That Camden Summer (17 page)

"He wasn't from Camden?"

"No. He was from Boston ... from everywhere, really, wherever there was a roving card game, or a new get-rich-quick scheme, or a woman who'd come running when he'd crook his finger at her. He came home often enough to get me in a family way three times and to put the pinch on me for another stake . . . and another, and another, until I'd finally had enough. The last time he came I told him he was free to live with any woman he wanted. All he had to do was sign the divorce agreement. He refused, so I bribed him by offering him one last stake. Do

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you know how much it was?"

She met Gabriel's eyes while he sat quietly, attentive.

"Twenty-five dollars," she said sadly. "He got rid of a wife and three daughters for a measly twenty-five dollars."

He noted the hurt in her eyes, a pulling at the outer corners and a dying of animation. She looked away, staring off toward a window. The room grew very quiet. Roberta sipped her coffee but Gabe forgot his. All his attention was riveted on the woman whose face had suddenly lost its toughness. It lasted only seconds before her gaze returned to Gabe.

"And you know what?" In place of the hurt a touch of pride lit her eyes. "I've never been happier in my life. I don't have much, but I don't need much. And I certainly don't need a husband, nor do I want one. I'm rid of him, and my girls are thriving here. I may have a tarnished reputation, but I can say to hell with the rest of the world, because I know the truth. I survived with George, little more. What kept me going were my children, and they are what will continue to keep me going."

She got up and refilled their cups. His eyes followed her all the way to the stove and back. When she resumed her chair their eyes locked but neither of them said a word for a long stretch. Then, still without speaking, he pushed his stack of cookies toward her.

Silently she accepted one and for a while they sat eating, dipping the cookies in their coffee, thinking back over all she'd said, getting used

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to the idea of their becoming confidants, which they hadn't expected. This frank exchange was novel for them both, and they wondered if it was wise to push it further.

Finally, he asked, "Why did you marry him, then?"

"I don't know. He was pretty ... and he was a charmer. Boy-oh-boy, was he a charmer. He talked a fancy game, and I fell for it, just like a dozen other women after me. Even my mother. I brought him here a couple of times right after we were married, and he kissed her hand and raved about her cooking and told her what a handsome woman she was. Well, she ate it up with a spoon" a faraway look came into Roberta's eyes "and blamed me for my marriage failing."

It was rare for Roberta to let her vulnerabilities show. Gabriel guessed as much and once again said nothing, only waited for her to go on. Soon she did, as if unable to staunch the flow now that it had begun.

"I stopped coming back when George's escapades began. I didn't want to answer questions about why he wasn't with me. But after I got divorced, I thought I owed it to my girls to give them a chance to know their grandmother. And Grace and Elfred and the girls, too . . . " She smiled wryly at Gabe. "Though now I include Elfred with some grave misgivings."

He returned her smile and she glanced away. Suddenly the spell seemed to have broken. "Goodness, but I've bent your ear," she said.

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"I don't mind."

"You're a very good listener."

"Am I? The truth is a man gets a little starved for adult conversation when he's living with a fourteen-year-old."

"I know what you mean. Though there's never a lack of commotion around here, a lot of it is exactly that - commotion. It is pleasant, talking this way. "

Ccso, go on," he said, settling back, crossing his arms and stretching out his crossed ankles beneath the table.

"Oh no, now it's your turn. What about your wife?"

"My wife?"

"Or don't you talk about her?"

He assessed Roberta as if deciding whether or not to answer, then replied-, "Not much, no." "Why not?"

"Well . . . " He thought awhile. "Keeping her memory sacred?"

His brow furrowed as he searched her for sarcasm. Finding none, he relented. "Maybe. Ayup ... maybe."

She could see he would take some drawing out. He seemed to be a man who kept his own counsel.

"Your marriage was a lot different than mine," she prompted.

"Oh, yes . . . " He reached for a saltshaker and absently toyed with it. "As night and day." He sat ruminating for so long that she wished he had a crank, like her Model T, so she could get him started. When she'd all but given up hope

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of him speaking he pressed the bottom of the saltshaker against the table and said, "She was pretty 'bout perfect. I, ah . . . " He cleated his throat and sat up a little straighter, keeping his eyes on the shaker. "I knew I wanted to marry her from the time we were . . . oh, fourteen, fifteen, maybe. Seems like I always knew. She was kind, and gentle, and pretty as a rosebud. Me ... I was . . . " He chuckled and shook his head. "Well.5 hell, you know ... I was this big rawboned thing with these big rough hands, and I thought no girl as pretty as Caroline would ever give me a tumble. And to top it off, I was a carpenter's son, and bound to be a carpenter myself. What could I give her? Why, when she said she'd marry me I was so ... so . . . " He couldn't seem to come up with the word, but she waited, just as he had during her story. "I thought I was the luckiest man since the birth of time. And we had a mighty good life together. Bought that little house on Belmont Street, and she fixed it up like a dollhouse, and every day when I'd come home there she'd be with that smile, and supper hot on the stove and flowers around the house. Then Isobel came along, and Caroline wanted more babies-, but ... well, none came. Me, I was pretty grateful, because I didn't like what she had to go through to get Isobel. She had a pretty hard time of it. She was ... well, she was a petite woman." He cleared his throat. "Anyway . . . Isobel came, and we had seven years after that before this one day - it was April, seven years ago next Tuesday, April eighteenth - she was getting

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"I don't mind."

"You're a very good listener."

"Am I? The truth is a man gets a little starved for adult conversation when he's living with a fourteen-year-old. "

"I know what you mean. Though there's never a lack of commotion around here, a lot of it is exactly that - commotion. It is pleasant, talking this way. "

Ccso, go on," he said, settling back, crossing his arms and stretching out his crossed ankles beneath the table.

"Oh no, now it's your turn. What about your wife?"

"My wife?"

"Or don't you talk about her?"

He assessed Roberta as if deciding whether or not to answer, then replied, "Not much, no." "Why not?"

"Well . . . " He thought awhile. "Keeping her memory sacred?"

His brow furrowed as he searched her for sarcasm. Finding none, he relented. "Maybe. Ayup ... maybe."

She could see he would take some drawing out. He seemed to be a man who kept his own counsel.

"Your marriage was a lot different than mine," she prompted.

"Oh, yes . . . " He reached for a saltshaker and absently toyed with it. "As night and day." He sat ruminating for so long that she wished he had a crank, like her Model T, so she could get him started. When she'd all but given up hope

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of him speaking he pressed the bottom of the saltshaker against the table and said, "She was pretty 'bout perfect. I, ah . - - " He cleated his throat and sat up a little straighter, keeping his eyes on the shaker. "I knew I wanted to marry her from the time we were . . . oh, fourteen, fifteen, maybe. Seems like I always knew. She was kind, and gentle, and pretty as a rosebud. Me . . . I was . . . " He chuckled and shook his head. "Well, hell, you know ... I was this big rawboned thing with these big rough hands, and I thought no girl as pretty as Caroline would ever give me a tumble. And to top it off, I was a carpenter's son, and bound to be a carpenter myself. What could I give her? Why, when she said she'd marry me I was so ... so . . . " He couldn't seem to come up with the word, but she waited, just as he had during her story. "I thought I was the luckiest man since the birth of time. And we had a mighty good life together. Bought that little house on Belmont Street, and she fixed it up like a dollhouse, and every day when I'd come home there she'd be with that smile, and supper hot on the stove and flowers around the house. Then Isobel came along, and Caroline wanted more babies, but ... well, none came. Me, I was pretty grateful, because I didn't like what she had to go through to get Isobel. She had a pretty hard time of it. She was ... well, she was a petite woman." He cleared his throat. "Anyway ... Isobel came, and we had seven years after that before this one day - it was April, seven years ago next Tuesday, April eighteenth - she was getting

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into a buggy, going to ride out and enjoy the afternoon, she said, because it was one of those rare spring days when the sun was out and it was nice and warm, and she thought she'd take a picnic hamper up toward Hosmer Pond and see if the wake-robins were blooming yet. But she stopped downtown for something and just as she was getting back in the carriage the mill whistle blew and scared the horse." He paused, swallowed. "It reared ... and

His story faded into silence as Roberta glanced at the telltale shine in his eyes and he stared out the window. Her throat had closed and her heart tumbled along like a stone in the rapids. Time passed in her dreary, cluttered kitchen, the sunlight doing its best to spread cheer from outside. He stared, and she waited.

When he finally spoke, his broken voice said as much as his words. "It's hard to lose somebody when you aren't done with them yet."

She didn't know what to say. This kind of devotion was beyond her.

Finally he realized he'd been sitting there with brimming eyes. "Well . . . " He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "Been sitting here long enough. That porch isn't going to paint itself."

Turning his back., he tried to hide the fact that he was swiping at his eyes with the side of his hand. She tried to remember if she had ever seen a man this close to tears, but nothing came to mind. She and Farley had started out their dinner with such blithe spirits; she had not intended to wrench his heart so. She had merely sat quietly listening, just as he had when

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she'd been speaking. She could tell that he was chagrined at having shown her more than he intended.

"It's all right, Mr. Farley," she said kindly, rising too. "There's no need to feel ashamed of a few tears. "

He nodded, hanging his head while she remained on the far side of the table, throat still plugged, studying the back of his hair as it lifted from his collar in sandy-brown spikes.

"Well, listen . . . " He half-glanced over his shoulder, making sure not to show all of his face. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for the cookies."

He walked out, giving her a view of nothing but his back.

Since he'd begun working at her house they'd run a gamut of emotions. Every day seemed to have its mood that bound the two of them, though she worked inside and he worked out. From blatant antipathy to moments of embarrassment, to a slow warming, beginning when he'd taught her to drive. But none had bound them as disquietingly as today's exchange of histories. From the stories they had told, each knew beyond a doubt that the other was suffering from a past that left no room for new love. She was done with men for good. He still loved his dead wife. But every clink and chink and shuffle and ding that they heard through the walls or through the open front door reminded

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them that they had created a bond between them this noon, and that nothing would ever change it. Forever they would know each other's vulnerabilities.

He heard a clatter once and stopped painting to listen. But he stood at an angle to the doorway and could not see in.

She heard the squeak of hinges once and waited a long moment before poking her head out and peeking across the living room to find he was starting to paint the exterior of the door. She just barely made him out through the square waist-high window, wielding the brush, looking up, unaware of her watching.

She pulled back., curved an index finger against her lips, shook her head and tried to put him from her mind.

By afternoon they both realized that putting each other from their thoughts was a pointless effort. They had said too much to do that. Besides, there was more to be said before the girls came home from school - ironically and in all probability all their girls.

She was pressing one of her uniforms when he called, "Mrs. Jewett?"

How odd. The sound of his voice suddenly put a flutter beneath her ribs. She set down the iron and went to the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

"Yes?" He was standing just inside the threshold, empty-handed and smelling of turpentine.

"I finished up out here so I'm going to call it a day. Okay if I leave the paint cans and

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brushes under the porch over the weekend?" "Of course."

"I work Saturdays down at my shop, so I won5t see you till Monday. That is, I'll be back on Monday morning, but if you're gone before I get here, well, you have a good first day, will you?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll be working at the girls' school."

"Well, you take it easy on those kids, then." She smiled guardedly.

"I'll have to be here inside your house next week 5 so I hope that's okay. When you're gone?55

"Of course. What will you do first?"

"That window upstairs. Then start on the walls."

"Fine. just move anything that's in your way. 5

"Ayup. I will."

They stood for a moment, then he shifted his weight to the opposite foot. "About earlier," he said self-consciously. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all that."

"It's all right. I'm glad you did."

"No, I got a little carried away. I could see it made you ... well, that wasn't ... " He ran out of words and ended by clearing his throat. "Well, you know what I mean. Listen, I've got to go." Only now did he meet her eyes. "I imagine Isobel will be showing up here with your girls, so tell her to be home by six, will you?"