Strange Women, The (18 page)

"—so then old Byrd called Nora and asked if she'd be willing to take over when he retires—it can't be more than two or three years now. Well, of course, that was ideal. We can live out there—" he looked at her with a smile so full of love that she could not face him. "I was telling Mack about the kid, Leonora."

She swallowed. She could not, before Mack, destroy it by saying,
It
was a mistake, I jumped the gun.

"Hey, that's great, sis," Mack said softly. "So you beat us, after all. Poor little Jill." Then his face sobered and he put down his drink.

"Nora, I'm worried about Jill. Remember, I talked to you once before about her?"

Yes, and you let me in
for
the worst mess
of
my
life.

She said cautiously, "Have you thought about this, Mack? Maybe she's just decided that she doesn't want to marry you."

"But she couldn't do that—not after the baby, and everything—look, Nora, maybe I'm a heel. But can't you understand? As far as I'm concerned, she's my
wife!"

"You're not a heel," Nora interrupted, "Jill knew perfectly well what she was doing. But if she knew what she was doing then, you've got to admit she knows now."

Mack glowered. "Nora, whatever you might think, I don't make a habit of unloading my personal problems on other people. But Jill's not like most women, and neither are you, so I figured you might understand her. I'm not asking you to violate any confidences, but can't you give me some notion of what's going on inside that stubborn little nut of hers? Why won't she marry me? Is she angry at something I've done?"

"I don't see why she should be." Shocked at herself, Nora felt a queer thrill of pride. Instantly it was gone, leaving an ebb-tide wash of shame—surely it was nothing to be proud of, that Jill wanted no one else? But it had been there; the flare of jealousy at the thought of Mack possessing Jill, the leap of pride that Jill refused him.

Mack brooded, "Some women get funny after having a baby. Do you think that's Jill's trouble?"

"Probably. But not the way you think." Nora wondered why her voice was so cold. "Maybe she's just realized; not having your baby, she's not obligated to marry you unless it suits her, and it doesn't."

"But what can I do?"

Nora felt she must cut this short at any cost. "Mack, I'm neither God nor a marriage counselor. Jill's of age and knows her own mind. There's nothing I could do, even if I were willing to get mixed up in it. Which—forgive me—I'm not."

Kit was standing by the window, looking into the streaming rain. He turned and said harshly, "Mack, can I put in my two cents?"

"Go ahead."

"You say you think of Jill as your wife. But you treated her like a tramp. No wonder she resents it!"

Nora opened her mouth to protest. What did Kit know about Jill? But Kit scowled and Nora realized this had turned into man talk and she would be ignored if she spoke.

"I know, Kit. I ought to have talked her into marrying me, or else made damn sure I wouldn't leave her pregnant. But if she throws me over—it would serve me right, but I couldn't take it."

"Did it ever occur to you that she's afraid? Afraid you only think you ought to—what's that phrase—make an honest woman out of her? She won't be rushed—"

"Rushed? She's had eight months!"

"During which she was pregnant, and had to carry all that guilt and shame alone—"

Nora could not keep silent. She felt as if she were being stripped naked herself. "Kit, that's not true. Jill doesn't swallow that Puritan hogwash about sex and guilt! She's a modern, sensible girl!"

"Modern or not and sensible or not," said Kit with a skeptical shrug, "she'd still be upset about having an illegitimate child. Especially when she doesn't
have
the baby to—to make it worth while. But she needs you. Mack, whether she knows it or not. You want some free advice? Okay. Take off the pressure. Let
her
come to
you."

"And suppose she doesn't?"

"It's none of my business, but you might better lose her that way than get her the other. If you bully her into marrying you, she'll always remember it was something
you
wanted. Let her realize that she's marrying you—not because you pressured her into it, but because it was something
she
wanted."

When Mack had gone, chastened but hopeful, Nora said "What got into you? None of it was Mack's fault!"

Kit laughed. "Funny. You really
don't
think it was his fault—do you?"

"How on earth could it be?"

"Leonora, whenever a woman's been seduced—"

"Oh, lord, Kit!"

"Even the modern woman, who has deleted the word from the dictionary; when a woman's been seduced, some man did it."

Suddenly Nora was fiercely angry. "I suppose you have it all figured out that the men I had before you, took advantage of my innocence."

Kit flinched. "No need to bring that up. I told you before we were married; I don't give a damn whether I'm the first or the fifty-first, as long as I'm the
last.
Took advantage of you? Yes, damn it, and you made it easy for them by swallowing all that single-standard crap men invented to seduce women with."

It was too much. "You make me sick," she shouted, almost incoherent. "That dark-ages hokum—"

"Here, here, here, hold on!" He held her until she stopped struggling, his thin fingers like steel clamps on her wrist. "Don't you ever raise your voice to me again, Leonora, I mean that. If you weren't going to have a baby, I would take you over my knee and give you the paddling of your life!" The words made Nora cringe. "I won't have women yelling at me!"

"Kit, no man has ever had the right—"

"No. That is obvious from your tone. No, keep still, we are going to have this out—there is only
one
man in this family. Me."

"Kit, I won't have this! We are two adults—two equals. You have no right to speak as if I were a naughty child to be punished if I disobey!"

"We are two equals," he said, his mouth set, "not two men. As long as you speak to me as a wife should speak to her husband, I will treat you with all the respect and courtesy you could possibly desire. I have fixed ideas about respecting my wife. But man to man, Nora, I'm the better man and I can prove it. So don't try to compete that way."

He kissed her hair, tenderly. She rubbed her punished wrists, and he picked them up and kissed them. "I have only one more thing to say, Nora, and then we'll drop it for good. I love you, and I trust you. The past is past, and nothing could change the way I feel."

She drew a little away from him. "Kit, there's something I must tell you—"

"You don't have to tell me anything," he said.

"No. It's not what you'd think." She looked down into the street, where the small drops were still splattering into the puddles. "It's—I know why Jill won't marry Mack, Kit."

"Some other man?"

"No man, Kit. It's—" Nora bent her head. This was it, and she simply didn't know how to say it. "It's—my fault. It's because of me."

"Yours? How? You're too sensitive, Nora. You're not responsible for the whim of Jill's, certainly—" Kit stopped abruptly and Nora winced before the sudden comprehension in his face. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"So that was it, all along. Yes, that was it."

"Kit—"

"Darling, come here!" Kit gathered his wife in his arms. "You can't imagine how relieved—you don't know what I went through this winter, thinking it was a man—I'm not worried about Jill. Not as a rival."

She should have expected his refusal to take it seriously. She might have done it herself, a year ago. "Kit, do you even know what I'm trying to tell you?"

"Sure. You're saying Jill's queer."

She flinched. "If she is, it's my fault, Kit."

"I doubt that like hell. And as far as you and I are concerned, it couldn't matter less, could it? How do you feel about Jill now?"

"Perfectly miserable," she said, and choked.

"I don't mean that." Kit's eyes were blue and bleak as the bottom of the sky. "Well?"

"I—" Nora tried to force herself to go on, but words came. "I—I can't."

"Okay, forget it. I'm not curious." She saw the shadow of pain, like the darkness flying in the wake of a cloud, move across his face. "I'm not trying to force you—I said you didn't have to tell me anything. I—I think I could go for some of that Scotch myself, about now."

She fixed him a drink and he sipped, his hands not at ease on the glass.

"Reason I asked—there are pretty rough penalties for that stuff in the service. It still flares up, now and then. Usually just a—well, a flare-up." He frowned, searching for words, turning the glass round and round in his hands. "I mean, things happen. Like, some kid comes to pass the time of night and after you've batted the breeze a while you run out of things to say. And you find yourself thinking you'd like to put your arms around him—I'm not saying this very well—and you end up giving him a slap on the back and telling him to get the hell out, you've got work to do. Or you and some guy get stuck in the northeast corner of nowhere, nothing to do but get on each other's nerves and wait for all hell to break loose outside. Only two ways to get rid of all you've got stored up inside, and usually you wind up slugging him instead. But you can't help wondering if the other guy is thinking the same way." Kit stared into space, not even in the same room with Nora any more. "And sometimes he is."

He went on turning the glass round and round in his fingers. When he looked up again, his face was haggard, as if he had been on a very long journey.

"The thing is, Nora—well, I've been there. When things get rough, you—grab on to whoever's handiest. My grandfather—ran a line of fishing boats up in Maine—had a saying. I used to think about it—went like this. Every boat's best off in its own drydock. But if the weather gets rough enough, any boat will put into a stranger's harbor." He managed to grin.

"When are you leaving for Mayfield?"

"I can't go, Kit. I've got to see this through with Jill—Kit, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. But that isn't the way." He spoke slowly, hunting for words. "I'm not asking you not to see Jill again. Do what you have to. But I want you to go to May-field, just as you planned, tonight."

"I suppose," she flared, "that unless I do, you'll beat me!" She did not know why anger had come back to replace her gratitude for his understanding.

"No. It's too important for that, Leonora. Let's just say—I want you to do it because you're my wife, and I asked you to, and because your marriage is more important to you than—well, than Jill."

Nora had not faced this decision before. Now it lay before her, clearcut and inevitable. It was not so simple as a choice between Kit and Jill, either. It was a choice as to whether or not she could give up her cherished independence.

She sat staring at Kit. She knew she loved him, but in a curious way hated him too. Oh, no, there was no peaceful, conventional happy ending before them. It would be more like a battle to the death, if she chose Kit.

She had spent twenty years learning to dominate her surroundings. Everyone who would not allow himself to be swept into her ruthless track had been quickly swept aside. Pammy. Les Rannock. Vic and Ramona when they had outlived their usefulness to her. Jill; cruelly, without compunction, she had tried to cut Jill away. Was Kit to be the latest victim?

At least I'm not pregnant. Like I told Mack; now she doesn't have to marry him. I'm free too...

Kit's voice was gentle. "You think I'm inconsistent. I told Mack he should let Jill make up her own mind. I'm telling you that you've got to let me make yours up. But I'm not telling you what to do, Nora. I'm asking if you'll
let
me tell you. You've got to surrender Nora. If you can't—you don't need me. And if you don't need me, sooner or later you won't love me."

Nora got up without answering and went for her raincoat. She took her medical bag and opened it, slipping into her pocket the bankbook Mack had given her, months ago. She had never spoken of it. In response to a point-blank question, Jill had told her that she had money enough to see her through her confinement. But the bankbook had begun this, and now it must end it.

Kit started up, as she turned to the door; but Nora, at the last breath of her endurance, said, "No, Kit. Don't ask me. I'll call—or I'll come back—or I'll call you from Mayfield. But if you ask now, there's only one answer. If there's any pity in you, give me time."

He whispered, "All the time you want, Leonora. Like I said to Mack; I'd rather lose you, than get you on the wrong terms. But whatever you decide, it's for keeps, because we'll never go through this again."

He turned and walked into the bedroom, and Nora knew he had fallen there and was lying, as he lay so often, face down, his arms hiding his face, shutting out all but his pain and his pride and his manhood. And she had no right to follow. Numbly, she went out into the rain.

The hotel desk clerk told her that Mr. MacLellan had checked out, and Nora went up the stairs with her heart pounding, not yet knowing why she had come—excerpt, perhaps, to fling Mack's trust in his face. Why he thrown Jill at her?

She rapped at the door; he opened it, and looked at her, startled. "Nora? Come in." He drew her inside.

"Why, your hair's all wet—what are you doing out in rain? Kid, is something wrong?" His face creased with sunburn, leaned over her with anxious gentleness; solid, comforting, letting her be herself. She buried her in the front of his shirt, forgetting anger, forgetting everything. The delayed misery of her new knowledge, the tension of choice, were tearing at her.

She had failed as a woman. She had failed everywhere and everyone. She had destroyed Jill. She had hurt Kit. She had betrayed her trust to Mack—"

"That chair's hard. Here, sit on the bed," he said, don't talk if you don't want to. You look like you could a drink." He turned away, giving her time to collect herself, and poured it into a thick-rimmed hotel glass. But as she put it to her lips he said anxiously, "Is it all right to drink now? You're a doctor, you ought to know, but—"