by Freda, Paula
Laura froze. A natural mistake, she told herself. She knew he meant her. But it wasn't the mistake. It was the way the name had issued from his lips, with a warm mixture of compassionate tenderness and wonder. And in that name were contained fifteen years of intimacy – fifteen years of shared joys and sufferings, of faith and loyalty. Laura turned to look at him. He was nodding off, his eyelids closed, and his features peaceful, contented. "Sandra," he whispered sleepily. Then he was asleep, his breathing lighter and steady. He hadn't even realized that he had called her "Sandra." A mistake, just a natural mistake, she told herself, over and over. She must not cry. It wouldn't do to wake with eyes red and puffy. Kevin would ask what was wrong, and how could she tell him that she had found him too late. The tears fell despite her determination not to. They continued to fall until exhaustion claimed her and she slipped gratefully into a deep dreamless sleep.
* * *
Sandra rose shortly after the rooster crowed. She dressed as usual in a loose short-sleeved blouse and jeans. Making the bed was a difficult chore this morning, as she fought not to dwell on the thought that it was not her bed this past week Kevin had left to start his chores; first on the list, milking Henrietta, the cow. After fifteen years of togetherness the past seven days seemed a nightmare from which she expected momentarily to awaken, and find his side of the bed mussed and smelling of brown earth and oak.
The feeling persisted even after she had donned her apron, made breakfast for everyone, and watched her small brood, except for her toddler, Jennifer, get on the school bus. Kevin had returned from milking Henrietta, eaten quietly, and then headed out into the planting fields to work and seed the land. Only when Laura entered the kitchen, sometime after the others had left, did reality feel absolute to Sandra. Kevin no longer belonged to her.
Laura sat down at the table. Sandra sensed her awkwardness. It was a tribute to Laura's character; Sandra reminded herself, that the woman showed no animosity toward her. Even as a young girl, knowing full well Sandra's feelings toward Kevin, Laura had never teased or mocked. And Sandra, realizing how much lovelier Laura was and worthier of Kevin's affection, had loved them both, and accepted the inevitable. How much simpler and less painful if the tidal wave had not separated the two and allowed them to live their lives together in peace.
The first night that Kevin had shared the Den with Laura, Sandra had thought she would die. She wanted to rush into the Den and remind Kevin of how much they had shared, far more than he had with Laura. And there were the children, their children. But she had held back because no matter how valid her reasons to want to hold on to him, no matter how much she loved him, needed him, Kevin had always loved Laura. And now that he knew that she lived and had returned to him, he would never be truly happy without her. So she had sunk to the floor, and buried all hope. For no other but Laura, would she give Kevin up.
Except for suggestions on how to handle this matter with the children, nothing more had been exchanged between her and Kevin. During the week she had left him a note telling him she was taking the train up the coast to see Father Theo at the newly rebuilt Our Lady of the Roses, to obtain the proper signed documents authenticating Kevin and Sandra's original marriage. They needed Father Theo's substantiation to dissolve the second marriage both in the church and under the law, and prove that Kevin had intended no bigamy. Foolishly, as she held her youngest daughter in arms while waiting for the train to pull into the station, she had kept looking behind her, hoping to see Kevin hurrying to stop her. But no one had come.
Now it was done, the documents and application filled by all parties concerned, signed, notarized and sealed in the manila envelope, waiting on the kitchen counter, in that little corner reserved for their outgoing mail, waiting to be taken to the post office later on this morning.
Sandra poured herself a cup of coffee. She broke the silence to ask Laura if she would like a cup herself. The woman's eyes widened, surprised for this kindness from one whom she'd already taken so much. "Yes, I'd like some," she answered, her expression grateful. Sandra poured her a cup and sat down opposite her. It was time to clear the air, to let Laura know that she had buried any malice together with regret. She should never have accepted Kevin's proposal, knowing how much he still loved his Laura. In this world or the next, Laura would always have stood between. Sandra composed her features, but her fingers gripping her cup, belied the small smile she formed to ease Laura's guilt. She glanced at her daughter who sat on the kitchen floor playing quietly. Jenny, the sensitive one, quickly aware of any disturbance in her mother. The child seemed to know instinctively when silence was needed. She would probably grow up being one of the "genuinely close, understanding ones," for which most parents hoped.
Laura's gaze was lowered, trained on her cup, as if she preferred studying it, rather than facing Sandra.
It was time. "It's all right, friend," Sandra said. "No more sad thoughts. I've accepted it. Kevin was always yours. If it weren't for the children, I would already have left. But this is their home, and it would hurt them to relocate at so early an age. They're confused enough. Kevin's already drafted the plans for his new home with you on the other side of the farm. The children and I will remain here. He'll officially adopt them, once our marriage is voided. I'll stay with them until they're grown and off to college, or on their own. And then I'll move away."
"I'll come with you, mommy," Jenny said from the floor. Dear Jenny, Sandra thought, swallowing the knot forming in her throat. "Of course, sweetheart. If you still want to when the time comes." "Of course I'll want to, mommy. You're my mommy."
Jenny's avowal of love broke Laura's forced reserve or any pretense. "Oh Sandra, Kevin's not mine. He belongs to you. It's too late for me. He may not be aware of it, but you've replaced me in his heart. All the little habits, small gestures, sacrifices small and big, everything that binds two people who have shared so much, for so long, they exist between you and him, not me. I'm a memory of what could have been, but wasn't. I should never have come here. David warned me."
A warm expression suffused her gaze. "He's a lot like you, Sandy. Very giving and patient. He's loved me forever it seems. And I've come to depend on him and need him. And yet, just like you do for Kevin's sake, he holds himself back for my happiness."
"Laura, it's your own goodness talking, your guilt —"
"I wish it were. But I can't deny it any longer. If I had never shown up on your doorstep, you and Kevin at this moment would be continuing your lives together, content and glad to be alive for yourselves and your children. And he does love you. I see it in the faces of your children – security, comfort, and decency. Happy children. I can't destroy that to resurrect a love that was mere physical attraction. Your love and his grew from friendship and common need, from loneliness and understanding. Do you realize that's the strongest love that can exist? It's the kind of love that sometimes grew in arranged marriages, if the couple were kind, committed people who truly needed to love and be loved. Like you and Kevin."
"No Sandra, don't be so selfless. Kevin loves you, he needs you."
"It was your name he spoke last night, tenderly," Laura said. Sandra was taken back for a moment. "So what, it was habit, a mistake," she rallied.
"That's what I told myself, but I knew I was hiding from the truth. You see, it wasn't the word itself, but the way he spoke it, with compassion and gentleness. All the ups and downs, the joys and sufferings, all the years you two have spent together, all the love that has grown between you, all contained in that one word. Sandy, he never spoke my name that way."
"You're wrong, Laura. I remember your wedding, the vows you two exchanged, the love shining in your eyes."
"The promise of love," Laura said. "But you and Kevin have fulfilled that promise. Not I."
"I ..." Sandra stammered, looking for the right reasons that would convince Laura and save Kevin further pain.
"I'm leaving, Sandra. I don't have the relationship with Kevin that you have."
"But you will –"
"No, it's too late!" she insisted. "It's foolish and wrong to deny that fact, or try to change it, because of a memory." On a softer note, she added, "And then there's David. He's hurting. Even without the intimacy, through no fault of his, a bond has grown between us."
"How strong a bond?" Sandra asked hesitantly.
Laura did not answer immediately. "I can't say for sure. We're close." Another pause. "Sandra, I'm not as selfless as you; I never was. I could never bring myself to be second best. With me it's always been all or nothing. Does that make me an unkind person? A coward, perhaps?
Sandra stood up and rushed to Laura's side, kneeling and shouldering her. The sincerity and pleading in Laura's voice evoked the mother in Sandra. "No, no, not in the least. You've always been a kind person deserving of love and attention. You should have been first in Kevin's life. It was nature that decreed differently." She glanced away momentarily, struggling with thoughts of disappearing from all their lives. She noticed Jenny watching uncomfortably, as though the child could read her mind. Of course she would never desert her children.
"Look Laura, I can't leave my children, but you'd hardly know I'm here. You two can now rebuild the relationship denied you; have your own children; forget I exist."
Laura's gaze was tender as she caressed Sandra's cheek. "Sandy I'm not selfish, but neither that selfless," she asserted. "You and Kevin can get on with your happiness. And David —"
"He'll come after you," Sandra said of Kevin, in her heart of hearts; beginning to hope, believe, wanting to believe.
"I don't think so. But in any event, my mind's made up. I've been in love with a memory, just like he has. I've had David's love staring me in the face, and I've been a fool to avoid it."
Her jaw setting with determination, she added, "And I'll give you one more reason, which even Kevin can't deny. I'm jealous of what you two have shared. And that jealousy would eventually eat away at the memory of that love I felt for Kevin."
"You underrate yourself," Sandra entreated. "I've always admired you, wanted to be more like you."
Laura smiled. "Oh, I like myself well enough. Maybe too much. But now it's my turn to be giving, giving you back the happiness that you and Kevin earned." From the awkward, silent, confused Laura who had entered the kitchen and sat down at the table, now a confident, determined woman rose from her chair. All trace of guilt was erased from her face. "Goodbye, Sandra. Wish me luck with David. If there's anyone that I can love selflessly and completely, it's David, because he loves me that way."
CHAPTER FIVE
Heaven's Gates
For a long time Sandra sat in the kitchen, wavering between rampant joy and utter desolation. Part of her dared believe that her life with Kevin might continue unchanged; part of her wondered if her broken heart had affected her mind and she was hallucinating, real and vivid because she wanted it to be real. Several times in the next hour she checked the den where Laura moved about collecting her belongings. It was true, then, or was it a dream induced by madness?
She followed Laura into the yard, where David sat in a wicker chair watching Kevin on his tractor in the distance work his land. At the sight of Laura fully dressed in her nurse's uniform and field jacket, and carrying her duffel bag, David stood up, the sadness of love lost clearly etched on his slim angular features. She heard Laura tell David, "It's over. We're leaving."
Indeed the two had bonded, for David needed no further prompting. He didn't even ask her why, or what had happened to change her mind. It was evident to Sandra that all that mattered to him was that he again could hope. While Laura climbed into the passenger side of the jeep, the selfless lover needing only a gesture, ran to the barn, gathered his belongings, stuffed them into the back of the jeep, and jumped in beside her. With one final questioning glance at Laura – no answer necessary, he revved the engine and drove away, nary a backward glance.
She was gone. Sandra's numbed state jump-started. The thought blared in her mind Kevin, Kevin loves her. How can I let him lose her again? She turned, ran into the house, and dialed the cell phone. There was no answer. She grabbed Jenny into her arms and as fast as her legs could carry her, she ran into the fields. Frenziedly she called to Kevin. The slosh whirring of the tiller working an acutely soggy piece of ground drowned her voice as it had the cell phone. Finally he saw her and read the anxiety on her face. He stopped the tractor. She reached him as he climbed off. "Sandra, what's wrong," he asked worriedly. Sandra was panting from her run, struggling to catch her breath. "What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, taking Jenny from her arms.
"She's leaving, with David. Kevin you must stop her. You can't lose her again," she cried, her eyes, wet, dark and flashing, luminous with tears filling them and spilling down her flushed cheeks. Her face was burning, her heart beating rapidly. Her ponytail had come undone and the wind had blown her hair, dark warm coffee, frizzing it slightly and curling it. She had never looked quite as beautiful to Kevin as she did at this moment, willing to sacrifice everything for his happiness.
He didn't budge, just kept gazing at this woman who loved him so much that she would give him up to see his dreams fulfilled. "Let her go, Sandra. It's too late for her and me, a lifetime too late."
"But –" Sandra shook her head. "No, you love her."
"Sure, I love her. I always will, but not in the manner I feel for you. If I were to follow her, then you would become my lost love."
"You love me?" Sandra asked, so endearingly childlike. "You never told me."
"Of course, Daddy loves you, Mommy," Jenny affirmed in Kevin's arms.
"Absolutely, sweetheart," Kevin said, hugging his daughter. And then to both, "I never fully realized until last night how much a part of me you've become. And how much I belong to you, and our children, dearest Sandy. Forgive me for all the years I spent blinded by a dream. You and the children are my life. I won't give you up, ever." He placed his arms about his wife, the one he had chosen. Heaven's gates unlocking, Sandra flung her arms about her husband and child, afraid this moment would dissolve into a waking dream.
Up until the evening, as she prepared dinner, set the table and called everyone to eat, she was not convinced as yet of the reality. Joey, her eldest, 10, and the spunkiest, and Johnny, a year younger, the most creative, bounced into the kitchen, in the middle of a brotherly argument regarding who would win the pennant this year. Kelly, her eight-year-old, waltzed in like a prima donna, not a wrinkle marring her spotless jeans and white shirt, her hair neatly combed in a page, a style making a comeback. Her six-year-old, Evie, skipped into the kitchen, plaid shirttails sticking out from the waistband of her favorite pair of faded denims, and quite comfortable with the denim's purposely frayed hems. Lastly, Jenny, leading her father by the hand, treaded to her seat next to Sandra. "We're all here, Mommy," she announced proudly. "Can I say the prayer today?" she asked sweetly, climbing into her seat. Her small elbows straddled her vinyl placemat as she folded her hands reverently before her at her father's nod. "Dear Lord," she began, "Thank you for all the food on the table, for the chicken, and the biscuits, and the jam." Her small brow knit. "Even the peas." She gnawed gently on her lower lip, as she searched for more to say. "Oh, and also," she added, "thank you for Daddy and Mommy loving each other – and for loving us." She quickly made the sign of the Cross, and ended with a brisk "Amen."
Everyone signed themselves. The children were too busy passing the platters of food, and serving themselves to notice the radiant smiles and moist eyes of their parents. But Jenny noticed and whistled a four-year-old's sigh of relief.
A hundred miles away on a train speeding northward, Laura sat beside David, her head resting against his shoulder. The sky had darkened, and stars sparkled in the moonlight. Loath to disturb her rest, David reached above him with his free hand to turn off completely the dimmed light just above the window against which he leaned. With the compartment shrouded in darkness, the moonlight shimmered through the window and cast a silver glow
over Laura. For the thousandth time, David whispered, "I love you, Laura."
"Don't stop, David. Don't ever stop loving me," she whispered back, without opening her eyes. She snuggled closer, aware in her mind of the warmth of his smile.
"Marry me, Laura," he asked, still whispering.
Not moving from the comfort of his arms, Laura opened her eyes and met his gaze. The silvery moonlight danced in her irises, turning the pale blue iridescent. She didn't answer him immediately. She felt him tense, and hold his breath, and sensed him readying for her denial. She exhaled slowly, as one does when a goal has been achieved, or relief attained. Then she touched his face with her fingers. "Yes, David, I'll marry you. It's time."
And for the first time in all the years he'd loved her, David bent and kissed her.
The train sped on, the stars glowed, and the earth breathed ...
