"No, I can do it all myself," I said quickly. "Let's put out the light," I added. He laughed and turned off the lanterns before he pulled off his sweater. Even in the darkness, I turned my back and began to undress, my fingers trembling so much, I thought maybe I should have had him help me. Maybe that would make it easier. Yes, I concluded. I pulled the blanket back and lay down, still dressed. Samuel was in his underpants already.
"What are you doing?" he asked when he crawled in beside me and realized I still had on my clothes.
"Waiting. I've changed my mind," I said. "Undress me," I ordered as if he were my valet.
"Gladly," he said. I kept my eyes closed as he unzipped my skirt and slid it down my legs. I didn't open my eyes until I was naked and he pressed himself to me, his breathing heavy, his mouth nudging my breasts with his kisses. He moaned and nibbled gently at me and when he lowered his mouth to my stomach, I gasped. There was a rush of excitement in me that I had only imagined before.
"Olivia," he said. "My own Mrs. Logan."
He was between my legs, his firm, hardness tapping and then moving into me. I tried to swallow my cries. It actually was painful, but I was afraid to reveal it. I didn't have to. He knew.
"As I expected," he said, "a virgin. Thank you for saving yourself for me," he added as if I had known him all my mature life and had made some ridiculous love pledge. He laughed and moved harder, faster, shaking and rocking the bed so hard, the headboard banged against the wall.
"Samuel," I cried, "the crew."
"They don't have their ears to the walls. Don't worry. They've all been here before, I'm sure. They know what happens on a wedding night."
Men, I thought, could be so crass, even at this moment, even about something that was supposed to be one of the most special things in your life. The pain continued and overrode the pleasure for me, but I kept it all subdued, my eyes shut tight. My whole body was like a clenched fist.
"Relax, Mrs. Logan," Samuel chanted. "Relax and enjoy. I promise. It will get better and better," he said.
When he spent himself, he turned over and lay beside me, panting, his chest rising and falling.
"Good," he muttered. "Good."
I curled up and pulled the blanket closer to my face. Then I felt his hand on the small of my back.
"Are you all right, Mrs. Logan?"
"Yes. Just very tired," I said.
"Me too. Marriage," he declared with a laugh, "is more exhausting than I thought."
We were both silent for a while.
"Listen to the sound of the water against the hull," Samuel said. "Isn't that a sweet lullaby, Olivia?" "Yes."
The boat sliced through the water, cutting away the old world I had known and exposing the new. What sort of a journey had I begun? I wondered. I fell asleep dreaming I had taken the rudder and I was guiding the ship through the purple night. There was no one else on board. I thought I heard Belinda's silly laughter coming from the darkness and then Mother's singing off in the distance. I steered in her direction, but there was no one there. It grew even darker. The boat tossed and fell against the waves. There was a small light ahead. As I approached, it grew larger, brighter and soon became Nelson Childs' smile. I sailed right through him as if he were a ghost and then turned back frantically as he dwindled behind me and disappeared.
Ahead, there was only more darkness.
11
The Honeymoon's Over
.
When I was very young, not even seven, I
think, I believed that my parents had been together all their lives. I had seen pictures of them as children, of course, and seen pictures of them with their own parents, but none of that seemed real to me. I remember I thought that family albums and old photographs were like children's books, fairy tales and legends. How could my parents have had a life before the life I knew? They were always here, immortal, frozen in time, forever young. Daddy was always Daddy, firm, strong, smelling of cigars, his footsteps heavy, loud on the stairs, his laughter resonant, manly. Mother was always Mother, dainty, soft, full of smiles, redolent of perfume, her clothes colorful and her steps as light as her laughter, feminine.
Not until I was much older did I begin to wonder about Mother's first day of her new life, her life with Daddy. When she returned from her honeymoon, did she enter her own home full of excitement, eager to explore every moment of her new identity? Or was she terrified that she had made a disastrously wrong decision?
Daddy didn't carry her over the threshold, I know. She used to tease him for not having done that. Belinda and I often heard how he was too busy ordering his servants, supervising the unloading of luggage. I was sure she had entered the house first and stood there thinking, this is my new world for better or for worse. I am here. I wondered if she had an urge to turn and run out.
Samuel offered to carry me over the threshold, but I refused.
"It's a silly tradition. It makes no sense to me," I said pushing him away.
"Never say I didn't offer," he declared and stepped aside for me to enter our new home.
Actually, I could have used some assistance by that time. We had, as the weather report had predicted, good sailing weather for our honeymoon, and we did all the things Samuel had planned for us to do on the trip, including docking at ports and going to fine restaurants, but instead of returning refreshed and exuberant, I found myself feeling worn and frazzled. We had made love a number of times, and it did get more pleasurable for me, but he always seemed to enjoy it more than I did and that bothered me. The day before the end of our honeymoon, my period came. It wasn't supposed to, but I was never as regular as most women. When I told him, he immediately said I shouldn't feel bad. I didn't. I wasn't complaining. I actually felt relieved, but I let him be as solicitous as he wanted.
I had a great deal of input into what our house would look like, of course. Samuel didn't disagree with any suggestion I made, even when I insisted that we have separate bedrooms in our home. He was satisfied that we had an adjoining doorway.
"It will be like a romantic adventure every time I come to you, Olivia," he said when we first considered the architect's plans that included my revisions. "I'll knock softly and you can ask who's there? We'll pretend we're meeting secretly."
"I think we're both too old for games and pretending, Samuel."
"Oh, you're never too old when it comes to that sort of thing, Olivia. You can leave the lights off, as you like, and I'll make believe I'm some handsome stranger who on passing saw your lit window and then saw you gazing out," he said with a dashing smile.
"Ridiculous," I said, but I did feel my heart flutter with the images that crossed my mind, especially a fantasy that involved Nelson Childs. In my daydream Samuel had told him of our little games and he came to my house when Samuel was away. He knocked on that adjoining door and I turned off the light, not knowing until he was at my bedside that it was Nelson and not Samuel. I felt myself blush with the illusion. Samuel laughed, snapping me back to reality. "Are you teasing me, Samuel?"
"No. Well, maybe just a little, but that's what loving husbands do, Olivia."
"Not in this house and in this marriage," I announced. He laughed again, but he saw the firmness in my eyes and grew serious.
"Well, then, we'll behave as you wish . . . respectable to the core of our very beings. Even . . . when we make love," he said. He knew how that expression annoyed me. What a ridiculous way to put it . . make love, as if love was something that was born out of lust.
I saw to it that there was a lock on the adjoining door and even though it was unspoken, it was understood that whenever that lock was in place, I would rather he didn't come to me. I had already decided that it would be in place quite often.
"You can rest assured that I will never lock the door from my side, Olivia," he quipped.
"And you can rest assured that I will never come into your room for any purpose other than to discuss something in private, Samuel. I'm not aggressive in that regard," I pointed out.
He smiled.
"Unlike your sister," he replied.
"What do you know of Belinda?" I demanded.
"Only what your father has told me, confided in me," he said quickly. Then he smiled. "I can see why men are thankful when their wives give birth to sons."
"Belinda can drive anyone to thinking that way," I agreed.
As soon as we had settled in after our honeymoon, I decided to visit my father to see how he was getting along without me. In a way I hoped the whole house had fallen apart, that my supervision of the servants and the meals had been so necessary, nothing worked well without me there. My ego demanded it, but what I found did more to break my heart than prop it up.
Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, the house was dark, all the curtains were still drawn. I had kept my house key, so I simply entered. There was no light on in the entryway or in any of the rooms. It was so quiet, I thought no one was at home, not even Carmelita. I stood there for a moment listening, hoping to hear someone's voice, but I didn't even hear Belinda's idle chatter. I gazed up the dark stairway and then walked to Daddy's den.
At first I thought he wasn't there. It, too, was dark, the curtains closed, no lamps lit. I was about to turn away and go up the stairs to see if Belinda was in her room when I heard a small moan and stepped farther into the den. I saw Daddy asleep in the leather chair, slumped, his arms dangling over the sides, his head resting on his right shoulder. Beside the chair on the floor was an opened bottle of bourbon and a glass with at least two fingers of liquor in it.
I turned on the reading lamp above the desk and the light washed over Daddy, revealing he hadn't shaved for days. His white shirt was open at the collar and it was stained by food and bourbon. His hair looked like he had been running his fingers through it for hours. He grunted, licked his lips and then shifted in the chair.
"Daddy?" I said.
He grimaced as if the word brought him pain, but he didn't open his eyes.
"Daddy?" I shook his arm and his eyelids fluttered and then opened wide as he focused on me.
"What?" He started to sit up quickly, but stopped as if the movement brought him great pain. It was then that I saw the tear in the elbow of his left shirt sleeve and the dry blood on his skin. My eyes went to his pants and I saw the mud stains and what looked like a tear at the right knee.
He straightened up.
"Olivia? You're home? I mean, you've returned? What is today?" He scrubbed his cheeks with his dry palms vigorously and licked his lips.
"What happened to you, Daddy?" I asked softly. Had he been in a fight? I wondered.
"Happened?"
"Your clothes are torn and you've hurt yourself."
"Oh," he said as he blinked rapidly, his memory focusing. "I had a little accident out back. It's nothing. Looks worse than it is."
"What sort of an accident?"
"I tripped on a stump. It was dark."
"What were you doing out back in the dark? What's going on here? Where's Belinda?" I fired my questions at him so quickly he only heard one word.
"Belinda?" He ran his right hand over his hair. "Isn't she here?"
"I don't know. I just came in and I haven't checked upstairs. What were you doing outside in the dark, Daddy?" I repeated.
"Doing?" he said forcing a smile. It looked like his face had turned to glass and twisting his lips shattered his cheeks. All the tiny veins had come to the surface. "I was just . . . taking a walk, enjoying the night air. Your mother and I used to do that a lot. We'd sit out back and gaze at the ocean and the stars, but it was overcast and I wasn't watching where I was walking."
"You look like you took quite a fall, Daddy. You look like you were running, not walking," I said my eyes narrowing with suspicion.
He held his eyes on me.
"What really happened, Daddy?" I demanded. Lies between us were like fish out of water. They had a short, painful life.
"Can't fool you, can I, Olivia? Never could fool you," he said. His lips trembled; his whole face quaked and looked like it really would shatter like a piece of china.
"What happened, Daddy? What went on here? Has it something to do with Belinda?"
He shook his head and looked about frantically for a moment. His lips moved but no sounds emerged. Then he reached down to take hold of the neck of his bourbon bottle. He brought it to his lips and took a swig. It was as if the taste and the heat of the bourbon in his throat restored his ability to speak.
"I've been hearing his voice," he whispered. He leaned toward me, his eyes wide and wild. "I've been hearing him cry, Olivia."
"What?" I brought my hands to my throat and stepped back. "Whose voice?"
"Shh," he said looking back at the door. "She doesn't know anything."
"Who?"
"Carmelita, but she looks at me with those eyes of accusation sometimes, Olivia," he said shaking his head. "I think she hears him, too, and she wants to know what's it about. She told me yesterday she's thinking of leaving to go live with her sister in New Haven. Jerome's already given me notice. He's leaving next Tuesday. Going to Florida, he says. He claims it's the weather, but I know it's all because they know," Daddy added nodding. Then he took another swig of liquor and closed his eyes.
My heart was pounding. It felt like my ribs were knocking against each other. I took a deep breath. I knew what Daddy meant, but I had to hear him say it.
"Whose voice did you hear out there, Daddy? Who's crying?"
He opened his eyes, but stared up at the ceiling.
"Her little one, the unnamed. I planted him like so much seed. It always bothered your mother, Olivia. She used to stand by the window and look out back and think about him. She never said a word to you or Belinda, but sometimes at night, she would wake with a start and then she would sob softly. I didn't have to ask why. I heard the same cry and ignored it."
"You don't hear anything, Daddy. It's in your imagination, maybe because you're drinking too much," I said.
"No," he insisted.
"Okay, Daddy. Okay. You should go upstairs and get some sleep. I'll see if Belinda's at home. Have you been to the office while I was away?"
"I don't know," he said. "I think I was there one day. Time seems to have flown by. Your honeymoon's over already?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Hmm. Where's Samuel?"
"He's at his father's house. I was hoping to take you to dinner tonight, Daddy, and Belinda, too."
"Oh, that's a nice thought. I'll just wash up and take a nap and then we'll meet you and Samuel," he said. "You took a very bad fall, Daddy."
"What? Oh, yes, I think I tripped over a rock and fell down the hill a bit."
"Down the hill? You mean you almost fell down to the rocks?"
"Oh . . . no," he said. "It's nothing." He started to lift himself out of the chair. I could see that the bruise on his leg was more serious than he knew. It gave him great pain to put his full weight on the leg.
"Maybe the doctor should look at you, Daddy?" "No," he said quickly. "I'll be fine. I'll just wash up and rest a bit."
"Did Belinda know you took a fall?" I asked.
"Belinda?" He stared, thinking. "Oh now I remember. I think she's been with one of her girlfriends. I think they went someplace."
"When?"
He scratched his head.
"It seems like she left right after your wedding." "And she hasn't been back since?"
"I'm not sure," he said.
"Oh, Daddy. You know you have to keep better tabs on her. You promised you would."
I took hold of his right arm and guided him around the chair and toward the door. He looked like he was in pain when he walked on that leg.
"Are you sure you don't want to see the doctor today, Daddy?"
"I'm fine. I'll be all right," he said. "You don't have to hold onto me, Olivia."
"Okay. I'm going up to see if Belinda returned," I said and marched ahead of him.
The door to Belinda's bedroom was open and a quick perusa
l of her bed and the room revealed she hadn't been there for a while. I heard Daddy talking below and returned to the stairway. Carmelita had joined him at the foot of the stairway.
"Is that you, Miss Olivia?" she asked looking up at me. "I didn't know you had come home," she said.
"I just arrived. Do you know where my sister is?"
"I haven't seen her for days," Carmelita said.
Daddy struggled on the stairs, pulling himself up on the balustrade: I hurried down to help him because he wobbled. Carmelita was right behind him, too, keeping her right palm against his lower back to support and guide him. She looked at me and shook her head.
We got him up to his room and he went into the bathroom to undress and wash his bruises.
"How long has he been like that?" I asked her.
"He started the day after your wedding. Miss Belinda had left and he was alone. In the middle of the night, I heard him out back and sent Jerome to look after him. Your father had drunk too much. Jerome brought him in twice, babbling and crying something awful, but the third time, they had words. That's when Jerome gave him notice."
"And you're leaving too, I understand?"
"Yes," she said. "I can collect my Social Security now and I'd like to enjoy my old age. My sister, who lost her husband last year, wants me to come live with her."
I stared at her and she shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Miss Olivia, but with your mother gone . . . well, this just isn't a happy, bright place anymore. I'm sure you'll find someone else fast, but I'll stay as long as I can," she added.
"Thank you. Where's Jerome?"
"Oh, he goes to town when he's finished working his hours now, Miss Olivia. That's where he is. Your father won't let him do any work on the grounds anyway. He doesn't want him to touch anything . . . flowers, bushes, no trimming, no digging. As you can see," she said nodding at Daddy, "your father's been in a bad way, drinking too much. I'm glad you're home," she said.
"I'll look after him," I told her. She nodded.
"If you need me, I'll be downstairs."
"Thank you, Carmelita."
Olivia Page 20
