She vowed she would not stop loving him for a moment. She did not know, then, how loneliness would weaken her resolve .
With all my heart
by LOIS DYKEMAN KLEIHAUER ILLUSTRATED BY TOM LOVELL
As she came back into the bedroom she saw Ralph standing in front of the windows, staring at the sea through the binoculars. She went to stand beside him and to look silently at the grey water rolling shoreward, the white crested waves disappearing beneath the edge of the cliff. Today there was no sign of life on the sea.
He turned and put the binoculars on a table and looked at her. His lips wore a quizzical smile, but his eyes were grave.
Joan said, "I know I'm not the first woman to compete with the sea for a man's attention, but that doesn't make it any easier."
" No," he said. "I know."
"And the worst of it is," her voice was level, controlled, "there's nothing to be done about it."
Again his eyes turned towards the sea. "No. We've pretty well covered that subject these past twelve years."
He was a big man, muscular, masculine, and even in his pyjamas handsome.
She looked at him, feeling helpless and lost.
"Oh, Ralph"
"Come here, darling," he said. He reached out and took her into his arms and they stood in silence, the silence that comes when everything that can possibly be said has been said a hundred times.
After a while he spoke. "I let you in for a rough life by marrying you."
SHE rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "I don't know why it seems worse this year. You'd think I'd be used to it by this time. And if I didn't love you so much, it wouldn't matter, but I do. Do you suppose the wives of all the others feel the way I do?"
"Maybe not quite so much," he said. "Most of them have children. It makes a difference."
And there was no point in discussing that either. They had wanted children, but they had none.
"Are you all packed?"
"Yes, I finished last night."
"After I was asleep? So I wouldn't have to watch you?
" He held her off, grinned, and kissed her. "So you wouldn't have to watch me."
"Well, I'll go and start breakfast then."
She went down the stairs quickly. Each October I die, she thought. Each October when Ralph's boat leaves for its annual whale-catching season in the Antarctic.
And I will exist then for letters that come only in bunches. And this will go on until the end of April when the boats return.
She set the table, cut the grapefruit, fried the bacon, made the coffee. Bread waited in the toaster and eggs lay beside the frying-pan.
She heard him coming and turned to face him. He stood in the doorway looking broad-shouldered and purposeful and authoritative.
She saluted him briskly. "Good morning, Captain. Your breakfast is ready, Captain."
On his way to the table he stooped and kissed the back of her neck.
"You're a cute little wench," he said. "Too bad women aren't allowed on my crew."
"I've thought that, more than once," she said. "A silly rule."
He sat down at the table, shook out his napkin.
"Just exactly how much work do you think my men would get done if there were distractions like you aboard all the time?"
"How much coal would a coalpasser pass if a coal passer could pass coal? " she said. "Here are your eggs, darling. Toast coming up.
"You're looking especially handsome this season, Captain. Did anyone ever tell you that you' were the best-looking captain ever. So young, too. Think how many more years you can spend on the Marquessa , away from me."
Suddenly she put her hands over her face and stood silent, weeping.
He got up and toke her in his arms. "Oh, Joan."
She' shook her head vigorously. "Don’t be silly." The words and a sob came at the same time. "After the way you've worked? After all the studying you've done to get your certificates and the way you love the sea? No."
"I love you more than the sea. I can do something onshore.
"Don't tempt me," she said, and gave him a faint damp smile. "Finish your breakfast and I'll see to my face and then I'll drive you down to the docks."
"Bring me another dry handkerchief, too," he said."
She looked at the sodden wad in her hand ruefully. "Yes Captain, darling. I'm always a damp character when it comes to saying goodbye."
As they drove along the coast road Joan looked at the sea, blue now beneath the October sun, beautiful and endless.
During the five months that Ralph was home she ignored it as much as possible. But beginning each October, when she entrusted him to its tempera mental waters, she watched it, turning to it each morning when she got up, appraising the running waves and the wind and the sky.
THE Marquessa lay at the 9th Pier. Smoke rose purposefully from her stack. She rode high out of the water, gleaming with new paint.
Ralph turned from a keen appraisal of the boat to her. "Well," he said.
He got out and took his luggage out of the car. Joan slid under the wheel. Now he came round to her and leant in and kissed her. His eyes held hers for a long moment.
"Goodbye darling."
"Goodbye, Ralph. I hope this is a good season for you. I do, really. Telephone me when you can and take care of yourself."
"You know I will. Joan--" She waited.
"Get out more, darling. Don't stay at home so much. The garden's fine, but after all, it can't talk to you."
"I’ve noticed that," she said and smiled at him. "Goodbye." And then he walked towards the Marquessa and she watched him go.
The first day was always the worst. Loneliness then was a heavy ache in her throat and breast. And there was no escaping it. Long ago she had learnt to accept it, to live with it, knowing that each day and each night that passed eased the pain a little until she had settled herself into her routine of days without him.
She put the car in the garage and as she crossed the garden a large black cat came from the shrubbery to meet her. He ran ahead of her to the steps, glancing back and purring loudly. "Hello, Samson." She bent and stroked his head. "Are you hungry "
He arched his back and rubbed against her and when she opened the door he slipped in ahead of her and waited in the centre of the kitchen, looking at her expectantly.
She dropped her coat on a chair and took a tin of cat food from the cupboard and prepared his breakfast.
And after that she went upstairs and changed her dress, feeling the emptiness of the bedroom like a tangible thing.
The rumpled bed, Ralph's pyjamas on a chair, the cigarette ash in an ashtray reminded her again of the endless months ahead.
On her dressing-table, anchored by a corner of the hand mirror, lay a wad of notes, the money he had left her. It was a large amount, more than she would need before he sent her more.
He had always been generous with money and she knew that it was one of the ways he tried to make up to her for his absence.
She glanced up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Goodnight, she thought, and smiled wryly. I look as forlorn and lonely as a lost puppy.
She continued to inspect her reflection. She had long black hair, delicate colouring and long-lashed, blue eyes. How much longer could she count on looking young? On being pretty? Was this all her life was to be? Five months of marriage and seven months of putting in time? Of waiting? Waiting for the postman and for the telephone to ring.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up the telephone and dialled a number.
"Hello, Pam . . . I'm alone. I took Ralph to the docks a few minutes ago. I was wondering, do you want to go to a film tonight? I don't want to be alone, not tonight. I'll start thinking and that isn't good for me.
"Yes, I know Bill's out of town, that's one reason I called. I'll pick you up at seven. "
She put the receiver back. And then Samson came into the room, his paws making a tiny whisper of sound on the rug, the only sound in the stillness of the house.
October passed. November came in with its mists and damp. Joan worked in her garden preparing the rose-beds for the summer.
She was there one morning when she heard footsteps on the grass behind her. She stood up and turned.
A man came towards her, holding Samson in his arms. The cat was limp, his tail and feet hanging lifelessly. Joan's hand went to her throat.
"Oh!"
The man stopped, his face troubled.
"He is your cat then. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. He darted from under a car parked in front of the house right into my path.
"I tried to avoid him. I didn't run over him; but I think one of the wheels knocked him out."
Joan touched the cat with tender, probing fingers.
"I'm terribly sorry," he said.
She did not look at him. "These things happen, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. I think I'll get his box and take him to the vet."
JOAN began to run towards the house. She brought out the cover of a packing box that Samson had appropriated and the man placed the cat in it carefully.
"Let me drive you over," he said.
She looked at him. He was about Ralph's age, perhaps a little older. He had dark eyes and dark hair, greying at the temples. He looked, she thought, like a successful insurance man or a banker.
She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm sure you have a busy day ahead of you and I have all the time in the world. I'll get my car keys and be right back."
He placed the box on the front seat beside her. He looked so concerned that Joan said, impulsively, "Don't blame yourself anymore. I know it wasn't your fault."
"Thank you. But to do this to someone's pet, my wife had a wire- haired terrier that was killed by a car. It nearly broke her heart," "I hope you got her another dog."
He shook his head slightly. His voice changed.
"No, she died a couple of months after that. She had been ill for some time."
Joan said, "Oh-I'm sorry."
Their eyes met for a moment as though each had suddenly become aware of the other as a human being.
He said, ''I'll telephone you this afternoon to see how he is. I would like to take care of the bill also."
Joan drove to the vet's. From time to time she touched Samson carefully, feeling for the beating of his heart.
He had been her pet ever since he had come to the back door two years before, gaunt and ravenous and half- wild.
She had given him fish and milk and affection, and he had responded, becoming sleek and shining, purring his loud and lusty purr to show his contentment.
The vet examined the cat while she waited.
"You'd better leave him here," he said. "I don't think he'll live. Internal injuries, probably. We'll do what we can."
She stroked his soft fur, feeling her eyes become hot with tears. And then she went home and waited for the sound of the telephone. She was writing a letter to Ralph when the vet telephoned: Samson was dead.
At five-thirty the man came again. The day had turned raw with a wind off the sea and when she opened the door he stood on the steps, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He gave her a quick, embarrassed look.
"I told you I'd telephone you, and then I didn't take your name or telephone number. How is," His dark eyes searched her face. "He didn't make it, did he?"
"No." She held the' door wider. "Come in, won't you? It has grown so cold."
He stepped into the hall and took off his hat. He looked distressed and unhappy, so much so that she felt the need to comfort him. "It's all right. I'll get over it."
"Yes, of course. I'm just sorry I'm the one to hurt you."
He reached into an inside pocket and drew out a wallet. He extracted a card from it and handed it to her. "When you receive the bill send it to me. It's the least I can do."
She glanced down at the card. Mark Hilton Investment Counselling. His address was an office in the town.
"Thank you," she said. "If you really want me to."
"I do," he said, firmly. And then he left. .
RALPH telephoned her that night. His voice came along the wire, vigorous and masculine, stirring in her a new awareness of loneliness.
"I miss you," she said. "This has been a horrid day. Samson was killed by a car."
"No! I'm sorry. Who was the villain? " She had a quick image of Mark Hilton's pleasant, sensitive face. "He wasn't a villain, Ralph. He was as sorry as I."
"And are you staying at home tonight brooding over it?"
"No, well, not alone. Pam and Jean are coming over. And tomorrow I go to the Red Cross again. Oh, I keep busy, darling.
"I hope so. I won't be able to ring you again until March. Take care of yourself, darling."
A week later, dressed to go to dinner with friends, she was arranging pink roses in a bowl when the doorbell ran. Mark Hilton stood on the step. "I've got something in the car I wanted to give you," he said.
He went briskly out to his car and came back with a square box.
"Ever since the accident. I've wanted to make amends. I hope you like this little fellow." He opened the box flaps.
Inside a black kitten looked up, its green eyes shining from the ebony of its fur.
"Oh!" Joan reached into the box and lifted the kitten out. He. was feather-light in her hands, soft and delicate. "What a nice thing for you to do for me, thank you, he's a darling!"
Mark stood on the bottom step, watching the delight in her face. "I’m glad you like him. Now I feel a little better."
The telephone rang. Joan thrust the kitten towards Mark. "Can you hold him a minute for me, please?"
She ran swiftly to the telephone, lifted the receiver.
"Yes?" Her voice was breathless. "Mrs. Barrett?"
She recognized the voice of the friend with whom she was dining. She was terribly sorry but she had the most appalling cold and Joan did understand didn’t! she? Could they arrange another date later?
SHE put down the phone and she went slowly back to the front door. The box with the kitten in it stood on the steps and Mark Hilton stood watching the kitten's antics, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He looked up, the amusement in his eyes turning to concern.
"Something has gone wrong?"
"Yes. My friend has been taken ill, she has had to cancel our dinner."
"That's too bad."
She stooped to pick up the box.
"Or is it?" he said. "For me? Would you let me take you to dinner Mrs. Barrett?"
For a moment, kneeling beside the box, she didn't answer. And then she glanced up, her eyes meeting his. "I think that would be awfully nice of you," she said.
While she took the kitten to the kitchen to feed him, Mark sat down at the piano.
She heated up some fresh milk and spooned some fish on to a plate, listening to the rippling improvisations coming from the living-room.
She went to join him.
He looked up, his eyes animated, his lips smiling.
"You're good," she said. "I can't make the piano sound like that:"
"I should be better," he said, feelingly. "When I think of all the years of Saturday mornings, laid end to end, one-two-three-four, soft pedal, loud pedal, metronome and Mother in the kitchen making pies and rolls with one eye on the dough and the other on the clock, timing me."
They laughed together.
"Well," he said, and looked at her. "Where would you like to go? Have you ever been to the Blue Fox? "
She gave him a sidelong smiling glance, half-rueful. .
"You'd probably be surprised how many places I haven't been to. But you see I don't feel like going alone or with other women to certain places and when Ralph is at home we like to stay at home. No, I haven't been to the Blue Fox."
HE put her in the car and went round to his side.
"I am not going to think of the past or the future, only of tonight," he said.
Just tonight, she thought It can't hurt. I will tell Ralph when I see him. And she settled back, lifting her face to the sharpness of the air and the fragrance of the night.
It was pleasant being taken to dinner again, pleasant having her wishes consulted, pleasant being treated with deference.
And if, when she glanced up and met his glance across the table, she found his gaze disturbing, she resolutely chose to ignore it. It is only, she thought, because I haven't had masculine companionship for so long.
After dinner they drove slowly home, feeling the night settle about them between the hills. .
Behind a white-railed fence bordering the road, riding horses grazed. Against the side of a hill there was the shadow of a long, low house of stone, serene and solid.
"This is what I like," he said. "Horses, space, quiet, trees."
"No people?"
"Not many. Just a few."
"Do you have children?"
"I have a daughter. She's at a Secretarial College. She's a very domestic-minded girl so I expect she will marry soon and make a grandfather out of me." He shook his head. "One never expects to reach that stage quite so quickly."
She felt a sudden pang of loneliness and I will never reach that stage!
At ten o'clock he took her home. He took her to the door and they hesitated, looking at each other.
"Thank you, Mrs. Barrett. It's been wonderful."
She was equally formal. "Thank you, Mr. Hilton. Very much."
She went inside and up the stairs, hearing his car pull away. Her face was thoughtful.
MARK HILTON telephoned the following week. Two weeks later he called again and suggested dinner and a film. Joan agreed. . ..
She saw Mark after that about every two weeks. When she heard his voice on the telephone her heart lightened with pleasure.
And she assured herself that because he had never said anything in the least bit out of the way, because he never touched her or kissed her that it was a strictly platonic thing for him too. They were simply two lonely people finding companionship in each other.
But she did not tell Pam, her closest friend, about him nor did she tell Ralph.
One January afternoon they had a picnic. It was a cold but sunny Saturday afternoon, and the sea was placid and blue.
Mark carried the picnic hamper and a blanket down the long, steep steps to the deserted beach and Joan carried Samson the Second. She set him on the sand and the kitten struggled manfully to wade through it.
They spread a cloth between them and unpacked the basket. And while they ate the plume of smoke from a boat lay upon the horizon. Joan kept turning her eyes to it, watching it grow almost imperceptibly larger as the boat drew nearer.
After eating she knelt on her heels, putting the dishes into the basket while Mark retrieved the kitten who had wandered down the beach.
He came back, and dropped down beside her on the sand.
"Do you know," he said, "your eyes grow pensive every time you look at the sea?"
"Do they?" She turned and looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. He was very close. She noticed again the leanness of his cheeks, the curve of his mouth. He had a nice mouth, she thought. What would it be like if he kissed her?
She lifted her eyes and met his. And then he leant over and kissed her, tenderly, gently.
She remained where she was, her fingers in the sand, her lips parted, staring at him.
"Why did you do that?"
For suddenly, she knew the pretence was ended. Now and for ever, everything was changed. A minute ago they could have gone on as they had, a date now and then, casual, friendly, companionable.
Now he had precipitated a change, complete and violent. Now the coasting was over and a decision was imperative.
"Oh why?" she said.
"Joan," he said, "are you blind? Don't you know I love you?"
"No--you can't."
"Do you think you can stop me by telling me I can't? Joan, I've loved you from the moment I saw you in the garden. And I would not interfere in your marriage now, if I thought you had a marriage, but have you? Have you, Joan?"
SHE began to struggle to her feet, agitated, confused. "We'd better go back," she said. She picked up the kitten. /
"Joan-look at me."
She turned and faced him. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you see me, it's my fault."
She began to walk quickly to the steps. Without looking back she climbed them, crossed the road, and walked over to the house.
She set the kitten down and turned. He came towards her carrying the basket and blanket.
"Are you going to send me away like this?" he said.
"What else!"
"May I come in for a little while, Joan?"
She hesitated for a moment, irresolute, then she turned and led the way into the house.
He set the hamper down in the hall and followed her into the living-room. They faced each other in the centre of the room.
"I never dreamed I could love again, Joan. Not like this. I don't think I've ever felt quite like this before. Joan, do you believe me?"
She made a sudden gesture. "But I've told you. I am happily married."
"For five months out of the year?"
The question hung in the air. He went towards her.
"Oh-please-" she said.
He put out his hands and drew her into his arms. She remained rigid and unyielding. He put his face down to hers and kissed her, his mouth warm and possessive upon hers.
And then, as if solid tears within her began to melt, her body began to tremble and she began to answer his kisses.
"Joan, Joan, my darling." His voice was a shaken whisper.
FOR a long moment she hid her face in his shoulder. And then she turned and through the window she saw the black plume of smoke from an oncoming boat spread out across the evening sky.
She pulled herself away. "You've got to go. No, don't touch me, please. You've got to go."
"How can I leave you now?"
He lifted her chin with his fingers. Her lips began to quiver. "Don't make me feel any more guilty than I do now. If you love me, don't,"
"But, do you love me, Joan?"
"I don't know," she said, whispering, "I don't know."
He took his handkerchief from his pocket and touched her cheeks gently.
She took it from him, pressed it tightly against her trembling mouth.
"Will you let me see you again?"
She shook her head, her eyes closed.
"This is all, there is going to be for us.
"It has to be. Don't you see? What else is there?" She lifted her eyes, blinded with tears.
"Right at this moment I love you, Mark. But perhaps it isn't love. Perhaps it's loneliness, perhaps it's because you love me, perhaps it's because I wanted you to kiss me."
"And if it isn't these things? If you, really love me and want me, what then?" .
"I'll telephone you," she said.
He bent and kissed her once more, and then he turned, quickly, abruptly, and strode out of the house.
The rest of January passed. February. March. She lived in a preoccupied shell. She did not telephone Mark and she did not hear from him. But no day passed but that she thought of him.
She thought of Ralph in a detached, objective way. As if he were remote, an alien and a stranger who had nothing to do with her. And she began to dread the time when he would come home.
And then, as he always did, he telephoned a few weeks before he was due home again.
"Hello, darling." His voice was happy, assured. "Kill the fatted calf. I'll be home soon. Glad, Joan?"
"Oh-yes!" she said. But she lied. She was afraid of the moment when he would stand in the door, tall and , handsome, a stranger to her heart.
ON the day when he was due, to arrive home she prowled about the house, restless, unable to settle to any thing. In just a few hours now, she would know."
She had a light supper, forcing herself to eat. Then she bathed and dressed in the pale pink gown and neglige Ralph had given her. She made up her face carefully and went down to the living-room. And because her hands were cold with anxiety, she built a fire in the grate, and sat before it, waiting.
She saw the taxi coming along the street a little before nine o'clock. She heard Ralph's voice as he and the driver carried his luggage up to the house. And then she opened the door.
Ralph came in and dropped his bags in the hall. His eyes went over her in swift approval.
"Hello, darling. Heavens, have I missed you. Come here!"
She went to him slowly. He held out his arms and she walked into them. And as they went about her, gathering her to him, she thought in almost anguished relief. Why did I ever wonder?
For it was like going home. Inside the circle of his arms was security and all of the love and memories they had shared.
In his clothes was the familiar aura of wind and water and sun and sky. And there was the familiar scent of his shaving lotion and there was the way her head fitted beneath his chin and the known feel of his hands holding her.
And when she lifted her face to him there was the touch of his mouth that she knew so well.
This was her marriage. For five months or for a year.
"You're trembling,' he said. "Are you cold?"
With a little sigh, she relaxed against him. "I was, " she said. "But not now." ........................... THE END
© Lois Dykeman Kleihauer, 1960
As she came back into the bedroom she saw Ralph standing in front of the windows, staring at the sea through the binoculars. She went to stand beside him and to look silently at the grey water rolling shoreward, the white crested waves disappearing beneath the edge of the cliff. Today there was no sign of life on the sea.
He turned and put the binoculars on a table and looked at her. His lips wore a quizzical smile, but his eyes were grave.
Joan said, "I know I'm not the first woman to compete with the sea for a man's attention, but that doesn't make it any easier."
" No," he said. "I know."
"And the worst of it is," her voice was level, controlled, "there's nothing to be done about it."
Again his eyes turned towards the sea. "No. We've pretty well covered that subject these past twelve years."
He was a big man, muscular, masculine, and even in his pyjamas handsome.
She looked at him, feeling helpless and lost.
 |
| "I miss you so when you're gone," she cried passionately!...continued on page 12 |
"Come here, darling," he said. He reached out and took her into his arms and they stood in silence, the silence that comes when everything that can possibly be said has been said a hundred times.
After a while he spoke. "I let you in for a rough life by marrying you."
SHE rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "I don't know why it seems worse this year. You'd think I'd be used to it by this time. And if I didn't love you so much, it wouldn't matter, but I do. Do you suppose the wives of all the others feel the way I do?"
"Maybe not quite so much," he said. "Most of them have children. It makes a difference."
And there was no point in discussing that either. They had wanted children, but they had none.
"Are you all packed?"
"Yes, I finished last night."
"After I was asleep? So I wouldn't have to watch you?
" He held her off, grinned, and kissed her. "So you wouldn't have to watch me."
"Well, I'll go and start breakfast then."
She went down the stairs quickly. Each October I die, she thought. Each October when Ralph's boat leaves for its annual whale-catching season in the Antarctic.
And I will exist then for letters that come only in bunches. And this will go on until the end of April when the boats return.
She set the table, cut the grapefruit, fried the bacon, made the coffee. Bread waited in the toaster and eggs lay beside the frying-pan.
She heard him coming and turned to face him. He stood in the doorway looking broad-shouldered and purposeful and authoritative.
She saluted him briskly. "Good morning, Captain. Your breakfast is ready, Captain."
On his way to the table he stooped and kissed the back of her neck.
"You're a cute little wench," he said. "Too bad women aren't allowed on my crew."
"I've thought that, more than once," she said. "A silly rule."
He sat down at the table, shook out his napkin.
"Just exactly how much work do you think my men would get done if there were distractions like you aboard all the time?"
"How much coal would a coalpasser pass if a coal passer could pass coal? " she said. "Here are your eggs, darling. Toast coming up.
"You're looking especially handsome this season, Captain. Did anyone ever tell you that you' were the best-looking captain ever. So young, too. Think how many more years you can spend on the Marquessa , away from me."
Suddenly she put her hands over her face and stood silent, weeping.
He got up and toke her in his arms. "Oh, Joan."
''I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Ralph. I didn't mean to cry at all. I was going to be flighty and gay and send you off with a smile but I keep remembering that I have a husband only five months a year and life is so short and we haven't any children and I miss you so when you're gone, especially at night, and"HE took a handkerchief and wiped her eyes tenderly. "I lose more handkerchiefs this way," he said, softly. "Joan, listen, no, don't cry any more, do you want me to take a shore job?"
She' shook her head vigorously. "Don’t be silly." The words and a sob came at the same time. "After the way you've worked? After all the studying you've done to get your certificates and the way you love the sea? No."
"I love you more than the sea. I can do something onshore.
"Don't tempt me," she said, and gave him a faint damp smile. "Finish your breakfast and I'll see to my face and then I'll drive you down to the docks."
"Bring me another dry handkerchief, too," he said."
She looked at the sodden wad in her hand ruefully. "Yes Captain, darling. I'm always a damp character when it comes to saying goodbye."
As they drove along the coast road Joan looked at the sea, blue now beneath the October sun, beautiful and endless.
During the five months that Ralph was home she ignored it as much as possible. But beginning each October, when she entrusted him to its tempera mental waters, she watched it, turning to it each morning when she got up, appraising the running waves and the wind and the sky.
THE Marquessa lay at the 9th Pier. Smoke rose purposefully from her stack. She rode high out of the water, gleaming with new paint.
Ralph turned from a keen appraisal of the boat to her. "Well," he said.
He got out and took his luggage out of the car. Joan slid under the wheel. Now he came round to her and leant in and kissed her. His eyes held hers for a long moment.
"Goodbye darling."
"Goodbye, Ralph. I hope this is a good season for you. I do, really. Telephone me when you can and take care of yourself."
"You know I will. Joan--" She waited.
"Get out more, darling. Don't stay at home so much. The garden's fine, but after all, it can't talk to you."
"I’ve noticed that," she said and smiled at him. "Goodbye." And then he walked towards the Marquessa and she watched him go.
The first day was always the worst. Loneliness then was a heavy ache in her throat and breast. And there was no escaping it. Long ago she had learnt to accept it, to live with it, knowing that each day and each night that passed eased the pain a little until she had settled herself into her routine of days without him.
She put the car in the garage and as she crossed the garden a large black cat came from the shrubbery to meet her. He ran ahead of her to the steps, glancing back and purring loudly. "Hello, Samson." She bent and stroked his head. "Are you hungry "
He arched his back and rubbed against her and when she opened the door he slipped in ahead of her and waited in the centre of the kitchen, looking at her expectantly.
She dropped her coat on a chair and took a tin of cat food from the cupboard and prepared his breakfast.
And after that she went upstairs and changed her dress, feeling the emptiness of the bedroom like a tangible thing.
The rumpled bed, Ralph's pyjamas on a chair, the cigarette ash in an ashtray reminded her again of the endless months ahead.
On her dressing-table, anchored by a corner of the hand mirror, lay a wad of notes, the money he had left her. It was a large amount, more than she would need before he sent her more.
He had always been generous with money and she knew that it was one of the ways he tried to make up to her for his absence.
She glanced up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Goodnight, she thought, and smiled wryly. I look as forlorn and lonely as a lost puppy.
She continued to inspect her reflection. She had long black hair, delicate colouring and long-lashed, blue eyes. How much longer could she count on looking young? On being pretty? Was this all her life was to be? Five months of marriage and seven months of putting in time? Of waiting? Waiting for the postman and for the telephone to ring.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up the telephone and dialled a number.
"Hello, Pam . . . I'm alone. I took Ralph to the docks a few minutes ago. I was wondering, do you want to go to a film tonight? I don't want to be alone, not tonight. I'll start thinking and that isn't good for me.
"Yes, I know Bill's out of town, that's one reason I called. I'll pick you up at seven. "
She put the receiver back. And then Samson came into the room, his paws making a tiny whisper of sound on the rug, the only sound in the stillness of the house.
October passed. November came in with its mists and damp. Joan worked in her garden preparing the rose-beds for the summer.
She was there one morning when she heard footsteps on the grass behind her. She stood up and turned.
A man came towards her, holding Samson in his arms. The cat was limp, his tail and feet hanging lifelessly. Joan's hand went to her throat.
"Oh!"
The man stopped, his face troubled.
"He is your cat then. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. He darted from under a car parked in front of the house right into my path.
"I tried to avoid him. I didn't run over him; but I think one of the wheels knocked him out."
Joan touched the cat with tender, probing fingers.
"I'm terribly sorry," he said.
She did not look at him. "These things happen, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. I think I'll get his box and take him to the vet."
JOAN began to run towards the house. She brought out the cover of a packing box that Samson had appropriated and the man placed the cat in it carefully.
"Let me drive you over," he said.
She looked at him. He was about Ralph's age, perhaps a little older. He had dark eyes and dark hair, greying at the temples. He looked, she thought, like a successful insurance man or a banker.
She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm sure you have a busy day ahead of you and I have all the time in the world. I'll get my car keys and be right back."
He placed the box on the front seat beside her. He looked so concerned that Joan said, impulsively, "Don't blame yourself anymore. I know it wasn't your fault."
"Thank you. But to do this to someone's pet, my wife had a wire- haired terrier that was killed by a car. It nearly broke her heart," "I hope you got her another dog."
He shook his head slightly. His voice changed.
"No, she died a couple of months after that. She had been ill for some time."
Joan said, "Oh-I'm sorry."
Their eyes met for a moment as though each had suddenly become aware of the other as a human being.
He said, ''I'll telephone you this afternoon to see how he is. I would like to take care of the bill also."
Joan drove to the vet's. From time to time she touched Samson carefully, feeling for the beating of his heart.
He had been her pet ever since he had come to the back door two years before, gaunt and ravenous and half- wild.
She had given him fish and milk and affection, and he had responded, becoming sleek and shining, purring his loud and lusty purr to show his contentment.
The vet examined the cat while she waited.
"You'd better leave him here," he said. "I don't think he'll live. Internal injuries, probably. We'll do what we can."
She stroked his soft fur, feeling her eyes become hot with tears. And then she went home and waited for the sound of the telephone. She was writing a letter to Ralph when the vet telephoned: Samson was dead.
At five-thirty the man came again. The day had turned raw with a wind off the sea and when she opened the door he stood on the steps, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He gave her a quick, embarrassed look.
"I told you I'd telephone you, and then I didn't take your name or telephone number. How is," His dark eyes searched her face. "He didn't make it, did he?"
"No." She held the' door wider. "Come in, won't you? It has grown so cold."
He stepped into the hall and took off his hat. He looked distressed and unhappy, so much so that she felt the need to comfort him. "It's all right. I'll get over it."
"Yes, of course. I'm just sorry I'm the one to hurt you."
He reached into an inside pocket and drew out a wallet. He extracted a card from it and handed it to her. "When you receive the bill send it to me. It's the least I can do."
She glanced down at the card. Mark Hilton Investment Counselling. His address was an office in the town.
"Thank you," she said. "If you really want me to."
"I do," he said, firmly. And then he left. .
RALPH telephoned her that night. His voice came along the wire, vigorous and masculine, stirring in her a new awareness of loneliness.
"I miss you," she said. "This has been a horrid day. Samson was killed by a car."
"No! I'm sorry. Who was the villain? " She had a quick image of Mark Hilton's pleasant, sensitive face. "He wasn't a villain, Ralph. He was as sorry as I."
"And are you staying at home tonight brooding over it?"
"No, well, not alone. Pam and Jean are coming over. And tomorrow I go to the Red Cross again. Oh, I keep busy, darling.
"I hope so. I won't be able to ring you again until March. Take care of yourself, darling."
A week later, dressed to go to dinner with friends, she was arranging pink roses in a bowl when the doorbell ran. Mark Hilton stood on the step. "I've got something in the car I wanted to give you," he said.
He went briskly out to his car and came back with a square box.
"Ever since the accident. I've wanted to make amends. I hope you like this little fellow." He opened the box flaps.
Inside a black kitten looked up, its green eyes shining from the ebony of its fur.
"Oh!" Joan reached into the box and lifted the kitten out. He. was feather-light in her hands, soft and delicate. "What a nice thing for you to do for me, thank you, he's a darling!"
Mark stood on the bottom step, watching the delight in her face. "I’m glad you like him. Now I feel a little better."
The telephone rang. Joan thrust the kitten towards Mark. "Can you hold him a minute for me, please?"
She ran swiftly to the telephone, lifted the receiver.
"Yes?" Her voice was breathless. "Mrs. Barrett?"
She recognized the voice of the friend with whom she was dining. She was terribly sorry but she had the most appalling cold and Joan did understand didn’t! she? Could they arrange another date later?
SHE put down the phone and she went slowly back to the front door. The box with the kitten in it stood on the steps and Mark Hilton stood watching the kitten's antics, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He looked up, the amusement in his eyes turning to concern.
"Something has gone wrong?"
"Yes. My friend has been taken ill, she has had to cancel our dinner."
"That's too bad."
She stooped to pick up the box.
"Or is it?" he said. "For me? Would you let me take you to dinner Mrs. Barrett?"
For a moment, kneeling beside the box, she didn't answer. And then she glanced up, her eyes meeting his. "I think that would be awfully nice of you," she said.
While she took the kitten to the kitchen to feed him, Mark sat down at the piano.
She heated up some fresh milk and spooned some fish on to a plate, listening to the rippling improvisations coming from the living-room.
She went to join him.
He looked up, his eyes animated, his lips smiling.
"You're good," she said. "I can't make the piano sound like that:"
"I should be better," he said, feelingly. "When I think of all the years of Saturday mornings, laid end to end, one-two-three-four, soft pedal, loud pedal, metronome and Mother in the kitchen making pies and rolls with one eye on the dough and the other on the clock, timing me."
They laughed together.
"Well," he said, and looked at her. "Where would you like to go? Have you ever been to the Blue Fox? "
She gave him a sidelong smiling glance, half-rueful. .
"You'd probably be surprised how many places I haven't been to. But you see I don't feel like going alone or with other women to certain places and when Ralph is at home we like to stay at home. No, I haven't been to the Blue Fox."
HE put her in the car and went round to his side.
"I am not going to think of the past or the future, only of tonight," he said.
Just tonight, she thought It can't hurt. I will tell Ralph when I see him. And she settled back, lifting her face to the sharpness of the air and the fragrance of the night.
It was pleasant being taken to dinner again, pleasant having her wishes consulted, pleasant being treated with deference.
And if, when she glanced up and met his glance across the table, she found his gaze disturbing, she resolutely chose to ignore it. It is only, she thought, because I haven't had masculine companionship for so long.
After dinner they drove slowly home, feeling the night settle about them between the hills. .
Behind a white-railed fence bordering the road, riding horses grazed. Against the side of a hill there was the shadow of a long, low house of stone, serene and solid.
"This is what I like," he said. "Horses, space, quiet, trees."
"No people?"
"Not many. Just a few."
"Do you have children?"
"I have a daughter. She's at a Secretarial College. She's a very domestic-minded girl so I expect she will marry soon and make a grandfather out of me." He shook his head. "One never expects to reach that stage quite so quickly."
She felt a sudden pang of loneliness and I will never reach that stage!
At ten o'clock he took her home. He took her to the door and they hesitated, looking at each other.
"Thank you, Mrs. Barrett. It's been wonderful."
She was equally formal. "Thank you, Mr. Hilton. Very much."
She went inside and up the stairs, hearing his car pull away. Her face was thoughtful.
MARK HILTON telephoned the following week. Two weeks later he called again and suggested dinner and a film. Joan agreed. . ..
She saw Mark after that about every two weeks. When she heard his voice on the telephone her heart lightened with pleasure.
And she assured herself that because he had never said anything in the least bit out of the way, because he never touched her or kissed her that it was a strictly platonic thing for him too. They were simply two lonely people finding companionship in each other.
But she did not tell Pam, her closest friend, about him nor did she tell Ralph.
One January afternoon they had a picnic. It was a cold but sunny Saturday afternoon, and the sea was placid and blue.
Mark carried the picnic hamper and a blanket down the long, steep steps to the deserted beach and Joan carried Samson the Second. She set him on the sand and the kitten struggled manfully to wade through it.
They spread a cloth between them and unpacked the basket. And while they ate the plume of smoke from a boat lay upon the horizon. Joan kept turning her eyes to it, watching it grow almost imperceptibly larger as the boat drew nearer.
After eating she knelt on her heels, putting the dishes into the basket while Mark retrieved the kitten who had wandered down the beach.
He came back, and dropped down beside her on the sand.
"Do you know," he said, "your eyes grow pensive every time you look at the sea?"
"Do they?" She turned and looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. He was very close. She noticed again the leanness of his cheeks, the curve of his mouth. He had a nice mouth, she thought. What would it be like if he kissed her?
She lifted her eyes and met his. And then he leant over and kissed her, tenderly, gently.
She remained where she was, her fingers in the sand, her lips parted, staring at him.
"Why did you do that?"
For suddenly, she knew the pretence was ended. Now and for ever, everything was changed. A minute ago they could have gone on as they had, a date now and then, casual, friendly, companionable.
Now he had precipitated a change, complete and violent. Now the coasting was over and a decision was imperative.
"Oh why?" she said.
"Joan," he said, "are you blind? Don't you know I love you?"
"No--you can't."
"Do you think you can stop me by telling me I can't? Joan, I've loved you from the moment I saw you in the garden. And I would not interfere in your marriage now, if I thought you had a marriage, but have you? Have you, Joan?"
SHE began to struggle to her feet, agitated, confused. "We'd better go back," she said. She picked up the kitten. /
"Joan-look at me."
She turned and faced him. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you see me, it's my fault."
She began to walk quickly to the steps. Without looking back she climbed them, crossed the road, and walked over to the house.
She set the kitten down and turned. He came towards her carrying the basket and blanket.
"Are you going to send me away like this?" he said.
"What else!"
"May I come in for a little while, Joan?"
She hesitated for a moment, irresolute, then she turned and led the way into the house.
He set the hamper down in the hall and followed her into the living-room. They faced each other in the centre of the room.
"I never dreamed I could love again, Joan. Not like this. I don't think I've ever felt quite like this before. Joan, do you believe me?"
She made a sudden gesture. "But I've told you. I am happily married."
"For five months out of the year?"
The question hung in the air. He went towards her.
"Oh-please-" she said.
He put out his hands and drew her into his arms. She remained rigid and unyielding. He put his face down to hers and kissed her, his mouth warm and possessive upon hers.
And then, as if solid tears within her began to melt, her body began to tremble and she began to answer his kisses.
"Joan, Joan, my darling." His voice was a shaken whisper.
FOR a long moment she hid her face in his shoulder. And then she turned and through the window she saw the black plume of smoke from an oncoming boat spread out across the evening sky.
She pulled herself away. "You've got to go. No, don't touch me, please. You've got to go."
"How can I leave you now?"
He lifted her chin with his fingers. Her lips began to quiver. "Don't make me feel any more guilty than I do now. If you love me, don't,"
"But, do you love me, Joan?"
"I don't know," she said, whispering, "I don't know."
He took his handkerchief from his pocket and touched her cheeks gently.
She took it from him, pressed it tightly against her trembling mouth.
"Will you let me see you again?"
She shook her head, her eyes closed.
"This is all, there is going to be for us.
"It has to be. Don't you see? What else is there?" She lifted her eyes, blinded with tears.
"Right at this moment I love you, Mark. But perhaps it isn't love. Perhaps it's loneliness, perhaps it's because you love me, perhaps it's because I wanted you to kiss me."
"And if it isn't these things? If you, really love me and want me, what then?" .
"I'll telephone you," she said.
He bent and kissed her once more, and then he turned, quickly, abruptly, and strode out of the house.
The rest of January passed. February. March. She lived in a preoccupied shell. She did not telephone Mark and she did not hear from him. But no day passed but that she thought of him.
She thought of Ralph in a detached, objective way. As if he were remote, an alien and a stranger who had nothing to do with her. And she began to dread the time when he would come home.
And then, as he always did, he telephoned a few weeks before he was due home again.
"Hello, darling." His voice was happy, assured. "Kill the fatted calf. I'll be home soon. Glad, Joan?"
"Oh-yes!" she said. But she lied. She was afraid of the moment when he would stand in the door, tall and , handsome, a stranger to her heart.
ON the day when he was due, to arrive home she prowled about the house, restless, unable to settle to any thing. In just a few hours now, she would know."
She had a light supper, forcing herself to eat. Then she bathed and dressed in the pale pink gown and neglige Ralph had given her. She made up her face carefully and went down to the living-room. And because her hands were cold with anxiety, she built a fire in the grate, and sat before it, waiting.
She saw the taxi coming along the street a little before nine o'clock. She heard Ralph's voice as he and the driver carried his luggage up to the house. And then she opened the door.
Ralph came in and dropped his bags in the hall. His eyes went over her in swift approval.
"Hello, darling. Heavens, have I missed you. Come here!"
She went to him slowly. He held out his arms and she walked into them. And as they went about her, gathering her to him, she thought in almost anguished relief. Why did I ever wonder?
For it was like going home. Inside the circle of his arms was security and all of the love and memories they had shared.
In his clothes was the familiar aura of wind and water and sun and sky. And there was the familiar scent of his shaving lotion and there was the way her head fitted beneath his chin and the known feel of his hands holding her.
And when she lifted her face to him there was the touch of his mouth that she knew so well.
This was her marriage. For five months or for a year.
"You're trembling,' he said. "Are you cold?"
With a little sigh, she relaxed against him. "I was, " she said. "But not now." ........................... THE END
© Lois Dykeman Kleihauer, 1960
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