Thursday. Weaver, serving a three consecutive life sentence term for the poisoning deaths of her four husbands, was granted a pardon last month by Governor George Green.
Weaver’s case was taken up by human rights activists after she recently suffered a series of strokes that left her confined to a wheelchair.
"It's inhumane to keep an elderly woman locked up in her final years in her condition," said Al Merman, president of Human Rights Now!
After numerous letter writing campaigns and many protests staged outside the governor's mansion, Gov. Green relented. "I've reviewed Mrs. Weaver’s case," the Governor said at a press conference on Monday, "and I find she is no longer a threat to society. The right thing to do is to let her have her freedom."
Green's main opponent in next month's elections, Sam Jones, was quick to support Weaver’s case. "It's a shame the governor had to be hounded into this decision," he said. "It's obvious this woman will only suffer more by staying in a system in sore need of serious reform."
Weaver’s lawyer, Donita Bonnsuer, a known Human Rights activist, was unavailable for comment.
"Did you know about this?" I asked, trying to keep the accusatory tone from my voice. I knew that Ice had, from the time she left prison for the first time, always kept tabs on Corinne, keeping her safe from predatory inmates who thought beating up little old librarians was the height of fun and games. To think that Ice would keep the news of Corinne’s failing health, let alone her pending release, from me was making me very angry indeed.
"Not about the strokes, no." She came to sit down beside me, not touching, but close. "I knew about the protests, and Donita told me that there was a good chance she’d get her parole granted, but she asked me to cut off all contact with Corinne. For the same reason I left you alone when I escaped."
"So you couldn’t be linked to her."
"Exactly."
"But why didn’t you tell me?"
Ice sighed. "Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up." She turned her head to look at me. "Look. I know how much Corinne means to you. She means a great deal to me too. I just wanted to be sure before telling you anything, one way or another. If that was a mistake on my part, then I’m sorry."
I sighed as well. "I appreciate why you think you had to keep this to yourself, Ice, but I’d really rather be treated as an adult by you. I’m not a child, Morgan. I can deal with disappointments, you know."
Ice looked down at her hands resting in her lap. "I know," she replied softly. "I just don’t like to see you have to. Especially if I can help it."
Touched by the sweetness of her gesture, even if I didn’t agree with it, I pulled her over into a heartfelt hug, happy when she finally lifted her arms to return it. To let her off the hook, I changed the subject, slightly. "What’s going to happen to her?"
"Donita will help her out, I’m sure. Just like she was willing to help you. Corinne’s got a lot of money stashed away. She’ll be just fine."
I breathed heavily into her shirt. "I miss her."
She rubbed my back soothingly. "I know, Angel. I do too. Corinne’s a good person."
I pulled away slightly. "I hate to think of her all alone down there. Sick. Not able to walk. Surrounded by strangers. Even in prison, she had her books, her job, her friends. Now what does she have?" I looked down at my own hands. "All the money in the world won’t get those things for her now."
"She has Donita," Ice replied gently, chafing my hands in her own. "And Donita has a great number of contacts, Angel. People who will be happy to befriend Corinne without a thought to how rich she is. She’ll be well looked after, believe me." Her eyes blazed into my own. "I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true."
I nodded, then looked down at our joined hands. "I know. I believe you, Ice. It’s just ... ." I sighed again. "I want to help her. She’s done so much for me and I just want to give something back to her." After a moment, I looked up at her again. "After she’s released, do you think there’s any way I could contact her? Even for just a second? To convince myself she’s alright? I’ll understand if you think it isn’t safe. I just need to be sure, that’s all."
After a moment, Ice smiled at me and squeezed my hands. "I’ll see what I can do."
And that I believed.
* * *
The days stretched slowly into weeks and finally, the winter snows came to lay claim on the land. The holiday season was quickly approaching and a winter-gloom
y town seemed to brighten just slightly at the prospect. Trees and wreaths started appearing through windows and doors and the people all seemed to be a bit friendlier—not that they weren’t friendly already—greeting everyone they passed with a cheery ‘Happy Holidays!’.
Ice wasn’t home much during this early part of winter. Though the work at Pop’s station might have dried up for the moment, there was still plenty of other work to be had if one only knew where to look and was willing to sweat for it.
And Ice, of course, knew how to do both. In spades.
For myself, I kept busy with my students, their number growing ever larger as children from other towns began to pay me weekly visits for tutoring sessions. I also spent a good deal of time with Ruby, talking about nothing in particular, just enjoying her company and her delicious coffee.
Though I resolved not to, I found myself asking Ice quite a few times about Corinne. Her answer was always the same. "I’m doing my best, Angel."
To keep my mind off upsetting her too much with my incessant questioning, I turned my thoughts to other things. Namely what to get my absolutely impossible to buy for lover for Christmas. The book signed by Solzhenitzyn was one of the few things to survive her escape from the Bog intact, and the four bonsai trees I’d purchased were doing incredibly well under her talented hands. A new set of mechanic’s tools, while practical, seemed hardly the romantic, or meaningful, gift I wanted to give her on our first Christmas as free women.
It had to be something special. Something rare. Something perfect.
And then I had it. An absolutely perfect—to my mind, at least—gift. There were only two problems. One was to see if such a gift even existed. The other would be going about finding it if it did indeed exist.
So, of course, I went to Pop with both problems. And with his usual knowing grin, he resolved to help in any way he could.
I returned home well satisfied.
PART 5