Someone Like You (14 page)

“What makes you say that?”

“Look in his eyes.”

“I have.”

“I mean really look. Those are the eyes of someone who has suffered, and suffered deeply.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it? Console him?”

“No, but you might try being just a little bit nicer.”

“I’m nice.”

“You are about as cold as that norther what blew through here last February.”

“You know why I can’t be nice, Aunt Vi. You of all people know.”

Violette’s face softened. “I do, child, but it’s time to lay those ghosts to rest, time to accept your mother for what she was, to allow her to be a human who made mistakes.”

“And if I can’t? Oh, Aunt Vi, what’s going to happen to me?”

“You’ve only to look at your Aunt Dally to see what happens to an unforgiving woman. I don’t think you want that.”

Susannah felt the burn of tears at the back of her throat. “No, I don’t want that, but I seem to be helpless to prevent it. If he knew…if he really knew the truth about me, do you think he would be interested?”

“I don’t think it would matter to him, if he cared for you.”

“If he cared…if I cared…if I could stand the thought of him touching me.”

“He cares, but that isn’t the issue here.”

“Oh? What is the issue?”

“I don’t think for a minute that you abhor the thought of him putting his hands on you. I think you’re afraid—no, terrified—of what you might feel, what you might do if he did. You are so afraid of becoming like your mother that you won’t give yourself the opportunity to live, to feel, to care.”

“I thought you understood.”

“I do. How many times have we talked about this, Susannah? I have tried so many times to reassure you that you have control of your life, that you don’t have to end up like your mother.”

Tears clouded Susannah’s eyes. “I know you have, Aunt Vi. You have treated me like your own, but you could never undo those nine years and what they did to me. No one could. It wasn’t that you did not try. It was simply that those nine years made me different.”

“I feel it’s my fault, that I failed you somehow. At the time I was reluctant to talk about the kinds of things that went on between men and women because I figured you’d had enough of that. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we should have talked about those things. It would have helped, I think, if John had been alive, if you’d had a man around, an example of what a normal, loving marriage is all about. It always grieved me that John was not here so you could learn to love a man in a healthy way, just as it grieved me that I could never have any children of my own.”

Susannah was crying harder now. “It isn’t your fault. It’s the things I remember, the things I saw that I can’t forget. You couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to stand in the shadows and watch your mother disrobe in front of a man, or the horror of watching a man mount her like an animal, taking her roughly, while she stared at the ceiling.”

“Dear, dear child. I had hoped you could forget.”

“Forget? I can never forget the glassy look in my mother’s eyes, the smell of lovemaking that sickens me still, or the way my mother would barely wash one man’s residue from her body before another one took her. The horrible, vulgar things those men said ring in my ears to this very day. There were times that they would even reach for me, times when a man would offer my mother money if she would let him undress me.”

“Oh my God. You never told me
that
, Susannah!”

“Once, when my mother was ill, just before you came for me, one of the other whores took me to her room. A man was there. He had given her money. She held me while he pulled my dress up. He unfastened his pants and rubbed himself on my leg. My mother came into the room screaming. She picked up a bootjack and hit him over the head with it. He fell against me. I had his blood all over me.”

Violette, too, was crying now, and she put her arms around Susannah. “We should have had this talk a long time ago,” she said.

“I don’t know if that would have helped. Aunt Vi, don’t blame yourself. You’ve been wonderful to me—you and Aunt Dally both have—but, well, not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what my life would have been like if I’d had a mother and father to live with like other people. I am like a tree that was cut down. I have no roots. I cannot grow.”

Violette wiped the tears from Susannah’s cheeks. “You can, child. You can grow new roots, but you’ve got to let yourself try. You can’t keep lopping off every little root that starts. Let it go. See what happens.”

She cried harder. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Oh, Aunt Vi, don’t you understand? It’s too late for me. I can’t change what I am.”

“It isn’t too late.”

“It is, but it doesn’t matter. Not really. I don’t want to change. I like the way I am.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do mean it.”

Violette paused. “I have never been able to understand a mind hardened by stubbornness any more than I could understand a life frozen in dignity. Strange bedfellows both.”

Violette left and Susannah simply stood, staring at the vacant doorway. She wanted to call her back, but she was unable to do so.

She was vexed beyond anything she could ever remember. Never had she felt so inadequate, so agitated. There was no denying the truth of what Aunt Vi said. It hurt to know she had been such a disappointment to the ones she loved most. A ghastly vision of herself reduced to the status of a bitter old maid rose up before her; the awful consequences of the loneliness she would experience, the guilt she would constantly feel, the regret she would live with for the rest of her days.

Question was, what could she do about it? She was a grown woman, and life already pointed in a certain direction that, set in motion, would be nigh impossible to turn around. She might as well wish for the moon.

And if she did transform her life, what then? What would she have to show for it? The answer came swiftly to her.

Reed Garrett.

After lunch the next day Susannah was in the parlor knitting. She almost dropped a stitch when Daisy Hitchcock came into the room. “Why Daisy, how nice to see you. It’s been quite a spell since you were here last.”

“I know,” Daisy said, taking a seat across from Susannah. “I haven’t had time to do much of anything since I started working at the post office. I’ve missed our visits.”

“As I have.” Susannah jabbed her needles into the ball of yarn in her lap and put the knitting into the basket on the floor. “There. Now we can visit.”

“What are you making?”

“A shawl for Aunt Vi.”

Daisy smiled. “Purple. I should have known. It’s still her favorite color?”

“Oh, yes. Just the other day she was going on about what a dreadful shame it was that one couldn’t find purple drawers.”

“That would look divine with her red petticoat.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Susannah said, and they both laughed.

“Is it true that you’re sweet on Mr. Garrett?”

Susannah could only stare at her for a moment, completely astounded. “Sweet on Reed Garrett? I should say not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Tate said—”

“Tate! Well, that explains it. Listen to me, Daisy. You shouldn’t believe a word Tate Trahern says. And don’t you go letting him sweet-talk you into doing something you’ll regret. Do you hear me?” She shook her head. “Sweet on Reed Garrett… Why that’s the most preposterous… Why, Reed Garrett and I go together like stripes and plaid.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up. I was curious, that’s all, seeing as how we used to be such good friends.”

Susannah leaned forward and put her hand on Daisy’s. “We’re still good friends. We just don’t get to see each other as much as we did when we were younger.”

“Sometimes I wish we were still in school. We were happy then, weren’t we?”

“Very happy.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be that happy again.”

“You will be.”

Daisy started crying.

Susannah stood and went to sit on the sofa beside Daisy. She put her arm around her and asked, “Daisy, what is the matter?”

“Oh, Susannah, I’ve done something awful.” Daisy sobbed.

“You couldn’t do something that bad. You’re too nice a person.”

“I’m going to have a baby.”

“Oh, Daisy. Don’t carry on so. You can always get married.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He won’t marry me.”

“You’ve told him about the baby?”

“No. I’m afraid to tell him.”

“Afraid? Why would you be afraid to tell the father of your child? He has a right to know. It’s his child, too.”

“I know he won’t marry me. Oh, Susannah, what am I going to do?”

“Daisy, who is the father?”

“I can’t tell.”

“You’ve got to tell him, Daisy. You can’t let it go too much longer. How far along are you?”

“A month or so. I just missed my woman’s time.”

“Daisy, if you don’t tell him so the two of you can get married, you will be forced to have this baby and raise it by yourself.”

“I know. My pa will kill me if he finds out.”

“Isn’t there someplace you could go until you have the baby? Any relatives?”

“No.”

“Well, perhaps you could come out here. We’re far enough from town that we don’t get many visitors. It shouldn’t be too difficult to keep you hidden away.”

“What would I do with the baby?”

“I don’t know, but we would think of something by the time it came.”

Daisy wiped her eyes and said, “I’ve got to be going. I’ve got to get back to the post office. I told them I was coming out here to deliver an important letter to Mr. Garrett.”

“You have a letter for Reed?”

“Yes. Is he here?”

“He’s down by the barn helping Jess Oliver shoe our horses. Do you want me to take the letter to him?”

“No, I want to do it. That way I won’t be telling a lie.”

Susannah smiled and gave her childhood friend a hug. “You are a nice person, Daisy. Don’t you ever let anyone convince you otherwise.”

The two of them walked to the kitchen. Susannah stood at the door while Daisy went on down to the barn.

As Susannah watched Daisy walk up to Reed, she noticed the friendly manner in which he greeted her. Susannah’s heart stilled and her blood ran cold. Was Daisy’s tale all a pretext? Was her real motive in coming out here to tell Reed about her baby? Was Reed the father?

Reed looked up and saw Daisy walking toward him. He was wondering what she was doing there when she said, “You got some mail. It’s from Boston. I thought it might be important.”

“Why, thank you, Daisy. That is very nice of you to go to so much trouble. I appreciate it.” Reed took the envelope from her and glanced down. He recognized his father’s writing. A warm current of affection flowed through him. “It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere long enough for my folks to write. I really am looking forward to reading this. It was nice of you to bring it out here. I owe you a favor.”

Daisy looked down at her feet. “It wasn’t any trouble. I’m happy to do it. I hope it’s good news.” She glanced at Jess. “Hi, Mr. Oliver.”

“Didn’t expect to see you out here, Daisy. Are you looking for work?” He winked at Reed. “I suppose I could use another hand. Do you know anything about shoeing?”

Daisy giggled. “I think I’ll keep my job at the post office.” She carefully looked over the horse he was shoeing. “Me and horses, well, we don’t get along too well. I’m kinda scared of them.”

“That’s probably a good thing. Wish I’d learned that before I got hurt the first time by one of them. If you change your mind, you let me know.”

“I sure will, Mr. Oliver.” She looked back at Reed. “I guess I’d better be getting back to town.”

“Thanks for bringing this out. That’s just about the nicest thing anybody ever did for me. You let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you. I mean that.”

Daisy nodded. “I will.” She turned away. “Goodbye,” she said, then added, “Goodbye, Mr. Oliver.”

Jess waved a hand at her.

“Goodbye, Daisy,” Reed said. “Thanks again.”

He watched Daisy as she made her way back to the house. He saw Susannah open the back door and let her in. Reed looked down at the letter in his hand, then ripped the envelope open.

Dearest Reed,

Your mother and I were elated to hear from you and to know all is well. I know how difficult it must be for you to write when you’re on the move, but I’m thankful you understand what it must be like for us to wonder where you are and how you are doing. Your mother gets especially fretful when we don’t hear regularly.

Things haven’t changed much since we wrote to you last. Your sisters are doing fine and send their love. I’m getting a little more bald than I was when you saw me last, but your mother still looks as beautiful as she did the day I married her. I’ve purchased a smart new buggy to drive her around town. Next week I’m going out in the country to look at a pair of carriage horses. Hannah and Dandy are getting a bit old. I guess it’s time to turn them out to pasture. It’s hard to believe that you were just a young boy when Hannah was a foal, and I remember the day I bought Dandy at the fair and you insisted on riding him all the way home. Where have the years gone?