The Handfasting

by David Burnett

  Her eye fell on the final paragraph.

  Mr. Wilson, age 28, is a native of Hamilton and practices law there. A graduate of the University of Richmond, he serves on the Board of Directors of the University’s alumni society. He is a member of the Hamilton Lion’s Club and the James River Club. Mr. Wilson is unmarried, although recently he has been linked romantically with Katherine Lee Jackson, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Jackson, pillars of Hamilton Society.

  Katherine’s mouth dropped open. Her face began to burn. How could he let them print that? How could he?

  Her mother had attached a second clipping, this one an interview with Bill, devoted primarily to his views on various issues that were currently before the Congress. His responses were canned, Katherine decided, as she read. Memorized, word for word. No one, not Bill, talks like that. A section toward the end was circled in yellow, it read:

  TD: You have identified yourself as a “family-values candidate,” yet you are not married. Is this a contradiction?

  Wilson: Not at all. Family values are simple morality. The Ten Commandments, for example. Beyond that, I believe that the government should support families, encourage them to stay together, assure that children have adequate nutrition, healthcare, and education. One does not have to be married to believe that these things are important.

  TD: The word on the street in Hamilton is that you have a long-term relationship with Katherine Jackson, daughter of Tom Jackson. Many are expecting wedding bells in the near future. Any comments?

  Katherine’s mouth dropped open.

  Wilson: I’ve known Katherine since we were in high school. She is a beautiful lady, a physician. She’s currently devoting her time to some of the neediest members of our society as an emergency-room physician in New York. I’ve heard the rumors myself. All I can tell you now is that we are good friends. We have not discussed marriage, but I will say that any man would be fortunate to have Katherine Jackson as his wife. Marriage to her would literally be a dream come true.

  “Bastard! Dreaming is as close as you’ll ever get!” Katherine crumpled the clipping and tossed it in the garbage. She considered that she might call his hand, confront him in public and demand a proposal. She imagined the scene in the diner on Main Street, at lunchtime. Bill would be trading stories, telling jokes with his cronies. She could walk up, slap a copy of the story on the table in front of him, and watch him squirm.

  On the other hand, he might propose and she would be the one squirming. Or he might not propose, and instead tell everyone in the diner why not. No, the best path would be one that avoided Bill Wilson. In time, it would be obvious that the marriage was simply a rumor, and the rumor would die.

  ***

  The period between Thanksgiving and Christmas had always seemed to fly. Returning to school there would be a week of classes, then exams, then Christmas. The Christmas trees around the campus always seemed pointless, since students would see them for such a short period of time.

  This year, though, December dragged by. There was a party at the hospital and Katherine, Becky, and Sara had a drop-in for friends on a Saturday afternoon.

  She ran into Steven on the way home from work late one afternoon. He’d invited her to a party at the Museum, but she’d declined and slipped away quickly.

  On another occasion, she’d spied him in the coffee shop a couple of blocks away and had the urge to go in and talk. She’d had a rough, busy day and talking with Steven had always made her feel better, but she resisted the urge and walked past. Out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen him look up, but she didn’t turn around and she’d continued on her way.

  Otherwise, she had not seen Steven since before Thanksgiving. He had called several times, but their conversations were strained and short. He had not called since Thanksgiving.

  Katherine had a week and a half off at the end of the month. She looked forward to going home for Christmas, and it seemed as if her last day at work would never arrive.

  A couple of days before her vacation, Katherine left the ER late. Strep throat was occurring at almost epidemic levels. Becky was cooking dinner when she arrived. A box wrapped in white paper with three yellow roses tied in a purple ribbon sat on the table in the living room.

  “What is that?” she asked, even though the roses were a giveaway.

  “It’s a Christmas present. It’s for you. Steven brought it by a little while ago.”

  Of course, she had not bought a present for him. “He just dropped it off?”

  “Yes, he said he was going home to Atlanta for the holidays and he wanted to leave it for you.” Becky walked into the living room. “He seemed to be relieved when I told him you were not home yet.”

  “I’ve treated Steven badly, haven’t I?”

  Becky didn’t respond at first. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Then you should take it back to him.” She held it out to Katherine.

  Katherine could not imagine trudging over to Steven’s apartment to tell him that she would not accept his present.

  “I guess I’ll open it.” Katherine gently loosened the bow, slid her finger under the tape, and removed the paper. The box was an unusual shape, flat, six inches on each side.

  “What could it be?” Becky leaned over to look.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful.” Katherine held up a bracelet, earrings, and a small ring. “They match my necklace.” She touched her throat. “Why, why would he…”

  “There’s a note.” Becky pointed at the bottom of the box, a piece of stationary, folded in half.

  Katherine,

  These match your necklace. I purchased them some time ago and I had planned to give them to you over the next few months. I wanted you to have them. Returning them would have been difficult.

  Steven

  She read the note a second time. “He called me Katherine.” Her voice caught. “He always calls me Katie. Like he did in Scotland.” The note slid out of her hand, landing on the table. “Of course, what should I expect?”

  “You wear the necklace every day,” Becky said quietly.

  “Yes.” Katherine stared at the note. “I wear it every day.”

  It was true. She had left home in a rush and was not wearing it the day she had been attacked—possibly the only time in over two months that she had not worn it. She clasped it around her neck now, almost as a talisman, each morning as she dressed.

  Katherine closed her eyes and squeezed her hands together. “Becky, I love Steven, I just can’t…”

  Becky hugged her.

  Katherine wiped her eyes. “Help me.” She slipped the ring on the little finger of her right hand while Becky changed her earrings. She clasped the bracelet around her wrist.

  “Beautiful,” Becky said.

  ***

  Steven stepped down from the chair he had pulled into the living room. He looked up at the picture of the two-story white house that now hung above the fireplace. The painting of his childhood home had replaced that of the bridge near Stirling. Steven straightened the picture, then stepped back to check it.

  Perfect.

  The painting of the bridge where he had first told Katherine that he loved her now leaned against the wall, next to the one of Bellerose Abbey. The picture of the abbey had been replaced by one he had painted of the great dining hall at Christ Church College at Oxford.

  Steven picked up the two paintings and carried them to his studio. There was a small gallery, two blocks down the street, that had agreed to display both paintings for sale, and he planned to take them in when he returned from his holiday in Atlanta.

  Steven poured a cup of tea. Its warmth felt good after the chilly wind.

  He had called Katherine several times since the day she had told him to leave, but each time, she either refused to come to the telephone or said good-bye as soon as Steven began to speak. He knew that if he showed up at the apartment, she would either not allow him in, or if one of the others answer
ed the door, she would retreat to her bedroom. He’d toyed with the idea of waiting for her after work, but he had the image of her running away and of him chasing her down the street.

  He recalled his last conversation with her. A monologue really, she talked, he listened. He recalled how it ended.

  I release you from our handfast.

  I don’t want to be released.

  It’s not your choice.

  Finally, he had stopped calling, concluding that it was for the best. They had only been back together for three months. Apparently, ten years was too long to be apart. They had both changed. Things simply would not work out.

  That’s what she had said, at any rate. He sighed.

  I do wish I knew why she feels that way.

  In his mind, he had replayed, countless times, that night when she’d stumbled into him on the street. Her hair was disheveled, she did not seem to know him, she had appeared to be terrified. He tried to identify what he had missed, what he could have done. He knew that he had lost her that evening. Finally, though, he had decided that it really didn’t matter. If she wouldn’t tell him what had happened, it was proof that she didn’t really love him. He needed to move on without her.

  He had stumbled upon the jewelry, in a drawer in the mahogany desk in the living room, while he was searching for photographs of Katherine. He had purchased the ring, the bracelet, and the earrings shortly after he gave her the necklace. He could have returned the jewelry, of course. He knew that the owner of the antique store would have repurchased it, probably at the price he paid, since he had shopped there on other occasions. “It would be difficult to return,” he had written. Not a lie, it would have been difficult for him to return it, since he had purchased it for her.

  He was looking forward to going home. He had not seen his mother since the spring, and it seemed that so many things in New York reminded him of Katherine. Whenever he passed Villa Antonia, he remembered her birthday dinner. He no longer tuned in to The Today Show while he dressed for work. He avoided the park down the street where they used to have picnics on Sunday afternoons. When he went for a walk, his route no longer took him past her apartment.

  They lived in the same neighborhood, and he saw her on the street. She had changed, though. In the autumn, he would see her striding along, head held high, a smile on her face. Now, he would catch sight of her as she shuffled away from the subway stop, head down, shoulders hunched. Generally, he couldn’t see her face, since she did not look up, but he doubted that she was smiling. If she ever saw him, she gave no sign that she had noticed.

  They had actually bumped into each other a week ago, leaving the subway. He had invited her to the Christmas party at the Museum, mainly to have something to say, not expecting her to accept. She had quickly said no and hurried away.

  Occasionally, he encountered Sara or Becky. They always seemed glad to see him, but when he asked about Katherine, they would become quiet. Katherine was “okay” or “doing well.” They never provided any real information, although it seemed to Steven as if they wanted to tell him more.

  He would tell his mother that he and Katherine were no longer seeing each other. His mother had never met her, and she would not ask too many questions.

  Steven took another sip of tea while he unfolded the letter he had received from Professor Spence in Oxford. Professor Spence wanted him to return to Oxford to teach. Recently, Steven had indicated an interest in something part-time, a visiting professorship perhaps. Professor Spence wrote that such an appointment was a real possibility.

  They would discuss it in January. He could take leave from the Museum for a semester. Summer would be ideal. Fall semester would be good, too. Steven would enjoy teaching again, and it would be good to get away from New York.

  He had received another letter, too. Anna had learned that he would be in Oxford in January, and she wrote that she hoped to see him. He had dated Anna when he was a student, during a period in which he had realized how improbable it was that he would ever be able to locate Katherine. Steven read her letter for the second time and smiled. His commitment to Katherine had always interfered in his relationships with other women. He rubbed his eyes. That was no longer a problem.

  Finishing his tea, Steven walked to his bedroom. He glanced into the drawer of his bedside table, looking for his cufflinks. Two purple cords and a yellowed sheet of paper lay at the bottom. The cords had been used at their handfasting—the paper contained their vows.

  He had found them with the jewelry, and he had tossed them in the trash along with a bundle of photographs and the ceramic yellow roses that he had kept in a vase on top of the desk. The next day, though, he had fished the cords and the paper out of the wastebasket.

  “I’m being stupid and sentimental,” he had said, but he kept them anyway, much as people sometimes keep bundles of old love letters long after the relationship has ended.

  He walked to the closet to change clothes. He was taking Susanne to dinner tonight. Martine had seemed ecstatic when she’d learned of their date. Steven presumed Susanne had told her about it.

  “Susanne is a wonderful person,” she’d said. “If she invites you to come inside after dinner, go. You will forget Katie Lee Jackson.”

  Steven smiled. He hoped Martine was right.

  ***

  Bill Wilson leaned back and put his feet on his desk. The sun had set and he was still at work. One problem with running for office was the time it took to campaign. Appearances across the district, speeches to civic clubs, interviews.

  And I still have to make a living.

  At breakfast, Chris had brought up Katherine.

  “You’ve done, what? Five interviews? And every time you were asked about Katherine Jackson. You’ve handled the questions well, I think, but at some point, you’ll need to be more direct,” Chris had said as he took a gulp of coffee.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pee or get off the pot, as they say. Announce your engagement or squelch the rumors. Have you talked to Katherine recently?”

  Bill had lowered his eyes and had shaken his head. “No.” It had been over six weeks.

  “She hasn’t called to ask when you are going to propose, nor to ask about the stories?” Chris had looked rather surprised.

  “No.”

  “Well, at some point you’ll need to either confirm or deny the rumor. The longer it continues, the more essential it will be that you confirm it.”

  “What? Why?” Bill had questioned.

  “If you are going to marry her, you can tease the public for a while. If you’re not, you need to say so. If the rumor continues, your constituents will assume it to be true and will feel misled if it’s not.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “In any case, we can’t have her going public with a denial while we’re hinting that an announcement is around the corner.”

  “She lives in New York. She may not know about the rumors. She may not even know that I’m running for Congress.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Why?”

  “Suppose she visits over Christmas and someone asks her about it? She might say it’s not true. We need to be the ones to issue the denial.”

  Bill began to think seriously about the situation. If he promised her that big house in Hamilton, a medical practice, children—all the things he knew she wanted—with no strings, it might work. He thought back to when he had encountered Katherine’s mother in town not long ago and had asked about Katherine.

  “She seems to be doing well, Bill. Tom talked to her on Thanksgiving. She was just back from the Macy’s parade. It was sad, though, she and Dr. Richardson don’t seem to be dating any longer,” her mother had answered.

  “Well, that’s a shame. He seemed to be a very nice person.” That’s what Bill had said. Of course, he had been secretly pleased to hear it.

  Alice Jackson had looked at him strangely, likely recalling his behavior at the reception. She had smiled politely, though. “Yes. He did seem to b
e nice.”

  It occurred to Bill then that he might have caused the break up. He had thought of what he had told Katherine, that no decent man would marry her now. He had felt a twinge of guilt. But just a twinge.

  Thinking of it now, though, it seemed like the perfect thing. Perhaps Katherine was in exactly the right mindset for him to propose.

  ***

  Three days before Christmas, Katherine was awake at her customary five o’clock. It was her first morning at home, and she lay in bed, allowing herself to doze off a couple of times, letting her mind wander. She marveled at how relaxed she felt. It occurred to her that her job at the hospital was her first “real” job, and she now understood why people looked forward to vacations, times they could escape the stress and responsibilities of their daily lives.

  She finally got up at seven, pulled her robe around her, and crept downstairs. As she reached the landing on the first floor, she paused, detecting the aroma of baking bread coming from the kitchen.

  She walked through the living room and dining room, running her hands over the smooth, polished tabletops. She smiled at the way the crystal chandelier acted as a prism, splitting the morning light into a rainbow that spread across the dining room’s wall. The table was set with Christmas china and sterling silver. Her mother liked for the table to look as if they were ready to sit down to dinner, and she used her china decorated with holly and tiny Christmas trees for the entire month of December. The silver glistened in the morning light.

  Katherine marveled at how large the house seemed. Her apartment in New York would easily fit into half of the first floor. She looked through the window. The trees were bare of leaves, of course, but in her mind, she could see the dogwoods in full bloom and imagine the azaleas at their peak. Hamilton was so different from New York.