“Autumn,” he repeated. “It’s August already.”
“If that’s too soon for you,” she said quickly, “we’ll postpone it. Is it too soon, Charlie?”
She knew the answer before she asked the question. The muscles of his arms had gone rigid and the pulse in his neck was beating fast and irregularly. It was as if he could picture her in a long fluffy dress and himself in a morning coat, looking like an ambassador, but he couldn’t put the two of them together, at one time and in one place.
“Actually,” she said, “when I consider it, it does seem like rushing things. There are so many plans to make, and as you said, it’s August already.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve always thought Christmas would be a good time for a wedding. Things are so gay then, with all the pretty parcels and people singing carols. And the weather’s usually good here at Christmas too. Sometimes it’s the very best weather of the year. You wouldn’t have to worry about rain getting your striped trousers wet. You couldn’t very well feel like an ambassador with your trousers wet, could you?”
“I guess not.”
“You like Christmas, don’t you, Charlie? Opening packages and everything? Of course I don’t want to rush you. If you’d rather wait until early spring or even June—”
“No,” he said, touched by her desire to please him and wanting to please her in return. “I don’t want to wait even until Christmas. I think we should be married right away. Maybe the first week of September, if you can be ready by then.”
“I’ve been ready for a year.”
“But we just met a year ago.”
“I know.”
“You mean you fell in love with me right away, just looking at me, not knowing a thing about me? That’s funny.”
“Not to me. Oh, Charlie, I’m so happy.”
“Imagine me making anyone happy,” Charlie said. “Ben will certainly be surprised.”
Ben wouldn’t be able to say I don’t know any more. He’d have to admit that the frog turned into a prince and lived happily ever after with his princess.
“Louise, I just thought, what if your parents don’t approve? Your father doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“Yes, he does. He told me tonight as I was leaving that you were a fine young man.”
“Did he really?”
“It wouldn’t matter anyway, Charlie.”
“Yes, it would. I want everything to be right, everyone to be — well, on our side.”
“Everything will be right,” she said. “Everyone is on our side.”
She thought of the small green creatures clinging to the stones at the bottom of the cold dark water. They survived, with nothing on their side but each other.
(8)
It was the following noon that Kate Oakley received the letter. She was alone in the house; Mary Martha had gone to the playground with Jessie and Jessie’s brother, Mike, who was supposed to see to it that the girls stayed off the jungle gym and kept their clothes clean. Kate had promised to drive them to the Museum of Natural History right after lunch.
She liked to take the girls places and let people assume they were both her daughters, but she was dreading this particular excursion. The museum used to be — and perhaps still was — one of Sheridan’s favorite hangouts. He hadn’t seen Mary Martha for four months and Kate was afraid that if he ran into her now there would be a scene in front of everybody, quiet and sarcastic if he was sober, loud and weepy if he wasn’t. Still, she had to risk it. There weren’t many places she could take Mary Martha without having to pay, and money was very short.
She had received no check from Sheridan for temporary support for nearly two months. She knew it was Sheridan’s way of punishing her for keeping him away from Mary Martha but she was determined not to give in. She was strong — stronger than he was — and in the end she would win, she would get the money she needed to bring Mary Martha up in the manner she deserved. Things would be as they were before. She would have a woman to do the cleaning and laundering, a seamstress to make Mary Martha’s school clothes, a gardener to mow the vast lawn and cut the hedges and spray the poison oak. The groceries would be delivered and she would sign the bill without bothering to check it and tip the delivery boy with real money, not a smile, the way she had to tip everyone now.
These smile tips didn’t cost her anything but they were expensive. They came out of her most private account, her personal capital. Nothing had been added to this capital for a long time; she had been neither loved nor loving, she offered no mercy and accepted none; hungry, she refused to eat; weary, she couldn’t rest; alone, she reached out to no one. Sometimes at night, when Mary Martha was in bed asleep and the house seemed like a huge empty cave, Kate could feel her impending bankruptcy but she didn’t realize that it had very little connection with lack of money.
She was vacuuming the main living room when she saw the postman coming up the flagstone walk. She went out into the hall but she didn’t open the door to exchange greetings with him. She waited until he dropped the mail in the slot, then she scooped it up greedily from the floor. There was no check from Sheridan, only a couple of bills and a white envelope with her name and address printed on it. The contents of the envelope were squeezed into one corner like a coin wrapped in paper and her first thought was that Sheridan was playing another trick on her, sending her a dime or a quarter to imply she was worth no more than that. She ripped open the envelope with her thumbnail. There was no coin inside. A piece of notepaper had simply been folded and refolded many times, the way a child might fold a note to be secretly passed during class
The note was neatly printed in black ink:
Your daughter takes too dangerous risks with her delicate body. Children must be guarded against the cruel hazards of life and fed good, nourishing food so their bones will be padded. Also clothing. You should put plenty of clothing on her, keep arms and legs covered, etc. In the name of God please take better care of your little girl.
She stood for a minute, half paralyzed with shock. Then, when her blood began to flow again, she reread the note, more slowly and carefully. It didn’t make sense. No one — not even Sheridan, who’d accused her of everything else — had ever accused her of neglecting Mary Martha. She was well fed, well clothed, well supervised. She was, moreover, rather a timid child, not given to taking dangerous risks or risks of any kind unless challenged by Jessie.
Kate refolded the note and put it back in the envelope. She thought, it can’t be a mistake because it’s addressed to me and my name’s spelled correctly. Perhaps there’s some religious crank in the neighborhood who’s prejudiced against divorced women, but it hardly seems possible now that divorce is so common.
Only one thing was certain: the letter was an attack, and the person most likely to attack her was Sheridan.
She went out into the hall and telephoned Ralph MacPherson’s office. “Mac, I hate to bother you again.”
“That’s all right, Kate. Are you feeling better today?”
“I was, until the mail came. I just received an anonymous letter and I think I know who—”
“Don’t think about it at all, Kate. Tear it up and forget it.”
“No, I want you to see it.”
“I’ve seen quite a few of them in my day,” Mac said. “They’re all the same, sick and rotten.”
“I want you to see it,” she repeated, “because I’m pretty sure it’s from Sheridan. If it is, he’s further gone than I imagined. He may even be — well, committable.”
“That’s a big word in these parts, Kate. Or in any parts, for that matter.”