by Kip Gayden
“Have you seen the papers today?” she said.
“No, I guess not. What’s happened?”
“The most wonderful thing. The women in California have finally convinced the Progressive Republicans to put a suffrage proposition on their statewide ballot in October. This is a wonderful day for the cause, Anna.”
Anna smiled at her friend. “Yes, indeed. Are there any plans locally?”
“We’re trying to organize a rally to publicize the California decision. I’ve gotten a telegram from some of the ladies in Nashville and other cities, and everyone’s very excited.”
“Well, I’m happy to hear it.”
Elizabeth gave Anna a careful look. “Somehow, I thought you’d be a little more impressed with the news.”
“Oh, I am glad, Elizabeth.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, we’re all fine. Walter, the children . . . everybody.”
Elizabeth just kept looking at her.
“Would you like to come over to the gallery for a little while, Anna?”
Anna let Elizabeth guide her across the street and down the side of the town square until they came to the Jennings Art Gallery. They went inside. Anna noticed that in the place where her Mary Cassatt used to hang, they’d put a reproduction of a Gainesborough portrait: a girl in a pink bonnet.
“Morning, Mrs. Dotson,” Wallace said. Anna nodded and smiled.
“Come upstairs, Anna. I’ve got a fresh pot of tea.”
The Jennings had a small sitting room on the second floor, above the gallery. When they were seated, Elizabeth gave Anna another measuring look. “Now, then. You look like someone who has a lot on her mind. And I’m your friend. Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
Anna looked out the window for a long time. She had gotten to the place where the thought of Charlie Cobb was like a part of her. Though she was troubled by the conflict between what she wanted and what she knew to be right, she still felt the impulse to keep the secret safe and close. If she shared it with someone—even a friend like Elizabeth—she would lose something. Anna wasn’t quite sure she was ready for that loss. But maybe it would be good to share her burden. A small corner of it, anyway.
“Elizabeth, I wonder . . . do you ever find yourself . . . weary . . . of Wallace?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, my! Is that all it is? Of course I do, Anna. Show me a woman who’s been married for any time at all that hasn’t discovered her prince’s armor isn’t quite as shiny as she thought at first. You mustn’t think badly of yourself for that. Walter is a fine man, I’m sure . . . but he’s just a man.”
Anna took a sip of tea. “Well, I know that’s right, Elizabeth, but . . . I think, sometimes, that there might be someone else . . . someone besides Walter . . . who might make me happier.”
Elizabeth carefully set down her teacup. “Is there someone specific you’re thinking of, Anna?”
Anna nodded.
“Someone here in Gallatin?”
Anna nodded again.
“Do you want to tell me who it is, Anna?”
“Oh, it’s probably nothing, Elizabeth. I’m . . . I don’t think anything will happen.”
“But do you want something to happen?”
Anna looked out the window again. “I don’t know. Sometimes, maybe.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a long time. “Anna,” she said finally, “I don’t know who this man is that has caught your eye, and I don’t know what you have or haven’t said to each other. But I have to tell you that I think you should think very, very carefully about what you’re considering. A marriage vow isn’t just words, Anna. And you have your children to think of, not to mention your reputation and your place in the community.”
“But Walter doesn’t even see me anymore! We haven’t . . . been together as husband and wife for . . . I don’t know how long. Is that any way to live?”
“I’m sorry, Anna. I know this . . . difficulty has been bothering you for some time. But it’s not as if you’re the only woman who has ever had to face the fact that her husband doesn’t look at her the way he did when they were newlyweds. Marriage isn’t always about romance. It goes through seasons, like everything else.”
“Well, mine has been stuck in the dead of winter for quite some time now.” Anna looked at Elizabeth. “Are you saying that Wallace doesn’t ever . . . I mean, that you don’t—”
“Anna, I don’t keep up with that the way you do.” Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed, and she wouldn’t look Anna in the eye. “I just suppose I’ve become content with the way things are with Wallace and me. Except for our disagreement about the cause, of course.”
“But isn’t that part of what we’re fighting for?” Anna said. “Don’t we want men to see us as something other than objects for their convenience or charges that have to be guarded constantly, like children who can’t take care of themselves? I want my husband to look at me and see me, not some caricature he’s composed in his head and labeled ‘wife.’ Is it so wrong to want something just because I want it?”
“And what is it you want, Anna? Really?”
“I want to feel like a woman again! I want to feel desirable and cherished . . . and I want to desire on my own account. I want to long for someone so badly, be so deeply in love that I think I’m going to drown. It’s not as though I’m making some unreasonable demand, Elizabeth. I’m not so horrid to look at, if I may say so.”
“Certainly not, Anna. You’re as lovely a woman as there could ever be.”
“Well, why does my husband treat me as if I’m some homely drudge?”
“Oh, Anna. Surely you’re exaggerating.”
“Am I really? Let me ask you something, Elizabeth. That French nightgown I bought in Chicago, like the one in Vogue—like the one you ordered for yourself. Why did you want it in the first place?”
Elizabeth looked flustered. “Well, I . . . I suppose I thought it was pretty.”
“And tell me: Didn’t you imagine how you’d look in it, how you’d feel wearing it?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And didn’t you, just for a moment, wish someone else could enjoy that feeling with you? Someone you cared about? Someone you loved?”
Elizabeth stared at her. “Anna, I have no idea what to say to you right now.”
Anna set down her cup and stood. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I very much appreciate your concern.”
“Anna! I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t, Elizabeth. Everything you’ve said is perfectly sensible and proper. Just like Walter. And I’m sure I ought to just listen and be grateful and learn to keep my place, but—” Anna clenched her jaw, afraid to say more. She took a deep breath. “Well, I’ll be going now, Elizabeth. Thank you for the tea. And for the talk.”
She went past Elizabeth, doing her best to ignore the look of shock and hurt on her friend’s face. Anna went downstairs and into the gallery. Wallace Jennings looked up as she entered the main showroom.
“Good day, Mr. Jennings,” she said. “And thank you again for delivering the Cassatt. It looks lovely in my room.”
He didn’t say anything; he just watched as she strode to the door and yanked it open.
“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO GO TONIGHT?” Daisy said. “You used to read to Alice out of one of the books before she went to bed. Or make up a story in your head. But now every night you go for a walk, and by the time you come home she’s asleep.”
Charlie looked at his wife. She was staring at him in that way she had that always reminded him of a sheep. She’d just spoken as many words at a time as he’d nearly ever heard her use, and a small part of him knew he ought to be feeling at least a little bad, but he didn’t. In fact, all he could feel right now was annoyed. Why now, of all times, did Daisy decide to find her backbone?
“Well, I’m going anyway. I’ll read to Alice tomorrow night. I need some fresh air.” There. And he hadn’t even raised his voice. He knew men that wouldn’t have used as m
uch restraint. He reached for his black bowler. “Just leave a lamp on in the front room, would you?” She was still looking at him with her sheep face when he closed the door behind him.
Charlie took long, swinging steps down Railroad Street, looking up at the stars and thinking about Anna Dotson. No wonder Walter was so successful; with a woman like Anna at his side, what couldn’t a man accomplish in this world? Charlie should have been more careful, he guessed. Daisy was a cute little thing, back in the days when he’d met her, but a simple woman like his wife just couldn’t understand things the way Charlie needed her to. He tried to imagine himself reading one of the poems from Argosy to Daisy, tried to guess what she’d say about it. Most likely, she’d just stare at him, waiting for him to tell her what to think.
But not Anna. Anna Dotson was a woman with fire inside her, a woman whose passion burned close to the surface. Charlie could feel it when he was near her; he could smell it, just as he could smell the La Rose perfume that plumed in her wake each time she walked past him. Anna could give a man dreams so big he’d just have to go places, do things he’d never thought possible.
For as long as he could remember, Charlie had been around the edges of the good life. Like a late arrival at a banquet, he’d made do with the leavings of plenty that nobody else wanted. But Anna Dotson . . . she was the feast, the payday to end all paydays. A woman like that would make just about anybody sit up and take notice. Charlie imagined the look on his daddy’s face, on the face of everybody in Big Rock, the day he came riding into town with Anna by his side. Then somebody would finally know who Charlie Cobb really was. Then they’d all see.
What Charlie couldn’t understand was why Walter Dotson seemed so lackadaisical in his attentions. If Charlie had a wife like Anna waiting for him, you could bet your last brass button that he’d be taking care of his homework on a regular basis. But Walter didn’t seem to know what he had. Well, it was too bad for Walter . . . but all the better for Charlie.
Charlie cut through the empty lot behind the freight depot, into the alley. So far, there were no barking dogs in any of the yards he passed on his way to Anna’s back fence, which was a mercy. There was enough moonlight for him to make his way down the center of the alley, stepping around the cast-off lumber, broken wheels, and other refuse dragged out to the alley by the folks who lived in the big houses along North Water Street. Finally, Charlie came to the big elm tree that leaned into the alley from the corner of Anna’s backyard, the tree that shaded the cistern. He eased up to the gate and stood there, looking up at the house.
Anna, come out to me. I’m here, and I’m waiting for you.
There was a light on upstairs, and Charlie imagined it was Anna’s bedroom. He stared at the glowing window and called to her silently.
16
Anna listened as the sounds of the house stilled around her. She tossed on her bed; in the heat of the August night even the silk of the French nightgown seemed clingy and annoying. She sat up on the edge of her bed and looked at the Cassatt painting, washed in the moonlight coming through her window. The woman in the painting looked so cool and comfortable, sitting outside reading. Anna got up and padded to the open window, staring out at the backyard. She wondered if he was out there. She couldn’t decide for certain if she hoped he was or he wasn’t.
Anna went to the bathroom and picked up the sponge beside her washbasin, but the basin was empty. Sighing in exasperation, she went to her room and grabbed the silk kimono that lay across the corner of the bed. She wrapped it around her and went downstairs, still in her bare feet, and into the kitchen. The wooden pail was in its usual place, on the counter. She picked it up and opened the door.
The grass of the backyard felt cool on her feet; out here there was at least a little bit of a breeze. Anna walked toward the cistern, watching where she put her feet, trying not to think about Charlie Cobb’s whereabouts or her wishes about them. She set the bucket under the pump spout and began to work the handle.
She heard footsteps in the grass, coming through the gate. For some reason, Anna didn’t look up to see him, she just listened to his approach. And then, as she’d somehow known he would, Charlie Cobb grabbed her hand from the pump handle and pulled her up to face him.
She looked at him and she didn’t say anything. In this moment, neither of them needed words. He pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely, as she’d never been kissed ever before in her life. His tongue was in her mouth and hers was in his and the taste of it was sweet, oh, so sweet, and every ounce of resistance or hesitation in her washed away on the tide of her pounding heart, the onrushing wave of desire that rose up in her.
Anna felt his hands sliding up under the kimono, under the French nightgown, going places and doing things that made her breath come fast and catch in her throat. She heard a low, rising moan and realized it was coming from her own throat. She pushed herself into him and felt the hardness of his body. Her knees buckled with the wanting of him and he laid her down on the cool grass under the elm tree and raised himself over her. He was inside her and clinging to her like a lifeline and the only thing in all the world that Anna wanted was to get closer to him, to join herself with him, to wrap herself around him like a second skin.
She gasped and dug her fingertips into his back; he gave a sudden, hushing breath and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “I love you, Anna,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I need you. I’ve never felt about a woman the way I feel about you.”
“I love you, too, Charlie,” she said, running her hand along the thin washboard of his spine, up and down. “I love you, too.”
They held each other as the moon and stars circled overhead. Anna thought maybe she even dozed a little. Charlie stirred and said, “I have to go, now.”
“Yes.”
He stood and buttoned his clothing. He looked at her as if he were about to say something, but finally just smiled and walked through the gate. Anna watched him go down the alley. Tonight, somehow, she didn’t need to call out to him. She had something from him to hold his place with her, and for right now, that seemed enough.
Anna pumped water from the cistern into the bucket and carried it back to the house. She went upstairs and filled her washbasin, then sponged herself all over. She put the nightgown on, her body still moist from the sponge, and went to her bed. All around her, the house was still, silent except for the night creaking of the wood floors.
Anna realized she was smiling. Very soon, she was asleep.
SUMMER EASED INTO AUTUMN. For Anna, the days either crawled or sprinted past, depending on how long it had been since her last chance to be with Charlie. They met a few times near the cistern in the backyard, until, one night, a neighbor’s dog started barking at the sounds they made. After that, they tried to limit their trysts to Thursday afternoons when Walter was at his office and the children were at school.
After a few times of being with Charlie, Anna felt guilt climbing into her thoughts, more and more. And yet, the passion she and Charlie shared was like some sort of delectable delicacy; now that she had tasted it, she didn’t have the will to deny herself. Some part of her knew that one day she’d have to honestly face herself . . . but she was always able to convince herself the day hadn’t yet come.
One day, as she was watching Mabel at her homework, Anna realized that her daughter would soon begin exhibiting signs of womanhood. Later that evening, she told Walter she thought they should put a doorway from Mabel’s room into the bathroom she shared with her younger brother. He nodded and said nothing, but Anna kept at him until finally he agreed to see about what it would cost.
ON A BRIGHT AFTERNOON in mid-September, Walter found himself with some time between patients. He decided to stroll down to Whitehead’s and buy some of the supplies he would need for the doorway. He had a list, and Bobby helped him gather everything and bring it to the counter.
Walter hefted a sack of nails and gave Bobby a careful look. “You’re sure I’ve got my full two pounds here
, now? You wouldn’t be giving me the brother-in-law treatment, would you?”
Bobby grinned. “Aw, Walter. Don’t say things like that with my boss standing right behind me.”
Emil Whitehead grinned over his shoulder. “Bobby, I sure hope you put your thumb on the scale when you weighed out the doc’s nails. He can afford it.”
Walter laughed and shook his head. “Come on now, fellas. Just because I’m a doctor doesn’t mean I can feed the whole town.”
“I’ll bet that’s not what you say to those fancy patients of yours down in Davidson County,” Emil said. “I’ll bet you don’t try that poor boy stuff on them.”
“Shoot, Walter makes ten or fifteen dollars just for walking in the door with those folks,” Bobby said. “He takes their pulse and has them stick out their tongue. Then he has them stick out their wallet.”
The three men laughed. “What kind of project you getting ready to start, Walter?” Emil asked. “You must be planning something for all these nails and that lumber you ordered, and all.”
“Oh, Bobby’s sister wants another doorway added to the children’s bathroom,” Walter said. “I’ve stalled her about as long as I can, I think.”
“Why does she think there needs to be another doorway?” Bobby said.
“Well, Mabel’s getting up close to a certain age, and Anna thinks she needs a little more privacy,” Walter said.
“Sounds like a lot of money and trouble for nothing, to me,” Bobby said.
“Now, Bobby, you ought to know your sister better than that, after all these years,” Walter said. “How about this: I’ll let you go home with me and talk her out of it.”
Emil gave a low whistle.
“No, sir, I believe I’ll pass,” Bobby said. “Now that you mention it, a second doorway for Mabel sounds like a fine idea.”