“It was a wonderful play, Miss Bartholomew. The children all knew their parts so well.”
“It gets better every year, Miss Bartholomew. It will be a shame to lose you.”
“Would you consider helping the children next year, Miss Bartholomew, for the holidays and special events?”
“Great, Miss Bartholomew. Just great!”
Blanche stood just outside the door of the school accepting congratulations for a job well done with this Friday’s final graduation exercises and entertainment. The parents of every child had come tonight, knowing this was Blanche’s last time to be here as their child’s teacher. It was a wonderful show of support from her community for her efforts over the years. Even Matthew had managed to be pleasant and perform his part well in the play. Caroline and James would be getting married soon and that announcement, too, had added excitement to this evening’s events.
Steven came out of the school with Alexander to stand at Blanche’s side. He leaned toward her and whispered, “I’ll walk you home afterward. I’ll tell you then, how well you did tonight.” She smiled at him and let him put a possessive hand on her elbow.
“A very nice job, Miss Bartholomew,” a lady said to her as Blanche was speaking to another parent. She turned to nod a quick thanks to the mother. But, this was no mother. It was Teresa. She had somehow gotten herself out of the Blackjack and had remained unrecognized throughout the two-hour long presentation. She had dyed her hair blonde, combing it back and up in soft waves. Her face was very carefully made up to be attractive without being brazen. Her dress was a lovely shade of blue, trimmed at the neck and cuffs with white lace, appropriately conservative without being prudish. She wore a small hat of blue with a few tiny white flowers on it, and carried on her wrist a small white handbag.
Teresa offered a congratulatory hand to Blanche as she spoke. Blanche tried desperately to hide her shock and quell the beating of her heart as she took Teresa’s warm fingertips. She could only mutter some incoherent answer in response, quickly releasing her. Teresa left immediately, fading into the night.
“Who was that?” Steven asked.
“I don’t know,” Blanche lied.
Alexander rocked back on his heels, his admiring glance following the lady in blue and said, “She’s certainly lovely, isn’t she?”
“Yes, quite,” Blanche agreed. She turned away from her father; once again she had seen a look she couldn’t identify cross his face. A look that made her uneasy.
Soon afterward all the parents and children were gone. Blanche said to Steven, “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I’d really like to go straight home.” She was a little more than tired. She was still trying to recover from seeing Teresa. All she wanted was to sit down and put her head in her hands and rest. If Steven had recognized Teresa, what would he have said? Or done?
All week when Steven had come in from his ranch to see her, he had demanded to know if she had seen Teresa that afternoon and Blanche had refused to answer. But she could see the anger in his eyes and knew he knew the truth.
She was almost ready to give in to his wishes, it was so much easier than fighting him. Easier, too, than seeing the hurt and pain in her mother’s eyes and listening to Mable’s nagging. Matthew didn’t even speak to her these days unless he had to. Only her father continued to treat her as he always had.
Soon none of it would matter because she wouldn’t see Teresa any longer. Just four more times by actual count. Three, after tomorrow. And no more at all on a daily basis now that school had finally finished for the summer.
“Come on, Blanche. What’s the trouble? You’re lagging.” Steven spoke sharply, a tone he had taken more and more frequently lately. He had insisted that they go down to the river, a place that Blanche felt was more like home than home, these days. And in the dark night, it was very pleasant.
Steven pulled her to him and kissed her. As always his nose began to whistle but Blanche forced its unpleasant sound from her ears and concentrated on what she was supposed to feel for him. He began to rub his hands up and down her back. Trying to perceive what he was experiencing she let him have his way without argument, letting him fondle her breasts through her dress and wondering what his attraction was to them. She had never let him become so familiar before, but with their marriage so close she was desperate to grasp whatever it was that women felt toward men. Her mother certainly felt it. She knew Mable was just waiting for that first night. James and Caroline stared moony-eyed at each other constantly. What in God’s name was wrong with her?
Steven pressed against her and she could feel him rock-hard against her body. He began to push slowly but rhythmically, then faster and faster until he was gasping and burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder whispering hoarsely, “Hold me. Hold me.”
Blanche could have been the trunk of a mesquite tree. She held him until his breathing steadied. She thought she knew what had happened to him. But with all his clothes on? Impossible.
He started moving against her again but she had had enough and whispered as if she could hardly resist him, “I think we’d better go now, Steven.”
He held her closely, still pressing against her. She waited with concealed impatience until he stepped back. “I guess you’re right.” His voice was still breathless as he said, “You’re a fireball, you know that? A real fireball. On our wedding night, the whole sky will light up.”
She had never felt so used.
They walked slowly back to the house. Steven with his arm around her waist all the way there.
After Steven left, she walked into the living room to say goodnight to her parents, but only Alexander was there. “I want to talk to you,” he said.
A stab of fear went through her as she took a chair opposite him. She had had about all she could possibly stand tonight. “It’s not that serious, Blanche. Relax. Take a seat.”
Was her tension that obvious?
“The lovely lady you denied knowing tonight,” he began, “was Teresa. Why did you lie to Steven? You knew who she was.”
Shock hit her for the second time tonight. She never expected this. Until now her father had left her alone about Teresa. Had he changed his mind?
“You know, Blanche....” He interrupted himself to light a cigar. A cloud of smoke billowed around his face. Added tension built in her. Blowing out the match and tossing it into a tray beside him, he said, “I have many friends. But there are even those I call friend I would never ask to my house.”
“I would never ask Teresa here, Father,” she said.
“That’s not my point, Blanche. You know that all my friends do not fit into this part of my life. At the bank they do, at the Blackjack where we have a drink together now and then, they do, and out on occasional hunting trips. But not here. Not in this house.”
“I don’t understand your point, Father,” Blanche said.
“My point, Blanche, is that even if they don’t fit neatly and precisely into my way of life it has never been a reason to deny that I know them and like them. And, I would add, they probably wouldn’t want to join in everything I do. It would bore some and cause mental anguish to others because your mother would make them feel very unwelcome. But in my heart, they’ll always be special to me — and I’ll not deny them.”
“Steven is making it so difficult,” she said.
“Then fight him!” Alexander said strongly. “He doesn’t own you.”
“And Mother?”
“She’ll adjust. She has for me.”
“It’s a great deal to ask of her, Father. I’m hurting her terribly.”
“Why not just forget Teresa, then?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I almost think I need her.”
“Almost?”
“I need her,” she whispered.
“Why do you need a trollop’s friendship more than you need to yield to your family’s wishes that you give up this little tramp?”
“She’s not a tramp!” Blanche said vehemently.
“Yes, she is, Blanche.”
No! her mind screamed. But in the end she had to agree. “Yes . . . she is,” she said very softly. The truth was the truth.
But, it was so unimportant.
She said, “I’m well aware that she makes her living hustling drinks and sleeping with cowboys. But it doesn’t matter to me, Father. What does matter is that she makes me feel like a real person. Can you imagine how it feels to be able to talk to someone who doesn’t laugh at me the minute they think I’m out of earshot? I know what the ladies around town say about me. I know!”
Alexander rose and walked over to Blanche. “Come here.” He reached for his daughter and took her in his arms. For the first time in months she felt safe and secure and honestly loved.
“Blanche,” he began. “Someday you’re going to love so hard that you’ll fight and die if you have to just to keep that person. You’ll see happiness in everything around you and everyone will look like they’re smiling and you’ll be sure they’re smiling just for you.”
“I’m marrying soon, Father. Steven.”
“Yes, I know.” She could feel his chest expand as he took a deep breath. He said, “You’ll love hard and only once, I think, Blanche. You’re that kind of a person. And nothing on earth will make you change your mind.” He let go of her then.
She didn’t understand at all how she could ever fall in love in the manner he described but somehow his confusing words left her with a sense of release from the week’s endless tensions.
Later, she lay awake thinking that she had better fall in love with Steven soon or she was in a great deal of emotional trouble. She was sure she didn’t love him right now. Not like Mable loved Roger. Things just didn’t feel right. To her, love only looked like an endless trap.
She stopped these useless thoughts and rolled over to think about Teresa’s unexpected appearance tonight. Talk about joy! She had thought her heart would explode. If she could experience that feeling with Steven in the form of love — which was greater than friendship—then she would easily be the happiest woman in Starcross. She fell asleep trying to think of ways to transfer the happiness she felt toward Teresa to Steven.
The following Saturday morning it was cloudy with rain threatening but there wasn’t a storm brewing that would have kept Blanche away from her drive with Teresa. She wanted to ask her a thousand questions about last night. And maybe even a few about Steven; about what she was supposed to feel toward a man. If anyone could help, she was sure Teresa could.
Teresa pulled up early and said, “Get in.” She smiled but seemed withdrawn, and Blanche sensed a strain between them.
To loosen things up, Blanche said, “I see you got Stormy again. He’s becoming an old friend, isn’t he?”
Teresa merely nodded, and without asking Blanche her preference this morning, drove to where they usually spent their time together, passed it, and continued on for another fifteen minutes before stopping. They were dangerously far from town.
“Teresa, give me the reins.” Blanche took them from her hands. She turned the buggy around and drove back toward the mesquite grove. They rode silently until she pulled Stormy to a halt under the trees.
Like the first time Blanche had sat beside Teresa, she again put her arm on the back of the seat. “Look at me,” she said.
Teresa stubbornly stared straight ahead.
Blanche took Teresa’s chin in her hand. “Look at me,” she insisted. She turned Teresa’s face toward her own and Blanche could hardly meet her dark eyes.
Towering over her, Blanche felt like a fortress shielding Teresa from all her pain.
Someone she would fight and die for? Her father’s words bounced around in her head.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Teresa didn’t move. Made no effort to pull away. She looked steadily into Blanche’s eyes.
Blanche would not swallow. Would NOT! Would not turn splotchy red. She’d croak first. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to allow time enough to regain her composure. She chided herself for her unexplainable boiling heart but with a steady voice said, “Teresa, I’m a friend of yours. Please tell me what’s bothering you.”
Teresa threw off Blanche’s question with a wave of her hand, a self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, you know how I get, Blanche.”
No, Blanche didn’t know. A couple of weeks ago Teresa had quickly brushed off her black eye after going through a mood. What was she brushing off now, Blanche wondered.
Teresa’s disposition brightened as they walked to the boulder they had closely studied some days ago, and climbed over some smaller rocks that rested against it and onto its top. In spite of the cloudy day, it was still pleasant to be here.
Blanche struggled with how she could ask Teresa about Steven — and soon, while she still had an ounce of courage left in her cowardly body.
“Teresa,” she began shyly. “I have some things I’d like to ask you. Things I don’t dare ask my mother. I ... need to know them before I get married.”
Teresa looked at her. “Yes?” she asked, and sniggered.
“About... about marriage.”
“Ha!” Teresa burst out loudly. “What do I know about marriage?”
Blanche said, “Well, not about marriage, exactly.”
“Do you mean sex?”
Involuntarily, Blanche swallowed. “Yes.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know much about it.”
“It’ll come to you. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not so sure, Teresa. You see, I don’t....” How could she possibly tell Teresa that she felt nothing for Steven?
“Do you want me to tell you what to do?” Teresa asked. “Is that it?”
Red-faced, Blanche said, “No, I know what to do. I just don’t know why I don’t feel anything for Steven yet.” There! It was out. Let her laugh.
Graciously, Teresa didn’t. “Oh, don’t worry, Blanche. You will. I guarantee it. When you’re lying there with all your clothes off and he lays down beside you and you feel his skin next to yours, you’ll feel something then.”
“Do you feel something?” Blanche asked.
“No.”
No? Teresa felt nothing for the men she slept with? It wasn’t possible. But it was good news. Lord, what was wrong with her mind? She couldn’t own Teresa any more than Steven could own herself. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Not at all. How can you not feel something?”
“You just said, Blanche, that you don’t feel anything for Steven. Why can’t I not feel anything for the men in my life?”
“I guess because I’ve never actually had . . . had . . . intercourse with a man and think I’ll feel something only after I do. And you . . . you have and therefore should feel something.”
“I don’t. I did with my daughter’s father. He was a little exciting. Not much though,” she added as an afterthought.
Blanche absently drummed her fingers on her knees. She looked far off into the distance. “Would you have fought and died for him, Teresa?”
“I guess not,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I’m here. He’s in Connecticut.”
“Do you think you’d ever fight and die for someone, if you had to?”
Teresa gave her a strange look. “Fight and die for someone? Yes, I would,” she said looking away. “I’d fight and die, and burn down towns if I had to. That is, if I knew that that person would do the same for me. That’s a strange question, isn’t it, coming from a woman about to be married? You’ll fight and die for your husband, Blanche, if you’re ever forced into such a situation.”
Blanche shrugged. She was supposed to feel like that. She was supposed to be willing to give her all for her man. Father had said so.
As they strolled along the river, Teresa withdrew again. She seemed to be fighting with herself over something she wanted to say. Several times, with a word or a sigh, she began, only to stop and start over again. Blanche felt something close to irritation at the way Teresa unconsciously teased her with her secret. But Blanche had never been pushy. She despised that trait in a person. She lived with people like that; was about to marry one. Her rationalization steadied her and she was able to let Teresa carry on her struggle without interfering.
Finally, with the morning gone, it was time to return.
On her way back to the house Blanche counted the days and itemized all that she would be doing until she could see Teresa again. She would go to church twice. She would see Steven at least six times, go to sleep seven times, eat so many meals, see so many people, do certain things. And then she would see Teresa again.
Later that night in bed, she dreamed. She saw herself walking through a large two-story house full of empty rooms. Each room had a bed and a window with a thin white curtain which billowed softly from a pleasant cool breeze. The rooms were bright and sunny.
From somewhere upstairs someone was calling her name. She thought she should be terrified because she was alone. She waited for terror to grip her. When it didn’t, she ascended the stairs, following the voice, her steps echoing loudly throughout the building. She became confused. Now there were two voices. She looked in the direction of the voices. Both were coming from different rooms to her right. She walked down the hall opening each door looking to see who called. When she reached the next to last door she found Steven alone in the room. He lay on the bed waiting for her. He beckoned with his hand for her to come to him.
His nude body was hairy and grotesque. That he was terribly unpleasant to look at was not supposed to matter to Blanche because he was her husband now and knowing this she dutifully walked toward him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on its edge as she stood before him. Slowly and reluctantly she took off her clothes, dropping them at her feet piece by piece.
Steven began to breathe deeply. Blanche looked down on him and saw that he was ready. She stepped to him and put a hand on his shoulder. She bent to let him kiss her heavy breasts, gritting her teeth to keep from screaming. Then another voice began to call her name. She had forgotten there had been a second one when she had walked toward her husband.
Steven followed her out the door. His engorged penis kept poking her unpleasantly in the backside as he walked closely behind her. “I want you,” he kept saying.
Blanche opened the last door in the hallway and there on the bed lay Teresa covered with a large white lace blanket that allowed Blanche only a faint glimpse of her small slim body, but Blanche knew she was nude. She walked over to Teresa, longing to lie down beside her. Without turning, Blanche said, “Go, Steven. I’ll be right in. I promise.” She turned to look at him but saw instead Julia who was saying, “She’ll ruin you, Blanche.”
“No, she won’t, Mother,” Blanche answered. “Go on. I’ll be right there,” and Julia faded into Steven. Without knowing how, she knew he now waited in the next room for her.
Guilt weighing heavily upon her, she slipped in beside Teresa and lay on her side looking down on her. Teresa looked up and tenderly and shyly Blanche leaned over her, and as if by accident, brushed her lips with her own while on her way to her ear to whisper that they would meet on Saturday. The delicate touch was enough to make Blanche want Teresa in ways she had never wanted Steven. Her heart pounded violently in her ears and her hands clenched into tight fists as she fought to keep from touching Teresa’s enticing body. When she could no longer bear being next to her for another second, Blanche started to get up.
Teresa said, “You haven’t gotten one message I’ve sent you so far,” stopping Blanche, freezing her with her words.
Blanche tried to understand what Teresa was saying. The words must have been terribly important. Otherwise Teresa wouldn’t have said them.
Unable to stay there any longer, Blanche moved with Herculean effort from Teresa’s side. She tidied the lace blanket to make sure no one could detect that she had lain there.
As she walked out the door, Teresa said, “You shouldn’t go, Blanche.”
But she couldn’t stay. She was married. And her husband waited for her.
She returned to Steven’s room and stood outside the door until he called her. With an enormous crushing sense of loss she turned once to look back at Teresa who now stood in the hallway with the lace draped seductively around her body. Blanche tore her eyes away and walked over to Steven. She lay down beside him, aching with defeat. He took her in his arms and lay on top of her, his massive weight crushing her, driving her deep into the mattress. Unable to move, she felt him force her thighs apart with his legs as she listened to him whistle through his nose. Her terror of him mounted as she wondered frantically if he would hurt her. She wasn’t ready. She had never been ready. Not for him. Just as she felt him begin to penetrate her, she awoke.
She sat bolt upright in bed, her nightgown drenched and her breathing labored as she fought for air. Her dream was still with her. Her loathing and fear for Steven’s touch, her passion for Teresa. Then suddenly the meaning of the entire dream came crashing down on her: what she had done, how she had felt, lingering emotions still so strong that a single thought of Teresa set her heart beating wildly out of control as she drew her knees up against her chest and fought renewed visions of nearly kissing Teresa and barely being able to keep her hands off her.
As heat rose within her she felt a sudden moistness between her legs. Was this passion? Was this finally it? Was this how she was supposed to feel about Steven?
It was grand. Grand!
The new sensations overwhelmed her, and an uncontrollable urge drove her to explore. She lifted her gown and worked her hand between the warm fat of her thighs to reach herself to know what was happening.
She discovered she was hot and swollen. Once she had touched herself she could not remove the finger she had placed there. She was slick, wet, nearly dripping. She pressed an exploring finger against a slight mound of soft, firm flesh. Only a team of horses could have pulled her hand away.
She hardly dared make a move or even breathe for fear of committing some sort of sin. She was only curious about her body. That was all. She was just learning about herself. For marriage.
Her hand involuntarily began to move. The other hand strayed with volition to a breast. She slid her fingers up to a swollen nipple and began to squeeze it and to run her palm over it, caressing it softly. The motion forced her onto her back where her hips started moving almost by themselves and her thighs fell apart.
Hardly aware that she was doing so, she easily convinced herself that it was all right because soon she and Steven would be doing it together and she needed to know how, now. She kept her mind on him as she continued to caress her breast and nipple. She moved her hand rhythmically with a, slow, steady movement until her speed increased effortlessly. Almost at a peak now, she turned on her side to bury her face in the pillow to drown out sounds she couldn’t control.
At the height of her ecstasy, she cried into the deep folds of her pillow, “Teresa, Teresa, Teresa. . . .”