Now, Voyager

by Higgins Prouty, Olive

  “It isn’t a tangle.”

  “When I assured you it would be just an episode, soon over, and completely over, I was fooling myself. I knew I was getting in pretty deep, but other men seem to get over such things. I can’t. It has been nearly a year, but I can’t forget you, Charlotte. I shouldn’t have gone to your house last night,” and he repeated practically the same speech he had made before. “A man who lets himself love a woman, and lets her love him, and knows all the time he can’t follow it up, is what I call a ‘cad.’” He wouldn’t look at her.

  “What is the feminine for cad?” Charlotte inquired. “According to you that’s what I am, and with more reason. For you were already married, and I knew it. I walked right into your married life, with my eyes wide open.”

  He turned and looked at her. “Yes,” he said, his voice gentle for the first time, “you walked into it and out, and made it a happier marriage for Isobel, as well as for me. I’m nicer to Isobel now, Charlotte. She says so herself. I can accept her without feeling so much resentment. Now, every time I feel the old bitterness rising up in me, I think, ‘Well, she hasn’t prevented you from realizing one of your dreams,’ and instantly I’m kinder. The fact is, ever since the brief interlude of heaven which the fates granted me with you, Charlotte, I’ve felt less resentment toward life generally. So never, never blame yourself.”

  “Then why should you blame yourself?”

  “It’s different.”

  “It’s not! I’ve listened to you, now you listen to me. Do you remember the story I told you once about Sara Crewe?” He nodded. “And you asked who was the nice rich old gentleman in my life, who was making my garret beautiful? Well—you are, though you’re neither rich nor old.”

  “I don’t quite get it, but your voice sounds kind.”

  “You’re the person who is the most responsible for making my dreary existence beautiful. You’re the one who furnished my bare, dreary garrett with lovely things. Why, the very first day you met me, you gave me a little bottle of perfumery, and made me feel important, and as if I wasn’t so ‘god-awful’ after all. But for you, I’d never have dared to play bridge on the cruise. You were my first friend. I owe you Mack and Deb too. But most important of all, that man you call a ‘cad’ gave me the confidence that comes from being loved by a man like him. So fine, so splendid, that I felt proud every time I thought of him. And oh, how I needed something to feel proud about when I first came home! Why, when your camellias arrived, I could have walked into a den of lions and held my chin up. In fact, I did! And the lions didn’t hurt me. The camellias were like an amulet. So, indirectly, I owe you Elliot too. So you can just take back that word you called yourself!”

  “In the book what became of that nice rich old gentleman who furnished Sara’s garret?”

  “I don’t remember. It isn’t important. He performed a miracle, and so have you. Oh, isn’t it wonderful to talk again, Jerry?”

  “I’ll tell you what probably became of him. Being old he conveniently died, of course, and so Sara was free to marry some young Lochinvar out of the west.”

  Charlotte looked at J.D. sharply. “I hate that kind of humor. How much weight have you lost lately? Last night I noticed you didn’t take a cocktail. Why not?”

  “We don’t own any scales, and I didn’t take a cocktail because I’d had a highball. I’m perfectly well, but if—if I weren’t, would you care?”

  “Oh, no! I wouldn’t care a bit if the most beautiful thing in my life existed only in my own mind, and I was left all alone remembering and longing—utterly separated from you by your non-existence.”

  “But we’ve got to be separated, anyway.”

  “Only geographically. And not by so very many miles. When it snows or rains in New York, it usually does here too, and our consciousnesses can share the same weather, the same full moons, the same seasons, and the same holidays, too. We can think about each other, and hope for each other’s safety and happiness, and be glad each other is alive, knowing it’s still possible to enter a drawing-room, or turn a street corner, and meet each other. Even if we never do meet, the hope we may is something, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It’s a lot! And I’ll always be looking for you around every corner,” he smiled.

  “And you take back that word?”

  He rose. Charlotte rose too. “You said last night you wanted a child,” he said quietly. “You said that almost every woman does. If I could believe that I’d done anything to make you love someone enough to have what will evidently make you so happy, then I’ll take back the word ‘cad,’ then I won’t regret anything. You’ll surely marry Livingston, won’t you, Charlotte?”

  “I’ll try, Jerry.”

  He took her hand and held it. “All our kisses must be imagined ones from now on,” he said wistfully, and looked deep into her pupils for a half a dozen seconds. Then, “Goodbye, darling,” he murmured.

  “Goodbye, darling,” she replied.

  As she watched him walking swiftly toward the stairs, it flashed over her, This has all happened before. Of course in Naples! Another of those repeated patterns. Oh, would he complete it? Add the last foil! Would he? No! Yes! Yes! On the third step down the stairs he stopped, turned his white face toward her, raised his hat high, arm straight up like a mast, and sank from sight.

  23

  THE KNELL OF FOREVER

  As Charlotte walked back to Marlborough Street she held her head high, and her step was buoyant. She was filled with an exalted fervor, which she had never experienced before, due partly to the fresh proof that Jerry loved her, and partly to the quality of that love. He still desired her, but he desired her happiness even more. An element of worship had entered into her feeling for Jerry. His will was stronger than hers, his foresight clearer, his love on a higher plane.

  Every time she recalled the earnestness of his voice urging her to marry Elliot, she was impressed by his unselfish desire for her happiness. She had been disturbed by a niggling fear that it might hurt Jerry. How fortunate this second appearance! The fresh proof of his love would shine like a benediction on her every day. And perhaps the knowledge that she still loved him would make his lot more endurable.

  As she skirted the Public Garden—now dull green and brown—she was filled with a bright confidence. She was going to have a full, rich, happy life, in spite of her belated start, also in spite of the fact that she could not marry the man to whom she was instinctively attracted.

  An instinctive attraction between two people with high ideals does not necessarily forbid all communication, does it? If both Jerry and she applied their intelligence to the instinctive attraction, perhaps they could meet sometimes—openly, casually, with no harm to others. Why, just talking to Jerry, just sitting there together in the hotel two feet apart, had given Charlotte that sense of complete companionship which to her was the acme of joy. When she was safely anchored by marriage, and Jerry could no longer blame himself, surely they could be friends! The possibility quickened her pace.

  Had the second meeting with Jerry terminated at the Westons’ house there would have been no serious consequences. Not for several days did Charlotte realize the effect of the torrent that had rushed out toward Jerry in the theater, and later in the reception room. Not until she saw Elliot the next time (which was nearly a week later, for he had been called out of town on business) did she discover that it was as impossible to will her former tenderness to flow toward Elliot as to make water run uphill.

  At first she made light of it to herself. In time the impression of this second meeting with Jerry would wear away as had the first. Every time she relived the precious moments of their brief reunion, she could feel again waves of inordinate joy filling her like strong music vibrating. No wonder Elliot couldn’t drown such music secretly heard. No man could drown it. She must use her intelligence, and turn her thoughts away from Jerry.

  Elliot observed no change in her at first. She never allowed herself to withdraw from his arms. She alwa
ys responded in act to his gentle caresses. Somewhere she had read, act an emotion, and you’ll be more likely to feel it. But some emotions, like some horses, you can lead to water day after day, but you cannot make them drink. Her tender emotion for Elliot would not drink.

  Acting an emotion for the brief duration of a kiss, she did not find as difficult as the protracted periods of sitting in close proximity to Elliot. In the automobile, at the theater, wherever possible, he always established some physical contact. Her impulse to disconnect it became a gnawing desire after the first few minutes.

  Elliot liked to interlock his fingers through hers and sit listening to the radio for an hour at a stretch. He preferred interlocked fingers to holding her hand relaxed in the hollow of his. She wished he knew how to break through her thickening armor of ice, and by whatever means, fair or foul, prove she was not incapable of a response to him.

  One Sunday afternoon, several weeks after J.D.’s reappearance, they were sitting on the davenport in the living room of the Marlborough Street house listening to the radio. Charlotte had just withdrawn her locked fingers from Elliot’s, in order to rearrange a lock of her hair. She didn’t replace her fingers.

  “You don’t like to have your hand held, do you, dear?”

  “Oh, yes, I do, Elliot!”—and instantly shoved her fingers through his again.

  “I’ve noticed lately you usually draw your hand away after the first few minutes.”

  “I won’t again! I’m just not used to it. You must remember I’m an old maid, Elliot.” She tried to make her voice light and playful. “You’ve got to teach me to be loving and affectionate. Make me be!” She moved closer. Elliot put his arm around her.

  Pretend he’s Jerry. Close your eyes and breathe deep, smell Jerry, imagine Jerry, feel Jerry. This man is just as fine, just as desirable! Now stop being stubborn and love him. Love him! But she might as well have tried to will a sluggish salmon lying in the bed of a pool to action. Elliot released her hand to turn off the radio, then interlocked his fingers through hers again, put his arm around her waist, and began patting her side gently. Patting was another of Elliot’s habits.

  “Do you know, dear, what we’ll be doing six weeks from today?” asked Elliot. “We’ll be on the ocean. And two weeks from today everybody will know our news! I’ve disliked this secrecy. I’m so glad it won’t be necessary much longer.”

  Charlotte sat up straight, drew her hand away and folded her arms. “Two weeks is terribly soon! In Boston an engagement is just like a marriage. I do want to be sure. Do you know what I’d like?”

  “No, dear. Tell me.”

  “I’d like you to take me out some night to dinner this week, to some Bohemian place, and give me a very gay time—cocktails, and champagne, and then make violent love to me.” She caught a glimpse of his puzzled expression. “What I mean is, if I could only get rid of some of my inhibitions, just for once, I might be able to—to have more confidence.”

  “You don’t need to become intoxicated to have confidence. I understand about your fears. I shall be patient.”

  “No, Elliot. That is not what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know that I can tell you. But—well, I read about a woman, in a novel—a sort of cold woman who was in an automobile accident with a man. It was a very cold night, and they had to sit wrapped up in a robe all night to keep warm. Just before they wrapped up, they both took a strong drink, and she fell in love with him because she lost her inhibitions for a while. She was just—natural. You see—” Now there was disapproval in Elliot’s expression. She could feel one of those familiar blushes of shame creeping up her face. “Oh, it sounds sort of depraved, I’m afraid, Elliot.”

  “It certainly does! We’re not that kind of people.” He paused. “I sometimes wonder about the books you read. Why do you enjoy reading that sort of stuff?”

  “It’s life, Elliot. It’s about human beings.”

  “Not the kind of life that I admire. Nor the kind of human beings I find pleasant to read about. Getting drunk and wrapping up in a laprobe!”

  “Oh, Elliot, I don’t believe I can ever live up to your ideals! I’m not a bit like your lovely mother, nor Elaine, nor like my own family. You see, I rebelled, and have gotten all twisted into a horrid ugly shape of my own. I don’t believe I can ever get back. I do think you are one of the kindest, finest men in the world, and I would simply love a home and a child and I would certainly be awfully proud of you, but I—I’m so afraid it won’t work.”

  “You’re tired tonight, dear. Everything will be all right after we’re married. It’s a well-known fact that the engagement period is difficult. I shan’t hurry you into anything till you’re ready for it.”

  “But what if I’m always a frigid woman to you?”

  He winced at the term. “Well, I made Elaine happy,” he said.

  “You don’t deserve two women like that!”

  “Must we discuss these things, Charlotte?”

  “No, Elliot. No. Not again.”

  “That’s right. Let’s turn on the radio.” He did so, then again interlocked his fingers with hers, patted her knee with his other hand, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “This is all I ask.”

  SHE OFFERED NO MORE drastic suggestions to Elliot, sought no more remedies for the tender emotion he once had evoked. She accepted the verdict that its malady was incurable unless a miracle intervened. To this slender hope she clung for weeks.

  It was due to Elliot’s kindness that the ordeal was protracted into late spring. When she told him, apologetically, that she didn’t see how she could possibly face the announcement of an engagement ten days hence, he neither reproached nor blamed.

  “Well, our wedding is to be so quiet you don’t have to face any announcement of engagement, if you don’t want to, dear. We don’t sail for Honolulu till the last of April.”

  “Oh, I don’t deserve you! But, oh, Elliot, the last of April seems terribly soon too.”

  “Well, all right, then,” he said quietly. “I told you I could wait. I noticed you’ve seemed fearful and nervous lately. We can give up Honolulu. Perhaps you’d rather postpone everything till June, and go to England next summer? Would you?”

  “Oh, yes, I would.” And she clung to him, welcoming his arms around her. “Oh, Elliot, I think I’ll be all right by June!” she said, something warm and reassuring welling up in her.

  But it was only gratitude. Gratitude, like morphine, can deaden aversion for a little while, but when the effect of it wears off, and aversion returns, the pain is apt to be more acute, for there is added to it a sense of obligation. Often one feels resentment toward one’s benefactor.

  At times the state of Charlotte’s emotions was so painful that she considered telling Elliot about J.D., thereby shattering his ideal of her so that he would not want to marry her. But she couldn’t expose herself without exposing J.D. too. Only her silence could protect J.D.

  March melted into April, April blew into May, May flowered into June, and still Charlotte’s and Elliot’s engagement survived. It died hard, like a victim of certain slowly progressive diseases. First one and then another part of the body and mind ceases to function, until finally all that remains is the automatic breathing and the mechanical beat of the heart.

  The end would have come quicker if it had been the winter season. Elliot was an enthusiastic golfer and horseman, and Charlotte could join him in neither sport. Also he always spent a fortnight in Maine fishing as soon as the ice was out. It was shortly after his return from Maine that the engagement was broken. By that time Elliot’s kisses had become brief and perfunctory, and he no longer sought to interlock his fingers through hers. His love for Charlotte had undergone a definite change too, and ceased to function spontaneously.

  The end came as a relief to them both, one late afternoon in the Marlborough Street living room. As with natural deaths, there was a certain dignity about the final moments. Afterward Charlotte was
glad that she had not hastened the end. Nature’s less violent methods are usually more merciful. They were both prepared.

  “I’ve been talking to the travel agent today about the reservations I made for our ocean crossing in July. I realize you’re still not ready.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “I exchanged the reservations I’d made for two, to three. The two boys have never been to England. I can take them instead.”

  “Oh, could you? Would you?”

  “I’ve been thinking about us, Charlotte.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we wouldn’t be happy.”

  “Well, I don’t believe I would be so very companionable, Elliot. You see I don’t know how to ride, or shoot, or play golf or tennis, or ski or skate, or any of those things which you enjoy so much. I do think you ought to marry somebody who enjoys what you enjoy. And somebody younger, too, who can be like a sort of older sister to your boys, and join them in sports too.”

  “The mere fact you aren’t an athlete wouldn’t have mattered if I could have made you love me. But obviously I can’t. It’s the first time in my life I’ve failed in something I set out to do.”

  “Well, it isn’t your fault. I can’t explain, but it positively isn’t your fault! And, Elliot, please don’t think it’s been all wasted effort. You’ve made me very important in the eyes of the family, and it’s the only thing that has ever happened to me which has made Mother proud. You’ve made me proud too, Elliot,” she added. He said nothing. They were standing side by side looking out onto the street. There was his long, black, expensive car drawn up close to the yellow line in front of her door—for the last time as prospectively hers, it occurred to her.

  “Of course, Elliot, on your side of the score there isn’t so much to show for your effort. I realize that.”

  “Well, you’ve shown me I can still care for somebody deeply.”