“I don’t understand,” said Vergie.
“I know you don’t. You’ve buried yourself away so all of us thought you had gone away. Tuck has been simply fractic. I didn’t … didn’t tell her what I had done. I … I didn’t dare tell her. She’d never forgive me if she knew.” Mrs. Tucker extracted a large handkerchief from her bag and snuffled in it.
Vergie stared at her in bewilderment. “Tell me what you mean.”
“I’m so ashamed of myself,” Mrs. Tucker sobbed. “I was horribly unjust to you. I listened to what some other women said.”
There was a wooden bench beneath a tree in the parkway. Vergie led her to it and made her sit down. “Suppose you start at the beginning,” she said.
“Of course I was shocked by what you wrote,” Mrs. Tucker said. “Then when I found out who you really were and the thought of you fooling me and all … oh! It just went over me all at once and I treated you shamefully.”
“And now?”
“I knew I was wrong when Tuck came home that night and was so upset about you being gone. She raved like something mad. I was ashamed to admit I’d done it. But I finally realized what a wonderful influence you had been.”
“I see,” Vergie said. She didn’t see at all.
“Then I knew I’d done a terrible thing,” Mrs. Tucker confessed. “Tuck simply idolizes you. And she told me things when she was mad that gave me to understand what a great help you had been to her. We came closer together that evening than we’ve ever been since she was a baby. She told me things that I’d never have dreamed of asking her. She told me all the things she had wondered about before you came … and how you helped her understand.”
Vergie shook her head in amazement, but Mrs. Tucker hurried on:
“Then we talked about your article in the paper … and, oh! I began to understand so many things that so many mothers never understood. She told me outright …” Mrs. Tucker’s voice sank to a tremulous whisper, “… that she had it all planned to elope with that terrible Lee Pennel until she read your wonderful article and really started to think about what she was planning.”
“Lee Pennel?”
“I don’t suppose you know him,” Mrs. Tucker said. “Tuck told me all about everything that led up to it. I must say I was shocked, but I pride myself on fating facts when they are facts. That’s why I want to apologize to you. You were the only one that saw the truth and had the courage to take your stand. And it’s made such a wonderful difference between us. She tells me everything now. And … and I’ve gotten all your books and read every one so I’ll have some idea of what she’s talking about and can understand her problems.”
Vergie sat in stunned silence while Mrs. Tucker hurried on with her recital. All of her carefully erected world of false credos came tumbling down about her shoulders under this startling revelation.
It was an hour later when they parted with mutual expressions of esteem.
Mrs. Tucker urged Vergie to walk homeward with her, but Vergie insisted upon a previous engagement which made it quite impossible.
She did have an important engagement. With her thoughts. The impossible had happened.
She walked northward in the dusk to be alone with her thoughts and her shattered theories. The winding paths and the deserted benches of the Fountain of Youth Park were inviting. She turned absently, and followed a narrow path.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
UNBOUNDED PASSION
There were birds singing in the trees, and there were mysterious shadows cast by the thickening dusk.
Vergie walked alone with her thoughts. The beauty and the mystery were wasted upon her. She forgot, for a little time, that she trod hallowed ground. A murmured longing was shaping and re-shaping within her bosom.
Something happened suddenly. Something which changed all that. She was nearing the fountain. It had no meaning for her now. All familiar things had lost their meaning. There was only suffering left.
Then she saw a couple entwined in each other’s arms. Seated upon a bench in an alcove grown so dark that their bodies flowed together and into the background of shrubs.
Vergie stopped short and stared at them. She was not conscious of her action.
A very young couple. Tasting the delights of each other’s lips, and the warmth of each other’s bodies.
Vergie shook her head and came to life. Her cheeks flamed crimson as she saw it was indeed she who stood in the path and shamelessly looked upon a sight made sacred by an emotion which life had denied her.
She hurried on to the fountain. The night was throbbing with a strange unease. Pulsing and vibrating in unison with a mighty chord which struck fire from the soul of her.
She stopped at the fountain, and stared downward. It had grown very dark. She was fiercely glad it was dark. Unseen hands clutched at her, and unheard voices called to her. She dipped her hands in the fountain and let the drops fall from her fingers.
She knew certitude, and peace, and a triumphant joy. And she knew passion which was not bounded by trivia. Desire which could be slaked only by answering desire. A fierce current of passion, deep, and boundless, and irresistible.
She turned away and walked toward the city. Her vacation was nearing its close. There was so little time left.
This was the last night of her vacation. It was curious how her mind accepted this fact. One moment of understanding as she stood before the fountain had shown her this must be the last night.
She would think only of this night. Of herself and of the answer to all the questions which had seemed so important before.
In her room at the hotel she went to work with a quiet celerity which did a great many things in a short time.
First she unpacked the trunk which held all her Savannah purchases. She laid out the things she would wear on this last night. Her heart thumped as she selected a nightie and a negligee which she laid in her overnight bag.
Then sheer undies and the soft sport dress. She took out the rouge and the lipstick and powder and perfume. A delirious happiness came to her aid when her strength might have failed.
Then she undressed and bathed. She sat before the warped mirror of the dresser and smiled at her nude reflection in the glass. Her breasts ached and she longed to touch them and tell them they must wait only a short time now. She took a great deal of time with the rouge and lipstick, and then she dusted the fragrant powder over her entire body.
Dressed, she studied her reflection in the mirror, and smiled as she found it good.
No hesitation now.
At the hotel desk she explained that she was leaving the city and would send for her bags when she completed her traveling arrangements. She left directions for delivering the rented typewriter and paid her bill in full.
Then she was free.
She hailed a taxi in front and directed him to drive her to the depot. She must purchase a ticket while this resistless certainty drove her on. This must be her last night. No matter what happened. Calmly, she planned to burn her bridges before her.
Bill must be convinced that she wanted only this one night.
She caught her breath as she rode in the taxi to the depot.
Love didn’t matter now. She was willing to give up love. Perhaps it wasn’t love. She was happy that the last of her beliefs had crumbled before the onslaught of passion.
Desire was all-inclusive. She must make Bill understand their perfect agreement.
Her body cried out for one night of appeasement before the end.
Tomorrow would be the end. She smiled mistily at the ticket agent as she purchased a ticket to Random.
She would offer her body with no ties to frighten him. She understood, now, that passion can not be bound.
One night was enough. More, perhaps, than she deserved. No! She wouldn’t let herself think that. Certainly, out of all life, she could be spared one night of bliss.
She gave the driver directions for finding Bill’s house, and leaned back on the cushion to hug this new deli
ght to her breast.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE TEACHER IS TAUGHT
Her knock sounded hollow on the door. It seemed to re-echo through the house, and somehow Vergie knew Bill wasn’t there. Her heart started beating again, and she knocked a second time. Then she stepped back in the darkness and surveyed the cottage angrily.
The dark shadows cast by the moss-hung oaks were mocking and silent. The only sound was the soft lapping of the waters of the bay at the foot of the old sea wall just beyond the fringe of oaks.
Vergie considered what she should do. Bill might be anywhere. Perhaps she should have phoned him this afternoon. But she had decided to surprise him. It was simply beastly of him not to be here to be surprised. There was no way of telling when he would return. And she had dismissed the taxi.
Vergie went up to the door, and tried the knob. To her surprise, the knob turned easily and the door swung open. She fumbled about for a switch until she remembered the old house had never been properly wired, and the only electric lights were individual floor lamps which Bill had ingeniously installed.
Her heart thumped as she picked up her overnight bag and advanced boldly over the threshold. Then she found a lamp cord, and the jumbled room was illuminated.
Vergie closed the door, and made a brief tour of the cottage, leaving a light burning in each of the five rooms as she passed through. His breakfast dishes were in the kitchen sink, and rumpled pajamas were on the bathroom floor where he had stepped from them to take his shower.
It was nine fifteen, and she was seized with a great restlessness. She did not dare to sit quietly and wait for Bill’s return.
She had come to give herself to Bill. To admit that he was right. To tell him she could not go back to Random without this memory to take back with her. This afternoon she had decided that chastity did not matter. She still loved him. Now, a thousand times more than before. But he should never know.
She had resolved to have done with thinking. She jumped up and paced the floor. Nine twenty-five.
What would Bill say when he came and found her here? He would be angry because he would think it some sort of trap. But she could explain that. She looked in her bag feverishly for her ticket, and laid it on the mantel. There! That would be proof enough that she wanted nothing more from him than he wished to give. Just this one night!!
It was nine thirty.
Vergie took up her bag and carried it into the bedroom. First she picked up all of Bill’s clothes and hung them in the closet. Then she made the bed. Shaking out the sheet and tucking it in all around.
She looked in the mirror when she had finished, and found her eyes were starry. The delicate tint of rouge on her cheeks seemed perfect, though she wondered if her lips were not over-done. She had to resist an impulse to rub some of the carmine off.
She peered into the parlor, and the clock said it was nine forty-five.
Vergie undressed slowly, laying the shimmering gown aside with regret, and savoring the feel of the silk against her flesh as she drew off the clinging step-ins and the wispy brassiere. She did not blush as she regarded her body in the dim light. The flesh seemed vibrant, pulsing with intense desire. There was no more shame. Tomorrow perhaps. Tonight she knew only gladness that she had so wholly cast off the shackles which had bound her so long.
She unsnapped her bag and drew out the embroidered night gown. A faint flush tinged her cheeks as she recalled Tuck’s laughing remark that she had always thought a night gown with lace should have it about the bottom … so it would look nice about the neck when the gown was in action.
Vergie sighed and was frightened to discover how long ago that seemed. She then had thought Tuck indecent to say such a thing. She no longer thought it indecent. Indeed, after slipping the gown over her head, she rolled it up under her chin and looked in the glass to see if the lace still showed.
And she did not blush.
Thus far had she progressed in one month.
One month?
So much had happened. The atmosphere of timeless serenity clinging about the quaint streets of St. Augustine had, somehow, communicated itself to her.
Nip and Tuck were both so much a part of St. Augustine: So much a part of the devastating change which had been wrought in her own soul. They were the revitalized spirit of the ancient city.
And Bill! A surge of protective love warmed her heart. She had loved him from that very first morning when he had embarrassed her by saying the things he thought Valerie Ware would want to hear. Her cheeks burned as she remembered how little she had understood him.
She had thought him coarse … yet that very quality had drawn her to him. The evening they stood before the Fountain of Youth. He had chuckled at her intense sincerity. And she had hated him later that night.
Less than a month ago!
Ten twenty-five. She sank into a deep chair on the farther side of the room from the lamp. Her body flowed into the shadows, and she closed her eyes to wait Bill’s coming.
Perhaps she slept. She started as a car door slammed in the driveway, and she heard Bill’s voice above the racing motor.
“Go on in and see who the hell’s taken possession of the house. I’ll put the car up and be right after you.”
Steps resounded on the walk outside. Then the door was flung open, and a figure lurched into the room. Vergie did not move. Could not move.
It was Pete Crane. His hat was tilted over one eye and his tie nestled under his right ear. He stared about the room, his bleared eyes passing over Vergie as though she were a part of the furniture.
Then he hiccupped, and lurched over to the table to pour a pony of brandy from the decanter. He lifted it to his lips, and held it there as his roving eyes focused themselves waveringly on Vergie. An expression of ludicrous amazement spread over his face. He set the pony of brandy down, and leaned forward to peer at the immobile figure which regarded him with inscrutable eyes.
“I’ll be goddamed,” he muttered.
The back door slammed, and Bill Porter came in from the kitchen.
“Who’s got all the lights turned on?” he asked.
Pete waved toward Vergie and queer sounds issued from his throat.
Bill looked toward the shadows as the wraith-like figure moved, and was resolved into a likeness of Vergie Whidby. A younger edition of Vergie Whidby. Youthful. Beautiful. Smiling calmly.
Bill rubbed his eyes and wondered what had been in that last bottle of Scotch.
The vision spoke. “I didn’t know you were going to have company. Have I disgraced you?”
“It’s real!” Pete gasped. He reached for the brandy.
Then Bill came to life. He grabbed Pete by the shoulder and swung him toward the door. “Get out!” he said.
Pete resisted. “Wait a minute, what yuh doin’?”
“Putting you out,” Bill told him.
“’Sa hell of a way to treat a guy,” Pete protested. “Gimme a drink first.”
Bill grabbed the brandy bottle with one hand while he pushed Pete toward the door with the other. “Take the bottle and get going. You sot!” He closed the door behind Pete and turned the key in the lock. Then he faced Vergie.
She smiled. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry? About what?”
“That you didn’t come home alone.”
Bill frowned and moved closer to her. “You’re not real. I’m sure.”
“I don’t know.” Vergie’s voice was tremulous.
Bill stood over her, and his fingers strayed down to touch her hair. “You can’t be real,” he said. His fingers were trembling.
Vergie stared across the room. There was a quaver in her voice. “I think perhaps I am real … for tonight.”
She did not look at Bill. Her breath came in little dry sobs as she felt him turn away from her. He drew up a broken-backed chair and sat down astride it, facing her. He lit a cigarette.
“Something has happened,” he said.
“I’ve come to life.
”
“Why have you hidden this you from me?”
“I didn’t know I was hiding anything.” Bill was staring at her as this strange colloquy went on, but Vergie did not meet his eyes.
“You’re exquisite,” he said. “Divine.”
“Thank you.”
Vergie’s lips were dry. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Bill was leaning closer. A strange languor was creeping over her. Obliterating all else save the passionate desire to be taken in his arms.
“I don’t dare believe this has happened,” Bill said.
Vergie met his eyes. “You must believe it,” she breathed. “I’ve come on your own terms. You once told me you could teach me a meaning to life. I … I’ve come to have you teach me.” She swayed toward him.
“Wait,” Bill implored. He did not dare touch her.
“I’ve waited too long, already.”
“I want to get things straight,” Bill said harshly. His lips were white.
Vergie started as though he had lashed her in the face. “You have nothing to worry about,” she flung at him. “I don’t even ask you for love. I told you I’ve come on your own terms. To take what we can from the fleeting moment. And it is fleeting. You needn’t be afraid of having your emotions entrapped. This is my last night in St. Augustine. My ticket’s on the mantel there … if you want proof.” She forced a laugh.
“Don’t,” he said.
A little silence fell between them. Bill was very busy seeking to readjust a number of shattered sophistries.
Vergie wished she could die. She didn’t believe she had strength enough to arise and go from the room. She fought back faintness.
“You came here … like this?” Bill asked.
“To spend the night with you,” Vergie told him faintly. “To learn if passion is really more important than love.”
Bill bit his lip. “You … you … you’re doing this because of what I … what I said? That night?”
“Partly. I’ve thought about it a lot. The first time I ever thought honestly in my life … about … myself, and sex, and love and what I want out of life.”
Virgin's Holiday Page 16
