Three Women (13 page)

With each phrase that she stammered, Byrne felt herself and Greta sinking deeper into unfamiliar quicksand.

For three days she was locked in the house.

Now her mother took her to school and brought her home and made her take a bath twice a day. She had never before received such attention, yet nothing her mother did could take Byrne's mind off Greta. She would lie awake at night, her arms around the pillow, begging Greta to forgive her.

Worst of all was the thought that she had betrayed Greta. She had to see her. She had to explain. What if she thought she had purposely betrayed her?

But there was no way to get out of the locked house.

As the days went by, Byrne's guilt grew beyond control. No matter what the price, she must see Greta just once to explain what had happened, to throw herself at Greta's feet and beg forgiveness. Her tortured mind could form no plan. She could think of only one way to get to see Greta.

And so the next day Byrne did not meet her mother after school. Instead she ran two blocks to a candy store and phoned Greta's home, praying that Greta herself would answer. Breathlessly she waited for the receiver to be lifted. And when the deep voice of Greta's brother said hello, Byrne still did not give up hope.

"Please, Jack, let me speak to Greta."

But Jack, though he wanted to, could not help her. Greta had been shipped to their aunt's house in the country.

Byrne's world collapsed. Greta had been taken out of school because of her. She was due to graduate with honors, she had a scholarship to an art school. And Byrne-had destroyed it all.

She picked up her schoolbooks and trudged home, not caring if her mother whipped the flesh off her bones or threw her into a dungeon for life. Without Greta there was nothing to live for. And now that she had ruined Greta too, life became a horrible thing she could not face.

When she reached home, her mother said nothing. She merely smiled at Byrne with the superior knowledge of what Byrne had just learned.

Byrne could not eat the meal placed before her. She could only stare at the plate and think of Greta cooped up so far away from all her dreams and ambitions. How could she leave Greta alone and a prisoner?

As the days passed Byrne suffocated in self accusation. Each time she walked out free on the streets, she thought of Greta alone. Each night she went to bed, she recalled Greta's sweet lips and thought of them wasting away unloved. When her mother took her to the movies, it was Greta's face she saw on the screen, her blue eyes gazing sadly down at Byrne.

The nightmare of trying to sleep robbed her nerves of all strength. She could not simply sit and do nothing. She must free Greta and make the world know that the fault was all her own and not that of her innocent beloved.

Homework went undone and in class her own thoughts obliterated the teacher's voice. She barely passed the mid-term examinations. Greta, only Greta lived vividly for her. She lost weight and had to move the buttons on her skirts. Nervous energy alone drove her and her mind focused on one tiny burning point—free Greta.

Until finally Byrne could no longer live with her thoughts.

In the middle of the night, she took from the savings bowl money equivalent to the allowance that had been denied her the past two months. She knew that the authorities would question a fifteen-year-old girl trying to buy a train ticket at one in the morning. She would have to wait until daylight. Carefully she unlatched the door and slipped into the hallway. For the rest of the night she could hide in the basement. Then, when daylight broke, she could go to the train station before her mother discovered that she was missing.

To see Greta again! To look at the slender fingertips that seemed to caress without touching. To hear the light footstep and the singing voice again. Just one more minute with Greta and she would be content to die.

And a minute would be all they would have. For Byrne knew that her mother would know where she had gone.

At the train station she discovered that she had just enough money for a one-way ticket. Tall men pushing carts of luggage smiled at her and an elderly gentleman helped her up the steps into the train. She found a seat near the window and prayed that the train would start before her mother could get to the station and come on board to look for her.

The trip was only an hour long and Byrne knew the route almost by heart. For she had often gone there with Greta during Christmas and summer vacations.

Listening to the clicking of the wheels, Byrne tried to relax. She watched the leafless trees whip by and tried not to think how Greta might receive her.

Maybe Greta wouldn't want to see her at all. She -couldn't blame her if she didn't. But Greta had to understand. She couldn't go on for the rest of her life thinking that Byrne had said ugly things about their love.

After an eternity of waiting, the train slowed down and stopped at her station. She listened to the conductor call the name out like a great judge pronouncing her doom.

In the station house she tried to warm herself at a pot-bellied stove while she waited for the bus that went to the house. The stench of old cigars reminded her of Greta's uncle. He would look down from his great height over the cigar that stuck straight out from between his lips. But he would understand and help her.

The old bus rattled to a halt beside the station house and Byrne ran to board it, knowing that she would still have to wait ten minutes before the driver started on the return trip.

Bouncing along the dirt road she looked out at the brown stubble that grew along the hillside. For miles above her the gray sky drearily stretched. The desolate hills had long since dropped their blooms and even the occasional rabbits that hopped quickly off the road seemed lonely and desolate.

When the driver came to her stop, Byrne held her breath. Her legs were unsteady things that balanced her body with effort. But she went bravely down the gravel path toward the wooden house.

Maybe Greta would be around in the back sorting apples. Byrne passed along the side of the house and peered down between the slanted door that opened into the basement. No light was there.

"Greta?" she said softly. And silence answered her.

She went down the steps and looked around, hoping that perhaps Greta had not heard her.

Only coils of garden hose and bulging sacks of potatoes met her sight.

Greta must be upstairs. Maybe she was in her little room on the top floor that looked outward toward the hills and toward the city.

Unhappily Byrne retraced her steps and walked with uncertain determination back to the front door.

She climbed the crooked steps and listened to them squeak beneath her feet. Then she rapped on the screen door and waited. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart knocked wildly in her chest. If only she had wings to sweep Greta up and fly away from here before the adults could swarm down on them. But she still did not understand why all these terrible things had happened as a result of all the loveliness she and Greta had shared. How could it be sinful to be so content?

Byrne heard the heavy bootsteps of Greta's uncle and crossed her fingers fervently.

"Hello, little girl," he said in the slow voice that could hide surprise. He always called her "little girl" and Byrne felt encouraged.

"May I come in?" she said in a thin voice that trembled from her breathlessness.

He opened the door and tapped a long cigar ash on the ground. "Of course you can come in."

Byrne wondered why he didn't ask what she was doing here or where her mother was or anything. But she came into the inside porch where the old wicker chairs seemed to beckon her with their hominess.

"Had a good trip?" He made easy conversation while she took off her coat. "This time of year makes mighty bitter traveling." He smiled amiably and the red veins on his cheeks crinkled.

Byrne let him take her coat and then followed him into the spacious kitchen.

"Nobody's home but me," he chatted. "But I can make as good a cup of coffee as anyone."

The question that leaped to Byrne's frantic mind remained unspoken. She had to conduct herself like a lady. So far, Uncle John was on her side. At least he wasn't calling her all kinds of names and acting like she was a poisonous witch.

After he placed two heavy mugs on the table, Byrne asked, "Isn't Greta here?"

"Oh, she's staying here, all right," he said gently. "But she's not here this morning. Her Aunt Nell took her over to visit with the Regans. Everybody seems to think it's about time Greta got herself a husband, you know." He stirred sugar into his coffee as if the words he'd just said were ordinary words and not the most horrible things that Byrne could hear.

Byrne knew the Regan boys. One was fat and the other one fatter. But they were wealthy and would inherit a lot of money some day. It didn't make any difference to the family which one Greta married, so long as she married one of them. The vision of Greta, who could not stand the two boys, being forced to marry one of them horrified Byrne.

"Oh, Uncle John," she blurted. "You've got to help her!"

He searched her face with the dark and land blue eyes. He seemed to find and understand the earnestness in Byrne that had prompted her outburst.

"Everybody's got their minds made up," he said, striking a large match and moving its flame to the cigar.

"But Greta doesn't want to marry either of the Regan boys." Even if Greta didn't love Byrne, she wouldn't want one of those two.

"You don't think so?" he asked. "Well, it was her own idea that her Aunt Nell take her over this morning."

Byrne's mind went blank. Why would Greta want to do a thing like that? What must she be suffering? What horrible tortures could push her into that kind of decision?

"Greta's almost eighteen," Uncle John continued. "And I suspect she knows how to make up her own mind."

Maybe Uncle John didn't know what the trouble was. Maybe no one had told him what had happened between her and Greta. But if he did know, would he understand why Greta would want to drive herself into such a corner? If she told him, would he help? If she told him, he might just throw her out. But if she didn't tell him, he could never help Greta.

Byrne had to take the chance. For Greta's sake.

She took a long drink of coffee and then explained to him as simply as she could everything that had happened.

He listened to her story without interruption. And Byrne didn't spare herself. She repeated what her mother had said and how she had been treated as a result. She emphasized that none of this had been Greta's fault. That the blame must be hers alone.

When she had finished her story, Uncle John put down his cigar and folded the stained fingers around the strap of his overalls.

"You know," he said, "when you spend your life tending animals, you get to respect nature."

She looked at him with question, moving her palm nervously along the knicked table top.

"And the first law of nature," he said, "is that animals and men and all living things should reproduce their own. I guess that's all I can see wrong with what you're telling me. It doesn't lead anywhere except into a blind alley, seems to me. Pretty girls, strong girls like you and Greta should have homes and raise families someday."

Byrne started to protest. She had always expected to have a family. That was something simply taken for granted, even if not particularly wanted. It seemed like something you just did; everybody had a family. But why couldn't she love Greta and have a family too? Why should one get in the way of the other?

Yet Uncle John said that it would. And she trusted him enough to believe in his judgment.

"Then if Greta has to get married," Byrne persisted, "that means that I have to get married too?"

"Right," he nodded.

"So she’ll get married to one of the Regan boys and I’ll marry the other one." A triumphant feeling floated through her. This way, Greta wouldn't have to suffer alone. If they could both be married and have houses across the street from each other or maybe apartments in the same building, she could still see her every day and things would be all right.

Uncle John said, "Well, maybe in a few years. You're still kind of young for marrying, you know."

A few years? Separated from Greta all that time!

In school she had learned that there were certain states in the union where you could get married at fourteen, and she was a year older than that. She told Uncle John.

"Just the same, I think you're safer waitin' a few years," he smiled gently.

But a plan was already beginning to form in Byrne's mind. If Greta wanted to marry one of the Regans, then she certainly wanted to marry the other. The happy prospect of being near Greta again relieved some of her tension and she finished the remains of her coffee, enjoying the warmth of it in her stomach.

She sat back against the high wooden chair and inhaled the warm odor of preserves cooking on the stove. Greta would be back soon and she could tell her all about how wonderful things would be for them again. Uncle John didn't press her into further conversation. He too sat back, contemplating things from behind the whirls of smoke that rose lazily from his cigar.

At last they both heard the crunch of footsteps coming up toward the house. Once again Byrne's nerves jumped.

But the anticipation of seeing Greta again held her frozen to the chair. She clutched the edge of the table top and turned her face toward the doorway.

Aunt Nell came in first, her small mouth tied in a tiny knot of satisfaction. Behind her, Greta ambled slowly as though drawn along by an invisible rein. Her gaze was fastened on the tips of her shoes. Byrne waited excitedly for her to look up.

"What's she doing here?" Aunt Nell snorted.

The tone made Greta look up.

Byrne, grinning happily with the joy of the new plan just formed, burst her beaming gladness upon Greta. She wanted to run to her, hug her, and assure her that everything was going to be all right.

And Byrne saw in Greta's eyes a strange thing that she had never seen before. They didn't shine, those eyes. A dulling film seemed to have dropped like a curtain before them. She hardly seemed to know Byrne. It took some moments before she said hello.