Читать книгу And Now Tomorrow - Rachel Field - Страница 10

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We moved through those first few weeks of our engagement, Harry and I, like swimmers carried effortlessly by a current that was stronger than we. I say "we," but I can speak only for myself. It is all a warm daze to me now, pricked with moments of awareness that I recall, as if I had not lived them but had read them in the pages of some book.

So I tell myself that the tall girl in the gray organdy with the coral trimmings was really I, and that it was indeed my own quick breathing that made the lace quiver as I pinned it down with the pearl circlet Aunt Em had given me for my twenty-first birthday and engagement present. There were heliotrope and mignonette and a moss rose in a vase, I remember. Their fragrance was almost stifling as my sleeve brushed them when I leaned across the bureau to take a last look at myself before going down for the garden party which was to announce my great news as well as my coming of age.

The dress had arrived that morning from Boston, and I hoped that I looked my best in it. But would Harry like it? Would he be proud of me in the soft gray clinging folds and notice that the coral bands and sash brought brighter color to my cheeks? If approval did not immediately show in his eyes, then it would not matter who else might praise me. I touched the ring on my left hand for reassurance before I went downstairs. Harry had bought it for me the day before with apologies for the smallness of the stone. He would be paying for it from his salary envelope for months to come, and I knew he couldn't afford it. Even a very little diamond cost far too much for a young man just starting in any business. I had tried to scold him for his extravagance, but my protests had been lost in happiness.

All the guests at my birthday party that afternoon would see it on my finger. They would hear that Harry Collins and I were engaged to be married, and our love would be a secret thing no longer. That made me feel shy and serious. But I wanted them all to know. I wanted to hear their congratulations and see the curious, searching look in the eyes that watched us. Already I knew that look. I had seen it in Aunt Em's eyes and Maggie's, and even in Uncle Wallace's. I had stared at engaged couples in the same way myself. Curiosity and envy mingled in that look--the older eyes might be tired and practical, but there was a certain envy and approval there, as if they would like to be young and in love all over again; and younger eyes were awed and shy in their appraisal, hoping that the miracle would not be denied them. So Harry and I became symbols to those friends and neighbors who gathered in the garden or moved about the lawns under the maple and beech trees. I felt that we were, and the knowledge only deepened my happiness. Whether Harry knew or felt what I did, I cannot say; but his hand was warm on mine and his eyes approving as we went from group to group.

Aunt Em was in her element, welcoming guests and answering questions.

"Well, no, it wasn't exactly a surprise," I could hear her saying from the bench under the copper beech tree, "except that having Emily old enough to think about being married does come as a surprise of course. Why, it seems only yesterday it was her seventh birthday party and she and Janice and Harry and the twins were all playing hide-and-seek together and stuffing themselves on ice cream and angel cake." Then as she moved on to another group I would catch variations of the same theme. "Yes, we're delighted, and the best part is we shan't be losing her. With Harry in the mills Wallace and I needn't worry about Peace-Pipe going out of the family; and Harry being John Parker's cousin makes it all the more suitable."

Somehow it always came back to that word "suitable" as people discussed our engagement and beamed upon us while refreshments were served at the tables that dotted the lawns. I had done what was expected of me just as Father had advised me to do years ago. His words had lain long forgotten in my mind, but now they came back to me. Father had confessed that he had never learned the trick himself. Perhaps if he had he would have been beside us that afternoon. I found myself suddenly thinking of my mother, and I wondered if any of the friends and neighbors gathered there to wish me well were thinking of her too. Or had she never really counted much in their world on this side of the river?

"Well," I heard one woman say to another later as I passed, "Em must be glad about this match. No making the best of it the way she had to with the other one. Elliott certainly took a chance marrying a mill girl, but she made a good wife and mother."

"Em will certainly draw a long breath when she sees her other niece settled." A different voice chimed in. "I was saying last night Emily wouldn't have had half the show this summer with that younger sister around. She's always had the beaux, so I guess she can afford to let Emily go down the aisle first."

I couldn't help feeling relieved that I had not had to share these weeks with Janice. Not that I was jealous of her popularity, but it was pleasant to make my plans without having to consider hers. Just then I caught Harry's eyes upon me across a group of people, and I answered the secret signal of his smile.

"And don't I know I'm lucky!" I could hear his voice responding to other voices. "When I think that I almost took a job in Boston last March instead of coming here--it makes me believe in fate or whatever you want to call it."

No matter how sure I was of his love, I listened hungrily for such words as I went through the ritual of thanks.

"Oh, how nice of you to say so! Well, of course, I think he is. Yes, isn't it wonderful, he's come to work at Peace-Pipe."

Over and over my lips repeated the polite formulas; the threadbare words that somehow seem new by reason of their personal significance.

"Oh, thank you! I'm so glad you're glad about us. Why, no, we haven't made any plans yet. It's pretty soon to set a date, and Harry's busy learning the business. Maybe next summer."

People I scarcely knew suddenly kissed me and wished me well with an interest I had never guessed before, and the married women embarrassed me with attentions. I tried to be more outgoing in my response to them. I felt especially sorry that day for old maids. Maybe it wasn't so much that as relief that I felt. I saw a fate from which I had escaped. Even Aunt Em, handsome and gracious in her mauve lace, was less herself than someone I might have become in time except for this miracle. A wave of pity for all that she had missed came over me, and I stopped to squeeze her hand.

"Not getting too tired, Emily?" she asked, smiling back at my eager protests. "Oh, there's old Mrs. Norwood just coming up the path. Do run down and meet her."

I seem to be watching myself and listening these five years afterward with the detachment of experience, as if I were looking through the wrong end of an opera glass. How small and immature I was then; how fearful that I might not fulfill all expectations! How much, I wonder, did I really feel? I had not suffered then in the flesh or in the heart. But now, because I know what such pain can be, have I the right to say that love was less than it seemed to me that afternoon?

Twilight was coming across the lawns. The golden afternoon light softened to dusky greenness, and the shadows round the tree trunks were reaching out to meet one another. Beyond the gates Old Jo Kelly and another man were helping guests into their cars. Only a few late-comers lingered, and Maggie and extra hired servants were already discreetly carrying in trays and chairs. John Parker and several other men had stopped by to collect their wives and daughters, and they lingered on the steps talking to Uncle Wallace. The rich fragrance of their cigars mingled with the scent of drooping flowers. It was good to feel the presence of men after all the chatter and feminine bustle.

Harry had left to drive some friends of Aunt Em's home. Already I felt incomplete without him as I wandered uncertainly about the littered grounds. There is something a little sad about the end of a party; all the laughter and activity is over, but it has not yet taken on the perspective of memory. The paper napkins lie strewn underfoot; the glasses are warm and sticky, and plates bear remnants of the pride they once held. A dish of ice cream and cake had been upset on the grass and an army of ants were attacking it with the precision of a trained battalion. Down by the lily pool the frogs were making their familiar guttural. All sounds became intensified for me in that interval. It was as if something warned me, saying: "Listen, listen while you can."

Then I saw a figure moving by the old hemlock, and I recognized young Jo Kelly. He waved to me, but when he made no effort to come nearer I went down to him. It was weeks since I had seen him, and we had not exchanged words all that summer.

"Jo," I called, "come up and have some of my party. There's lots of food left."

But he only grinned and shook his head.

"No, thanks," he told me. "Just wanted to wish you luck on the day."

He smiled at me, and when his thin face broke into those familiar merry lines the past seemed suddenly to rise up between us. I felt it drawing us together with links we had both forgotten. Just for a moment I forgot that young Jo disapproved of our family; that he had been denounced by Aunt Em and Uncle Wallace and Old Jo as a traitor to the mills and Peace-Pipe traditions. I felt only the old bonds of childhood, the memory of treats and fears and secrets we had shared together under the old hemlock where we were standing now.

"Jo"--I put out my hand and he took it--"I'm so glad you came today: it's like old times."

"Yes." His voice always startled me by sounding more slow and deep than I had remembered. "That's why I almost didn't come."

"But it's good to remember old times. I only wish--"

"I know," he cut me short, and his smile faded. "You wish I'd remember them oftener. Well, I've had that all out with Grandfather. He sees things your way and I see them mine. I guess it can't ever be different. Don't you tell him I was here, will you?"

"Why, no, if you ask me not to. But it would please him to know you came."

"That's why. He'd start getting his hopes up about me, and I'd just go and disappoint him again."

"Jo," I said, "I don't pretend to know what's made things different from the way they used to be. It's something you feel about the mills, I know that much, and that you think we're to blame--"

"No." He shook his head, and the hair fell over his forehead just as it used to, so that he looked once more like a stubborn pony with rough, dark forelocks. "It's not as simple as all that, and I don't blame you folks except you all think everything'll go on same's it did in your grandfather's day."

"Well, he started Peace-Pipe, didn't he? There wouldn't be any mills or work for all of you down there if he hadn't."

"Sure." Jo smiled the patient kind of smile one gives to a child. "Remember those snowballs we used to roll down the back slope when we were kids? You started with one in your fist, and then it kept rolling up more and more; and pretty soon it got bigger'n you were, and there it was pulling you along instead of the other way round. I tell you that grandfather of yours started a snowball you're going to have trouble keeping up with, one of these days."

The pupils of young Jo's blue eyes had grown enormous and dark, the way they used to get when he stood up to debate on the high-school team.

"Maybe you read what happened over in Fall River last month?" he went on.

"You mean that textile strike?" I hadn't bothered to read about it, but I had heard Uncle Wallace and Aunt Em discussing it with Harry.

"That's what I mean. If it can happen in one place, it can in another."

"Oh, but not here!" I was surprised to catch a quality in my own voice that suggested Aunt Em. "We never have trouble at Peace-Pipe, and besides conditions were terrible in that plant. Even Uncle Wallace said the workers had some justification though no strike is ever the right answer, and Harry Collins says--"

I broke off because I couldn't remember Harry's exact words and because just the mention of his name distracted my mind from other subjects. "Mr. Collins and I are going to be married, Jo," I went on, "maybe you heard?"

"No." He shook his head before he smiled and put out his hand. "Well, I guess everybody's pleased. He seems a nice fellow all right. Here's hoping you'll be happy."

"Thank you, Jo. I'm glad you came up so I could tell you about it myself. Funny, isn't it, that he came to my other party, the time you broke your leg falling out of this tree--because the hurt chipmunk bit you, remember?"

"I remember all right. It was nice being laid up here in the big house. You were all real good to me. Well, good luck, Emily. I'll have to practice calling you Mrs. Collins soon."

"Oh, there's plenty of time for that," I protested, but it pleased me to hear him say the name. "You'll be getting married yourself one of these days, and I'll be congratulating you."

His lips drew together in a thin line, and once more he shook his dark head.

"It's wonderful being in love," I persisted. "You wait and see."

"I'll wait." There was a note of bitterness in his voice as he turned away in the twilight that was all about us. "Being in love's kind of a luxury for some of us. Can't afford to think too much about it."

Before I could reply he had turned away, leaving me feeling hurt and uncertain. Barriers not of my raising were between us once more, and I was glad when he wheeled back and returned to my side again.

"Look," he said out of the dimness. "I don't suppose you'd like a puppy for a present? It's lonesome up here since Janice's spaniel got run over, and you haven't had a dog since Bon-Bon died. That hound of mine's got a litter of six, and I have to get rid of them by tomorrow. They're not beauties, but I'll pick the least objectionable if you'll take it off my hands."

"Of course I will, Jo. You and I may disagree on a lot of things, but I'll always trust you to pick out a good dog. I suppose it's got a long tail?"

"Well, yes. There isn't much choice when it comes to that, but you can have the one with the fewest different colors."

We laughed together, and I watched him out of sight before I went back to wait for the honk of the car bringing Harry to me again.