“I’ve had another hallucination,” she said.
“Hmmmn.” Beyond that simple sound of encouragement, he seemed to react not at all.
“It was last week. I met the man I’ve seen those other times.”
“Hmmmn.”
She went on to describe her first meeting with David Reynolds, condensing it, not mentioning the rest, so that he would believe there had been only one occurrence. She made herself color the description so as to lend it the quality of a genuine hallucination. When she finished, she waited in anxious silence for several seconds before he spoke.
“It’s been some time since you’ve had a relapse like this,” he said. “Can you think of anything that might have caused these symptoms to recur? What comes to mind?”
And she realized she was safe. There was no danger that his curiosity might be aroused, that he might sense between the lines the larger story she was concealing. They spent the rest of the session discussing her relationship with Michael, searching for something that might have triggered her “recurrence of symptoms.” It was important. Dr. Salzman said, because it might provide further evidence toward an understanding of her entire problem.
Later that morning, after leaving Dr. Salzman’s office, she went up to Beverly’s apartment on East 73rd Street for a drink. It was Beverly’s day for working at home, and the table in the little dining alcove was littered with manuscripts and galleys. They had vodka martinis in the long, sparsely furnished living room—all plastic tables and severe, uncomfortable chairs—and Jennie listened to Beverly talk about her latest lover, a director of television commercials she had met after breaking up with Don. Through it all, Jennie nervously turned her glass around and around in her hands, trying to get up the courage to ask Beverly what she had come to ask her. It wasn’t until it was time to go, when she had gathered up her purse and had it in her lap, that she was able to say it.
“Bev, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure, Jen, what is it?”
Jennie discovered that her fingers were restlessly unclasping and refastening her purse. She made herself stop it. “I’d like to kind of borrow your house on Fire Island for a couple of days.”
“Sure, kid. I told you—you have a standing invitation. When do you want to go out?”
It was an effort to continue. “I told Michael I was spending tomorrow and the next day out there. If he calls, would you . . . will you tell him that’s where I am? Cover for me?” She could feel a faint blush rising up her cheeks.
“Uh oh, what’s the kid up to?” Beverly was suddenly bright-eyed, exhaling a quick stream of cigarette smoke. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Please, Bev. I’m serious.”
“Come on. Give. Where’d you meet him? Don’t tell me you’ve met someone in that backwater you moved to.” Beverly collapsed back in her chair, laughing. “That’s just like you, Jennie. Only you could remain faithful in a city full of eligible men and then meet someone in some little country town. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen head over heels for some earthy farmer?”
“Please, Bev. This is hard enough for me.” She was beginning to realize she didn’t really like Beverly very much. She wasn’t sure whether the dislike was new or just her awareness of it, but it annoyed her.
“Okay, kid,” Beverly said. “Sorry. I guess it is a little hard for you, huh? You’re a beginner at this sort of thing, aren’t you?”
“Will you just please do it for me, Bev?”
Beverly stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up. “Okay, Jennie. Sure. Of course I will. You’d better tell me some place I can contact you, though, in case Michael comes out to the Island.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
Beverly shrugged. “If you say so. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about his calling the Island to check up on you. There’s no phone in the house. Very few of the houses out there have phones. One thing, though. One of these days I want to hear all about it. That’s my price for the use of the house.”
At the door, she gave Jennie a kiss on the cheek. “If you want to know the truth, I never liked Michael anyway.”
Jennie punched the elevator button in the hallway and looked back. Beverly was leaning in the doorway, wearing a faintly amused smile.
“Thank you, Bev. I’m very grateful.”
“Just watch yourself, kid. Don’t get hurt.”
15
* * *
SUNLIGHT LAY ALONG the porch floor. Jennie sat in the porch swing, holding to the chain support with one hand, happy to be back in 1899 again. It was no more than three hours since she had left Beverly, but that world seemed as distant in fact now as it was in time. David sat a few feet away, in a wicker chair brought from the table at the other end of the porch, a sketchboard in his lap. From time to time he lifted his eyes to her, then returned his concentration to the sketch.
“I didn’t even get to see her,” he was saying. “The maid — Ames, I believe her name is — admitted me to the house, but I’m afraid I didn’t get past Mrs. Trapp, the new housekeeper.”
“Was Mr. Hubbard home?”
“No; if he had been, I doubt I’d even have got in the door. As it was, I did get in the house for twenty minutes or so. I was trying to charm Mrs. Trapp into letting me talk to Rachel.” He looked up and smiled. “It seems Mrs. Trapp is impervious to charm.”
“Do you think they suspect anything?”
“They know Charles is a friend of mine. It’s natural they’d realize I was there on his behalf.”
“But do you think they suspect an elopement?”
“Not specifically, I think. It’s something Hubbard would guard against as a matter of course. Are you tiring?”
“Oh, no. I’m enjoying this.”
She was glad he had posed her so she could see him. It was nice, feeling his eyes on her, being the object of his attention. The yard was filled with the constant somnolent murmur of bees lifting and hovering from flower to flower, sluggish and heavy in the sunlight. A gull rode immobilized on a steady breeze above the lake, dipped in a downward arc beneath the brow of the hill, then rose up to assume once more its high motionless stance against the sky. How she wished to relax into all this beauty, but the restlessness from the weekend was still with her, the awareness that only she knew what was going to happen, that she had only a short time to learn enough to prevent it.
“What will you do now?”
“Ah,” he said, “that’s the interesting part. Tyrants are always hated by those beneath them. In this case, the subversive element is Ames, the maid. She’s about Rachel’s age, and Rachel has evidently won her confidence. When she saw me out, she pressed a note from Rachel into my hand.”
“Then Rachel knew you were there?”
“I suspect Ames slipped upstairs to tell her while I was with Mrs. Trapp. Luckily. According to the note, Hubbard is taking the girls to visit family friends, the McIvers, next Tuesday evening. One of the McIver girls, Emily, is Rachel’s closest friend. She’ll help her steal away. Now all we have to do is get Charles there at the right time.”
“Won’t that be dangerous? If Mr. Hubbard’s as unreasonable as you say he is?”
“I don’t think so. He’ll be occupied inside. It should be possible for the girls to slip off by themselves.”
He leaned back in the chair, examining the sketch, then reached down to touch it up with the pencil. It was strange, watching him like this — vital, self-assured, not knowing, as she did, that he was soon to die. It was as if he didn’t know she was there, as if she were a member of an invisible audience and he an actor on a stage, living out the role of another man’s life, and she already knew the play, knew how it was going to end. Only the causes were obscure, the gaps in Mrs. Bates’ story. How long had it been after Pamela’s death before he took up with Elizabeth, before that relationship could have caused her to want to kill him? How long had it been before Stickney had succeeded in spiriting Rachel away, leaving David as the
one remaining target of Hubbard’s wrath? This way of thinking about him, in the past tense, unsettled her, as if he really were moving about beyond a window of time, already dead, a silent specimen in a strange animated museum, and she was relieved when he spoke to break the spell: “I think that does it.”
“Have you finished?”
“I’ve got what I wanted.” He brought the sketchboard over to the swing and sat down beside her.
She saw at once the surety of hand, the accuracy of impression that indicated a man born with an artist’s eye. Even in the quick strokes of the sketch she recognized herself — one hand in her lap, the other clutching the support-chain — looking directly at her. The chains dwindled into nothingness above her, a few bold lines indicated the slats of the swing, and she was impressed by the way he had conveyed through judicious areas of shading the pleats and folds of her dress. But what impressed her most were the eyes; they seemed real and alive, and she could see in them the feeling that burned in her every time she was in his presence. It was startling to see that expression looking at her from her own eyes, knowing that he had seen it vividly enough to capture it in the sketch.
“Do you like it?” he said.
“It’s lovely. No one’s ever sketched me before.”
“You’re a good model.”
She was very aware of him beside her, looking over her shoulder at the sketchboard.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said. “One needn’t be an artist to see that.”
She felt he was on the verge of something more, but the sound of a horse turning into the drive made them both look up. It was the Hartley buggy again, only this time Elizabeth Hartley was alone, wearing a wide-brimmed white hat, gripping the reins in white-gloved hands.
“Hullo,” Elizabeth said, “I seem to be intruding again.” She came up the steps, twirling her parasol, and kissed David on the cheek. “Miss Logan, we meet again.” Her eyes fell on the sketchboard leaning against the backrest of the swing. “Ah, you’ve been working. You really must tell me when you’ve a model coming, and I’ll stay away.”
Jennie flushed, recognizing the slight. It was obvious now that the visit on Friday had been Elizabeth’s diplomatic opening, to prepare the way for her to come back alone.
Elizabeth held the sketchboard out at arm’s length. “It’s very good, David. But then you know I’ve always had faith in your work, even though you’re such a perfectionist about letting it be seen.” She cast a frankly examining glance at Jennie, as if to compare her with the impression she had garnered from the sketch, then put the board down again. “However, it’s not so good as some you did of me. I still have them. I wouldn’t part with them for anything.”
“Actually, we’d just finished,” David said. “May I offer you something, Elizabeth? A glass of mineral water?”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “The health-giving local water? No, thank you.” She smiled brilliantly at Jennie. “Only the summer people think it’s special. Besides, I can’t stay. I only came to extend an invitation. You remember Jamie Willis, don’t you?”
“I remember Willis. What about him?”
“He’s coming to visit next week. Edward invited him up. He heard you were still in town, and he said he’d like to see you.”
“I can’t imagine why. He’s disliked me ever since Pamela made it clear she preferred me to him.”
“Yes, poor Jamie, that was a shock. He always thought he was especially favored there. He was the only one of Pamela’s suitors her father actually liked.”
“He was the only one who made an effort to flatter the man.”
“Well, be that as it may, he asked to see you. Perhaps he’s mellowed. He’s become quite successful, you know. His paintings sell very well. He’s quite the darling of certain circles in New York. Come over next Tuesday. We’ll have a picnic by the lake. It’ll be fun.”
“No promises,” David said, “but I’ll consider it.”
“Oh, do come. You really must get out more.” She turned to Jennie. “And I do want you to come, Miss Logan. I’ve promised Jamie introductions to all the young ladies in town this season. He knows me too well, he says—I’m no more suitable for a flirtation than an old stick. He’s really quite charming. Not like old stubborn David here, who’s always painting pictures no one understands.”
“Thank you,” Jennie said, thinking, I’m not going to fall for precious Jamie and leave your way to David clear. “That’s very good of you.”
“May I offer you a ride back to town?”
“No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”
“Well, remember, you’re invited. It’s 1212 Lakeshore Way. I’m sure Edward would like to see you again. He was quite taken with you.”
She gave David a parting kiss, strolled back out the walk, and mounted to the buggy seat again. Jennie savored a small sense of victory; she was certain that Elizabeth, unaware she was here, had envisioned a different ending to this visit.
When the buggy was gone, David said, “Now would be a good time to feed those pigs. I made the poor things wait until you came. I promised, after all.”
She laughed, happily aware that he was in effect closing Elizabeth out. They started across the yard toward the barn.
“I’ll have to recommend you to the city fathers,” she said. “They’ll want you on their entertainment committee.”
“Ah, but I’m particular who helps me feed my stock.” He was smiling at her. “I know you forgave me my friends last week, but let me apologize for Elizabeth’s rudeness just the same.”
She felt he was creating between them a conspiracy of agreement about Elizabeth. It gave her the courage to be bold: “I don’t think she likes me.”
“Elizabeth dislikes other women as a class,” he said and they both laughed.
He swung open the door and she followed him into the dimness of the corncrib. Two buckets of scraps stood against one wall. He took the lid from a large milk can and began pouring milk into the buckets. Their conspiracy of agreement was the opening she sought; she decided to risk it, to bring the subject into the open and close out Elizabeth’s chances for good.
“I have the impression she’s pursuing you,” she said.
“Poor Elizabeth,” he said. “At one time—this was before I met the Hartleys—I believe Elizabeth was in love with Jamie Willis. She had met him in New York, too, when Edward was still trying to be a painter. Then they invited Willis up to spend the summer, and when he met Pamela he lost all interest in Elizabeth.” He set the milk can upright again and replaced the lid. From the corncrib he brought large handfuls of corn and dumped them into the buckets. “Then I met the Hartleys, and the pattern repeated itself—though I think Elizabeth believes there was more between us than actually existed. But the same thing happened—they invited me up to Chesapequa, and I met Pamela.” She held the door open for him and followed him outside, through the chicken yard toward the pig lot at the rear of the barn. “Poor Elizabeth has had a hard time these past three or four years,” he said. “And she’s become somewhat brazen as a result.”
“It’s really a shame,” Jennie said. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, I suspect because of her beauty she was very spoiled as a girl. Occasionally even now she puts me in mind of a spoiled child.”
“I didn’t want to be the one to say that,” Jennie said. “I’m glad you have.”
He laughed. They had reached the gate at the rear of the barn; beyond the fence lay the pig lot, a trough in the center, several pigs lying in muddy wallows.
David set the buckets down. “She’s jealous of you.”
Jennie felt a faint blush rise to her face. “Yes, I saw.”
“She has reason to be jealous.”
His voice was quiet now, intimate, and she saw in his eyes the look she was sure was in her own. The very sight of him had always brought that unexpected flicker of love alive within her; now she was sure that he, believing she was Pamela’s ghost, had fallen in love with her
, too. It was as if those mysterious encounters between one century and another had propelled them into an intimacy all out of proportion to the time they had known each other. The word had not been said, but the eyes gave everything away.
“If you’ll go with me,” he said, “I’ll accept that invitation. You said you were alone most of the time—it would give you entrée to a circle here. And it would give me an excuse to see you again.”
“I would love to go with you.”
“Good.” He unlatched the gate and set the buckets through. “I’ll call for you at your hotel.”
“Oh, no. I—I’d rather you didn’t.” She dared not let him discover she wasn’t registered at the hotel. She could arrrange to meet him in the lobby this time, but if he called on her once he might call again, unannounced, and she would never be able to explain her lie about being a guest there. She had to prevent him from ever coming to the hotel. “I’d really rather come here and—”
“I insist,” he said. “I can’t have you walking this far day after day because I wish to see you.” He smiled. “What would the city fathers say?”
“But you can’t come to the hotel. I’m sorry, you see . . .” She flushed, stammered, and feeling an edge of panic in her throat blurted out, “I’m afraid my husband wouldn’t understand.”
She watched his smile slowly fade. His face closed down over the emotion that had showed there a moment before, closing her out. “I see,” he said, and looked away, one hand on the gatepost. Then, abruptly, he picked up the buckets and started across the lot.
The pigs scrambled up from their wallows, squealing. She watched him bend to empty the buckets into the trough, the pigs grunting and snuffling, shouldering each other aside, snouts already rooting in the milky slop. He put his hands in his pockets and gazed off across the field, silent and still, his back like an affront to her. She was afraid now that he would send her away, that she had destroyed any chance of remaining with him long enough to learn how to save his life.
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