Galveston (20 page)

“Yes, Rubin.”

“I've been … been watching you out there.”

“Yes, I know, Rubin.”

“I love having you here, watching you do your work.”

“I'm glad that it gives you pleasure.”

“You told me that once before, long ago.”

“Did I?”

“I've seen you bending over the flower beds for hours on end, working them with your hands … I've seen you straighten up and rest your hands on your hips, and lean back for a moment to rest. I've watched you wipe the sweat from your brow and look around at what you've done, and I've felt the pride you must have known … I've almost believed I shared it with you. And I've often thought how empty this place would be without you … if I didn't see you in the morning when I come, know you were here during the day, live impatiently through the winter, waiting for the spring because it would always bring you again, I'd feel a part of me was missing.

“God, forgive me my human frailties … I need you, Claire.”

I could have told him I'd been waiting for him all along, but instead I took his hand and put it to my face and kissed it, then moved it to my breast. And then his big powerful arms were around me, almost crushing me, and he was kissing me with a hunger that seemed to have been waiting for years to find release. I was hardly aware of our descent from the rig and of being laid down against a bed of hay soft as autumn leaves; and as Rubin entered into me, every part of me so long dead was made alive, every nerve responding with joy and rhythm so long suppressed that at the end I was left without strength, exhausted and spent and dazedly happy. He clutched me tightly for a prolonged moment, then raised himself up.

His eyes were full of dismay.

He helped me to my feet and into the rig, then went around to the other side and pulled himself in beside me. “Oh, my God,” he said.

I reached for his hand. “Rubin, I love you,” I said. He pulled it away before I touched it and took in hand the reins, and just then, in the wink of an eye, came the pleasant voice of Mr. Peabody the sexton, and we both looked out to see his husky frame in the shed opening, blotting out the sunlight.

“Aft'noon, Father Garret, Miz Becker,” he said. “Someone left a hoe out to the garden there. I'll just leave it here in the shed so's it won't get rained on and rust out.”

“Yes,” said Rubin. “I was just taking Mrs. Becker home. Thank you.”

“Anythin' else I can do for you today, sir?”

“No, nothing. Give my best to Mrs. Peabody. Good day.”

“G'day, sir,” he said, and walked out of the shed.

Rubin let out a breath, and without looking at me again said, “Do you think he saw?”

“No, of course not. Rubin—”

“No, Claire, not now, please,” he said, and guided the horse out into the daylight. Later, on the way home, he said, “You know, we've put so much work into the church. Nothing must ever come to light that would ruin what we've accomplished.”

He was speaking in riddles. What did he mean? Didn't he know what I'd give if only he'd ask it? Charles, the church, the mayor's race—all of it be damned if he wanted me?

It is a very short way from the church to where we live on Avenue L. Before I could gather my thoughts to speak we were home. Serena was out in the yard. Her face dirty, her clothes soiled, and her hair flying, she ran across the yard and waved and called to us. Rubin waved back, then turned to me silently for a moment. What his expression held I can only guess for I kept staring straight ahead.

I allowed him to help me from the rig, walked through our gate and up to the house. When I got inside I bathed my face and fixed tea, and wondered as I sat there sipping it, was this to be a beginning or another dead end?

Chapter
3

Three months, four, and nothing more happened. Rubin kept away from me most of the time, and when he was near, kept his eyes averted. I was going out of my mind with frustration, as a person for many years imprisoned in an institution, then by some error let out just long enough to get a taste of freedom, before being recaptured again when the error was discovered, and thrown back into a dark, windowless cell.

And all through this I had to pretend there had been no change in my lively interest in Charles's political career. I was possessed of a sharp, uncomfortable feeling all the time, like rubbing my tongue over my teeth after eating a peach.

Early into the new year we received a letter from Ruth. “We're expecting a child around the end of August,” she wrote. “Naturally, Edward is overjoyed and expects nothing short of a boy. I'm feeling fine; of course we have no sophisticated specialist up here as you have in Galveston, but Doctor Lanahan assures me I am fit and not aiming for any problems he knows of. Will keep you posted.…”

“Does it hurt anymore?” Charles asked me after reading it.

“You mean, do I still miss Ruth?”

“No, I mean, do you still think of our little son?”

“Charlie!” I blurted out, his reference especially maddening in view of my current state of mind. “I mean, no, not too often,” I added quickly. “One gets over those things after such a long time, I guess.”

“Yes, it has been that … a long time.”

Not long enough, I thought, that it did not still give me a desolate feeling when I tried but was unable to conjure up his little face in my memory. “How I wish we'd had a picture made of him. It would be something to keep,” I said.

“I thought of that, too, but it doesn't seem so important now. I'm only sorry we never had more children … guess it's too late now.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” In truth I didn't think it was impossible I might conceive again. My spells had subsided just lately and Dr. Hutchisson had never said there was dead certainty I might not conceive another child before the inevitable surgery. Of course I had never told this to Charles, and never would.

“Well, life goes on. We find other consolations.”

“Indeed.”

“It won't be long, you know, before announcing.”

“Yes. Where are you going to do it?”

“At Pete's. We're making a list of people to invite. The public announcement will come fairly quick after, but this will be for known supporters. I'm going to present my platform, of course.”

“You've worked so hard on it. It must be good.”

“I hope so. Claire, are you all right?”

“Of course. What makes you ask?”

“Nothing you could name. It's just that you seem to be walking around in a daze half the time these past few months, and I've noticed you're losing weight.”

“Am I? Well, I'm not sick. Nothing wrong with me. When is your speech going to be ready? I expect you to read it to me first, you know.”

“Not for a while, but I had counted on sounding you out.”

Just then, Rubin knocked at the back door. He was holding Serena's hand. “We've just received word that Janet's father is ill. I've got to get her to the station for the five o'clock train. We're so rushed. Could you keep Serena?”

“Of course, come in, sweetie … Claire, did you hear?”

“Yes. I'm sorry. Poor Janet. Let us know if we can do anything. Does she need help packing?”

“No, I'm helping her get organized. I think we'll make it all right. I've no idea how serious her father is; the telegram didn't say. Came from Cleo, her sister.”

He turned and hurried down the porch. “Godspeed,” said Charles. Serena had already found her place in his arms. “Unca Sharrie, is Mama sick?”

“No, dear, your mother is just fine. It's her father. She has to go and be with him for a while. Now, if we can talk Claire into pulling out those toys she keeps around here, I'll bet you and I can have a lot of fun tonight.” She hugged his neck, and he kissed her loudly on the cheek. Having the child with him was always a momentous occasion for Charles, and I knew he'd forfeit all work to be done in the study this evening to play with her.

As the situation turned out, Serena spent a great deal of time at our house in the next few weeks. Janet's father rallied for a while after his first spell, but within a matter of days took a turn for the worse.

Rubin came one afternoon for Serena while she was napping upstairs. Certainly he must have known he would have to face me, sooner or later, alone. He'd apparently come to terms with this that day because he had always brought Serena in the morning when he knew Charles would still be at home, and had always waited till evening after Charles's rig made its way down the drive to come and fetch her.

We began with a game of cat and mouse.

“Come in and sit down,” I told him. “I've made coffee and an extra large batch of chicken and dumplings so you and Serena can eat with us tonight. Or you can take a pot home if you'd rather. You look tired.”

He lowered himself into a chair. “Yes, I am.”

I poured two cups of coffee and touched my free hand to my forehead as I leaned over to pour.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, though I do have a headache. Don't worry. It'll go away.”

“Let me take Serena and we'll leave you alone. I've imposed on you so much these past few weeks.…”

“Nonsense. Keep your seat. I took some medicine I keep for pain a few minutes ago. My only problem is I haven't had any coffee or tea all day. I need to sit down with a cup and relax.”

We sat across from each other in silence, stirring our coffee as though we were dolls and had been wound up to do so.

“Any word from Janet?” I said, finally.

“Not for a few days. It kind of worries me, not hearing. Oh well, I'm sure she'd let me know if anything happened … by the way, I guess it won't be long before the campaign is launched. Charles says he's been boning up on artesian wells and harbor improvements and …”

“Yes. If he's successful, it's going to make a difference in our lives.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don't know. I've never been married to a mayor before.”

“One thing is sure … you two will be quite a prestigious couple and in demand all the time for social functions and civic affairs.”

The medicine had begun to take effect. I felt light-headed, giddy. Probably if I had taken the medicine and gone to bed I would have been asleep by now; drinking the coffee, though, was having an odd counter-effect.

“Yes. We might even move away from here, up to Broadway.”

“Oh, no, Charles would never do that.”

“Why not, Rubin? Because of your deep friendship with each other, huh?”

“Please, Claire, you don't understand. I've been through the tortures of hell since that day when we, when …” His voice trailed off. He rose from the table and went to stand against the counter, looking out the window.

“When we what, Rubin? When we made love to each other? Why can't you say it out loud? I'm not ashamed of it. Why should you be ashamed of so honest an emotion as love and desire for another human being? Don't you see, it's the only thing in life that really counts?”

“No, Claire, it's not that simple—oh, how I wish it were! So much has happened. So many lies have been spoken, so many secrets, so many things have gone wrong.” He was speaking softly, gazing out the window as though something out there had him mesmerized.

“Listen, Rubin,” I said impatiently, “we could go away now, or any time you say. Damn the mayor's race; damn anything and anybody that keeps us from being together. It seems I've spent my life living a travesty. I've never loved Charles, except perhaps in the way you love Janet—not with passion or urgency or any of the things that make life worth living. I loved his brother Damon that way, but I couldn't have him and I married Charles instead, and I knew then it was wrong and unfair, but I've lived with him, tried to be a good wife, to help him in his career.…”

“Claire …”

“But damn it, Rubin, when is
my
turn going to come, and when is yours?” Tears welled up in my eyes. “We could leave it all; Janet and Charles would survive, people
do
survive what they have to, and we could go anywhere you say. And, Rubin, I could give you a child of your own, I know I could, and you just don't know the happiness you would feel in that moment when you held him in your arms, your
own
child, not somebody else's.

“Rubin, I've waited so long for you to do what you did that day in the shed. I've spent years waiting for our time to come.… Rubin, I can give you happiness you'd never dreamed existed if you'll only have the courage to do what you really want to do.”

I bowed my head over the table and let the tears roll down my cheeks and make plip-plops on the table cover, even then marveling at the bold words that had rushed from my lips.

Was Rubin unmoved? I couldn't tell. He stood at the open window as though his feet were riveted to the floor. Finally he turned from the window and came back to the table to sit. I looked up at him. There was nothing I wished to hide.

All the color was gone from his face. “Claire, let me tell you something that will explain … please, I feel I owe it to you. But you must promise me you won't tell anyone else about it, not Charles, not anyone.”

I nodded.

He looked across at me imploring as a child who begs forgiveness for breaking a dish, then he began. “Janet and I,” he said, then paused.

“Go on, go on,” I commanded.

“We don't—can't—have never … lived as man and wife.”

The meaning of his statement did not immediately filter through the cobwebs of my mind. I looked at him astonished, trying to interpret. “How can that be?”

“We fust don't.”

“But you couldn't lie next to each other night after night, year after year … how absurd. I don't believe you.”

“We don't … lie next. My room is separate from hers.”