Beverly Byrne

by Come Sunrise

  "Half a day," he said. Both women were watching him and he relented. "I guess I could take one morning off."

  "We'll bring a picnic lunch," Amy said. "You'll see, it will be fun."

  * **

  Despite his early reluctance, it was Luke who made it fun. He borrowed a big Lincoln touring car from one of his relatives. There was room for all five of them. Amy had suggested that they take Maureen, and Lit had seen the wisdom of the idea. Besides, the maid was useful because they had so much luggage. They were only going for the day, but Lil believed she was setting forth into the unknown. She'd brought two hampers of food and an assortment of wraps and galoshes and blankets-just in case.

  The freak November blizzard had been replaced by an early December thaw. The sky was deep blue and there were few clouds. The winter-distant sun created an illusion of warmth. Amy looked over the shiny black hood of the Lincoln at a city basking in false spring.

  Pushcarts and taxis and bicycles clogged the traffic. Heading east on Fifty-ninth Street they crossed the path of streetcars jammed with passengers who hung out open windows and tipped pale faces to the sun. Luke didn't mind driving through the melee. He began singing, "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do . . ." His rich baritone filled the car and bounced off the elegant red leather upholstery. Amy joined in. She was very happy.

  Then they crossed the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge and it took her breath away. She didn't look down. Nothing in nature frightened her; but this feat of technology, this city-bred phenomenon arcing through space on perilously slender steel cables, made her dizzy.

  "Are you all right?" Luke reached over and touched her clenched hands.

  "Yes, fine." She spoke in a small whisper, embarrassed lest the others know she was afraid, and acutely conscious of the light touch of his fingers.

  Long Island City, where the bridge debouched, was grim and ugly. It was an excrescence belonging in spirit neither to Long Island nor Manhattan. Amy was glad when they left it behind and moved out into the countryside.

  Someone mentioned being thirsty. Lit glanced at her watch and said that it was time to stop for a snack. Luke found a spot overlooking a meadow and parked the car. Maureen rummaged in one of the hampers and produced a Thermos flask of hot coffee and some bread and butter. Amy took her cup and wandered a short distance up the road. Nearby two old horses grazed peacefully. She leaned on the fence and watched them. Luke came up beside her. "They look like candidates for the glue factory to me."

  "Yes. Old plough horses that have no further use, I expect. Luke, do you think it's a good idea for Lil and Warren to buy a place out here?"

  "I'll tell you a secret," he confided. His voice was pitched low. "It doesn't matter what any of us thinks. Uncle Warren's already bought it."

  Amy's eyes opened wide. "But what if Lil hates it after she sees it?"

  "I don't know." He shook his head. "I don't think they've ever had a serious disagreement. Lil always does what she wants, and Warren goes along. We've just got to convince her the house is marvelous. Otherwise there's going to be a devil of a scene."

  "She should like it." Amy said with conviction. "It's beautiful here in the country. Why do they live in New York anyway?"

  Luke chuckled. "Some people prefer the city, you know. Anyway, Warren only intends them to live here in the summer."

  "Do you prefer the city?" She searched his deep blue eyes for an answer. "Would you be unhappy living away from New York?" He couldn't know how important his answer was to her. She didn't take her eyes from his face.

  "I like New York," he said. "But I don't think where you live is important, as long as it's where you're meant to be."

  "You mean fate or destiny? Something like that?"

  His smile broadened. "I mean God. And there you go getting that tight look you get whenever I mention the word."

  "You're teasing me."

  "You're very teasable. I like the way your eyes spark when you get mad." He reached into his waist-coat pocket and took out his watch. "Almost eleven," he said. "We'd better go. I think there's still an hour or more to drive." They'd left the house at seven. Lit really would think she was traveling to the end of the world.

  It wasn't as warm on Long Island as it had been in New York. Amy buttoned the jacket of her blue wool suit and nestled more comfortably into the plaid lap-robe Luke had arranged over her knees. The road cut across brown salt marshes, thick with reeds and birds. It reminded her of the area north of Boston. "It's a bit like New England," she said.

  "Geologically Long Island is part of New England," Warren said. He explained, a rather long speech for him, but the technical terms and references to the long-ago Ice Age bored Amy. Her mind wandered. Warren lapsed into silence and no one else spoke. Luke wasn't singing any more. With every mile they put between themselves and Manhattan the tension increased. Amy could feel it, emanating from Lil, and being silently but stubbornly ignored by Warren.

  A little past noon they reached Lawrence, and could look across a small bay to Far Rockaway. The big summer houses were all closed and boarded over. They stood like hulking sentinels, exposed by leafless trees that skirted long impressive drives.

  "The bridge to Atlantic Beach should be on our left." Warren said.

  "Have you been here before, Uncle Warren?" Amy asked.

  "No, I've seen pictures. And a map."

  So he had bought the house sight unseen. Amy marveled at the audacity of it, but when she remembered the cuttings she understood. If Lil didn't agree to join him, Warren was quite prepared to spend his summers there alone. Sometimes, Amy realized, people are absolutely determined to have their own way. She mulled over the notion and decided she approved of it. Her estimation of Warren was growing by the minute.

  Luke found the bridge that spanned the narrow tidal channel known as East Rockaway Inlet. He drove the Lincoln across, and they had arrived. But where? Atlantic Beach was nothing. Not even a village. Off to their right was a distant coast guard station, with a high tower that interrupted the expanse of sea and sky. In front of them was the breakwater that divided the inlet from the ocean, and a long sandy beach. That was all.

  Amy turned to look at Lit. The older woman was very pale, but she said nothing. Beside her Maureen sniffed and pressed a handkerchief to her running nose. Warren stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the desolation. Luke finally broke the silence. "Where's the house supposed to be, Uncle Warren?"

  "To the left. One hundred twenty Montgomery Street." It sounded absurd. Where were the other one hundred and nineteen? Amy swallowed a giggle.

  They drove along a dirt road. Finally they saw a cluster of obviously new houses and a few weather-beaten shacks. There was a crude grid of streets, apparently laid out by someone with more faith than realism. One bore a signpost that said Montgomery, and they followed it to three finished houses and a half-constructed fourth.

  Number one-twenty was on a corner of sorts, close to the beach and the ocean. It was a sizable two-story house built of white stucco with a red tile roof. There was a screened entry porch. The door leading to it was locked, but Warren produced a set of keys. He stood aside for his sister to enter.

  "I'm going out back to see the yard," Warren said when they were all huddled together in the cold and silent foyer.

  Lil stared after him. Amy took her hand and tugged her toward the stairway. "Come, Aunt Lit, let's start at the top and work our way down." They left Luke to cope with Maureen, who was still sniffling loudly.

  There were four bedrooms and two baths. Amy remarked on the nice size of the rooms and the pleasant views. Lil said nothing. She followed the girl around on stiff wooden legs.

  "Here's the maid's quarters," Amy said. They were in a rear suite comprising two rooms and a bath. "You know, I think Maureen will be impressed with this. After all she only has one room in the apartment." The rooms were small, and the view was only of the neighboring house. Still, the fact of two separate rooms was likely to strike Maureen as luxury. "I th
ink we'd better get her up here to see this right away," Amy said. "It may stop her moaning."

  "It's so empty, so far from everything," Lil whispered. "I couldn't live here. Warren just has to see that."

  Amy studied the pale, crumpled face. Then she made a hasty decision. "Listen, Aunt Lil, he's afraid to tell you himself, but Warren's already bought the house."

  "No! He couldn't do that. Not without my agreement. We've always done these things together. Why when we bought the apartment ..."

  "He's desperate for a garden, you know that. And this place was offered at a price he could afford."

  "No," Lil said again. But with less conviction.

  "It's true, Luke told me." She took the older woman's hands in hers. "Warren means to live here alone if you won't join him. That would be a shame, Aunt Lil. You'd both be so lonely."

  "Alone? Without me?"

  "I think so, yes. But I'm sure he'd much prefer it if you'd live here with him."

  Lil walked to the window and stood looking at the wall of the next house. Finally she turned back to Amy. Slowly a change came over her features. She had been ghostly pale; now she flushed. The thin lips trembled for a moment, then set in a half smile. It was forced, but firmly held in place. "Of course if Warren's made up his mind ... These other houses are sure to be sold soon. And more will probably be built." She turned and hurried out of the maid's suite to a large bedroom with a superb view of the sea. "This could be my room. I could paint it pale blue. What do you think, Amy? Is blue too cold a color?"

  "I think it's a lovely choice for a summer house."

  Lil nodded and looked at her watch. "Goodness! It's after one. We'd better have our picnic lunch."

  All the while she nibbled roast chicken and picked at potato salad Amy thought about the lessons of the morning. Getting what you want is largely a matter of determination, she decided. And knowing whether you want it badly enough.

  "How about a walk on the beach before we start back?" she said after they'd eaten.

  "You two youngsters go do that," Lil said. She sounded like her old self when she added, "I want to measure some of these windows. It will take forever to get the curtains made. Warren, you must tell me whether you mean to have the bedroom next to mine, or the one across the hall."

  "You decide," he said. "It doesn't matter to me." He left to go back to the barren yard heaped with builder's rubble in which he planned to make a garden.

  Luke grinned at Amy, and they slipped out the door and headed for the beach. "Now, tell me what you said up there," he demanded. "When Lil went upstairs with you she was horrified. When she came down she'd given in."

  "I told her the truth. That Warren had bought the house and meant to spend his summers in it. With or without her."

  Luke stopped in his tracks and stared at her. "Little Amy," he said softly, "you are a very tough lady."

  She shook her head. "No," she said. "But sometimes I understand how things are."

  They walked the length of the deserted beach. The tide was out, and the ocean was a lacy froth trembling in the distance. Amy turned and looked back the way they'd come. "The houses are little dollops of cream on the horizon."

  Luke took her hand. "Don't look back, Amy, look forward. "

  She was not quite sure what he meant. "What does that look like to you?" She nodded toward the coast guard station. The spit of land that was Atlantic Beach narrowed at this point, and the building was close behind them. They could see the boat ramp reaching into the inlet and the tower high above.

  "I don't know," Luke said. "I've no gift for metaphor."

  "Cyclops, the one-eyed giant."

  "He wasn't very nice."

  "No, let's forget about him." She had left her hat at the house and a soft breeze ruffled her dark hair. December was still pretending to be May. "It's beautiful here. If I were Lil, I'd never want to go back."

  He smiled and took her upturned face between his hands. "Don't be Lit. Don't be a spinster, Amy. You're meant for love and marriage and all the happy things."

  Their eyes caught and held. Amy's lips parted slightly. She felt his fingers lightly touching her cheeks. Tentatively, she put her hands on his arms.

  "Oh, God," Luke whispered. It was half-prayer and half-curse.

  Then he was holding her tight and his mouth was on hers and it was like that day in Central Park, only more so. This time they tasted each other avidly, hungrily. Their tongues probed and their bodies locked so close it was as if there were no layers of clothes separating their flesh. His hands moved down her spine.

  He was feeling, groping, seeking. She shivered beneath his touch. Her fingers tangled in his thick blond hair and held his face against hers. The kiss went on and on. Luke's hands were on her buttocks pressing her even closer. She felt him move. His hard taut body seemed to imprint itself on the softness of her belly, her thighs, and her breasts.

  Finally the kiss ended, but neither of them moved out of the embrace. Amy buried her face in his shoulder. She nuzzled his neck and smelled the warm spicy maleness of his skin. She heard him moan and sensed the increased urgency of the movement of his hips. Her tongue licked his flesh. She wanted to bite, to devour the essence of all that was Luke. He made a sound deep in his throat that ended in a gasp. It was like nothing she'd ever heard. There was something elementary in that cry. It frightened her and pleased her at the same time, and Amy could interpret neither feeling.

  Suddenly he let her go and almost pushed her away. "Oh, God," he said again.

  Luke turned and walked some distance from her. Amy stared after him. His shoes raised little puffs of sand, then he stood still and stared out at the ocean. She put her hands to her face. Her cheeks were hot, but she was shivering. For some unaccountable reason she wanted to laugh aloud. She wanted to strip off her clothes and run into the icy sea. She only smoothed her skirt over her hips and adjusted the collar of her jacket. A few minutes passed. Then Luke returned to where she stood.

  He reached out to touch her again, then drew his hand back, as if she were fire and he would be burned.

  "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "What happened, what we, that is, what I did. I don't want you frightened."

  I'm not frightened, Amy thought. You are. She didn't say anything, just kept looking at him.

  "It's natural and even beautiful," he said, "but only when you're married. This way it's all wrong. That's not your fault, it's mine. You're too young and innocent to know better."

  She didn't know what he was talking about, but she didn't care. Married, he'd said. She had watched his sensitive mouth form the word. Married. Two people joined together for always; sharing a home, their hearts, the very air they breathed. Married. Mrs. Luke Westerman. Yes, Amy thought. Oh, yes!

  Don't say anything, Eve-like instinct warned her instantly. Not yet. "It's okay," she whispered. "Don't worry." She smiled at him, and all the sunshine of her seventeen years was in that smile. "Come," she said quietly. "The others will be waiting."

  He nodded and they retraced their steps along the beach toward the new houses thrust so incongruously into the primitive landscape. "They don't look as if they belong at all," Amy said. Luke merely grunted. He was still lost in his own thoughts. Amy didn't mind. She understood everything with her pores, her nerves, and her instinct. Married, her blood sang. Married, married, married.

  For a day or two she worried that he might start avoiding her because the truth she perceived so clearly was a worry or an embarrassment for him. "Men can be very difficult," her mother had sometimes said with a sigh. Usually the comment followed some obstinacy of Daddy's or some small quarrel. But Jessie had smiled knowingly at her daughter, and in a brief time the cloud, whatever it may have been, was lifted. Amy had learned the lesson well, without ever realizing that she'd learned it.

  She took to washing her hair every other day, so that she would look her best whenever Luke appeared. Each morning she dressed with special care, grateful for the pretty new things L
il had made her buy and no longer worried about the expense. After four days her patience was rewarded.

  "Luke's coming for dinner this evening," Lil said on Wednesday. "Shall we have pot roast or chicken?"

  "Whatever you think," Amy said. What did she care about food? Luke was coming. Lil, accustomed to never getting answers to her questions, went to the kitchen to confer with Maureen. Amy danced around the room and hummed the wedding march, silently, so that only she could hear.

  That night Luke was relaxed, animated, and charming. He was his old self. While she dressed, Amy had worried just a tiny bit. Perhaps he'd be stiff or embarrassed because he had half proposed, and now he didn't know how to finish it and make it official. I'll have to find some way to put him at his ease, she'd thought. But it wasn't necessary. He laughed at her and teased her and complimented Lil, and as always the whole apartment seemed alive and new just because he was there.