CHAPTER EIGHT

Thursday was a pretty day, the sunshine so spanking hot, the shade so sharply cool, colors so clean. The pretty little town had never looked more charming. There was some traffic of white clouds, benevolent and mild as sheep across a crisp blue sky. On the damp earth remained the patterns of rivulets meeting and parting, but the flood was gone. Birds sang. There was no dust. The trees shone, every leaf was polished.

Libby Duncane through her bay window could remark the shimmer of gold over the green of her lawn, winking off and on again as the cloud shadows chased across.

“Oh, no more, my dear,” said Mrs. Gilchrist.

Libby went right on pouring tea.

“Really, although it is delicious …”

“One and cream?” said Libby, being dainty with the sugar tongs.

“Well,” Mrs. Gilchrist succumbed and loosed her easy soprano laughter. She had something to say, yet. A new subject had come up. Her handsome face was animated. She narrowed her bright blue eyes.

“Odd that she brought them to you, you mean?”

“Because I’ve met her only the one time,” said Libby. “At church, you know. But I suppose she just happened to think of my empty garden. It does look so bad … right on the street. Everyone can see I have no tomato vines.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Gilchrist and drank tea. She then leaned. “Elizabeth, do you mind if I say something?”

Libby thought, I won’t know until you say it. She hated the gambit. It usually meant that you certainly would mind. Definitely you weren’t going to like it at all, as the questioner well knew, but you had to give a blanket promise to suppress this or suffer from thwarted curiosity forever after. So she answered cordially.

“Of course not, Marianne.”

“You are a newcomer. That is, the newest comer.… You do know what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Libby. So new I don’t know what it’s all about, she translated in her mind.

“And suppose Madeline Cole would … er … like very much to … er … be asked to certain places.”

“Yes,” said Libby impatiently.

“Well, you see, you are the one person who might, if she is very pleasant and friendly, ask her here.”

Might be dumb enough to ask her, translated Libby silently.

“Do you see then? If she were seen here … why …”

“I see.”

“Now it wouldn’t occur to Mrs. McKeever, for instance, to include her. Yet if Mrs. McKeever were to meet her under your auspices … for of course, my dear, you will have influence …”

“In other words she is trying to use me,” said Libby bluntly.

“Well,” this was too blunt for Marianne Gilchrist although it was exactly what she meant.

“I don’t know about that. I don’t think so …” said Libby doubtfully. “I don’t know why she made such a gesture, but I just can’t imagine …”

“Well …” said Mrs. Gilchrist in another accent entirely. This time it meant: You are young and inexperienced and not on to these dodges.

But Libby kept stubbornly to her own opinion.

“She didn’t seem to be making up to me a bit. I just don’t think she cares that much about that sort of thing.…”

Mrs. Gilchrist’s face delicately indicated that everyone, of course, cared a great deal about that sort of thing. What else was there?

Libby, on her part, wanted to know why if Madeline Cole cared to be invited she should not be. But she didn’t ask directly. She said, “As a matter of fact Mrs. Cole is very attractive. Don’t you think so? Quite beautiful, I think.”

“Oh, yes …” said Mrs. Gilchrist at once. It took the wind out of the compliment and turned it inside out. To be so beautiful was just it. Just the trouble.

“I don’t often repeat,” lied Marianne Gilchrist cheerfully, “but the story is … she was a schoolteacher, you know … the story is that never once was she asked to come back a second year … Anywhere.”

“Is that so?”

“Because by the end of each term there was always some situation, some uproar among the men. D’you see?”

“Do you mean scandal?” asked Libby brightly.

“Oh, no, no—not that ever came out.” Mrs. Gilchrist’s tongue passed swiftly over her lower lip. “Some women just … it’s like flies to honey …” She nodded vigorously. “Flies to honey …” she repeated, and then she turned on that mirthless laughter.

Libby experienced a feeling of revulsion. Well then, Madeline Cole would not do. Women closed ranks against such as she for reasons. Libby herself would go with the majority even though, at the same time, she knew quite clearly that the reasons might be merely jealous and defensive, quite unfair.

She sat still beside the tea table. She thought, What’s the matter? She was uneasy. She’d been uneasy in a new and different way all this day. Her panic the night before, now over, seemed to have cut into some foundations. For one thing, she was not sure whether she and Henry had quarreled or not. Or had they agreed in some quite disagreeable way? He had gone off in the morning as aloof and kind—she bit at the word angrily in her mind—as ever. If they had quarreled, they seemed to have made a truce not to talk about it. Still she had a feeling that she was lost and strayed. Something was wrong with her. Not her pregnancy and the fear of it, not her loneliness, her lacking her mother, but something else.

“My dear, I must fly. Alex will be home and Veronica is out.”

“It was so nice of you to come on Thursday,” gushed Libby. “Celestina’s out too, of course, and I do hate being alone.”

Mrs. Gilchrist’s eyes flickered over her hostess’ body. But she said, “How is Celestina working out, dear? Any better?”

“Oh, a little,” Libby sighed. “I’ve rather given up.”

In fact there was that truce, too, in the house. Celestina went about stolidly, Libby said little to her. But now and then during these last few days there had been a slant of those dark eyes that was provoking. It was as if she watched Libby—not for instruction or to see whether or not her mistress was pleased and certainly not in fear lest her mistress was angry again—but with an air of pure curiosity, Libby thought. As if she watched to see what Libby was going to do out of curiosity alone! As if her mistress was a vaudeville turn or an entertainment!

“She’s exasperating …” Libby sighed. “But Henry wants me not to worry, at least just now. So I let it go.”

“Why of course, you mustn’t fuss, just now.” Mrs. Gilchrist struck Libby’s shoulder playfully with her gloves. “And you must remember to call on me for anything at all. Mercy what are neighbors for!”

Laughing gaily, Mrs. Gilchrist moved to the door. The lovely afternoon was spread before them. “So fresh after the storm,” sighed Mrs. Gilchrist. She smoothed gloves on.

Mrs. Trestrial’s Model T came looping around the sharp corner and drove fussing and popping into her driveway.

“Mercy,” Mrs. Gilchrist’s laughter rang. “Oh, my dear … the hat.”

The hat got out of the Ford and was borne across Mrs. Trestrial’s back yard to her kitchen door. It was a purple toque and bore a lopsided wreath of velvet violets. But only the trimming was cocked on her head. The hat sat foursquare across her tall brow and above her lantern face. The effect was droll. One had to smile.

“The other day,” gasped Mrs. Gilchrist, “my children were … of course they do love to tease her. Do you know … Hoo, hoo!” Mrs. Gilchrist hooted twice, “what she called at them? ‘Don’t you tip your tail at me,’” she quoted. “Hoo, hoo, hoo!”

Libby realized with a little shock that she too was hooting. In a lower register, a softer tone, but it was the same false, mirthless sound. She stopped abruptly.

“‘Tip your tail,’ Hoo, hoo!” Mrs. Gilchrist was merry.

Libby wanted to say quietly, “Mrs. Trestrial has been a nice neighbor,” or “a kind neighbor.” Some such phrase was forming in her mind but it did not form on her mouth. She did not say it. Nor had she said a word about her panic in the storm. Or her flight. Or the refuge she had found.

“She’s a scream, poor old soul …” gasped Mrs. Gilchrist. “Oh well, my dear, I must run,” (archly). “Do take care of yourself.”

“I will,” said Libby smiling faintly. Her soft blue eyes were sad and sober.

“The nurse, you say … next week?”

“Tuesday,” said Libby. “Henry thinks I ought to have her as soon as she is free. We don’t want to risk her going on another case. She’s so much the best, the only one, I’m afraid … who would do.”

“Tuesday, of course. Ah, so nice …” Mrs. Gilchrist’s eyes licked at Libby’s gross figure once more and then she tripped away.

Libby closed her front door. She felt a little stained and dirty. Something was certainly wrong. There was something going on she didn’t like, that made her uneasy. Her mind churned around and fastened on a shrewd little speculation. “I bet Marianne Gilchrist knows exactly how influential I’m likely to be. I’ll bet that’s why she puts herself out to call on me.”

But she didn’t succeed in pushing all of the meanness off on Marianne Gilchrist. She was still uneasy. She had a hunch that her mother could have told her what it was that was wrong. But her mother wasn’t coming. That strong hand would not take hers and balance her with one firm tug and set her straight. She knew she was wandering, somewhat, and lost. Or she had lost something.

But there was no time to think or figure it out. Not time. There was a Valley of the Shadow close before her through which she must somehow pass. Next week? How soon?

“I won’t try to think about anything until it’s over. When it’s over I can think,” she told herself and pushed nervously at her hair.

Cyril was amused and very curious too. He had no doubt now that Arthur had suddenly lost all interest in education. He had not said a word about it in two days. So the subject no longer burned in his head. Cyril wondered what did. Perhaps, he reflected, nothing. But something must rush into such a vacuum.

Arthur was silent across the supper table this Thursday. Broody, with eyes cast down. Madeline was no chatterer. So little was said.

It was a relief, of course, that Arthur had stopped his pestering and pleading. Yet Cyril wondered what had stopped it Why did these flaming interests die and lie cold? What put them out?

In a spirit of experiment he made an attempt to poke at the embers.

“Well, Maddy, back to work?” He threw the question down.

“What?” Her gray eyes were clouded with her private thoughts.

“Going to apply for a teaching job in the fall? If so, better hurry.”

Now she looked left and right distractedly. She didn’t appreciate the experiment. He knew what she was thinking.

“I don’t know,” she said at last flatly.

Arthur pursued some gravy with a crust.

“Arthur will want to enter himself,” Cyril continued, “no later than the fall term, I should imagine.”

Arthur was dull-eyed.

“Since this may affect me,” Cyril kept pushing, “I’d like to know.”

Nothing happened on Arthur’s face.

Brother and sister exchanged looks. Cyril’s was mocking, “I told you so.” Madeline’s was cool and reminding, “Be still.”

“Any news?” said Arthur suddenly.

“News? No …” Cyril said, “but if you want opinion, Harding will win, or so they all say.”

“I mean around town,” Arthur squirmed.

Cyril looked astonished. “Around this town?” His eyes stretched. “Biggest news I know is that Hooper shot that mangy dog of his. Four Hooper kids and four Hooper kid-cousins showed up in the post office with nickels for candy to drown their sorrow, I presume. Form of child blackmail. They never paid any attention to the dog, that I know of, except to kick him.”

Arthur didn’t even seem to hear this cynical report.

“Henry Duncane’s kid get born?” he wanted to know.

Cyril twisted his mouth. “You’d have heard. You’d be telling us.”

“Kinda nice having a kid,” said Arthur dreamily, and drank tea.

Madeline’s knuckles went white on the edge of the table.

“I was thinking maybe Maddy won’t want to go back to teaching. I mean, she might not want to.” He wasn’t looking at his wife.

But Madeline said at once, sharply, “Why not!”

“Well,” said Arthur, “you can’t tell …” A sheepish grin, half leer, formed on his face as now he looked at her.

“No! Don’t! Don’t go red-eyed about that! Now!” she cried out.

“What?”

“Just don’t …” She put her hand on her mouth and left the table.

Arthur turned in astonishment, “What did I do? What did I say? What does she mean? Are my eyes red?”

“Just a little pinkish, so far,” said Cyril cryptically. “Now lean back, Art. You shouldn’t spring an idea like that on a woman so abruptly.”

“No?” said Arthur. “What’s so abrupt? You mean she never thought of it before?” His face darkened. He got up.

Cyril put his lower lip under his teeth. He could hear them in the kitchen.

“What’s so shocking, Madeline? For gosh sakes, I want kids. I always …”

“Just because you get a sudden notion—”

“Notion! Listen, any normal husband—”

“Arthur, you’d better think it over.”

“What’s to think over?”

“Arthur, I—”

“What?”

“Wait—”

“Why?”

“Because I …”

“Because what? Listen, Madeline. I think it might be the best thing in the world. You got nothing much to keep you busy, and I should think you’d be tickled to death. I don’t know what we’re waiting for. Why not have a kid?”

“I thought you wanted to go to college?” she cried.

“Well, I dunno. I might be a little rusty. I get along. I make enough and, well, a man ought to have a son. Henry Duncane …”

“Oh, stop it!”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m not going to imitate the people you admire … to that extent! Now, just don’t …!”

“Imitate! Listen, I was only going to say he got married just about when we did. I was going to point out …”

“Stop pointing out!”

“You mean you won’t?”

“I mean, I won’t … won’t … not just like this. Arthur, please.”

“I dunno what’s the matter with you?”

“Someday, I’ll tell you,” she cried goaded.

“Tell me what?” His voice leapt at her.

“Nothing. Nothing. You’ll be late.”

“Tell me what?”

“Nothing. Arthur, don’t keep nagging at me the way you do. You make me … I don’t know why I said that.”

He was standing, crowding her against the sink. She was at bay. She could see hi his attractive but sulky boyish face an ugly hint.

“You’d better know,” he glowered and in the white of the eye, as it turned, she caught the glint of it again. The violence, as Cyril had suggested.

She was afraid of it.

She said softly, “Arthur, won’t you please try to understand. When you just offhand, in front of Cyril too, say a thing like that …”

“What did I say?”

“That I … we, should have a baby.”

“I said it would be nice to.”

“But …”

“It would, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe it would.” She swallowed and smiled.

“There’s something the matter with you?”

“No, no.”

“You don’t want to have a baby?”

“I didn’t say that. I … Arthur, you’ll be late.”

“No, I won’t.” But he drew away a little and she breathed.

“I don’t get it,” he said in a harsh whine. “I don’t see why you called me red-eyed, either.”

“It’s—”

“It’s what! Sounds like a dirty name to me. Madeline, if you don’t want to have a child by me, you better say so right now.”

She could feel the blow coming. The pain of it was waiting on her skin. Now she realized that she had felt one coming times before. She knew how to manage. “It isn’t that …” she said very wearily, and closed her eyes.

She had spoken wearily and closed her eyes just so many times before. It was a familiar reaction.

“All right,” he said. “It isn’t that. So then you do want to?”

“Of course. Some day.” She managed to smile.

He took up his dinner pail. He stood glaring down at her and his eyes seemed to her to be literally red.

“Next time,” he said, “don’t screech as if you thought it was a fate worse than death to have a kid. For gosh sakes.”

“I’m sorry.” She’d made a mistake. She was sorry.

“Give us a kiss.”

He kissed her but without any particular passion. The idea was ballooning, filling his whole mind. A kid. A baby. That was the thing he lacked. The thing he wanted. The thing he needed to complete himself.

He went toward the door, he half turned back, “O.K.,” he said darkly. He might as well have added, “we’ll attend to it then.”

She crumpled against the kitchen wall.

Cyril looked in. “Now what?” he inquired with a faint overtone of glee. “What now?”

The evening was as beautiful as the day had been, as fresh and as sweet. While the woods drew on their evening mysteries and the high stars came out, the town drowsed in its cozy valley and there the arc lights bloomed on their tall stalks.

Elders rocked on the porches, children ran breathless with delight in and out of shadows tasting the sweet danger of the dark before bed. The boys gathered on their corner. The young girls found they had to see Helen, who lived west of that corner and see her right tonight. Meantime, Helen must see Lotus who lived east of it.

And Celestina stood in the dark by the Duncane’s gate with Angelo, who said Trezona didn’t care about anything to do with her but was swaggering around town, as everyone knew … so that was proved … but she tossed her dark curls and would not answer.

Meanwhile, babies cried above stairs and young mothers threw off their dreams in the fragrance of the evening and went to change a diaper, and grandfathers filled pipes.

Peace was on the town.

Libby Duncane felt it and looked up from her novel. A lovely peaceful night but, because of her great inertia, she must stay inside under the lamp to read. Yet the peace was within the room as well, for Henry was reading at a companionable distance. And that made all safe. The day buttoned down. Its efforts over. The sweet evening waning toward sleep.

“Ten o’clock,” she yawned. The mine phone rang.

Three short. Henry’s lashes fluttered. “Trezona,” he muttered.

Again. Long, long. Henry said out loud, “That’s the Old Man.” (Who called Mr. McKeever at ten in the evening?)

Again. Another call. Not yet Henry’s. And another. Not for Henry at all. Libby said to herself, But the weather’s so fine. What? She looked over at Henry. He was not even pretending to read. There was some jigging madness in the telephone so that it would not be still.

Then Henry got up deliberately. He took off the receiver and listened in. He said loudly, “This is Duncane … Where?… Any men? Ah …” It was a strange sound that ended his part of the conversation. Like a long sigh.

“What’s the matter?” she cried out.

His face was strange. Now began a series of blows to which she chimed like a gong as he struck them.

“Been an accident,” he told her.

“Oh, where?”

“West Thor.”

“Oh, Henry …”

“Looks like some men may be caught underground.”

“Caught!”

“Buried!” he said.

“Oh! No!”

She didn’t understand at all, but she was appalled.

“Listen.” Henry turned the strange quiet of his face. “Ah, there’s Celestina now. Good. You won’t be alone.”

“Alone! Oh …”

“I’m going up to the shafthouse, at least Find out how bad this is.” His eyes were hard and steady. It was the hard and steady acceptance on his face that was so strange.

“Henry …” she wailed, understanding nothing. “Please … don’t you go into anything bad.”

“That’s my job,” he said, sounding very angry.

He turned on his heel and called, “Celestina!” Libby could hear him telling the girl rapidly, “Been a cave-in at West Thor. They don’t know yet what, or who … Stay with Mrs. Duncane, will you, until I’m back?”

He was going. He was gone.

Celestina came slowly into the room.

“But what happened? What does it mean!” Libby cried.

She could see a wild sorrow already changing the dark young face.

The child leaped in her body. Libby Duncane got up and brushed by to look out of the window.

Behind her, Celestina began to murmur, “Mary, Mother of God …”

And Libby thought, the girl’s not going to be any good whatever it is, whatever we have to face now.

“Oh, I don’t understand!” she cried aloud.

For there was nothing outside but the peace of the night as it lay on the town.

On the surface.