Bedelia (9 page)

“You didn't tell me how long you'd been having it. When did you first notice it, Charlie?”

“After we finished doing the house over. I've been working too hard; first, the house, and then the supervision on the Maple Avenue stores and the Bridgeport job.”

“October, did you say?” The doctor pulled at his beard.

“What of it?”

“Don't lose your temper again, Charlie. Keep calm. It's probably nothing but acute indigestion. As soon as you're on your feet, I'll give you a thorough going-over. And just humor me in this one thing, don't take anything from anyone but the nurse.”

“I'll see you in hell first.”

“Very well. It's on your own head.”

The silence that followed was an armistice, not a declaration of peace. Charlie was sorry he had lost his temper. Had he, in that first explosion, acted as if he had taken the doctor's theory seriously?

There was the flowery fragrance again. He looked up and saw Bedelia beside the bed, blithe and fresh. The hot lunch had restored her color. And she was smiling, showing her dimples, changing the very atmosphere with her perfume and the rustle of her petticoats.

“I was upset when you sent me downstairs,” she confessed in light, rapid tones. “I thought you were sending me away because you had something to tell Charlie that you didn't want me to hear on account of my condition. But when you began shouting, I knew it was all right. Charlie would never have raised his voice if you'd brought him bad news. What were you arguing about? Politics again?”

“Yes,” Charlie said quickly. And to the doctor, “Where my wife comes from it's no sin to be a Democrat. She's used to your party brothers, Doctor.”

Bedelia laughed. “You know I don't understand anything about it, dear. As long as you're well enough for an argument, I don't care who you vote for.”

“Come here, my love.” Charlie wanted her close beside him, he needed the assurance of her physical sweetness, and he hoped to make a show of defiance before that old fool of a doctor.

The shrewd eyes looked on and the pointed face became more wrinkled and simian. What Doctor Meyers saw before him was a demonstration of faith. No spoken declaration could have made the point more clearly. Charlie was investing his faith in Bedelia. A charming picture it made, husband and wife holding hands, looking fondly into each other's eyes, flaunting their love.

The doctor walked to the wastebasket and flicked the ash off his cigar. Then he returned to his chair and sat, rocking and smoking, until the doorbell rang and Mary came upstairs to say the trained nurse had arrived.

DURING THE NIGHT THE STORM CEASED. CHARLIE lay alone in the wide bed and wished that he had his wife beside him. Bedelia had moved into Charlie's old bedroom. The nurse had ordered the change.p

Since she had arrived that afternoon, held a conference with Doctor Meyers in the den, marched up the stairs and changed her drab dress for a blue-and-white striped uniform, this woman had ruled the household. Charlie and Bedelia had hated her on sight. Nevertheless, they let her intimidate them. She used her ugliness as other women use beauty to give her authority. If a country fair had offered prizes for the most unattractive female on exhibit, Miss Gordon would have captured first honors. Below dusty hair, tightly netted, bulged a forehead like a parenthesis. Between this bulge and the crag of her chin, her face
curved inward like a soup plate. Her nose was broad but so flat that it gave slight relief to the concavity. Her body was squat, her wrists red, and her disposition sour.

By her order Charlie slept alone. The night was still. He heard only the chatter of the river, a sound so familiar that he could shut it out altogether, and give attention to whatever moanings and creakings there were within the house. By habit and profession he was able to locate every sound. He recognized a steely whine as the complaint of bedsprings in the room where Bedelia was spending the night.

The floor creaked lightly under cautious footsteps. Charlie turned hopefully toward the door. The footsteps came closer. His heart began to pound in anticipation. The darkness was so solid that he could not see the door open when he heard its hinges creak. But he smelled the flowery perfume.

Then a fresh sound smote his ears, and a hoarse voice croaked, “Is that you, Mrs. Horst?”

“I was just going to get a drink of water,” he heard Bedelia say. “I thought I'd see if Mr. Horst wanted anything.”

“I'm here to take care of that, Mrs. Horst.”

“Yes, but I was worried. On account of last night, you know.”

“He's asleep. I wouldn't disturb him if I were you. Go back to bed, Mrs. Horst. I'll bring you a drink of water.”

The hinges creaked, the door closed, the voices ceased. The down quilt and wool blankets could not warm Charlie's cold flesh. Why had he allowed the nurse to send his wife away? Had he, in spite of all his logical excuses, been swayed by the doctor's warning? “No! No!” he snarled at the blackness that surrounded him. It was a long time before he could fall asleep.

In the morning as the nurse gave him a sponge bath, he said, “It's kind of you to take such good care of my wife, Miss Gordon. I heard you last night.”

“She oughtn't to wander around at night, not in her condition. She might catch cold or stumble over something in the dark.”

As she bathed her patient, exertion and the heat of water caused her coarse skin to redden. Revolted, Charlie decided that
he would get rid of this witch as soon as he was strong enough to argue with the doctor.

He did not wish to be discourteous and tried to make conversation.

“You're not a native here, are you?”

She shook her head.

“I knew that at once. You see, I've lived here all my life and know nearly everyone in town.” This information had failed to interest her, but Charlie went on bravely. “Where do you come from?”

“N'Yawk.” The accent made it authentic.

“Have you been here long?”

“Couple of months.”

“What made you come here?”

“It's no worse than any other place.”

He heard Bedelia moving about in the other room and shouted to her impatiently. She hurried in to him, holding her challis robe about her shoulders like a shawl. Her eyes were heavy with sleep and her mouth round and pouting like a child's.

Miss Gordon looked on coldly while they kissed. “You'd better put your robe on, Mrs. Horst. You'll catch your death.”

“Thank you,” Bedelia said humbly and obeyed.

Miss Gordon's vigilance made husband and wife feel like secret lovers. Caresses and confidences had to be stolen while the nurse was absent from the bedroom, attending to her most personal needs (in which she showed unusual self-control) or when she was downstairs in the kitchen preparing her patient's meals. She would accept help from no member of the household. Mary was insulted three times a day, and if Bedelia tried to perform the slightest service for Charlie, she was officiously brushed aside.

“You must be careful, Mrs. Horst, in your condition.”

“Millions of pregnant women scrub floors and do the family washing,” Bedelia protested. “I'm perfectly healthy and there's no reason why I can't fill the Thermos.”

Miss Gordon took the vacuum bottle in her capable hands,
washed it thoroughly and filled it herself. There was no way of escaping her devotion. Bedelia was slightly awed and greatly puzzled by it. Miss Gordon considered herself on twenty-four-hour duty.

To Charlie, it was clear that the nurse was following Doctor Meyers's explicit instructions. She was the only one who ever gave the patient a drop of medicine or a drink of water. Charlie did not demur. He did not believe there was the slightest reason to exercise such caution, but he was afraid that any protest would result in Bedelia's discovering the doctor's suspicions. Loving his wife so dearly, Charlie could not bear to hurt her by letting her know that she was the victim of the old fool's hysteria.

Charlie had not been able to forget the doctor's warning, but he found what he considered a satisfactory explanation. Doctor Meyers was incompetent. Because he could find no scientific name for Charlie's attack, he had invented an excuse. The old man's judgment was weak, his imagination fertile. When he was up and about, Charlie decided, he would go to a younger man for a check-up.

On the second afternoon of Charlie's illness, Ben Chaney drove over and suggested that he take Bedelia for a drive. The weather had repented its bad behavior and was now mild and dry. Bedelia, of course, refused to leave her husband's bedside. The argument took place in the hall on the first floor. Miss Gordon, who heard everything that went on in the house, looked up from the drab sock she was knitting and told Charlie that he ought to insist that his wife accept the invitation. For the sake of her health, the nurse said, Mrs. Horst ought to have at least an hour's fresh air every day.

And each afternoon thereafter, Bedelia went out for a drive in Ben Chaney's car.

On New Year's Eve Charlie was allowed to get out of bed. He was much improved and so rested that he looked better than before he was stricken. He dressed in dark trousers and his purple silk smoking-jacket, and chose one of the fine silk ties which Bedelia had given him for Christmas.

Miss Gordon would not let him leave the bedroom. “Not without the doctor's permission.”

“Then call up and get the doctor's permission. And ask Meyers why the devil he hasn't come to see me.”

“I do not like profanity, Mr. Horst.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Gordon. But tell the doctor I want to see him today.”

“You know, Mr. Horst, that Doctor Meyers has been confined to the house with a cold. I've reported to him twice a day, and since there's no change for the worse in your health, there's no reason why he should risk pneumonia or bring infection into this house.”

“But I want to see him.”

“I'll tell him,” she said.

Doctor Meyers said that Charlie had better stay in his room for another day, and promised that if he felt well enough tomorrow he might go downstairs.

“Is he coming over?”

“He'll try to get here tomorrow.”

“The old faker,” murmured Charlie.

“Did you say something, Mr. Horst?”

“When Miss Walker and Mrs. Hoffman arrive, have them come upstairs.”

“I'll tell Mary. I'm going to lie down and take a little nap.”

Charlie's jaw dropped. Miss Gordon did not usually practice such self-indulgence. She might have taken her nap, Charlie reflected, while Bedelia was at home. But it was like the nurse to overlook everything but her patient's physical needs.

Soon afterward Abbie and Ellen arrived, Abbie with a jar of calf's-foot jelly, Ellen with Albert Bigelow Paine's
Life of Mark Twain
. The room was filled with laughter and gossip, and Abbie, who was to leave town the next day, shrieked her opinions of her old friends. Presently Bedelia returned and with her, Ben Chaney. Although he had called at the house every day, this was the first time he had been allowed upstairs.

“It's good to see you,” Charlie said. “After all this female society, it's pleasant to see a pair of pants.”

“Now, darling,” Bedelia pouted.

“Doctor Meyers has been to see you, hasn't he?”

“He's worse than an old woman.”

Ben had brought Charlie a bottle of sherry and Bedelia suggested that they open it. She went downstairs to fetch it and some sweet biscuits. As Charlie was supposed to be an invalid, Ben did the honors. He uncorked the bottle, poured a bit of wine into his own glass, then filled the others. Bedelia carried a glass of wine and a biscuit to Charlie.

“Mrs. Horst!”

Miss Gordon stood at the door. She walked silently on low-heeled shoes and no one heard her enter. Everyone looked at her. Ellen drew in her breath.

“What are you giving Mr. Horst?”

“It's quite all right, Miss Gordon. The doctor said he should drink a glass of wine every day. Mr. Chaney's brought him some sherry. Will you have some?”

“I never take spirits.” Miss Gordon stood rigid, inspecting Charlie's guests scornfully.

“Has Miss Gordon met these people?” Charlie asked. “Miss Gordon, Mrs. Hoffman, Miss Walker, Mr. Chaney.”

“How do you do,” Ben said.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Miss Gordon.

Ellen gasped. For the rest of the visit she perched at the edge of her chair and plucked at her skirt with nervous fingers.

“What got into you this afternoon?” Abbie asked when they were home again and safe behind the locked door of Ellen's bedroom. “You were fidgeting like an idiot. Why are you so nervous?”

“I could have told you at the beginning that there was something sneaky about him.”

“Ben? But he's a very well-bred fellow. I can't understand your aversion to him, unless you're prejudiced against eligible men.”