by Come Sunrise
"I see," Varley said. "And do you love him?"
She hesitated. "I care very much for Tommy. I believe we can be happy together. But not unless we leave New York. We need a new life, a new challenge. If things were different, we could go to Jericho. I would give half my life if we could do that. Apparently we cannot. This is the next best solution."
"You've thought it out carefully, haven't you? I grow more and more amazed at your maturity, my dear. Somehow I didn't expect it."
"I've said before that girls grow up more quickly in Africa. Perhaps now you'll believe me." Amy put the handkerchief away and closed her bag with a decisive snap. "You haven't told me the conclusion of that report. "
Varley smiled. "If you were a man, my dear, I should make you a trial lawyer. Very well, according to my Santa Fe colleague the asking price for Santo Domingo is not unreasonable. It is perhaps a bargain."
"That settles it then-if I can raise fifty thousand dollars. "
Varley stood up and walked to the window. Wall Street was a narrow ribbon, bepurpled by the long shadows of the setting sun. "I wish to consider the question of the money a little longer," he said. His voice sounded strained.
"Do you think it can be found, Uncle Donald?" Her words were a plea. "Will I be able to buy Santo Domingo?"
"I wish to consider the matter," Varley repeated. He turned back to her. "In the meantime you must find an opportunity to discuss this affair with Tommy. We can do nothing final until you have his agreement."
"I will," she said. "I promise."
She got up to go, and he didn't escort her out as he usually did. Instead his voice stopped her before she reached the door. "Amy, I had a letter from Luke yesterday. He's just taken his first vows. He's well on his way to the priesthood now. Did you know?"
She froze for a moment, realized the evidence her stiff back was providing, and willed herself to relax and speak normally. "No, I didn't. We haven't had a letter yet. The post probably."
"Yes, probably," Varley agreed. "You must tell Tommy about that too."
"I'll tell him everything," Amy said. But she wouldn't of course. Not quite everything.
"Are you crazy?" Tommy stared at his wife. Then he looked down at the papers and pictures she had spread before him on the dining-room table. "What is all this stuff? Where did you get it?"
"I told you, I've been corresponding with Mr. DeAngeles for a month, and Uncle Donald has written to a lawyer in Santa Fe. His report was very favorable. There's water on the property, you see. That makes it a good ranch."
She was wearing a pink chiffon tea gown, trimmed with feathers. The color cast flattering highlights on her creamy skin. She looked to Tommy infinitely desirable, more so because the soft clinging fabric betrayed the small sweet mound where once her flat belly had been. Her pregnancy was a mark of his posession, an affirmation of his manhood.
"Listen, I don't want to upset you. Sit down. We'll talk about it."
Amy pulled a chair close to his so they could look together at the papers.
She found the picture of the steer and stood it open on the table between them. "Isn't he a marvelous-looking brute? And there are more than three thousand of them! Look at this picture." She pointed to the book. "That's New Mexico, but it could be German East. Do you remember the grasslands? You saw them that one time you visited. Remember how they were all golden in the sun and stretched on and on with Kilimanjaro in the distance?"
"You're beautiful. Your eyes shine when you get excited. "
She pushed away the hand he placed on her arm. "Please listen, Tommy. And look at all these things. It's very important. It's our whole future. Ours and the baby's."
She hadn't meant the gesture as a rejection, nonetheless he saw it so. "You listen," he said in the hard voice of a stranger. "Looking after our future is my job. And I'm not doing as badly as you seem to think. You're ok aren't you? This house and a couple of servants, it's not too much like poverty, is it?"
"Tommy, I never said that. I don't think it. It's just that this is such a wonderful opportunity."
He stood up and limped a few steps away, standing with his back to her and his hands plunged into his pockets. "Are you sorry you married me? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"No, of course not!" Her palms were sweating. Tommy was skirting close to the truth, and that meant disaster for both of them. "This is such a challenge," she said with forced brightness. "That's what I'm trying to explain."
"Little Miss Explainer, that's my Amy. Done a lot of it, haven't you? Probably even to sainted brother Luke. Have you written to him about this new scheme?" He turned to face her. The tic beside his mouth pulsed wildly.
She couldn't bear the fury in his eyes. "No," she whispered. "Why would I do that?"
"Yeah, why?" He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. She could feel his breath when he spoke. "Maybe because you're still regretting that you're not married to him. But it's too late, baby. Luke took vows last week. He wrote to tell me all about it."
"I know," she said. "Uncle Donald told me. Why are we talking about Luke? It's you and I that matter. Please, Tommy ..." She reached for him, but he pulled away.
"I know something else," he said. "Get ready for a big surprise, sweetheart. That kid you're carrying could never be Luke's, no matter how much you want it to be." He laughed, but it was a sound without mirth. "He's a eunuch, my holy brother. Sterile. Never could be a father, so he's turned saint instead. How do you like them apples?"
"I know," she said hoarsely. "He told me before he went away. It's nothing to do with anything."
"Told you? Luke told you the sordid details of his sex life. Oh, Jesus! What a fool I've been. I thought you were little Miss Innocence when I married you. Now it comes out you had a nice intimate relationship with my big brother." He thrust his hand beneath her chin and yanked her face up so he could look at her.
"When did he first have you, memsahib? Tell me all about it."
Amy wrenched free of his grip and backed away, clutching at the pink tea gown as if it were protection. "You know there wasn't anyone before you! Luke told me because he wanted me to understand about his being a priest." She felt as if she couldn't breathe.
Tommy looked from her to the books and papers on the table. "Shit!" he said, sweeping the pile to the floor with one savage motion. "That's what this whole thing is. Just shit! You and Luke and all the rest. Well, you aren't doing it on me. Not me, baby! You got that?"
He moved to where she stood. She was doubled over in fear and pain and grief. Tommy grabbed her shoulders. "Stand up! Stand up, you bitch whore, and look at me so I know you're listening!"
She tried to see his face, but it was lost behind a red haze of anguish. She couldn't see anything. Pains shot up her back and into her belly, cramping pains that kept her from standing upright. "Don't," she moaned. "Oh, Tommy, please don't do this."
"Me!" he shouted. "I haven't done a thing. You've done it all."
He pushed her away and she stumbled against the small loveseat that filled the space between the dining room windows. She tried to sit down, but managed only a half sprawl between the seat and the floor.
Tommy was screaming. It was as if she wasn't there, and his anger was directed at some unseen enemy. "Don't think I can't see what's going on! It's always been the same. Poor crippled Tommy.
Needs looking after. Needs the family to manage his affairs. And you! You're my wife, but you played right into their hands. New Mexico for Chris sake! Exile. Banishment so Tommy will stay out of trouble. Oh, they must love it. It's perfect. I'm a cripple and you're part Indian. New Mexico's goddamn perfect!"
He started for the door, and she stretched out her hand to hold him back. "Tommy, I'm sick. Don't leave me. Please ..."
He didn't seem to hear.
Delia found her an hour later, lying unconscious in a pool of blood. An ambulance came and took her to Lenox Hill Hospital on Lexington Avenue, but she had already miscarried. For a few hours the
doctors thought she might bleed to death. She did not. Amy opened her eyes twenty-four hours later to a room filled with flowers and a smiling nurse.
"There, Mrs. Westerman, that's better. Feeling a bit peaky?
Nevermind, you'll soon be well."
"My baby?"
The nurse shook her head. She wore a starched and ruffled cap that looked as if it must soon take flight. "Don't you fret about that, child. You're young. There will be plenty of babies yet. Just a little hiccup in the production line," she said cheerfully. "That's all this is."
"Where's Tommy?"
"I believe Mr. Westerman will be in to see you later," the nurse twittered. "Your aunt's waiting outside now. I'll just tell her you're awake, shall I?"
She didn't wait for her patient to agree. In a moment Amy was wrapped in the familiar jasmine-scented embrace.
"Oh, darling, you frightened us so! Thank God, you're all right. How do you feel?"
"Fine, thank you," Amy said. She smiled weakly at the inanity of her response. "I mean, not too bad. Where's Tommy, Aunt Lil? We quarreled. I'm worried about him."
"He's fine. He'll be here this afternoon. You mustn't worry about anything. Just get well."
The nurse came back and said that Mrs. Westerman must rest. Lit kissed her again and left. Finally the nurse left too. Amy put her hand on her empty belly and wept.
Tommy sat by her bed, but he didn't look at her. He stared at the floor. "I suppose you must hate me."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was. I made you upset."
"That had nothing to do with it. The doctor told me these things are always for the best. It's nature's way of protecting people."
The doctor had filled her head full of images of deformed children and idiots, whom nature aborted as a kindness. She knew that he had meant to comfort, not alarm. She didn't want to share those terrors. "Are you all right'?" she asked.
"Oh, I'm great. Feel like a million bucks, I do. What can you expect?" He pointed to a vase of long-stemmed roses. "Those are from me. I looked all over New York, but nobody had any African flame flowers. At least these are red." She smiled. "I didn't think you remembered the flame trees. You've never said anything."
"I remember." He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his legs. "Look, I've been thinking. Maybe this New Mexico thing isn't so crazy after all. I haven't had a chance to look at the stuff yet. After I left you"-he swallowed hard remembering that leave-taking-"I went out and got drunk. Uncle Warren found me this morning and told me what happened. I went back to their place to straighten out."
She had a vision of timid Warren searching for Tommy in all the New York bars. It made her want to cry again, but she swallowed the tears. "I guess everything's still at the house. You can look at it later."
"Yes. I'll go home right after I leave here."
"That's good. Tommy, I want to ask you something. What did you mean when you said I was part Indian?"
He looked startled. "Don't you know?"
She shook her head.
"Jesus, chalk up another one for me. I thought you did but just never liked to mention it."
"Tell me about it," she said.
"Some other time. After you're feeling better."
"No, I want to know now."
He shrugged. "Ok. I don't think it means anything anyway. It's different today." He reached for a cigarette, then changed his mind.
"It's all right. Smoke if you like."
He lit up and inhaled gratefully. "When they first got married my Westerman grandparents lived in a little town way up north. Place called Fort Covington. It seems their maid got herself pregnant and local gossip said the father was an Indian. It was during the Civil War. There was a lot of feeling about things like that in those days."
"My father was born in 1863."
"Yeah, so was mine. That was part of it. Grandma Westerman had a son the same time as her maid did. Only the maid was being hounded by everybody. Grandma felt sorry for her and she believed there was some connection between the babies. She let the maid stay on and keep her son with her. Then, when the Westermans moved to New York, Grandma took them both along."
"Her last name was Norman then? My grandmother."
"Guess so. It must have been. The way dad told it she died when her son was around ten. Roland lived with the family until he went away to college."
"So your grandfather brought him up. He must have paid for Daddy's education, too."
Tommy looked uncomfortable. "I'll bet he got it all back. Your father certainly did well enough."
"Yes," she said. "I'm sure Daddy must have paid him back. How come your grandparents didn't make him a Catholic?"
Tommy grinned. "I asked the same thing when my father told me the story. The maid was a Methodist. A real bible thumper, despite everything. She thought the pope was the Antichrist and all Catholics were going straight to hell. Never mind what Grandma did for her. In the end I guess your father just figured, 'a pox on both your houses.' Or something like that."
The nurse returned and told Tommy he'd have to leave. Then she gave Amy a sedative and made clucking noises about Tommy's cigarette. He stubbed it out obediently and kissed his wife goodbye.
Amy wanted to think about the things he'd told her, but the sedative sent her swiftly to sleep.
12
WHEN TOMMY RETURNED THE NEXT MORNING SHE was sitting up in the bed brushing her hair. "I suppose that's why it's so straight and black," she said.
He looked puzzled at first. "Oh, the Indian business, you mean. Nothing was ever proved, you know."
"I don't mind," Amy said. "At least I don't think I do."
He grinned. "That's the spirit! Don't let the bastards get you down." He flushed slightly. "Sorry, didn't mean to be vulgar."
The memory of the curses he had hurled at her came to Amy's mind as the dull ache of remembered pain. "I have to ask you," she said, looking at him with sudden intensity. "Did you mean the things you said the other night? Is that what you believe?"
"Oh, God! Of course I didn't. You know what I'm like when I get mad. I don't mean any of the things I say." He dropped to his knees beside the bed and lay his head on the sheets. "I don't know why you should forgive me. But I hope you will."
She stroked his hair and the brown curls twined between her fingers. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Just so long as you don't really believe it."
"Please," he whispered. "Say you forgive me. I want to hear you say it."
"I forgive you."
He looked up and took her hand in his own and kissed her palm. "Thank you. It's going to be all right, darling. I called Uncle Donald this morning. I told him I thought we should try to buy that ranch. We're going to have a new start, just like you said. Maybe I'll go out there and have a look, later, when you're well."
Varley came to the house in deference to her health. Amy received him in the drawing room. It might have been planned as a backdrop for her. The pale creamy colors were just those that suited her best. When Varley bent over the sofa to kiss her he saw that her brown eyes had little gold specks in them, and that her black hair was tinged with auburn highlights.
"You look surprisingly wonderful. Where's Tommy?"
"He had to go to the office for a little while. He knows you're coming, and he'll be back soon."
"Good, I want all three of us talking together this time. "
"Yes," she agreed. "That's the way it's going to be from now on."
Varley smiled. "I'm glad you're recovering so well. What does the doctor say?"
"That I'll be up and around before Christmas. Truthfully, I could be now. I'm just lying here so everyone will be sympathetic." She patted the cashmere blanket spread over her legs. "Sit down, Uncle Donald. Delia's bringing coffee."
The maid came in and put the tray where Amy could reach it. There were three bone china cups, each sprigged with rosebuds and edged with gilt. "Ask Mr. Westerman to join us as soon as he arrives, please, Delia."
/> "Yes, madam. I'll tell him."
They talked about the weather, surprisingly mild for December. Varley's briefcase sat beside his chair. They both looked at it frequently. Amy felt fear begin as a small cold knot in her stomach. What if Tommy didn't come? What would Uncle Donald do or say if Tommy changed his mind about this venture. What would happen to all her plans and dreams?
She heard his steps in the hall with a sense of relief.
"Hello, sorry I'm late. Beastly traffic. Christmas shoppers already taking all the cabs. How goes it, darling?" He kissed his wife and shook uncle's hand. "Coffee for me too, I hope. It's turning cold. Winter arriving at last, I'm afraid."