Читать книгу Good Night, Mr. Wodehouse - Faith Sullivan - Страница 16

chapter sixchapter six

CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT, and Elvira was still needed at the store on Saturdays. Early in February she told Nell that she was depositing a little money in the bank each week. “In the Bank of Harvester. Mr. Lundeen’s bank,” she added, as if there were another in town.

“When you marry, you’ll have money of your own. That’s always a good thing,” Nell said. Indeed.

“Maybe I won’t marry. Then I’ll really be glad I saved it.”

The subject reminded Nell. “There’s a Valentine Dance at the hotel,” Nell said, laying aside the weekly Standard Ledger. Lately, Elvira had been giving the dances the go-by.

“It’ll mostly be married people and girls with beaux,” Elvira said.

“Nonsense. There’s bound to be unattached girls at a Valentine Dance. And boys. What if this is the dance where you lose your heart?”

Wearing the rose party dress that Nell had made her at Christmas, Elvira did attend the dance. Nell waited up, now reading Pride and Prejudice, a loan from Juliet Lundeen. Jane Austen, despite being from a different place and time, well understood human frailties in their many costumes.

Elvira should be reading novels and biographies. Life could toss your sanity about like a glass ball; books were a cushion. How on earth did nonreaders cope when they had nowhere to turn? How lonely such a nonreading world must be.

But Elvira had demurred when Nell suggested sharing the books from Mrs. Lundeen. They were “too deep,” she’d said. Nell sighed now and rose to check on Hilly, tucking the quilts around his bootied feet. This room and her own were always cold in winter.

Bertha Rabel had long ago given Nell lace curtains for the living-room window and those in the bedrooms. Though kindly meant, they did not keep out the cold.

After setting the teakettle on the stove and heaving a chunk of firewood onto the embers, Nell struggled into her coat and slipped down to the street, stepping gingerly onto the snow and ice.

At each corner of Main Street, a gas lamp was lit, but the stores, robbed of the light and vitality of the business day, stood bleak and black. In a village like Harvester, the collection of stores and offices strung loosely along Main Street—with odd little intervals here and there, like gaps between teeth—were the clearinghouses of news and gossip.

Telephones were still a rarity. There were perhaps half a dozen in the town. Laurence Lundeen, with plans for the future of Harvester, had set up a telephone company, called Five Counties Telephone Communication. This involved installing a little switchboard in the office of the dry-goods store, where Anna Braun, the bookkeeper, could connect Edward Barnstable in his real-estate office with Dr. Gray in his office, one floor above.

Similar switchboards were being installed in St. Bridget and Red Berry and not a few other towns in the area. Laurence was quoted in the Standard Ledger as saying that one day soon every household would possess a telephone. The idea gave Nell pause. Wasn’t it a little frightening, everything so instant? First the telegraph, now the telephone.

She rubbed her bare hands and peered down Main Street toward the Harvester Arms Hotel. On the broad front porch, several young men huddled together, smoking or sharing a flask. Inside, all the lamps on the first floor were burning, and Nell thought she caught the strains of “After the Ball.” Herbert had been partial to that tune; its sadness fed something in him. She trembled, turning away from the sound.

“You waited up,” Elvira said when she came home around half past eleven. An air of warmth clung about her despite the cold night.

“I was reading and fell asleep. My, it’s chilly in here.” Nell’s shawl had slipped and she gathered it around her shoulders, shivering. “The fire’s gone out.” Rabel’s, downstairs, let their fire die at night, so no heat rose through the register until morning, when the shop reopened.

Elvira slipped out of her coat, hanging it on a hook by the door. “Should I start the cookstove?”

“No. We’ll be going to bed. I don’t like to waste the wood.”

“I’ll get into my nightdress, then.”

“How was the dance?” Nell asked, rising.

“Dull as dishwater for an hour, but then Mr. George stopped in,” Elvira said, returning with her nightdress in hand. “He knows so many dance steps—steps nobody around here’s even heard of.” She wandered into the kitchen to see if the stove still held any heat. “And he showed us how to do them. Things got lively then! I wish you’d been there.”

Back in the living room, Elvira went on, “There’s still a tiny bit of heat in the stove if you want to undress out there before it’s all gone.”

“I think I will. I should have heated bricks for the beds before the fire died. Wear your heavy woolen socks,” Nell cautioned, leaving to fetch her gown.

When she returned, Elvira was riffling the first pages of Pride and Prejudice. “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’” she read, stumbling only a little, “‘that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

Elvira wrinkled her brow. “That girls think rich men want . . . or should want . . . to get married?”

“I expect that’s about it.”

“I wonder if that’s what Mr. George’s fiancée thought.”

“Why do you wonder?”

“Well, she’s marrying a rich man, isn’t she?”

Nell considered. “But she’s probably marrying him for love.”

Elvira laid the book back on the table. “Some men probably get more than their fair share of love.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Think about it. A man like Mr. George, for instance. He’s got money and looks and nice ways. Lots of girls must have set their caps for him. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“To other men?” Nell asked.

“To other girls.”

Had Nell set her cap for a husband? She didn’t think so. But she’d been fresh from college, teaching certificate in hand, with no prospects. Hanging around Nora and Paddy O’Neill’s farm, where she was an extra mouth, had been unthinkable.

Then, she’d met Herbert at a village dance. He’d been a roustabout with a lumber outfit up north but was on his way to Harvester, having already taken the job at Kolchak’s. “I’ve been looking for a town job. Not much advancement in lumbering.”

“Got the letter here,” he went on, patting his shirt pocket, “from my schoolmate Ted Shuetty. Says the boss will hold the job till I get there. Ted’s given him a pretty good spiel about how hard I work. Besides, I got relations near Harvester.” He spun Nell through a waltz. “Just stopping over a couple of days with cousins here in Woodridge.”

Two days later he asked her to marry him, and she said yes. Was love any part of it? She doubted.

But when they danced, the firm pressure of his hand on the small of her back had caused her to feel out of control. He’d had extraordinary hands. Nell turned on her side now, in her dark bed, with none but her own clumsy hand for excitement.