The Truth According to Us (45 page)

Jottie raised her eyebrows. “It looks full.”

He pulled open the door, and a glad cry of “Chaaaar-lieeee!” escaped into the dusk. Through the plate glass, Jottie watched him shoulder his way toward a waiter like a man pushing through a blizzard. She tried to see him with stranger's eyes: his fair hair—too long—and wide-spaced eyes, his broad shoulders and straight back. He looked intelligent, capable, and calm. His feet were enormous. Good thing he worked at a sock factory. If she married him, she would roll his enormous socks into pairs, carefully peeling one back to cover its mate.

She shook her head to clear it. She should be thinking about how wonderful he was, not about his feet. And he was wonderful, Sol. Good. And honest. She hoped Willa was all right. Of course she was all right. There was nothing to fuss about. Willa probably had her head stuck in a book, there on Minerva's purple sofa. Probably hadn't given a thought to her since the moment she'd passed out of sight. There was nothing to fuss about.

“Look what I got,” said Sol, appearing at her side. Smiling triumphantly,
he produced a thick china plate upon which rested half a chicken and two buttered biscuits.

“The man returns from the hunt,” observed Jottie.

He laughed. “Come on. Let's find us a bench. I got to return the plate before ten or that waiter's going to stick me with a knife.”

“Let's go eat in front of where they hung John Brown. I like to think of him dangling.”

“You're a Confederate?” he asked as they began to walk.

“Me? No. Union forever. I just don't like John Brown.” She sidestepped a man walking unsteadily in her path. “He was a show-off. The old fool.”

They entered a little yard between two buildings. This place, alone in the thronged town, was hushed and solemn. A bench had thoughtfully been placed before the site of the gallows, which was marked by three stones.

“Taken from his cell,” said Jottie, settling herself on the bench.

“What?” he said, fixing the plate between them.

She nodded toward the stones. “Those stones. Taken from John Brown's cell. He wrote on them in blood.”

She could see Sol smile in the deepening twilight. “Sounds like you've made quite a study of the old man.”

“I don't like him,” she repeated, feeling flat. Willa would have wanted to know what he wrote. Even Bird would want to know that. And Felix? He would have pretended that he already knew—he'd be quoting now, something ridiculous.

They ate without talking, silent amid the soaring chorus of cicadas. Jottie patted her mouth with her handkerchief and swallowed. “No cooler here than at home,” she said. It was something to say.

Sol nodded.

“What did you tell Violet?” she asked.

“About what?”

“About—this.” Jottie waved a chicken bone, indicating all of Charles Town.

“Oh. I told her I was going to talk to a man down at Interwoven.” Sol chewed slowly. “She didn't care.”

“How is it, living with her?”

He looked at her, surprised. “It's all right.” He thought for a moment and added, “I wish she'd get married.”

Jottie laughed. “Why?”

He frowned. “She's bored. Or something. So she fusses too much. She fusses around and makes up things to do.”

“She needs a job.”

He nodded. “You could be right. I was thinking a husband.”

“Might be a little late for that,” Jottie said.

He lifted his head and looked at her. “She's younger than you are, and I want to marry you.”

Jottie nodded.

“Are you done with this food?”

“Yes.” She held herself in readiness. She was prepared.

Sol picked up the plate between them and set it on the ground. Moving next to her, he said, “I sort of hate to propose at a gibbet, but I guess it'll do.”

Jottie laughed nervously. “I got a soft spot for this gibbet.”

He picked up her hand and pressed it between his own. “Jottie,” he began. “That day last month when you came to Everlasting, that was the happiest day of my life. I'd thought, before, that you and I were going to start—talking—being friendly again. I'd thought that we'd run into each other; we'd see each other and talk. But you always looked away.” He squeezed her hand. “Then, when you came in with that girl Layla, you—it seemed like you wanted to know me again. I was so glad, Jottie, you can't imagine. I can't put it into words. You seemed like your old self, back when we were kids, and happy to see me.”

“I was,” she said quietly.

“You don't know how that made me feel, honey. I'd been missing you for so long I'd got used to it. I was even thinking I'd maybe find someone else and get married. But then I'd see you—or even Emmett;
he'd do it to me, too—and I'd feel hollowed out again. But then, I don't know what happened. I don't know why you came to Everlasting that day. I could hardly believe it, but—well, I'm going to go ahead and try to make it stick. Will you marry me?”

Jottie pressed herself hard against the slats of the bench, feeling his hand, dry and calm, around hers. “Sol?” she said tentatively.

Sol tilted his head, waiting.

“Why are you so set on me?” She looked sideways at him.

He smiled. “You fishing for compliments?”

“No!” She blushed. “But you could have anyone, a nice, pretty girl—”

“You're nice and pretty,” he interrupted.

“A lot younger than me,” she continued.

“I don't want someone younger than you. I've loved you as long as I can remember,” he said.

She looked at him sharply. Could it be true? Don't be so suspicious, she chided herself. This is Sol, an honest man. Sol is wonderful, she repeated to herself. He loves me. If I marry him, I'll be a new woman. I'll be Mrs. McKubin. I'll start fresh.

“I remember thinking that I was going to marry you back when I was about twelve,” he said reminiscently. “In my mind, it was all settled.”

“You never told me.”

“No.” Sol took her face between his hands and kissed her, gently at first and then harder. With one finger, he smoothed a line down her throat. “You're so little,” he said, almost to himself. “I didn't think you were going to be so little.” He moved his hands to circle her waist.

“Felix says I act big,” she said breathlessly, trying not to remember Vause doing the same thing.

He put one arm around her and lifted her onto his lap. “Felix ain't invited to this party,” he said into her neck. There was a pause. “I always wanted to do this.”

“Did you?”
If anyone besides me ever touches you, I'll kill him
. Go. Go away.

“Mm-hm. All along, this was how I wanted it to turn out.” She
touched his face experimentally and felt him smile. “I used to get so worried that something was going to happen to you before I could ask you to marry me. You-all did so many crazy things.”

She lifted her eyes to the freedom of the deepening sky. Let me go, Vause, she begged. I'm so tired of the past. “How come you never said anything to me about it?”

Sol's hands tightened on her. “Because you were in love with Vause.” He held her apart from him and looked at her. “And I'm not an idiot.”

She nodded, sorry she had made him say it.

“Goddammit,” he sighed, pulling her close again. “Marry me.”

“All right,” she said.

There was no way to sleep on the horsehair sofa, and of course I couldn't go to my own room. I opened the parlor window a little and laid some pillows out beneath it. It wasn't too bad. I woke when the clock struck one and a tiny breeze curled down from the window and ruffled the hair on my neck. I woke again later when I heard water running upstairs. Was one of them taking a bath? Was that part of it? Not having any answer, I fell asleep again.

Jottie kicked at the thin, clean hotel sheets, waking herself up. For the first moment, she lay still, panting, dread flooding her veins until her fingertips tingled. She'd been dreaming of Willa and kittens. An awful thing, trying to pull Willa from a sea of kittens as they dragged at her with their tiny claws, their milky eyes unblinking. Jottie shuddered, dislodging the dream but not the dread. The dread stayed. Befuddled, she struggled to find its source: What's the matter?

Sol. She'd said yes; she'd agreed to marry him.

Her heart commenced to thump, to gallop. What is happening to me? she asked the dark. Cautiously, she lifted her hand to her breast
and felt the wild beating inside. Like a bird breaking its wings on a cage, she thought. But why?

She'd said yes; she'd agreed to marry Sol.

Oh God, what have I done? she asked herself. She rolled to her side and drew her knees up to her stomach. It helped a little. The voice of reason, shrill as it was, could be heard in this position: What have you done? Why, you've done exactly what you set out to do! You got yourself a fresh start, a new name, a new everything! Sol loves you! And Sol's wonderful, you know he is! You're going to marry him and move into his house, and you're going to be so happy!

No, I'm not.

Of course you are! This is what you wanted!

I was wrong. I don't want it.

Yes, you do. You're loved. You're going to be married to the president of the mill! Everyone in town will smile when they see you coming! The girls won't have a care in the world! They'll swish up the stairs, and there you'll be, with a plate of cookies in your hand!

The scene had become lifeless through overuse.

And Felix would never speak to her again. He would hate her. She had broken faith with him.

Felix, she pleaded with him, I'm sorry. I was so worried that the girls would be hurt, and I couldn't change you, so I had to change myself. I needed to have Macedonia on my side, for Willa, and Bird, too, so they wouldn't be ashamed. I'm sorry. I have to stop being a Romeyn. I have to do it.