Helen Keller in Love (28 page)

That night I dreamed of Peter leading me into a sleeping berth on a train, his hands on my ribs, then on my hips, as he rolled over me on an unmade bed.

Chapter Thirty-seven

O
n the day of my elopement, the vibrations of Montgomery were strong around me. Inside the house, Risa, the girl Mildred had hired to entertain me, sat at the sewing machine in the living room. As I walked in Mildred’s backyard, with one hand on the fence, I stumbled over small rocks and children’s toys. Mother and Mildred were shopping in Montgomery and I was alone, when a familiar scent of muskrat and warm rain swam over the humid air.

Peter walked toward me from the piney woods. As he got closer I burst forward to take him in my arms.

“Peter, it’s not until tonight, what are you doing here now?”

“Don’t fret, missy. I couldn’t just hang around Montgomery all day. I was here, and I wanted to see you.” He took my hands.

“But—”

“But nothing. I rang the bell, your new … assistant—though if I may say so she doesn’t look nearly as exciting as me—pointed me out here.”

“You told Risa about us? How did you—”

“Relax, missy. I told her I’m working for the
Montgomery Monitor
and wanted to interview you.”

“You’re a master of disguises.”

“To get to you, yes.” He pulled me close.

“Ow,” I said, lifting my foot. “Red ants. They’re biting me, like fire.”

“How
I love rescuing a damsel in distress.” With one brisk movement we fled the yard and walked down the wooden path behind Mildred’s house to a small clearing where the ants wouldn’t be.

Then I felt Peter turn toward the flagpole in the side yard. “Hey, rebel girl. What’s with the Confederate flag?”

“It’s my brother-in-law’s.”

“And just where is he now? Sniffing around the property, hoping to find me?”

“No. He’s out hunting for the Thanksgiving turkey.”

“He’s quite the patriot.”

“Indeed. He lowers the flag before he goes to bed.”

“So when the flag goes down tonight I’ll know he’s safe in bed. That’s when I’ll creep up the steps …”

“And whisk me away.”

“So good of your brother-in-law to help.”

“He lives to serve.” I laughed.

But there was something distant about Peter. “What is it?” I asked.

“Oh, just two or three things. One: this place looks like a fortress. Two: I’m being hounded by the press, the Keller family, and their damned dogs. And three: Macy wrote that if I marry you I’m …”

“You’re what?”

“I’m like a person boarding the
Titanic
—ready to go down.”

“John’s hardly a reliable source about life.”

“True. But he has experience with …”

“What? Me and Annie?”

“Well, theirs was a … tempestuous marriage.”

“Tempestuous? John had the best days of his life with us until whiskey soaked him through. He brought his troubles on himself, and don’t you forget it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Besides, I’ll make your life better, not worse. Has one week apart caused you to forget? Then let me remind you.” I pulled him to me and opened his shirt.

“Ah,
that’s what I love. My fighting Helen. I love it when you get mad.” He drew me to him.

Then a snap in the woods signaled someone was coming.

“Tonight.” He pushed me toward the house, but I didn’t want to go. I crossed the yard with small steps, as if to slow down time.

I didn’t show up for lunch or dinner that day. It was past seven when Mother pushed open the door to my room, shook me by the shoulder as I read by my desk. “Helen, your house in Wrentham has sold. I’ve engaged a rental agent and she’s found a new house for you and Annie to rent. It’s in Forest Hills, outside Manhattan. When Annie returns, the mover will come to the Wrentham farmhouse and pack up the heavy things. What do you want them to take?”

I said nothing.

“I assume you’ll want your most precious things.”

“Yes, indeed.” I already had my most precious thing. My suitcase was packed and locked under my bed; it would be only three hours until I grabbed it, walked briskly to the front porch, and took Peter’s hand.

“Helen,” Mother said, “make a list.”

She put a piece of paper on my desk and left the room.

I folded the letter and left it in the middle of the desk.

Warren’s truck rattled up the driveway at dusk, and as the scent of night settled around me, I felt the staircase vibrate as he climbed wearily to bed. When Mildred and Mother finally crept upstairs at nine thirty, I felt their bedroom doors close firmly behind them, so I got my suitcase, tiptoed out of my room, and left the house. I waited on Mildred’s front porch, my luggage packed in one tidy bag. Peter slipped hurriedly out of the woods and I felt his footsteps as he ran up the porch steps.

“Let’s go, Helen.” He took my suitcase and then my arm. “Now.”

A breeze shook the honeysuckle vines.

Just then the front door swung open, a rustle announcing that someone was coming out of the house. Peter held firmly to my hand, but Warren pushed past me and grabbed hold of him. Clutching the railing, I smelled the cold metal of a gun, and Warren’s yell split the air.

Peter pulled me toward him. “Leave us alone,” he said. “Helen’s coming with me.” He tried to lead me past Warren, but the strong scent of metal told me Warren had raised his Smith and Wesson and was pointing it right at Peter.

“No one tells us what to do with Helen.” The vibrations of Warren’s voice moved through the porch floorboards into my legs and I panicked. A cold, icy fear sluiced through me. Peter pushed me back, away from Warren. Alone by the railing I couldn’t breathe. Instead I inhaled fear—iron, bitter, metallic—rising from Peter’s jacket as he struggled with Warren.

The floorboards thudded as the two shoved each other, and I waited, helpless, for the air to split open: for my nostrils to fill with sulfur and gunpowder—and though Warren didn’t fire his gun, I knew. Even as Peter’s footsteps punched the porch floor, even as he was brash, a daredevil, even as his love for me was unwavering, his skin gave off the scent of a frightened animal caught in a trap. Because he faced the impenetrable fortress of my family.

He
would never win, he couldn’t. No one could.

Let me go
, I wanted to say.

I tried to run off the porch, but Warren blocked me at the railing as Peter’s scent drifted away into the woods.

I still held the railing, suddenly lightheaded, as Mother came out of the house and took my hand. I pushed her away. “I
won’t
go inside—
no
.” Mother left me alone on the porch, and complete darkness closed over me.

I remembered the time when I was six and sensed that Mother wished I would die. It’s not that she didn’t love me. She did. It was the overwhelming pull of me.
Helen can’t hear. Helen can’t see.
Helen can’t make her way from table to door, never mind make her way in the dangerous world.

That was when I began to crave being perfect.
Mama, I’ll be good. A saint. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.
I promise to be good
. This, the deaf-blind woman’s promise. I will reflect your desires all the days of my life. In return, you will never leave me.

But now I craved freedom. That night in my room I kept my suitcase packed. I knew Peter would be back, so all night I tossed in my white iron bed in Mildred’s house, gesturing with my fingers as if calling to him.

Chapter Thirty-eight

I
wish I could have changed what I wanted, but my desire to leave only intensified. The next morning, scents of biscuits and eggs rose from the kitchen, but when Mildred knocked on my door I refused to come down to breakfast. I was lost in thought: Peter’s hands in my hair, the feeling of him by my side, the excitement of our wedding day—tomorrow, when I would be separated from my family, but united with the man I loved. An hour later, when Mildred tapped on my door for help with chores, I finally dressed and went downstairs.

On my way to the kitchen the aroma of tobacco told me Warren was nearby.

“Helen, you owe me a ‘good morning.’”

I tried to walk past, but he took my hands and held them tight.

“You tried to run off with that Yankee.”

“I’ll do it again.”

“You had no right to …”

“To what? Have a life, a family, like you, Mildred, and Mother do?”

“Your mother is racked with a migraine; my wife—your sister—refuses to accept that you would do this, but if you ever try …”

“What? You’ll use your gun again?”

“No. I won’t use
that
gun. Next time I’ll use one I actually fire.”

I stormed into the kitchen and slid closed the lock. When Warren rapped on the door, I refused to open it.

I had
reached my limit. Mildred did not mention anything about last night. Instead, she turned from the counter where she was chopping apples for a Thanksgiving pie and said Mother had gone to her room with a headache. “Make her some tea, Helen.” She handed me the teakettle and placed it under the faucet. The cold water rushed over my hands as I awkwardly filled it, so Mildred took the kettle from me. “There’s Bailey,” she said. “Helen, go open the door and let him in.” I opened the back door and turned, expectantly. With a rush of warm air Warren’s hunting dog made his way into the kitchen and thumped his tail against my leg, bits of branches sharp in his fur.

“I’ve never seen such a mess,” Mildred said.

“Me either.”

“I’m talking about …”

“I know what you’re talking about, Mildred. Warren takes Bailey out with him nights, and that’s how he got like this. Give me the brush. I’ll clean Bailey up.”

Mildred put a steel brush in my hand, and with great vigor I moved it through the tangles.

“Mildred, will he …”

“Be out tonight? I didn’t ask. And he didn’t say.”

I had to warn Peter that it might not be safe to come tonight. But if I wrote him a letter, how would I get it to him? Mildred would see me at the mailbox; I couldn’t walk through the woods to downtown Montgomery; I couldn’t even get to the sidewalk without guidance. The air around me darkened.