by J. L. Jarvis
A second story window scraped open. “Jake? What’s the matter?”
“Maggie!”
“Be quiet!”
He lowered his voice to an exaggerated hush. “Maggie.”
“Go home.”
“C’mon down, darlin’!”
A minute later, Maggie closed the front door and came out to the edge of the porch. “Jake?”
“Look, Maggie. I dreamed you up.” He smiled, pleased with himself.
“No. You woke me up.” She frowned impatiently.
“Drowsy Maggie.” He started humming the old Irish tune as he drew her to him and started to dance, but he soon lost his balance. She held onto him, barely keeping them both from falling.
He grinned and slurred, “Drowsy Maggie.”
“Drunken Jake.” She tightened her grip on the wrist over her shoulder, lodged her shoulder under his armpit, and guided him up the front steps. But his wobbling legs brought him only as far as the top step before he tripped. They fell down together. He landed on top of her and appeared in no hurry to move. Catching a good whiff of liquor, bar smoke, and she didn’t want to think of what else, she said, “You’re not just drunk, you’re stinkin’ drunk.” She rolled him over to land on the floor, and then she wriggled free and sat up.
He smiled broadly. “That schooling’s not wasted on you, drowsy Maggie.”
She tore off some mint leaves from the flower bed. “Here. Open your mouth.”
He misunderstood and moved in closer to kiss her. She couldn't help but smile as she tenderly pushed him away. As though feeding a child, she put the mint leaves into his mouth with instructions to suck on them. Then she gave him a pat on the cheek. It was moist. “Now what have you done here? Let me see.” She pushed his hand aside and held his face toward the streetlight. “Jake, you’ve cut yourself!”
He looked at her, his eyes full of trust.
Maggie couldn't be angry with him, or even annoyed, when he looked at her like that. “Wait right here. I’m going to get something for that.” She leaned Jake against a post and instructed, “Don’t move.”
The tiny cut had stopped bleeding by the time Maggie finished cleaning it. “I’ve known you to have a few beers, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.” She held his chin in her hand as she examined his wound. Jake looked at her with eyes opened wide and filled of unguarded affection.
“What’s the matter?”
He said nothing.
She looked into his eyes. “Something’s bothering you.”
“You.”
“Oh, I made you get drunk, did I?”
“It’s you, Maggie. It’s always been you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, dismissing his words and yet knowing she shouldn’t.
“Neither do I. Like you said, I’m just drunk.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the street. His eyes misted, so he hid his face in his hands to conceal it.
Mistaking the move, she said, “You think your head hurts now, just wait till the morning.”
He lifted his face and glanced toward her, and then he stared at the street for the longest time. Maggie watched him. His eyes had a faraway aspect, and hair hung over his brow in sections. Maggie reached out and brushed his hair back with her fingers. Jake caught them and held them against his face and she sharply inhaled. He heard her and suddenly turned. Their eyes met and he held her gaze as he brought her fingers to his lips. Her lips parted. His arms were around her. He buried his face in her neck, and his lips brushed her earlobe. He held on.
Maggie’s arms awkwardly returned the embrace for a moment, and then, feebly, she tried to extricate herself until she no longer wished to be free. There they remained, long enough for Maggie to turn her face timorously toward his cheek. She loved Andrew, not Jake. But then why was she warmed by the touch of his lips on her neck?
“What are we doing?” she whispered, and then she stopped thinking and turned toward Jake, her lips parting.
A jarring snore broke through the stillness and startled her. Jerking her head back, she looked and saw Jake peacefully sleeping on her shoulder. She glared at him and whispered through clenched teeth. “Jake O’Neill!” Her ire was short-lived as she looked at his tousled hair and full lips, so endearing—asleep with his mouth open—unaware and untroubled. Feelings rushed to the surface, unexpected and unwanted. Her mind had been settled. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Resting her head against his, Maggie looked into the night sky and tried to make sense of what lay beneath it.
Jake awoke in the morning to find himself stretched across the porch swing. He sat up and looked about, sensing some familiarity, yet not fully oriented. As the haze began to clear from his head, he recognized Maggie’s porch. Fragments of recent memories began to collect out of sequence. He got up and headed for home, hoping he could do so without Maggie knowing he had ever been there.
Allison knelt on her closet floor and ran her fingers across the floorboards. Lifting a loose board, she pulled a small bundle from beneath it. She untied the corners of a silk scarf to reveal a small stack of letters.
To this she began to add the most recent missive but hesitated. She opened the letter and began to read it once more.
A,
Today you smiled, and I saw that you were happy. I had to turn away so no one would see how I love you. Your joy gave me hope. I will hold fast to that hope that my love will one day erase all the pain that it surely will cause. If it only were possible, I would shield you from what lies ahead.
“Allison!”
With a start, Allison turned her ear toward the voice. It was Andrew, calling from below.
Allison stood and walked over to the mirror.
“Allison!”
She smoothed her hair and wiped a tear from her eye, then looked at the letter still clutched in her hand. She tucked it into her desk drawer then hastened on her way.
From the top of the stairs, she could see them waiting below. Andrew and Powell were talking until Powell glanced up toward Allison from beneath heavy eyelids, then turned toward Andrew and pretended to listen to him opine about the best trout fishing spots. Allison wondered how much sport was involved when the water was stocked with fish, but she said nothing. It was simply one more aspect of men that lacked logic.
She hesitated at the top of the stairs before she took a step down and held onto the banister.
Noticing her movement in the periphery, Andrew glanced up as he finished a sentence. “There she is!” He flashed a grin Allison’s way, but she did not return it.
She stood shielding her brow. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I—it’s a headache. I’m really not up to a boat ride just now. If you’ll excuse me.” Allison turned and took a step up.
“We’ll miss you,” said Powell.
Allison paused without turning, and then continued toward her room.
Powell looked intensely in Allison’s direction but said nothing more.
She closed the door with care. Back inside her room, Allison walked over to the window and leaned against the frame, gazing outside. People continued to busy themselves with the tasks of the day, but in her heart, Allison hovered apart from her surroundings, removed from time.
“He is my life,” she thought. She closed her eyes but couldn't keep out the world.
She took a seat at her bureau and pulled from the drawer the letter she had not finished reading.
If it only were possible, I would shield you from what lies ahead. Can love be enough? You see, there is my struggle. Does my love bring you happiness? I can see that it does. But will my love bring you sorrow? It will, I’m certain. And so, there it is. Our love is destined to tear apart those we love, and inflame those we do not. And here we will be in its midst, and I’ll see in your face the burden of having been scorned. My love, how can I do that to you?
Your D
Allison’s face was flushed and moist with tears. She returned the paper to its en
velope and placed it on the small stack of letters. Then, tenderly, she wrapped the ribbon across the width, then the length of the letters and tied them together. After the letters were safely in place under the floorboard, she opened her answering letter and read it one last time before delivering it.
D,
It’s true, I'm happy. Please don't worry that your love would cause pain. Yes, there are those who would scorn us, but they don’t have the power to change how we feel. With you, I will face what lies ahead, and love will prevail. For now, we will keep our hearts secret and safe. When the time arrives to come out of hiding, we’ll be strong. Together nothing will part us. Until such a day, I am
Yours,
A
With her letter tucked inside her sleeve, Allison walked out of her room and down the stairs. The house was empty, except for the servants. She looked about carefully, and then walked up toward the road. On the far side of the carriage house, where no one would see her, Allison walked along the edge until she reached a window. She pulled on it gently until it opened a crack. Then she slid the letter in and listened for it to drop. From behind her she heard a slight rustle of leaves, but when she turned around nothing was there. A squirrel could have made such a sound. Nevertheless, she took a different route back, around the back of the outhouse and emerged from behind it to walk into the cottage.
Chapter 9
Andrew, Allison and Samuel rode toward the dam in a surrey. While Andrew slumped with his hat shielding his face, and the remnants of a hangover, from the brilliant sunshine, Allison looked at the foliage, and Samuel studied the dam. “I never noticed before. Has it always sagged in the middle like that?”
“Speak for yourself. I’m fit as a fiddle!” Andrew said through his hat.
“I’m talking about the dam,” Samuel said with a sideways glance.
Andrew laughed boyishly, and removed his hat so he could look back and see for himself. “Maybe they designed it that way when they built the road over the dam.”
“Why would they do that?” said Samuel, disapproving. “It makes no sense.”
“Oh, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t worry—as long as we’re at the top,” said Andrew, with a flippant laugh.
Allison shook her head at her brother. “That’s our Andrew. Always thinking of everyone else.”
They neared the club, which was decorated for the next day’s July 4th celebration.
“The flags look spectacular,” said Allison. “Don’t you love Independence Day?”
“Not especially,” answered Samuel.
His remark caught her off guard. She waited for an explanation, which wasn't immediately forthcoming.
Eventually Samuel succumbed to her quizzical stare. “Independence Day didn’t do all that much for my people.”
“As a country, we do tend to forget that ‘All men are created equal,’” said Andrew.
“Interesting rhetoric, since it was written by a slave owner,” Samuel replied.
“And women were left out entirely,” said Allison.
“Women were implied,” said Andrew.
“Unfortunately our vote wasn’t, she countered.
He eyed her mischievously and said, “You shouldn’t worry your pretty head with such matters. Leave that to the men.”
“What?” She looked as though she might strike him. She’d been well-schooled by her suffragette mother.
“Whoa!” said Andrew, laughing and ducking. “I’m joking!”
Allison leveled a disapproving look and said, “First of all, that couldn't have been a joke. Jokes are funny. That wasn’t. And second, I can’t begin to tell you how I adore being addressed in equestrian terms.”
Andrew pulled his hat back over his face. “My headache and I are going back under here, where it’s safe.”
Allison looked out over the lake, which truly was inviting. The late afternoon sun dipped down to touch the top of the mountain, then cast its shimmering light across overlapping ripples of water.
“You can hide now,” said Allison, “but the only way you can redeem yourself is by taking us out in the boat to watch the sunset.”
Still shielded by his hat, Andrew pulled his white handkerchief from his pocket and waved it in surrender.
He sat upright. “I can’t. I just remembered, I’m going to—”
“—see Maggie,” said Allison with childish nodding.
Andrew looked at Samuel expectantly. “How about it, Samuel? Why don’t you take Allison on your nightly row around the lake? You’ll get more exercise with the added weight.”
“Why, thank you, Andrew. But I’d hate to overburden Samuel with my ‘added weight!’”
“Oh, Samuel can take it. Can’t you, old man? Why, just look at those muscles,” said Andrew as he grabbed Samuel’s biceps.
Swatting away Andrew’s hand, Samuel turned to Allison and said gallantly, “It would be my pleasure to take you on a boat ride this evening.”
“Thank you, Samuel,” she said with abundant courtesy, which was followed by a mock scowl toward Andrew.
The surrey came to a stop. Andrew offered Allison his hand to help her step down.
Samuel led the horses into the stable and called back, “I’ll need a few minutes to change.”
Allison called after him, “I didn’t expect you to row in your traveling clothes.”
He said, “I’ll meet you at the boathouse in twenty minutes.”
The gray shadow of a man loomed in the dusk as the boat pulled in to dock.
Allison called out, “Andrew?”
A voice from the shadow replied, “No, it’s Powell.”
“Mr. Sutton? When did you get here?” asked Allison.
Powell caught the rope Samuel tossed and tied the boat to the dock. “A little while ago. I came up with your parents.”
“Oh?” Allison asked, looking about for them.
“They’re inside. I came out to escort you back.”
“That’s very kind of you, but you can see Samuel’s here.”
Powell’s eyes grew narrow and hard. “Yes, I know. But I thought it might be more seemly if I—”
“How lovely for me. I’ll have two escorts.” Allison’s liquid voice exuded graciousness as she cast a warm glance toward Samuel.
Samuel’s face, still as stone, exuded loathing which, had Powell condescended to look, would have scalded. With measured civility, Samuel spoke. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“It’s awfully chilly out here. I’d better take Allison inside.” Powell offered his arm to Allison. She exchanged looks with Samuel, and then reluctantly accepted. Powell walked her up the walk to the cottage. Although he was attentive, they spoke very little.
Samuel stood in the damp evening air and watched to make sure Allison did indeed arrive at the house. It wasn't in his nature to despise someone so easily, but Powell had earned an exception. His fist tightened as he imagined how easy it would be to land it on Powell’s self-serving mug.
When the pair reached the first set of steps, Powell stopped.
“Allison?” He stood blocking her way.
“Yes?” The setting sun shone through tree branches and cast shadows on Powell’s face.
“Allison, may I speak with you?” There was something unnerving in the sound of his voice as he spoke her name.
“Well, of course. But let’s go inside. It’s chilly out here.” She tried to sidestep her way around him, but he countered.
“No.” His voice had a harsh edge, which he softened. “Don’t go.”
Allison tried to smile but her forehead remained creased. She inched nervously away until she felt the edge of the stone step beneath her heel.
Powell’s speech was stilted. “As you know, Edmund was my best friend.”
The invocation of her deceased husband’s name conjured unexpected emotions, which unnerved Allison. She looked about, wishing for an escape. Powell had indeed been Edmund’s friend, never hers. His present attention was unwanted. His manner was disc
oncerting. “Yes, I know he thought highly of you,” she said.
“It’s been three years since Edmund died.”
Allison gave a slight nod but said nothing, and looked down at her hands and tried to suppress a sick feeling.
“God knows I’ve been patient, but—well, you must know how I feel about you.”
Perhaps she had suspected there were feelings but none he would have dared acted upon—not like this. She shook her head slowly and took a step back, but her heel slipped down from the step to the boardwalk and she lost her balance. Powell reached out to steady her, as anyone would have done, but the gesture outlasted its helpfulness.
“Mr. Sutton.” She cringed and timidly extracted her arm from his grasp.
He released her as words came out in broken rasps. “Forgive me, but you’re so beautiful, I—”
He stepped closer and, with an assiduous display of respect, carefully reached for Allison’s hand, but she gently moved it out of reach.
“Please, Allison…”
She inched back, keeping her hands clenched at her sides.
His voice took on an urgent tone as he clutched her hands. “Tell me you don’t get lonely.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Edmund would have wanted us to be together.”
A deep voice resounded, “Edmund isn’t in a position to choose.” Samuel took an imposing but gentlemanly stance beside Allison.
She said, “I think it’s time we all went inside.” She slipped her arm into Samuel’s and felt his tensed biceps.
Powell’s eyes narrowed with unexpressed vehemence. Samuel suppressed his own glare and gestured toward the cottage door with labored civility. “Shall we?”
Powell’s eyes darted from one to the other. They met his contempt with grace and immense self-control. Powell fumed for a moment, then turned and stormed through the door.
Allison relaxed her grip on Samuel’s arm.
Still staring toward the departing Powell, Samuel said, “It’ll be alright.”
