Watermarks

by Jarvis, J. L.

  She could hear his concern--or was it judgment? It hurt to look at him, framed as he was with the harsh and unforgiving morning light. She sat up.

  "Maggie?"

  She took a moment to sort her dreams from reality. "I'm sorry I--" But she stopped. She had no words. She was now awake enough to wonder what she must look like. She smoothed her hands over her hair and her skirt.

  He looked down at her. "What did you do--sleep out here?"

  Unable to meet his gaze, Maggie looked at the leaves of ivy entangling itself upon the porch columns. Now fully awake, she could only repeat the same words to herself. Andrew never came for her. She slept through the night, past the time of their meeting, and he never came for her.

  "Maggie?" Jake watched her uneasily. "What's happened?"

  Maggie could not rise above her disappointment to conjure an explanation. She looked up at Jake and saw his sense of duty, not recognizing it as love. Was he not going to gloat? His concern somehow made it hurt more. Maggie felt like a fool. Jake's tenderness reached through to the source of her anguish and opened the wound. She averted her eyes from the blinding comfort of Jake's presence. Do not cry. Maggie, do not let him see you cry. Why couldn't the ground just open up and allow her to sink into its depth? She closed her eyes and despaired. She had trusted Andrew with her heart. How could she have loved him so easily? Jake crouched down and peered into her eyes. When she did not respond, he took her hand in his and just held it.

  "Maggie!" Beth's voice rang through the front door.

  Maggie jumped to her feet. "Robin?" The immediacy of Beth's voice rose to the fore as Maggie looked at Jake and regained her reason. She reached out and took hold of his arm, and said urgently, "I've got to go. Robin's got scarlet fever." She finished the sentence as the door closed behind her.

  Jake listened to the door close and fought the urge to follow. Since when had he been so awkward a presence in Maggie's life? Since that rich bastard Andrew from the mountain came along. And now Maggie's heart was broken. Jake turned and headed for home. Only once did he pause to glance back toward Maggie's house with dark eyes. But he turned away, gave a nod to the iceman, and went home. He would not look again.

  Beth finished putting some tea and toast on a tray. She was about to pick up the tray, when Maggie snatched it from her and carried it toward the stairs as she called out strict orders for Beth to go outside for some fresh air and rest. "It will invigorate you," she said.

  Beth looked at Maggie doubtfully, but was too weary not to comply. She found her way to a chair on the front porch, into which she sank with little thought for appearances. A sigh escaped before she knew it, as she allowed her eyes to close for an instant. "Why is it so hard?" She heard herself say, and the need to weep rose, until she had to stand and return to work for fear of giving into it. There was no time for tears.

  She did not see Maeve O'Neill approaching behind her, and was startled to hear her voice so near. "I've brought you some soup. When Robin's up to eating it will do her good."

  She held a large pot of soup with folded up dishrags. Strings of gray hair blew against her round face.

  Beth looked at her friend with expressionless eyes.

  "Oh, Maeve."

  "Jake told me that Robin was sick with the fever."

  Beth nodded wearily, with no clear response.

  Maeve studied Beth with compassion. "Why don't I take this soup into the kitchen while you sit right there. You look like you could use some rest." Beth began to protest.

  "Sit!"

  Maeve returned several minutes later to find Beth peacefully in asleep on the shady porch chair. She smiled at Maggie, who stood in the doorway.

  "Maeve..." Maggie searched for words, and shook her head helplessly as she offered up her best expression of appreciation, which Maeve dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You're a good and dear friend." Maggie's throat ached as she tried to suppress the tears that filled her eyes. She leaned back against the doorframe and held the door ajar.

  With a warm farewell, Maeve stepped down from the porch, and then hesitated. She pivoted around to regard Maggie for a moment, then--as an afterthought--said, "It was Jake who sent me over. He was worried about you."

  "Was he?" Maggie tried to smile, but struggled to swallow instead.

  Maeve nodded gently.

  Jake was worried about her. Andrew was not. Maggie wondered if her thoughts were advertised on her face. If Maeve were not Jake's mother, she might have poured out her heartache in exchange for some motherly advice. Instead, she looked down at the loose doorknob, which Hank had promised to fix weeks ago, and thanked Maeve for the soup. "And tell Jake I said thank you," she called after Maeve. The elder woman stopped halfway between their two houses and looked back, poised to speak. Two young O'Neill children rushed to their mother with some unresolved conflict. Maggie waved her on with a forced smile, then slowly stepped inside and headed up the stairs to check on Robin.

  When news of the scarlet fever outbreak reached the club, its members closed down early for the season. People packed and closed cottages.

  Andrew opened his bedroom door, allowing a beam of morning light to shine through and light his path down the stairs. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he sent a maid up to retrieve his bags and greeted his mother with a perfunctory peck on the cheek.

  "Well, it's about time," said his mother.

  "If we don't hurry, we'll miss the morning train," said Charles.

  "We certainly wouldn't want to stay here amid all the sickening...sickness," Andrew said sardonically.

  Lillian Adair stopped and looked at her son. She wore her propriety like an heirloom broach, comfortable with it, yet aware of its weight. "Scarlet fever is a tragic disease which afflicts countless unfortunate souls, but we are under no obligation to bring it into our home."

  "Of course not, Mother."

  Lillian's attention was sought by one of the servants who hurried in to consult with her on an urgent packing matter. Andrew looked absently toward the vacant doorway she left behind.

  Allison rounded the foot of the stairs and caught sight of her brother. Tentatively, she approached him. "Deep in thought?"

  Andrew looked at his sister with a wry grin. "Deep thought is something I try to avoid."

  She smiled. "No. You don't want to risk getting in over your head."

  "Precisely."

  Refusing to be sidetracked, Allison took a moment to measure her words. "Is it your girl?"

  A trace of a smile passed across Andrew's face before, without looking at her, he nodded.

  Allison placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by approaching footsteps and the metallic whine of an opening door. Lillian Adair paused in the doorway to instruct a servant on some packing procedures. Allison squeezed Andrew's shoulder, and then proceeded outside, for her packing was finished. Andrew reached his room as Lillian entered with a scurrying servant girl in tow.

  Seated in the phaeton, Allison waited while Mr. Adair gave Samuel some last minute information about the renovations being made to the cottage in their absence. After leaving them at the train station, Samuel would return to the cottage to oversee the installation of indoor plumbing in the cottage, much to Mrs. Adair's relief. Rustic beauty was lovely as long as it was accompanied by all of the modern conveniences.

  Samuel made some final adjustments to secure the luggage, and then climbed into the phaeton. With Samuel driving, the Adairs embarked upon their trip to the train station. "It's a shame Mr. Sutton couldn't join us on the train," said Mrs. Adair.

  Samuel looked straight ahead. Allison said nothing, but noticed Samuel's clenched jaw.

  "He's a bit of a rascal, but he's so entertaining--" Mrs. Adair stopped mid-sentence and looked at her daughter. "Allison? You look pale. Are you feeling alright?"

  "I'm fine, Mother," replied Allison, looking straight ahead.

  As they pulled up to the train station, Andrew glanced about,
and then turned to his parents. "I'm going to take the next train. There's something I must do."

  Lillian looked at Andrew with alarm.

  Charles spoke clearly and calmly. "And what would that be?"

  Andrew stared down at the road, then past his father, toward town. "I need to have a word with Miss MacLaren."

  "You'll do no such thing," said his father.

  "I can't just leave without saying good-bye. It would be rude," he added as an afterthought, knowing the importance of social etiquette to his mother.

  "You'll send her a note from Pittsburgh," said Lillian.

  "There, it's settled," said his father.

  Andrew appeared disturbed. Rather than voice it, he looked down at a small bird hopping about on the pavement.

  "Enough of this nonsense. Let's be on our way," said Charles.

  Andrew remained tight-lipped until the family assembled on the train platform. Quite suddenly, he stood before his father and declared, "Father, I'm staying. I'll be on the next train." As he walked away, his father's voice resounded with the command to stop.

  Andrew froze in his tracks. After a long moment, he turned and faced his father in exultant defiance. After years of obedience, he had finally asserted his manhood. He savored the power his new choice had brought him--a feeling he could control his own destiny--which first energized then enervated him. At last on the brink of self-determination, he faced all the possibilities and decisions before him and suddenly found himself seized with panic. Afraid to take action, he stood there until his inaction, itself, became a decision.

  The train pulled into the station. Charles Adair looked toward his son with a measure of tolerance, having reestablished his control, and with so little effort. The family boarded the train. Andrew sought comfort in the fact that it was he who had chosen to board the train, and not his father. Having made his own choice, he now felt relieved to be back in the safety of reticent compliance.

  As good as it felt to be home, Allison's thoughts were miles away, with Samuel. Three weeks had passed since she had left him at the lake. She thought of the lake as it must appear now, desolate and undisturbed by boat or man.

  She opened the letter Samuel had left in one of her bags, and she read it once more.

  A,

  I am missing you now as you read this. I can see your soft hair like fire in the sun, your gentle smile, and your eyes with their faraway look. I watch the night sky and imagine you at your window, looking for me. I can see us together. I hold your heart close to mine until, soon, I can hold you in my arms.

  Your D

  "Samuel," she whispered.

  Allison sat at her desk and lifted her fountain pen.

  D,

  I remember how you looked when we parted, standing there so tall and handsome. I thought, "My heart is his, and he's mine." As though you had heard me, you looked at me and smiled. I would have run into your arms. But I could not.

  The more I love you, the more cruel the world seems to be.

  We are created equal, you and I, but not born to equal lives. A man ought to be able to seek his own destiny. But how can he--how can you--when we hide? If we hide, we act against what we believe, and then what have we done but to perpetuate wrong? Yet if we refused to hide, we would take on the world's burden, and that may be more than I know how to bear.

  I don't know how to change the world. I just know how to love you.

  I miss you so. I must remind myself constantly that we will soon be together.

  A

  Allison set down her pen and, drawn to anything that might bring her closer to him, picked up Samuel's letter and studied it. First, she envisioned him sitting at his desk, writing. Then she saw him--strong and good. He made her feel loved as no man ever had.

  There was a knock on her door. Allison absent-mindedly answered.

  In walked her mother. "Cook has prepared a snack for us, if you'd like. That must be good news, you're absolutely beaming!"

  Allison blushed as she realized she still held the letter from Samuel. Hastily folding it up, she explained, "Oh? It's just a letter to an old friend." Before her mother could ask who it was, Allison excused herself to freshen up. Her mother wondered, but then remembered something that needed her attention, and left the room.

  Once downstairs, Lillian practically tripped over Andrew, who sat, with his feet stretched across the hallway, poring over a missive of his own, which he was preparing to post.

  "Really, Andrew? Must you sprawl?"

  "I'm so sorry, Mother," he exclaimed as he reached out to steady her. In the process, his letter floated to the floor, where it lay in plain view.

  In futile haste, he picked up the letter and slid it into his pocket, but not before his mother's knowing gaze had taken it in.

  "Maggie MacLaren," said his mother with a subtly raised eyebrow. "Isn't she that girl--from the valley below the lake?"

  "From Johnstown. Yes, Mother."

  "Hmm." Lillian looked away with a casual lift of the brow, then a sigh.

  "What, mother?"

  "It's just that, I wonder. Do you think it's wise?"

  His eyes shut for a moment. Without turning to face her, he said, "Wise?"

  Her demeanor softened to gentle deliberation. "Encouraging that girl?"

  He turned toward her, but avoided her gaze. "If by ‘that girl' you mean Maggie--"

  "You know very well who I mean."

  "Well, then, yes." He cringed to hear his own voice betray too much emotion. He turned away in vain hope of escape.

  She heard it, too, for her eyes flashed to him, and she studied his face.

  Andrew tensed beneath her maternal scrutiny. He put on his most charming smile, but it faded as her gaze bore through him.

  Softly, she said, "You love her."

  He felt almost surprised to admit it aloud. "Yes."

  A tiny crack formed in Lillian's practically flawless composure. "Well, of course it's a summer dalliance. It will pass." When she looked at her son's face for reassurance, she found none. "How could you let this happen?"

  Andrew returned her alarmed gaze with dull eyes. "Love isn't something you let or don't let happen."

  "Don't be absurd." Lillian sought the right words, but the situation was already out of control. It had gone too far, yet she could not chastise too harshly when she saw in her son a faint reflection of her own faded memories.

  Heavy footsteps announced Charles Adair's arrival in the room. He sorted through letters. "I believe this is yours," he said. Without looking up, he extended a piece of mail toward his wife, which she silently set on a nearby table. He looked first at Lillian, then at his son. "What is it? Andrew, have you upset your mother?"

  "It seems our son is in love."

  "Well, it's about time!" Charles extended a congratulatory hand toward his son. "Don't look so sad, Lillian. The boy's twenty-six. It was bound to happen sometime." Charles laughed and put an arm on his son's shoulder as he led him over to a chair.

  As Charles encouraged a reluctant Andrew to sit down, Lillian spoke. "With that MacLaren girl."

  Still Charles failed to appreciate Lillian's concern. "MacLaren?"

  "From Johnstown."

  He gave her a questioning look.

  "The librarian." Andrew's mother explained, and then rolled her eyes in relief, as her husband at last understood the problem.

  Andrew awaited the tempest, which, to his surprise, was not forthcoming. For while his mother was distraught, his father was quite accepting of the notion. This seemed to inflame Lillian even more.

  "Charles, we must do something!"

  "Do something? Lillian, you worry too much. It's summer. Let the boy have some fun."

  Lillian was not convinced.

  "It's not as though he wants to marry the girl!" Charles chuckled as he walked over to the window. "I wonder how that work is going at the cottage. Has anybody heard from Samuel?"

  "But I do." Andrew stood facing his father. "I do want to marry h
er."

  Lillian sat down with a helpless sigh. Charles continued to stare out the window. "But you won't."

  With false cheer in her voice, Lillian said, "It'll pass. Why, a few weeks from now--"

  "I've asked her to marry me." Andrew shifted his weight.

  Charles whipped his head around to face his son with contempt. "What? You asinine fool!" As though it were a bothersome business matter, he proceeded to set forth a plan of action. "Say nothing more to her about it. We'll fix this--I'll fix this. You just...find something--anything to do other than see her again."

  "But you don't understand. I want to--"

  "No, you don't understand!" Charles blustered with merciless vehemence. "You will not marry that girl."

  "Father--"

  "Do you think I've worked all these years building a name in this city so you could ruin everything by marrying beneath you? It takes more than new money to establish oneself, but we've done it. I have singlehandedly built this for you, and you will not ruin it!"

  Lillian felt slighted. Having sat through more than her share of ladies' luncheons and charity events, she'd built friendships that had helped to advance Charles. She got Charles the interview for his law firm, and cultivated countless friendships with potential clients. Without her help, he would not be where he was, a fact he seemed always to forget. She did not mind shooting an indignant look his way to remind him.

  Andrew's shoulders wilted along with his bold posture. In a quiet voice, he said, "I love her."

  "Love is irrelevant," scoffed Charles, while Lillian watched on. Charles took his son's shoulders in his hands, and confronted him face to face. "Do you understand me? You cannot marry that girl."

  Andrew's eyes took on a look of pleading desperation, but he said nothing. Charles deftly maneuvered with his well-practiced courtroom persuasion. Speaking slowly and simply, he offered up the options to Andrew. His voice was liquid, his mind well oiled, and his purpose absolute. His efforts were barely needed, for both parties knew who the victor would be. Despite this, both men engaged in the exercise. Charles had an inherent need to wield power. He postured and blustered until Andrew sat in hopeless defeat.