Looking Back

by Belva Plain

  A feeling of tenderness toward him rose in her chest and trembled there. It seemed as if every kind of emotion had been churning inside her, on and off, all during this day. No doubt, though, that was entirely natural. After all, it was the most important day in her life. It was the most important day in anybody’s life, Amanda felt.

  “Darn it, I can’t think of the words,” Larry said again. “I know it’s an oldie.”

  “It’s a very, very oldie, from the 1930’s, I think. I heard it on cable. ‘Always and always, I’ll keep on adoring’—something like that.”

  “Right! The glory and wonder of you.’ That’s it.”

  Amanda had always been an early riser, from childhood through the university years during which she had had to prepare her work in the mornings because the evenings were spent at Sundale’s. So it was not long after dawn on the first morning of her married life when she stood at the porch rail and looked out over the scene.

  Log cabins like this one were scattered, comfortably apart, all along the lakefront. A little distance above them, on a low rise at the end of the dirt road on which Larry’s car had bounced through the darkness last night, stood the hotel center, a large structure, also built of logs, with a surrounding lawn and a flag, now whipping in the breeze. The lake shimmered and the air was bright as crystal. As far as Amanda’s eyes could see, in every direction, the earth was covered with pine trees.

  “Mostly spruce,” Larry had explained, “but if you walk far enough, you’ll see plenty of hemlocks and junipers, too. They have guided hikes here, of three or four miles or even longer, if you want. One time I took a ten-miler. Sounds like too much, but actually it isn’t. I felt great afterward.”

  A flock of Canada geese came honking overhead, disturbing the peace, as if on a city street a hundred automobiles had sounded their horns at once. She watched them race toward the south, leaving behind the silence that they had ruptured. Minutes after they were beyond sight, she was still looking up at the distant sky that had enveloped them, down at the motionless disk of the gray-blue lake, and then at her familiar hands with their two unfamiliar rings, these hands that seemed to belong to somebody else.

  It had all been so different from what she had expected…. The adoration, murmured words, and passionate endearments, the clasping, the enfolding—it was being seized, possessed and swallowed, eaten alive…. None of her past experiences had prepared her for this fever of emotion; surely none of those few quick encounters in an automobile or on the rough grass in a back pasture could have prepared her.

  “Good morning, honey. Taking in the view? Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  He had had a shower and stood now dripping in the doorway. She looked at him with curiosity. He was well built, with sturdy shoulders, narrow hips, and no flab. Still, she had no desire to embrace him.

  “I don’t see anybody down below. It’s probably too early for breakfast. How about going back to bed for a while first?”

  There was no possible way she could refuse, or even show reluctance. When, in the bed, he whispered, “I love you so,” she said the same to him. How could you not return such a fervent declaration? Lying there with his arms around her, she was tense and confused: It was dishonest to pretend what she did not feel, yet in a strange way it would be cruel not to pretend. He believed in her love. He trusted. And yet in another strange way, she really did feel some love for him.

  Afterward they got dressed and went up to breakfast. The rustic room was charming, with tablecloths of blue gingham and an earthenware jug of early asters on every table.

  “You’re delightful when you smile,” Larry said.

  She must remember to smile often. … It was not hard to do so that day. They swam, went out in a canoe, and ate an enormous lunch. Larry was sociable. The other guests, all older than they, were retired couples and couples with children, which disappointed Amanda a little, for she had hoped for people their own age. Still, these were all very pleasant folk, warmly welcoming and interested in the honeymooners. And Larry, in his usual fashion, made friends with them all, helping a ten-year-old boy with his crawl stroke and spending half an hour with an elderly gentleman discussing real estate.

  “Tonight we’ll dress up and drink the champagne,” Larry said. “This is our wedding dinner.”

  Sometimes, when Amanda saw herself in a mirror, she was disappointed: Her hair was in need of a trim, or else the shoes were wrong with the dress, or her face was pale and tired. On this night, though, there was no fault to find. The sun had flushed her face with health, her hair was at its best form, and the simple white silk dress, flounced at the neck and hem with touches of pink, was lovely. So, in the perfect mood for celebration, she linked her arm through Larry’s, and they entered the dining room together.

  In the doorway she stopped and cried out, “I don’t believe it!”

  Everyone had stood up and clapped. On their own table, where at breakfast time the jug of asters had stood, there was now a spread of traditional white flowers, gardenias and freesia wreathed with smilax. In one swift glance, she saw that champagne was in the ice bucket next to the table, and in the next glance, she saw that every other table had its own ice bucket, too. Flustered and smiling, she turned to Larry, exclaiming, “It’s you! You arranged all this.”

  Red with pleasure and a little bit of embarrassment, he admitted it. “I won’t say I didn’t.”

  “You ordered champagne for all these tables, too?”

  “I won’t say I didn’t.” And when in her surprise she had no comment about that, he said, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime night, Amanda. It’s your time to shine. You’re the bride.”

  He is remembering Cecile’s wedding, she thought. He wants to make it up to me. And curiously ashamed, she kissed his cheek.

  The management had considerately moved their table into a corner that was almost private, so after a few smiles and waves in their direction, they were left to themselves. Only when an enormous cake was trundled in on a cart did they become the center of attention again. Toasts were given for them, glasses lifted, and a whole roomful of strangers suddenly was transformed into family and friends, warm with goodwill. Everybody received a slice of the cake. The tiny bridal couple on its top was lifted out of the white icing, wrapped, and presented to Amanda just as the nightly dance band was arriving in the adjoining room.

  Then she danced, and Larry with her, whirling and flying as they had whirled and flown at that other wedding. Her heart soared. Through the open door she could see the white flowers still on the table. How sweet of Larry to think of that! How sweet all these people were! Sweet. Sweet … The champagne has gone to my head.

  Men asked whether Larry would mind their having a dance with the bride. He wouldn’t mind. He was sweet. After a while, though, he made her sit down and ordered black coffee for them both. He was laughing.

  “What a night! Let’s take a slow walk up the hill. The cool air will do us good.”

  Back in their room, he watched Amanda undress, and she saw in his eyes what was to come. When his arms went around her, she was aware of some comfortable contact with a warm body, but she felt nothing more than that simple contact, and the need to sleep. Then she slept.

  Never without consulting Amanda first, Larry made plans. One day they would picnic on that speck of an island near the opposite shore. The next day they would sign up for a five-mile hike. Would she like to have a trail ride? It didn’t matter that she had never been on a horse; it was easy to sit on a western saddle, and besides, on these narrow trails, with so many overhanging branches in the woods, you only walked the horse. So the days were lovely, vigorous and bright.

  Still, August was on the wane and here in the north one day, there came a hint of chill in the air.

  Late on the next night it began to rain and was still raining when day broke. The temperature made a sudden drop, so that the rain felt like ice on the skin. In the dining room the talk was of the weather.

  “It’s nothing new to u
s up here. You folks’ll need to buy some raingear if you haven’t brought any. This’ll probably keep up all week.”

  They drove to the town for some raincoats. When they returned at noon, the cold rain was still falling; it dimmed the view of the lake and darkened their room. All night and the following morning the rain beat on the windows.

  “Nothing much to do today,” Larry said. “One thing that they should have and don’t have is a television in the rooms. Guess I’ll go up to the front desk and get some magazines. Want anything special?”

  “No, thanks. I have some books here.”

  He peered over her shoulder. “Shirley, by Charlotte Brontë. What’s that about?”

  “Well, it’s an old story, more than a hundred years old, about an English girl who goes to Belgium and falls in love with a teacher who’s married. Of course, there’s a lot more to it than that—”

  “Gotcha. Got the idea. I don’t go for that stuff, but I see you do, bringing three books, enough for six months’ reading at my speed. Don’t know how you do it.”

  His admiring tone was annoying. It was as if he were talking to a child who has just learned to read Peter Rabbit all by herself.

  “Fact is, I don’t read much, ever. Being in the business school, I never really had to, except business, naturally.”

  He stood there, still with that benevolent admiration in his smile. “Norma and you, with your books. Except that she’s even worse than you. Latin! At least you’re reading English.”

  For three days the rain continued, softly and steadily. On the fourth day, after having dwindled during the night, it began to swell again into a tangible form; like a sail, it billowed in the wind; like a wayward curtain, it slapped the windowpanes; and like an overflowing stream, it splashed out of the downspouts. Cold seeped indoors through the walls. It was so dark that by noon they were reading by electric light.

  Amanda had finished Shirley and begun Bleak House. Larry had read through all the magazines on the rack in the main building.

  He turned from the window where, for the last quarter of an hour, he had been looking out while jingling coins in his pocket. By now she had learned that this was another of his irritating habits, along with loud out-of-tune humming while he shaved.

  “Bleak House,” he read over her shoulder.

  Reading over her shoulder was another irritating habit.

  “Yes, ‘bleak.’ A good word for the last few days.”

  “I know, I know. But nobody can help the weather.”

  “The natives say it’s nothing unusual for this time of year.”

  “Well, maybe. But we’re snug here. The food couldn’t be better, and I still think it’s a great place for a honeymoon. I picked it,” he went on somewhat anxiously, “because I didn’t think a fancy, dress-up place would be as much fun. I still think this place and our little wedding beat the Newman affair all hollow.”

  “Their wedding was perfect. It was in beautiful taste,” Amanda said, raising her eyes from the book. Why she should be defending Cecile, who needed no defense, she had no idea.

  “Oh, there’s no question about their taste,” Larry amended. “They’re what you call ‘understated,’ don’t you think so? I always say that they’re remarkable for being so plain in their ways, that family. So simple, with all their money.”

  What was so wonderful about being “simple”? He and Norma, both of them, always raving about how plain the Newmans were! As if it were such a great virtue! She was tired of hearing it because, anyway, it wasn’t true.

  In one of Cecile’s pictures, Peter and she were standing on a terrace. Behind the balustrade were palm trees and the ocean. On the side you could see what was probably a wing of the house, lemon yellow, with a bright, white roof. Bermuda must be heavenly.

  Then a wave of shame brought heat into her cheeks. It was beautiful here, too! Those mornings, standing on the porch in the stillness with all that fresh pine scent in the air! And Larry is so kind, so good, the salt of the earth, as Norma says in her old-fashioned way. He is just purely good.

  “Hey, honey, how about going for some tea and cake?” he asked now. “It’s something to do.”

  They had been having enormous meals these last few days, and cake was the last thing she needed, but she rose at once, put on the new slicker, put her arm through his, and went up the hill in the rain.

  There they found a tea and cake display in an almost empty room. Half the guests had already left the inn, while the rest, having heard the prediction about the thermometer’s drop into the fifties by morning, were in their rooms packing.

  “We should have known better,” one man remarked in passing Larry and Amanda. “Nobody with any sense comes this late in August.”

  “I suppose we should leave, too,” Larry said, looking as forlorn as a little boy who’s been scolded. “Do you want to go, honey? Or do you want to wait and see?”

  “Whatever you decide.” She spoke with cheer. “We’ve had a great time here in spite of the rain, haven’t we?”

  Late in the afternoon they rumbled across the bridge, past the deserted railroad terminal, across Lane Avenue, and headed uptown.

  As once before, Larry remarked, “It’s a disgrace to the state. All this land going to waste, and the station itself, one of the grandest buildings of the nineteenth century. And Lane Avenue is—is a cesspool. That’s all it is.”

  Amanda gave a mental shrug. Every time she had crossed the bridge, either he or Norma had made the same comments. It was boring.

  “Guess where we’re going,” Larry said brightly.

  “Home, of course.” There was a little shudder in her chest as she said “home.” It was almost hard to believe how once she had seen that ugly brown box as a pleasance. The word, unused for a century or more, popped into her head out of Bleak House—no, more likely from some book older even than that, out of the eighteenth century. Pleasance. A park, a garden, a place where you had pleasure.

  There had been little pleasure in that house this past summer. Every time she looked up from her dinner plate, she seemed to meet Lawrence Balsan’s eyes. They confounded her with their alternating expressions of indifference and mild interest. Always she turned away as did he, and always unwilling, she met the eyes again.

  Now that she had his son’s wedding ring on her finger, he should at least pretend some warmth! But the sooner they could leave that house, the better. The atmosphere there was too heavy.

  As if he had been reading her mind, Larry said, “We need to get into our own place as soon as possible. If you’re up to it now, we can even look at that house I once showed you. The people have moved out, and I have the key in my pocket. Do you want to, or are you too tired after riding all day?”

  Was he going to be this way all the time? So carefully considerate? Most men were not.

  “Let’s do it now,” she said.

  The little houses stood row on row. One had blue-green shutters, another had a red door; some had picket fences, and most had a jungle gym. Many had “For Sale” signs on the lawn, while others had “Sold” signs, and almost all these signs said “Balsan Real Estate.”

  “Buying and selling,” Larry said. “That’s where the money is. Still, someday I’d like to build something really spectacular. I’d like to make a name for myself.”

  When the car stopped before a house that sparkled white in the sun, he explained that he had had the outside freshly painted, but had left the interior to be done to her taste.

  “In case you decide on the house. I think—I hope—you will, because it’s a real buy. These owners made a lot of improvements. The kitchen is brand-new, and they built a flagstone terrace in back with nice shrubbery, so it’s more private.”

  The kitchen was indeed new; it was sunny, and the appliances were complete, even including an indoor grill. As she followed Larry through the house, she had to admit that it was spotless; even the unmarked wallpaper needed no replacement.

  “Nice thing is,” Larry
said, “I didn’t tell you, but the school’s only five blocks away.”

  Amanda laughed. “School! What are you thinking of? I’m just out of college. I’m twenty-two, and you talk about schools.”

  “Well, in time, I meant.”

  “In plenty of time. I first have to find some kind of job, and soon, before I go crazy inside four walls.”

  Perhaps she had spoken too sharply, because he gave her a quick, puzzled look, and she corrected herself, saying more gently, “People start families much later these days.”

  “A lot do, but a lot don’t. Guys I knew in school, guys twenty-seven like me, already have a kid. But that’s neither here nor there this minute. What about the house?”

  Amanda looked out of the window. A lovely maple stood in the backyard, more than half grown and in full leaf. Sunlight sprinkled the grass.

  “We can move in right away. I can set the closing for next week, even.”

  Under the maple, in a birdbath that had been left behind when the owners moved, a pair of mourning doves were splashing.

  “We can move that quickly?”

  “Why not? All I have to do is write the check.”

  My house. It’s nothing fabulous, but it’s nice, and I can make it look nicer. And it’s mine. My mother would be thunderstruck. I’ll take lots of pictures and send them home with the one of me in my white dress, with Larry.

  “I just don’t know what to say, Larry.”

  He twinkled at her. “Say you’ll be glad to get away from my house. From my father.”

  “I would never say that.”

  “Okay. Say you love me.”

  “That I do, Larry.”

  “Well, show it then.”

  She put her arms around him and kissed him. For a long time he held her there, holding the kiss. When he let go, it was to take a pad and pen from his pocket. For a minute or two he made notes while she watched him. When he looked up at her, his mild brown eyes had narrowed in concentration.

  “I have it all figured out. What’s left of my available cash will be just enough to furnish here. We’ll need a living room set complete, so we can start having friends in. You’ll need to get acquainted fast. Then a dining room set, ditto. Eight regular chairs will fit. We can always add folding chairs if we ever do anything on a bigger scale. The second bedroom upstairs can be a den with room for a TV and a computer and a couple of recliners for solid comfort. Then our room—and no twin beds.” If only he would stop twinkling … “So it’s a deal, right honey? Hey, it’s almost time to eat, and they’ll be waiting for us. Let’s go.”