Strange Women, The

by Miriam Gardner

  "You mustn't talk that way. Jill, the real reason you feel like this is because you're alone, when Mack should be sharing this with you. It's natural, to want your baby's father."

  "But I don't," Jill said miserably, and laid her head in Nora's lap. Nora sighed and stroked her hair.

  "Most pregnant women go through moods like that. You'll get over it," she said.

  At least I hope you will. I hope I will. Hell, I'm only giving her the emotional support she ought to be getting from Mack. No girl ought to be alone at a time like this. Someone has to need her, love her, comfort her, make her feel wanted...

  Then as she drew Jill closer, her hands going almost without volition to the fastenings at Jill's throat, a satirical self-knowledge knifed through her real concern.

  She had known, of course, that there would be only one way to comfort Jill. Had Jill thrown her tantrum for this reason?

  Or—had she herself goaded Jill into it? For an excuse to do just this?

  Unnecessarily rough, she pulled away Jill's pajamas and switched out the light.

  Jill's face tasted of salt under her kisses; the trembling mouth was still soft and pliant as if with tears. Nora closed her hands over the taut breasts until Jill moaned—with pain or pleasure Nora could not tell and did not much care.

  Jill's body was still slim beneath Nora's; but the thought knifed Nora with an anger and frustration she could not understand; soon it would be swollen, promising, fruitful... he was first. It has nothing to do with me. The fantasy spun through her mind dizzily as she strained Jill into her arms with a violence new to them both, if I had been the one to make her pregnant, and reeled away before she was fully aware of the thought.

  In a sort of frantic hunger she gripped Jill close; as if her lips, moving from the soft mouth down to the white throat, down to the small swelling breasts and avidly over every inch of the softness, could obliterate every former touch. Jill cried out softly in the grip of passion and sudden release, and Nora, as the storm center swept her too, felt a savage exaltation. Mine, she thought, mine now, at least. She fell asleep with Jill locked tightly in her arms.

  CHAPTER 10

  Late in February Kit underwent the final operation in the series; then, rapidly this time, he began to rally. The end of the year-long imprisonment was actually in sight.

  Just before Easter, Nora arranged for a free afternoon and while Jill was shopping for maternity dresses, chose a spring suit; then she left Jill to finish her shopping alone and, for the first time in fifteen years, went to a beauty shop.

  When she left, her head felt unfamiliar and cold, and Jill almost dropped her bundles, crying out, "Oh, Nora, that beautiful hair!"

  "You don't like it this way?"

  "It makes you look about ten years younger," Jill said, "What will Kit say?"

  Nora, touching the feathery ends of her shorn hair, realized; it was the first time she had thought of Kit that afternoon. Catching a glimpse in a mirror, she felt a tardy spark of vanity. For years she had taken her hair for granted except as a nuisance to tuck under a surgical cap. It was pleasant to discover a new face under the one she had worn so long.

  "Someone said, once, that the sense of being perfectly dressed did more for a woman than any religion ever known."

  "Ramona said that, the night Marg and I went to the movies. She—Ramona—was all dressed up for a heavy date."

  Nora frowned, reminding herself that Ramona had a perfect right to date Vic—or anyone. They were both adults and unmarried. But she had seen Margaret fall apart, once before; and it hadn't been pretty. Ramona was a cold, conniving bitch. Yet a word against her, to Vic, would be interpreted as simply, dog-in-the-manger spite.

  Jill was trying on maternity dresses before the bedroom mirror, laughing at the picture she made in them, when the phone rang. Nora signed, cradling it against her cheek. Then, startled, she turned to Jill.

  "For you. Long distance. They asked for Cassandra Bristol."

  Warily, frowning, Jill took the telephone. "Hello? Susan, is it you? How did you get this number?" Nora was not trying to listen, but she could not avoid hearing the funny little tight tone of Jill's voice. "Is it—Mama?" Jill asked tremulously, and collapsed, rather than sitting down, on the sofa. At last she said draggingly, "Yes, I see. If I don't come when she's really ill, there will be all that much more talk. I'll take the midnight bus. All right, then, Su."

  The phone clicked down; Jill turned as if to a stranger, and when Nora laid a hand on her shoulder, she was as rigid as a frightened bunny.

  "Darling, you've had bad news?"

  Jill's tongue moved over her lips. "My mother's had a stroke. Su says she keeps asking for me. I have to go."

  Nora felt anger gusting up inside her; what hold did they have on Jill? After all they'd done, how was it that they could still pull emotional strings to make her jump like a marionette? She pulled Jill against her shoulder.

  "Darling, if you feel like that, there's no one who can make you go, you shan't, I won't let you!" Then the enormity of the commitment in her words struck her. Jill only said miserably, "I'd have to go sometime, I suppose." Then, in a sort of dread, her eyes turned down. "But—the baby—"

  It bothered Nora. Jill was basically such a sincere girl. She wasn't conventional, but she wasn't depraved, and Nora couldn't stand to see her shrink like a sentenced convict waiting for the scarlet letter.

  "Don't be foolish, Jill. You're of age. It's your life and your baby. Damn your family!"

  "It's easy to talk. But everybody can't spit in people's faces the way you do."

  If it had been less serious, Nora would have laughed at the way they had exchanged roles. "Jill, dear, aren't you the girl who picked a fight with me because I introduced you to Marg as Mrs. MacLellan?"

  "But—my mother—"

  "Didn't you tell me—forgive me, Jill, I know you don't like talking about it, but doesn't she believe you were mixed up in a narcotics racket, and either drove your father to suicide or shot him?" Jill's face twisted, and Nora held her, trying by her consoling touch to take the sting from the words. "From what you yourself have told me, darling, I hardly see how she could think worse of you than you say she does."

  "You don't understand women like Mama," Jill said desperately, "you can do anything, anything at all, but as long as you're what she calls decent, she—she'd call it her Christian duty to forgive me if I'd stole, or murdered, or committed treason—"

  "I must say that's damn nice of her," Nora said dryly.

  "But—oh, you don't know! Why, that year we knew you—Mama sent Pammy to an awfully strict boarding school, instead of letting her go to Miss Porter's with us, because she—Pammy never would tell me, but I think Mama actually caught her in bed with a boy."

  Nora sat down, weak all over. It was like Mrs. Bristol to think she could cure Pammy's attachment to another girl by punishing her with confinement in a strict all-girl school. She was literally speechless.

  "Mama almost had a heart attack over that. And now she's sick, she might die—And if she noticed I was pregnant—and she would—the shock might even kill her."

  Nora finally found her voice. "Well, Jill, if that's what's worrying you—her peace of mind, not yours—you can simply tell her you were married last fall, can't you? Chances are, she'll be so pleased at the thought of a grandchild, she won't ask bothersome questions about where and when." But Nora watched, sighing, as Jill picked up the phone to check on bus schedules.

  It was Jill's own refusal to face facts which had precipitated this situation. She slept with Mack without considering that she might become pregnant; she refused even to look at the results of her pregnancy test until it was forced on her. She had enrolled in college as Miss Bristol. What other facts would she refuse to face until too late?

  She followed Jill into the bedroom and found her sitting on the bed, a damp kleenex wadded in her hand.

  "Lie down and try to get a little sleep. I'll pack for you."

  "I c
ouldn't possibly sleep." Jill wiped her eyes again.

  "Lie still and rest anyhow. How long will you be away?" She took a nightgown from Jill's drawer.

  "I don't know. Two or three days. I'd better take Mack's picture, Su and Jackie will want to know—oh God, Nora, I hate this lying, lying—"

  "Don't get yourself worked up," Nora insisted as she snapped the suitcase shut. She sat on the edge of the bed, touching Jill's curly hair. "Won't you try to sleep? You'll be up all night on the bus."

  "Don't go away."

  "I won't." Nora stretched out on top of the blanket, tucking her hands under her own shorn head. "My head feels so funny. Is this what people mean when they say they feel lightheaded?"

  "I guess. Won't you get under the covers? You'll be cold."

  "No, I'm all right here. I'll call you in plenty of time to get your bus." Nora raised herself on her elbow and lighted a cigarette. "Dear. You must sleep."

  She thought Jill had dozed off when the girl stirred and said, "Oh, damn!"

  "What's the matter?"

  "Mack wanted to get me a wedding ring, and I wouldn't let him. My family will think it's dreadfully strange—"

  "I don't wear one," Nora said, "lots of professional women don't. But knowing your family—"

  She switched on the light; Jill winced and put a hand over her eyes. Nora brought a leather box from her dressing table and sat turning over the contents. She picked up a tiny white ring box, holding it tenderly. "This was my wedding ring," she said, and slipped it on her finger.

  "Nora, it's lovely of you, but I couldn't—"

  Nora laughed. "You certainly couldn't. I wouldn't let you." She picked up a twist of tissue paper. "Let's see if this will fit you. It was my mother's." She slipped the narrow gold circlet over Jill's finger, and as she did so a curious tremor shook her to the roots; but she kept her face impassive, neutral, smiling.

  "See?" she said, "perfect fit."

  I'm only giving her what she should have from Mack...

  * * *

  The bus station was almost deserted. Nora put Jill's suitcase on one of the wooden seats and said, "You have about twenty minutes, Jill. Do you want some coffee? Chocolate?"

  "I couldn't." Jill was fiddling nervously with the ring on her finger. "Let's sit in the car."

  In the dark front seat Jill leaned against her, and after a minute Nora put an arm around her waist.

  "I hate to go, Nor. It's like the end of something."

  "The end of anything is always the beginning of the next thing. You will come back, Jill?"

  "I'll have to. The college. Did you think I wouldn't?" She swallowed. "I couldn't leave you, Nora."

  "Dear, you mustn't—"

  "Nora, I love you," she said desperately, "I love you—love you—"

  Nora's arm tightened around Jill, but she could not speak. Damn me anyhow. Three words. I've said them easily enough to men I never gave a damn about. I said them to Les Rannock, and I ended by hating the ground he walked on. I've said them to my cat! Why not to Jill? I do love her. She's the sister my mother never gave me, the daughter I'll probably never have, all the friends I never had as a child—Jill ought to despise me for the damned hyprocrite I am. I take her confidence, her companionship, the comfort of her body, yet I can't give her three words she needs to hear me say.

  She freed herself gently. "You'll smudge your lipstick, sweet."

  "It's smudgeproof. Don't worry, there's none on you," Jill said, and Nora felt the scalding heat rise in her face.

  "I think that's your bus. You'd better get a seat." She slid quickly away, and hurried around to open the door for Jill. As the girl mounted the bus steps, Nora stood outside, moving blindly backward, and realizing that she could not endure to go back to the empty rooms, that she had already begun to miss Jill beyond endurance.

  CHAPTER 11

  Kit's face had a tinge of color in the window-gleam of the watery sun that lingered, low and pale, on the rim of the world. "Nora," he said, laughing, "you've looked at that watch four times in ten minutes. Going to catch a train?"

  "Meet one. Jill's coming in tonight."

  "Oh, is that all?" Kit settled back, wondering if that were the best she could do.

  He had seen the change. Early this winter she had seemed a walking matchbox, ready to strike fire; then he had seen the nervous tautness go. A week ago she had turned up in the first really becoming dress he had ever seen her wear; the long braids were gone, transforming the austere lovely woman into a young and pretty one.

  He didn't see how Jill could account for the change; though it dated from her coming, and it did occur to him that having a younger, prettier woman in the house might have prompted Nora to take pains with her looks.

  He had always guessed that behind her brusque, professional manner Nora was capable of warmth; he was pleased at the little sprigs and buds of her personality sprouting through. But he wished he could have called them forth...

  "Did Jill's mother die or get better?"

  "Jill called Friday to say she was out of danger. It was just a bad scare." And they had made use of it to pull Jill back to them. Nora found herself resenting the Bristols; though doubtless Jill would be happier, reconciled to her family. Even her voice on the telephone had sounded lighter, gentler, gayer.

  "Kit, darling, do you mind if I leave now? It would only be ten or fifteen more minutes."

  "No, go along, my love."

  Nora bent to kiss him on the forehead; but Kit, in a sudden surge of possessiveness, pulled her head down, and for the first time in weeks, their lips met and clung. Nora put out a hand to steady herself and fell, half dazed, across him. He shifted automatically to protect his legs; then pulled her against him, hard, and for a minute the whole length of her body lay against his. Through the layer of bedclothes she felt the thrusting rise of his maleness; but he pulled away first, with a gasp that was almost a curse.

  "Christ!"

  Nora rolled away and sat up. She felt dazed, pulling at her twisted skirt, wishing she could cry, or scream, or curse him, or—or anything but stand there like a rooted tree, frantically conscious of all the men in the ward. She thought she heard a smothered laugh.

  "Leonora, I'm sorry," Kit said at last. He could hardly speak.

  She couldn't speak either. She knew if she did, she would break down in wild sobs of despair and shame.

  * * *

  She stood in the railroad station, still numb, though she had hastily repaired her face. It seemed she saw Jill through the wrong end of a telescope, very small and distant; not now wearing the babyish knitted cap, but a dark dress and coat that clung to her body; rounding now into gentler curves, but still young and fresh; her dark gloves sparkled at the wrist with gold and crystal, and fresh flowers were pinned to her coat.

  "Hello, Nora darling, I didn't expect you to come all the way down and meet me." Her lips brushed Nora's cheek lightly. "No, silly, I can carry my own suitcase."

  "Is everything really all right, Jill?"

  "Mother and I didn't talk much. She wasn't very strong. She did say she might have—made a mistake about me. I don't know whether she meant it, or whether she was just trying to make peace." Jill, staring at the sky from which the sunset reds had all faded, said half to herself, "That's a terrible thing..."

  Then, coming back to herself with a little shake, "How's Kit? Have you been very busy?"

  "Terribly. Vic's been out, and there's still a lot of 'flu around."

  "I hope Dr. Demorino isn't sick?"

  "No, no. He said he'd been needing a week off. I've had to see some of his routine patients for checkups. And Ramona must have caught some sort of bug, she hasn't been in for three days. By the way," she added sternly, "Vic told me you skipped your last checkup."

  Jill froze. "Are you in the habit of discussing me with him?"

  "Don't be silly. Your address is the same as mine—naturally he asked if you'd been sick. Any conscientious man would."

  Going to have t
rouble, Vic had said. I like to keep my eye on those little nervous ones. They're the ones who have complications and premature babies, because they won't take proper care of themselves. Your friend's a bundle of nerves. She shouldn't skip checkups. Give her hell about it, will you, Nora?

  "Are you very tired, Jill? I'll drop you first, if you like; but this is the first day I've had time, and I'd like to see if Ramona's really sick."

  "No, no, I'd like to see them, too."

  There was no light under the apartment door, but after Nora's third knock Margaret Sheppard opened the door and stood blinking at them. Her face was puffy, and her crumpled slacks looked as if she'd been sleeping in them.

  Nora said in consternation, "Marg, are you sick? Why didn't you call me?"

  "No. Come in. I was taking a nap."

  The bed was unmade, clothing scattered everywhere, and the door to the glass porch swung open, empty.

  "Why, where are all the cats?"

  Margaret sat down on the frowsy bed. "I'm not quite awake yet. I didn't work today. Have you a cigarette?"

  Nora handed her the pack, taking in the slight tremble of Margaret's hands. "What's happened? Where's Ramona?"

  The clock ticked loudly thirty or forty times. "She's—gone.”

  "Gone?”