Bitter Eden (34 page)

"What's wrong with you? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I am, Albert"

Peter opened the door as Rosalind and Albert came to the stoop. He hesitated for a moment, then smiled broadly, "Albert! How've you been, ^old man? I hear I owe you congratulations on two counts."

Rosalind smiled, her arm slipping around Peter's waist for a moment as she passed him in the doorway; then she left Albert to deal with her husband.

Rosalind enjoyed supper that night. Anna was unabashedly impressed with her new finery. Frank treated her with an interest and respect he had never given her while she lived there. Albert was uncomfortable and fidgety, trying to get her attention without appearing to. As for Natalie, nothing had changed. From the first moment the two women had seen each other in the garden and chosen not to speak, the old animosity had flared.

After supper, Callie and Natalie went with Anna to the sewing room to see the baby clothes Anna had

been making. Anna laid the little garments on the table one by one for Callie to see.

Peter, Frank, and Stephen got out the cards.

"It's so nice to see you boys sitting together again," Meg said contentedly. Jamie lay back on her lap, sleepily limp as she rocked. "Time for bed, little one," she said, taking him on her shoulder. She got up ponderously and went toward the nursery. "Stay where you are, Rosalind. Let me see to the child tonight. I wont have so many times to see him while he is young."

"Aren't you going to play, Albert?" Frank asked as Albert continued his restless patrol of the perimeter of the room.

"Uhh—no. It's stuffy in here. I think I'll walk around outside for a bit. Anyone care to join me?"

No one said anything. Nervously licking his lips, Albert finally looked at her. "Would you care to join me, Rosalind?"

She walked across the room to stand behind Peter. She put both arms around his neck. He leaned his cheek against her hand.

"Then no one wants to take a walk?" Albert turned to go out alone.

"I didn't say I didn't want to walk, Albert," Rosalind said. She kissed Peter in the cheek, then went with Albert.

Frank watched Peter's eyes follow them as they left the house. "It didn't take long for that, did it?"

Peter looked sharply at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Albert. He always did have an eye for Rosalind. Hardly could sit a minute tonight. Didn't you notice? It always surprised me that he didn't marry her that time years ago."

"It is my wife you are speaking of."

"Well, she wasn't your wife then—not when I meant."

"I don't give a damn when you meant, Frank."

"Well, now, Peter, for someone who just sent his wife out with another man, you are mighty touchy about an innocent observation. Why? Could it be things are not so well in America as you let on—at least in certain quarters?"

"Wait a minute," Stephen said, placing a restraining hand on each brother s arm. "Peter didn't send Rosalind out with just any other man. That's Natalie's husband. What's the matter with you, Frank? You don't worry when Peter takes Anna to town. Why should Peter woi;ry that Rosalind walks in the garden with Albert. We're all the same family, and it's best we don't forget it. Deal the cards."

Peter and Frank sat rigidly facing each other like two fighting cocks, held back from a battle they would both relish.

"Don't ever hint or say anything like that to me again, Frank," Peter said with quiet fury.

"Seems to me that much anger indicates—"

"Shut up!" Peter stood, the chair crashing to the floor behind him. Stephen jumped to his feet as well.

Anna hurried into the parlor from the kitchen. "What was that I heard?"

There was silence for a tense moment; then Peter looked at her. "I was merely clumsy, Anna. The chair fell . . . bull in the china shop."

Stephen sat down slowly. He said again in a low voice, "Deal the cards."

Anna stayed where she was, her face perplexed as she tried to figure out what had taken place.

"I don't feel like playing cards," Peter said finally.

"Neither do I." Frank pushed his chair from the table, getting up to hunt for his newspaper.

Peter walked to the window; Stephen followed

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Nothing. Let me alone, Stephen."

"Don't go outside, Peter. You know Frank is all hot wind. Don't give him the satisfaction. He's been eating his heart out because you haven't come running home beaten. You do know why he said it . . . ?"

w Do ir

"Yes, you do, and so do I. Come on, Peter, you know he wanted you to come home like a whipped pup. You didn't and you've made him feel small. Frank may be slow an' all, but he doesn't like being bested . . . especially not by you. He's always been jealous, Peter, and he's a proud man as well."

Peter looked down at his feet He nodded slightly, but said nothing.

"Look, Peter, I can't speak for what went on between Rosalind and Albert before, but it would take a blind man not to see she's never been happier than she's been since we left here. Come on, be reasonable . . . you know it's true. She's the only one of us who wasn't anxious to come home for a visit. Is that the way of a woman longing for another man? My God, Peter, think! It's you she watches. Have some faith in her, man. She's your wife."

Peter smiled faintly. "I never used to doubt her."

"Then don't now. It's that bloody Frank . . . it's his way of paying you back for being the success he's not."

Peter glanced over at Frank.

Stephen placed his hand on Peters arm. "Beat me in a game of chess? Come along, please. Rosalind will be back in no time. And when she does come in, give Frank a demonstration of his error."

Peter laughed silently, and went with him.

The window of Anna's sewing room overlooked the herb garden. Callie and Natalie excitedly talked about Anna's patterns. The room had become a confusion of baby dresses, crib blankets, and paper patterns and drawings. Callie was trying to decide what special thing she would make for the baby.

"Which do you think, Natalie? I love this little dress, but perhaps another blanket. You don't really have anything for warmer weather. Mostly these are winter blankets. Nattie?"

Natalie stood at the window, her hand holding the curtain open.

"Nattie, you haven't heard a word I've said. What are you looking at? You've been staring out that window for the last ten minutes."

"I like the sunset," she said. There was an edge to her voice, however, and Callie went to the window. The sky was golden red with dark shadowy clouds puffing and shredding across the horizon like great moving stone ridges. In the garden below Albert was talking earnestly to Rosalind. The gestures he made rendered the hearing of his words unnecessary. Callie felt a trill of apprehension move through her. She had forgotten the tension she had once lived with and considered a part of her day. Now it was back. One day, and all the feelings of foreboding had returned.

"I've been happy since she left," Natalie said, dropping the curtain and turning toward Callie. Her eyes had a burning far-away look in them. Callie could hardly bear to meet her gaze. She remembered seeing that look after the night of the fire. It had frightened her then, and it frightened her now.

Slowly, Natalie looked away from her, her eyes fixing on the window. "I wonder if I will be now."

Callie mentally shook herself. Things were not the same as they had been then. She wasn't the same. She

wasn't sixteen now, and Natalie was a married woman. If Natalie was all right when Rosalind wasn't here, then she could also be fine in Rosalind's presence. "Of course you'll be happy. You have more reason than ever now."

"I'm not afraid of her anymore/'

"Who?"

Natalie smiled knowingly. "Rosalind, Callie. Must you pretend to misunderstand everything I say? You never used to be so stupid."

Callie exhaled deeply. "Neither am I now; so I want you to listen to me. Don't start looking for things that aren't there. I know how you feel about Rosalind, but you're wrong. Peter and Rosalind have been very happy in Poughkeepsie. I know, and you'll have to take my word for it. I'd not lie to you, and if you could have seen them yourself, you'd know too that she loves him very much."

"They aren't in Poughkeepsie now. Here it is different," she said mysteriously. "They will never be happy here."

"That's ridiculous! Don't even begin to think of it. There is nothing to alarm you about Rosalind and Albert. Do you understand? Keep remembering we'll be leaving in September. We'll be gone, and I doubt very much we'll return for a long time. Rosalind didn't even want to come this time. So there can be nothing. Whatever you do, don't start imagining things now," she ended a little desperately.

"I know or I don't know. I never imagine," Natalie said and walked from the room.

Albert paced back and forth in front of Rosalind. "Why? Why for the love of heaven won't you let me see you? I just want to talk to you. Is it so much to

ask? If he is my son, haven't I at least the right to talk to you?"

'This is the second time today we've talked, Albert. We are alone. Whatever you have to say can be said now."

"No! No, damn it, it can't. I need to see you—alone. Meet me. Just one time. Please. I have to see you. Isn't that satisfaction enough for you? Must I continue to beg?"

"Albert, really, if this is what marriage has done to you, you should have remained single. You are really very tedious today."

"It's marriage to the wrong woman. That is what's wrong. I'll admit it. You were right. I should have defied my mother. I should have married you. I should have. ... I can think of nothing, no one but you. You must meet me."

"Sometime, perhaps," she said, smiling contentedly.

"When?"

"I don't know. Sometime. When it's warmer."

"Warmer!?"

"Yes."

"Damn it! That means never. The hop pickers will be coming at the end of this month, and in another month you'll be leaving. It must be now."

"Don't be ridiculous, Albert. We've only just arrived. I can't go off with you. I'm not even sure I want to," she said and looked at his reddish-gold hair muted in the soft twilight. He was as distinguished looking and meticulous as ever. Whatever Peter made of himself, he would always be too broad of shoulder and heavy of frame to look as Albert did. Peter, with his ruggedness and vital power, was a man among men in New York; but here—here Albert was still the English gentleman as one ought to be. And yet, for

the first time, she felt a loyalty to Peter. Albert was again asking her to choose between the two men, and Rosalind was no longer sure her choice was Albert.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "We've managed to reverse positions, haven't we?"

"Yes," she said honestly.

"Then remember, I never refused you. I never made you go through what you are putting me through now."

"Didn't you? I don't recall that you were so kind to me."

"I should have been kinder. I was blind and stupid about us—I've admitted that—but I wasn't deliberately cruel."

"Are you saying that I am?"

"I'm only asking to see you alone—one time when we can talk freely. I won't touch you unless you wish it. You have my word."

She shrugged, but she wavered. Her curiosity was aroused as was her vanity. It was heady to feel the power she now had over this man who had once been able to make her grovel

"Will you come?"

"I don't know."

"Day after tomorrow. I'm supposed to go to Seven Oaks. I'll send my deputy in my place."

"And of course, I shall begin my long lonely jaunts again."

"Oh, no. I think you've become far too grand for walking. But milady does ride, doesn't she?" he asked sarcastically.

"Milady does."

Chapter 24

Peter got up from the chess table when Rosalind came in. On his face was the anxious look that told her he knew Albert had not merely wanted to walk. She took his hand, smiling reassuringly at him. And she found she was speaking honestly when she said, "It is a beautiful night I wish you had come with us, or better still that you and I had gone alone."

There was a time when she would have teased him, made him jealous as she did with Albert. She couldn't say when or why, but sometime dining the last year her zest for that kind of sport with Peter had left her. She wanted him to know Albert meant nothing to her now and he, Peter, meant everything.

The afternoon she was to meet Albert, she was confused and worried. She wasn't certain what Albert might do if she didn't meet him. Once she would have been wildly joyous to have Albert bear the humiliation of declaring his love for her, but that time had passed. She now wanted desperately to keep it forever a secret and forgotten.

She would have to meet him. That much she could

see. He had to be made to understand that it was finished between them. Her decision made, she felt a perverse titillation in the danger that Peter might find out about them in this last meeting. Albert was acting so much the desperate lover. It gave the situation an air of adventure. For a moment Rosalind reverted to the daydreaming woman she had been before they left for Poughkeepsie. She saw in herself a little of a Cleopatra or a Josephine. It made her feel vibrantly alive to think of being so desired. There was still in her, she recognized, a recklessness that made her court-disaster, made her want to tempt fate by meeting Albert this one last time.

Not that she would let anything happen. She was finished with Albert. But she would confront him one last time and let it be ended dramatically and for always.

Another part of her coldly said there was no need for a final meeting. There was no place left in her life for Albert She didn't know what to do. It was all so confusing. If only there were some way to guarantee that Albert would behave, be able to do nothing; then she would be strong enough to be sure nothing would happen.

She turned to Callie.

"Callie, would you like to ride with me this afternoon? There is so little to do here ... I thought perhaps a ride would wake us up."