“I didn’t mean any of it, darling. I didn’t mean a single word. Don’t you believe a thing I said—”
“And you too, Tip dear, I was demented—”
“Not a single word. I didn’t know what I was saying. I don’t know what got into me, I just wanted to hurt and hurt you, and said anything I could think of that would hurt you—”
“That’s just what I did, Tip. It’s as if a demon had got hold of us, isn’t it, and jangled us — do you suppose for some purpose? It’s all so meaningless!”
“I know. Good god, what a pair of fools we are — you’d think after all this time together we’d have a little more sense, wouldn’t you?”
“We mustn’t do it again, we must promise not to do it again—”
“No, Ee darling, we won’t — and isn’t it absurd—”
“What, dear?”
“—that it’s really because we love each other so much that we can hurt each other so, and perhaps feel we have to — I wonder if that’s it? And I do love you so much, Ee, I simply adore you — all day, in spite of everything, I’ve been adoring you, you don’t know how much—”
“Really, Tip?”
“Really, Ee — like anything. Even in my rage about things I couldn’t forget it, it seemed to me I’d never loved you so much. It was all really damned funny — what with that blasted cesspool, and Jim Connor, and that dreadful little ‘artist’ in the taxi, and everything — and all the time I was simply bursting with love—”
“Darling, how sweet and funny you are!”
“And you, darling, what a cold and clammy cheek you have — aren’t you ashamed of crying like that? Were you crying?”
“Yes, I was crying — It was funny, it’s a long time since I’ve cried — I guess maybe it took you to make me cry — perhaps it’s a good thing! Anyway, it’s a testimonial to your power!”
“What a thing to say to your husband!”
“Oh, dear—!”
She sighed, smiled, looked up at him quickly, then began rubbing her nose rabbitlike against his coat. It suddenly occurred to him how comic the whole thing was, their standing here in the bathroom door, for such a purpose, but then, abruptly, he remembered—
“Listen, darling,” he said.
“Yes, Tip, dear.”
“No — I don’t know. Perhaps I’d better not?”
He shook his head.
“What, dear — what is it!”
“My lovely Endor, it’s nothing to do with this — but I suddenly thought of it, it’s been so much on my mind all evening. It’s a terrible thing that Terence told me tonight, I met him down at the lower village—”
“Ought I to hear it?”
“Yes — it will shock you, darling — but as a matter of fact it ought to do us both good. Maybe at least it will remind us to come to our senses! Miss Twitchell was found drowned this morning in Indian Pond.”
“Oh, no, Tip—!”
“Yes. Some small boys found her. And they now think she’d been dead for two days. I wanted so much to tell you, Ee — I thought it might even bring us together — but I couldn’t, somehow, with things so unhappy between us—”
“Oh, the poor, poor creature—! But why, Tip, why?”
“Nobody seems to know. It was suicide, though. There doesn’t seem to be much doubt about that.”
“And I meant to call on her, and didn’t — or to have her to tea — and she was so nice, remember, about those lilies of the valley—”
“Yes, I know — those lilies of the valley have been haunting me. I’ve been thinking about them ever since, and about how typical it was of her.”
“Oh, how awful, how simply awful. Oh, Tip—”
“Yes, darling—”
“Don’t ever stop loving me. Don’t ever let me stop loving you, will you? Don’t believe the dreadful things I say!”
“Of course not, darling, of course not—”
“Poor, poor little Miss Twitchell, all by herself. What could have made her do such a thing?”
“Now, Ee, darling, I didn’t mean to start you crying again — you’ve done enough for one day — and in the bathroom of all places!”
“It’s a very good place—! But, yes, I mustn’t. Can I dry my eyes on your sleeve?”
“Of course!”
She gave a quick smile, a last tear fell as she closed her eyes to rub them against his shoulder, and as he held her he felt the suppressed shudder rise in her breast and then slowly subside again. She sighed, leaned her head on his shoulder, and relaxed sleepily, her eyes still closed. He kissed the white forehead, ran a fingertip along the curve of one eyebrow — but then he thought he heard an odd little sound from upstairs. He turned his head to listen. The Unitarian Church clock began striking at the same moment, he would have to wait till it was finished (—and an early start in the morning, good lord—) eight! nine! ten! And then, yes, the same obscure sound again—
“Listen,” he said.
“Yes, darling?”
“I think it’s Buzzer — I’d better go up and see. And I suppose, my darling, we ought to go to bed — It’s Boston for me in the morning!”
“Oh, of course! Well, if you’ll go up to her, Tip, dear — unless you’d rather I did—”
“No, I’ll go, if you’ll put the house to bed. There’s a light I left in the kitchen—”
“All right then, darling, run along!”
He took the candle from the top of the piano, and went lightly, swiftly, up the stairs into the smell and sound of night, the smell and sound of rain. And cold, too — the upper hall was damp and cold, a little cave of autumnal rain-sound — good lord, it would be winter in no time. The room whirled as he moved the candle, above the sound of the rain he could hear Buzzer’s low continuous crying, and when he stooped through the low door he found her sitting up in her bed, and crying with her eyes closed, the backs of her hands pressed to her cheeks.
“Why, Buzzer, what is it, my pet? Did you have a bad dream? — There, that’s right, you lie down, you’ll get all cold — and tuck these hands in — Was that what it was, my pet? Did you have a bad dream?”
“Mmmmmm!”
“I guess so. But don’t you worry — everything’s going to be all right now, see?”
“Mmmmmm.”
“Good night. And go to sleep.”
He stooped and kissed the already sleeping head, stroked the small forehead — once, twice, thrice — heard the breathing pause and deepen. What had she been dreaming about — what truth, what terror, what despair? Perhaps the dead starling — the starling which hadn’t been dead? Or perhaps, was it possible — for children had such extraordinary divinations in these things, a sort of sixth sense, like cats — perhaps she had somehow known? How dreadful — if so, how dreadful! He must tell Ee about it — they must never do it again.…
His candle uplifted, he waited at the head of the narrow stairs — he wanted to see her come up the stairs. When at last she came, holding her own candle before her, he said:
“Would you mind standing still, right there, till I tell you something? Till I ask you a question?”
“Why, what is it, Tip? Was it Buzzer?”
“Yes, it was Buzzer. She’s all right — it was only some funny little dream she had.”