All He Ever Wanted (11 page)

And there was something else that I must admit to here: I could not cease from my pursuit until I had known Etna Bliss. I
mean this in the sense it will be understood. It was not a desire I would freely have confessed to at that time, but there
was in me the keenest need to touch and to experience Etna Bliss, a need I had recognized from the first time I saw her the
night of the fire, a need that had grown only sharper as the days and weeks had progressed. Do all men feel this way when
they meet their beloved? I do not know, for it is not a discussion I have ever had with any man or woman. I know only that
the alternative was for me intolerable. If I did not pursue Etna, I was convinced, I would be tormented all my life by longing
— a longing that no other woman would be able to slake. (And I must say that even today I am not certain that I was not correct
in this assumption.)

That night, as I slept in the boardinghouse, I was haunted in my dreams by images of Etna: her skirts tangled in tree branches
as she sought to fly, sheltering under a shelf of rock that quite suddenly fell upon her, and then soaring up and out from
Noah Fitch’s office like a gull caught on an updraft. The next morning, I inquired as to the whereabouts of Keep’s home, and
it gratified me to be told by my widow-landlady that the house was still known as the Bliss house and would be for years to
come, the townsfolk preferring to pay homage to the ancestral owners and not its usurpers. I walked the not-very-great distance
of a mile to the house I sought, the day clear and cold, but it was not the glory of the morning that increased my pace. No,
it was the thought of seeing Etna again that gave me vigor: the knowledge that if I failed today, I was likely to fail for
a lifetime.

One could see at once that the Keep residence (the
Bliss
residence) had been newly painted and the windows freshly glazed. I passed through a gate and approached a large paneled
door. A manservant opened it. I stated my business. He asked me to wait in a parlor.

Despite my nerves, I could not help but notice that the parlor was in considerable disarray. All about the room were ladders
and drop cloths and putty knives and paintbrushes laid out upon newspaper; the smell of turpentine was much in evidence. It
seemed obvious that Josip Keep, having taken up residence as the largest creditor of the Bliss estate, was now making repairs
that the late Mrs. Bliss had been unable to afford in her declining years.

I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned.

“Professor Van Tassel, you surprise me very much,” Etna said.

She had on an extraordinary dress of navy and cream that set off the color of her hair in a marvelous way and seemed to give
it hues I had not noticed before. Her eyes, above her pronounced cheekbones, appeared wary. I had interrupted her in the act
of fashioning her hair, for I saw that loops and curls were suspended from a knot at the back of her head, the sight of which
stirred me greatly, for I had never seen her with her hair down.

“I could not stay away,” I said at once. “I must speak to you.”

She did not seem precisely alarmed to see me, but neither did she appear pleased. It was difficult for me to determine exactly
how my arrival was being received.

“We are shortly to leave for church,” she said.

“I don’t have much time,” I said. “I must be back at Thrupp for my classes tomorrow afternoon.”

“You are well?” she asked.

“As well as can be expected.”

“Why have you come?”

“You must know why I have come.”

From the hallway, behind Etna, I could hear rustling on the stairs. I saw her stiffen at the certain interruption.

A diminutive woman entered the room, and Etna turned politely.

“Etna, you have a guest,” the woman said with some surprise. And then added, “Your hair is not done.”

“Miriam,” said Etna, “this is Professor Nicholas Van Tassel. He has come from Thrupp. Professor Van Tassel, this is my sister,
Miriam Keep.”

It seemed scarcely possible that the two women before me could be related. Where one was dark, the other was fair; while one
was tall, the other was petite and delicate in her look; while one had arresting features, the other was truly beautiful in
a more conventional manner: that is to say, she possessed the nearly perfect beauty of wide green eyes, naturally pink lips,
and skin so luminous it seemed to have the sheen of marble. She held herself with the bearing of a woman who had used her
beauty to advantage, and I surmised immediately that it had been her comeliness that had secured for her a rich husband. It
would be interesting, I thought, to see if the man was worth so dear a sum.

“So you have come a distance,” Miriam said, taking a step farther into the room.

“Yes,” I answered.

“To pay a call on Etna, or are you engaged in business here?”

“My business is with Etna,” I said.

“Your timing is unfortunate. We are just on our way to services.”

“Yes, forgive me. I did not think,” said I (who had done nothing but think).

“Etna,” said Miriam, surveying Etnas’s coiffure. “Josip will not want to be kept waiting, not for church, which, as you know,
begins promptly at ten o’clock.” I winced to hear Etna spoken to in this manner.

“Miriam,” said Etna, “would you be kind enough to entertain my guest while I go upstairs for a moment? I shall be right back.”
I understood this as my cue to leave, but I could not. Etna left us — whether gratefully or in a state of confusion I did
not know.

“So, Professor Van Tassel,” Miriam said, seating herself on the only uncovered chair in the room, “what brings you to our
house so early on a Sunday morning?”

I heard in the question another mild rebuke for having disturbed a family on their day of religious worship.

“I have something of importance I must discuss with Etna,” I said plainly.

“Is that so?” she said, bestowing upon me a cool glance. I had the distinct sense of being in the presence of a diamond even
as I preferred the golden glow of the lesser jewel, the topaz.

“I’ll not pry,” she said, though I could see that she dearly wanted to. “Unfortunately, I fear the Reverend Young will not
wait upon our arrival at services. As for myself, I confess I could easily forgo the man’s dusty sermons, but my husband has
a keen sense of piety and religious obligation. And though he has many excellent qualities, he is often impatient with tardiness.”

“I myself appreciate punctuality,” I said. “And do forgive me for intruding upon your family. If I could have waited until
tomorrow, I would have done so, but unfortunately I must be back at Thrupp for my classes.”

“You teach at the college.”

“Yes.”

“Your business must be urgent,” she said, in another attempt to ascertain the reason for my call.

I was silent.

“I am sure the college is quite wonderful, but Thrupp is a dreary little town,” she said.

“I think a town may be dreary or not depending upon its inhabitants, Mrs. Keep,” I said. Miriam Keep bristled, and I hastened
to amend my reply. “But Thrupp is in no way equal to the charm of this village,” I added.

“No,” she said, and smiled thinly. “I hope that my sister shall rediscover this charm for herself shortly,” she added.

“And I have hope that she will not remain long enough in Exeter to test its charm,” I countered boldly.

“Really, Professor Van Tassel,” she said, surprised but also intrigued, “you reveal yourself at last.”

“It is a joyous revelation, I assure you.”

“You have strong affection for my sister?” she asked.

“The strongest.”

“And does she know of this?”

“She does.”

“I am surprised, then, that she did not mention this to me. You are aware, are you not, that Etna did not put up any impediment
to leaving her uncle’s household?”

The slight had been meant to wound, and it did. “Perhaps she felt it her duty to return with you, however briefly,” I said.
“Or perhaps she thought the change of venue might bring a swift and happy conclusion to her deliberations.” Then I hastily
added, so as to defuse the mild tension between us, “And, of course, I am certain that she has missed her sister a great deal.”

Miriam Keep did not yield at the compliment. “My sister is deliberating a proposal?” she asked. “A proposal of marriage?”

“Yes, she is.”

“How extraordinary,” she said, examining me so thoroughly this time that she actually narrowed her eyes. Perhaps she was short-sighted.
“I had no idea. And how doubly extraordinary that she has remained silent. Well, I cannot say whether or not I wish you to
succeed, Professor Van Tassel, since I do not know you at all.”

“No.”

“But I can assure you that I have the greatest desire for my sister’s happiness,” she said.

“And why should your sister not have happiness?” said a voice from the hall.

Josip Keep’s sudden and massive presence in the doorway matched the rich baritone with which he spoke. The man was nearing
forty, I surmised. He had a head of silky black hair that had been richly oiled and waved back from a slightly receding hairline.
It was a handsome face, one used to entitlement.

“Dearest,” Miriam said, rising at once, which seemed an odd reversal of manners. “This is Professor Van Tassel, who has come
to see Etna.”

“At this hour? On a Sunday?”

“Forgive me,” I said.

“We are off to worship,” he said (somewhat rudely, I thought; he had not even introduced himself ). He drew on his gloves.
“Are you a man of faith?” he asked.

“Of some faith,” I answered carefully.

“And where do you worship?”

In fact, I was not fond of worship at all and did not do so as often as I ought to have. Consequently, I had attached myself
to a Presbyterian parish some five miles from the college on the theory that few men of the faculty would be drawn to such
an inconvenient venue. (Though one day I was surprised to see Moxon in a pew opposite; but since he was as irregular as I
in attendance and as loath to expose his laxity further, we did not greet each other after the service, nor speak of this
coincidence, much in the way that men who have frequented the same brothel will fail to recognize each other at a place of
business some days later.)

“I am a Presbyterian, sir,” I said.

“I see. We are Unitarians.” Somewhat dismissively, Keep turned away from me. Presbyterian had failed to impress him. “Miriam,
where is your sister? We shall be late.”

“She will be here shortly, dear.”

“I hope this is not indicative of her habits,” he said.

“I’m sure not,” Miriam, who seemed somewhat cowed by her husband, said.

“And the children?”

“Etna will bring them.”

“It will be crowded in the pew,” Keep said. “Perhaps Etna might sit with the children?”

“If you think it absolutely necessary,” Miriam said, with a quick glance in my direction.

I could see then how Etna’s situation might be intolerable — an unwanted guest in her sister’s home (once her own home), at
best a governess to her sister’s children. Thus was I doubly determined to press my suit.

Etna entered the room, the lovely loops and coils of her hair now dutifully harnessed. Miriam invited me to dine with them
upon their return from services, and I accepted, though Keep cast a sullen glance in my direction.

But Etna surprised us all. “Miriam, forgive me,” she said, “but I will not be attending services with you today. Professor
Van Tassel has come so far, and I must speak with him now.”

Miriam looked rebuffed but had no reply. She could not reasonably insist that her sister accompany her to church. I was pleased
for Etna’s sake that she had stood up to her sister, but I could also see that for Etna life in Exeter might have to be a
constant series of negotiations.

There was a flurry of leave-taking then, during which Etna and I waited awkwardly, not wishing to seem rude in our haste to
speak with each other. I occupied myself during this time by composing sentences I might use in my petition. Impatient to
begin, I started to speak before the Keeps’ carriage had even pulled away.

“Hear me out,” I said, raising my hand to forestall any protest. “I offer you a life as mistress of your own household, as
mother to your own children, as wife to a man who adores you. Though your situation may seem pleasant now, your life here
will grow unbearable. Even I can see this in the short time I have been here. You say that you wish to make yourself a governess
to your sister’s children, but who knows what position you will occupy when these children are grown? And would you not prefer
to be a governess to your own children? I offer you everything a man has to give a woman, including his mind and heart and
modest fortune. Would you turn away from such an offer?”

The more I spoke, the more heated I grew. Did she not know her own worth? I asked. Was she so willing to settle for such a
life? Surely this could not be her idea of happiness. Had she given up all hope of marriage, of her own home, of her own children
at her feet? My anger was honest indignation, even if it did neatly dovetail with my own hoped-for future.

I clenched my hands to my sides. The silence that followed seemed overly long and agonizing.

Finally, Etna spoke. “I could not lightly turn aside so generous an offer, Professor Van Tassel. Nicholas. What woman could,
when it is so sincerely meant? And I do have admiration for you, I do. And some fondness. And …” She smiled slightly. “You
are often amusing in spite of your earnestness.”

I did not quite know how to take this, but if the thought had produced even a slight smile on Etna’s lips, then the teasing
surely was worth it.

“But,” she said, and stopped. To her credit, she did not avert her eyes. “This must be said: I do not love you.”

There was a great silence in the room. My heart paused in its workings. I could not move or speak. It was not that I couldn’t
have anticipated such a response (indeed, I’d often feared it in my imaginings); it was that hearing it aloud and spoken in
such a plain way had the effect of a blow taken to the center of my body. I had so wished for this not to be true. I had thought
somehow that my own love for her might have been infectious. At the very least, I had hoped that if such a sentiment were
true, she might not actually voice it, and in time would develop true fondness for me.