Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) (18 page)

I drew a hot bath and slipped into the tub.  In the next room, the baby was awake and crying.  The sound was annoying, and I hoped that Cordelia was learning to quiet it easily.  A strange thought crossed my mind suddenly.  I thought of simply sliding down under the water and ending it all.  Drawing in a deep breath of the water should work.  It would resolve everything, but drowning my nagging wife would fix it too.

I closed my eyes and waited for the hens to leave.  It would be disrespectful for them to stay much longer.  I relaxed in the warm water and tried to recall more of my time with Ethel McNiven the night before.  Soon enough I heard the tap of their shoes on the floor and the thump of the door closing after they went out.    

For long hours, I thought about my situation.  Any obligation I felt to Cordelia was gone.  I could not remain bound to the wretched woman.  She was unhappy and she brought nothing good into my life.  Despite her great beauty, she was insufferable.  The crying infant added nothing but misery to our sorrowful home.  The only question was how to end it and be rid of Cordelia. 

*

July blanketed the city with thick, muggy air.  The baby cried endlessly and Cordelia wept with her.  Days passed, but I couldn’t bring myself to go home to the apartment.  Sporadically, I purchased food and other goods and delivered them.  Mrs. Stanley was never far from Cordelia or the baby.  I was able to prolong her illusion that I was a hard-working man struggling to provide well for my family.

Through August, the heat abated.  Late in the month the nights turned cold.  Autumn threatened to push into the region early.  Thoughts of winter crept into my head.  The idea of a fierce Maine winter with Cordelia and her screaming infant ate at me.  I would not survive it.  The time had come for her to leave.  

I worked out a careful plan that would not fail.  After a few more nights away from the apartment, I returned to find Cordelia sitting by the window.  She had been weeping, as usual.  She dabbed at her cheeks with the damp handkerchief.  Her tears did not affect me.  I couldn’t manufacture any sympathy for her.

“Cordelia, this marriage is a contemptible failure,” I announced.

Fresh tears flowed and she dropped her head.  Why did she have to be so melodramatic?  A good woman would have lifted her chin.  She would have made some effort to correct her wrongful behavior and make things right.  At the very least, she would have agreed with me and prepared to go.  Yet she only sobbed pitifully.  It disgusted me.

“Tonight I will attempt to improve the trouble,” I told her as she dabbed at her eyes.  “Go out and purchase a new dress for dancing.  We will take the train to Old Orchard Beach and see the attractions at Palace Playland.  Duke Ellington will be entertaining at the dance hall on The Pier.  We’ll be sitting over the ocean when we eat supper.  The dancing will continue late into the night.  Then we’ll stay in The Ocean House Hotel overnight.”

“Is there money enough?” she asked meekly.  Greedy Cordelia, always thinking about the cost of things.

“There is,” I assured her.

“Will we take the baby with us?” she asked, stupidly.

“Of course not!” I snapped, growing impatient.  “Ask Mrs. Stanley to keep her overnight.”

“She needs her mother.  She nurses every few hours,” Cordelia whimpered.

“Work it out!” I roared. 

*

The velvety dark sky was dotted with a thousand glittering stars.  The salty ocean air was invigorating.  Dressed in a vibrant blue dress, Cordelia gripped my arm.  We made a striking couple, in the finest evening clothes, as we strolled along the pier.  It felt good to have a beautiful woman at my side as the breeze carried the song ‘Till We Meet Again’ out from the dance hall.  If only my wife could remain so congenial, all of our troubles would be over.

“…smile the while you kiss me sad adieu,

When the clouds roll by I’ll come to you,

Then the skies will see more blue,

Down in lovers land my dearie,

Wedding bells will ring so merrily,

Every tear will be a memory,

So wait and pray each night for me,

Till we meet again.”

Standing at the railing, looking out over the water, I took her hand in mine.  Humming along with the singer, I felt a twinge of sadness.  Our marriage had hardly begun and already it was ending.  I didn’t speak of it, fearing it would bring more of her tears and ruin the night.  I worked to ensure that nothing would mar that night. 

The moon swept across the sky and the crowds began to thin.  The high tide had come and gone.  On the beach, few couples remained.  As we strolled down along the ramp from the pier, a policeman passed us, twirling his baton.  I smiled, knowing that I was a respectable man in his eyes.  He suspected nothing improper about me as he tipped his hat and moved on.

“Cordelia, let’s go sit on the beach.  Tonight I need to speak from my heart.  There are things I kept from you, and that was wrong.  You are my wife, and you should know all of the truth in me.”

Perplexed, Cordelia nodded slowly.  We moved through the last of revelers near the beach.  I gripped her hand tightly and tugged her along behind me.  There were fewer people along the edge of the water.  Moving slower, I steered her away from everyone.  The sand dunes were deserted and they seemed like the best place to stop.  We removed our shoes and sat amid the dune grass.

“Before we determine the fate of this marriage, there is a great deal I must confide in you,” I began.  I scooped up a handful of sand and shifted it from one hand to another as I stared out at the dark ocean.  Cordelia edged closer to me, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

For more than two hours, I talked and she listened intently.  I threw all caution to the wind and told the story of the night that Abel died.  Brutally honest about the whole of it, I related the truth of the cop’s unfortunate demise.  There were no details omitted.

I pulled out my flask and offered her a swig, but she refused it.  I drank deeply and continued.  As I continued, I corrected the lies and half-truths regarding my family.  She didn’t mutter a word as I told her about the brutal beatings and the perilous work in the textile mill.  Astonishingly, she asked no questions and offered no comments.  She just listened as I competed with the roar of the waves crashing against the beach.

At last I told her about my nights with the women that I met in the taverns in Portland.  I spared her nothing.  I was determined to tell her everything.  She would accept the truth of it and correct her behavior or it would be the end of the miserable marriage.  When I finished my story, I sighed and raised the flask again.  When I turned to look at her, she was staring up at me.

“Do you have anything to reveal?” I asked.

She shook her head slowly and looked away.  I had confessed all of my secrets and misdeeds.  For some time we sat there, watching the waves roll in.  The music died away, and few people remained.  The hour was late and I wanted to sleep in a soft bed between cool sheets.  I was grateful that we had checked into the hotel earlier.

“Let me escort you to the hotel,” I murmured.  “If you have a mind to sleep alone tonight, I will oblige.”

I stood and offered her my hand.  She accepted it and stood, yet she refused to speak.  I felt a sudden urge to shake her and rattle her emotions loose.  With all that I had confided, she had given me no response.  It felt as if she was deliberately concealing her reactions from me.  I had a right to know what she thought.  Her refusal to talk or react irritated me.

We walked from the beach onto the sidewalk again.  After brushing away the sand, we put on our shoes.  Leisurely, we began the stroll up the hill and turned left onto West Grand Avenue.  Two burly men walked toward us and for the first time I wondered if she could be trusted with my secrets.  She clutched my arm and pressed close against my side.  Reassured, I nodded politely to them and we walked on.

“I want to go home in the morning,” she spoke at last.

“To the apartment?”

“No, to my family in Houlton.”

“Then we are done with this marriage?”

“I am,” she nodded.

“A divorce is your right,” I agreed.

“I would prefer an annulment.”

“There is a child, Cordelia.  A divorce is the most you can hope for.”

“Then a divorce will do.”

“If that is your preference I won’t object.”

“Deliver me to my father’s home and go,” she declared.  “I have no desire to see you again.”

“My secrets were disclosed to my wife alone, Cordelia.  You are honor bound to keep them to yourself,” I advised her.

“You have deceived me, Harry Godwin… even your name is a lie.  You have no right to think I will keep your confidences.”

“You are not yet divorced, Cordelia!  I am your husband and you will do as you are told.  I will warn you only once, do not divulge my private business.”

“I am your wife in name only, Harvey Cloutier!  You are a liar and a scoundrel!  You are a murderer!”

“Shut your mouth!” I demanded and slapped my hand against her red lips.  She struggled against me and bit at my hand.  I shoved her backward and she dropped to the sidewalk.  I looked around, grateful that the street was deserted.

“Leave me be!” she shouted, kicking at me.  “I will return to Portland on the electric railway.  Give me money for the fare and I will take the train to Houlton.  There is no reason for you to see me again.”

I dug into my pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.  As she struggled to her feet, I heard the faint whistle of a train in the distance.  The fog was rolling in and it carried the sound further than usual.  She watched me warily as I counted my change.

“Hurry and I will catch the last train tonight,” she declared anxiously as she stood in front of me.

I counted out $0.20 for the fare from Old Orchard Beach back to Portland.  It would be an hour long ride over the 14 miles of track.  I gave her money for the train ride from Portland to Houlton in the morning.  Graciously, I even allowed extra funds to ensure she was provided for in the event of any problems during the trip.  She quickly accepted all of it and rushed back toward the train station. 

Following close behind her, I realized that the train we heard was not the electric rail train.  It was the Grand Trunk Railway train passing through on the return trip from Montreal.  I touched Cordelia’s shoulder and she whirled to face me.

“Let me be,” she snapped, furiously.

“The last electric train has gone.  You will have to remain at the hotel tonight and depart in the morning.”

With her hands on her hips, she glared up at me.  She sighed and looked away.  There was nothing to be done but to wait until morning.  Through the fog, the train whistle sounded.  The mournful sound made me shiver.

“I will return to the hotel, but I will not permit you to share the bed with me,” she warned.

“Agreed,” I responded and smiled.  She didn’t understand that I had no more interest in her body.  I just want to see her gone from my life. 

With a wide gap between us, we walked along West Grand Avenue toward the hotel.  She held her head high with an arrogance I had never seen in her before.  She reminded me of the wealthy people who paraded along the Eastern Promenade, thinking themselves well above me and my friends.  They looked down on us as if we had no right to walk along their tree-lined streets, bordered with beach roses and lilacs.  It made me feel uncomfortable.

I glanced around and saw no one else on the dark street.  The fog was growing thicker and the horn at Wood Island Lighthouse sounded.  I moved closer to Cordelia and gripped her arm.  I startled her and the surprised look on her face amused me.  She struggled and kicked her feet as I lifted her in my arms.  She fought harder, but I held her tight against me.  When she opened her mouth to scream, I slipped my hand over it and pressed firmly.  Whistling cheerfully I crossed the street with her.

The ground shook as another freight train approached.  I walked faster, grateful that she was a petite woman.  The toes of her shoes scraped in the dirt as I darted between two buildings with her.  She thrashed desperately, and I couldn’t help but laugh.  With the deafening roar of the train filling the night air, I jerked her head to the side with all my strength.  I heard a peculiar crunching sound and her body went limp against me.  Smiling with satisfaction, I let her fall on the gravel.

Patiently, I waited in the dark with the thick fog swirling around me.  Nearly an hour went by and I was fighting sleep.  The next train whistle sounded in the distance as the engine passed from Scarborough into Old Orchard Beach.  In the early morning hours, it would not be stopping as it barreled northward.  Whistling ‘Till We Meet Again’, I picked up Cordelia’s body and walked up toward 1
st
Street.

Cunningly, I lingered, no more than ten feet from the railroad tracks.  The vibration caused by the train was exhilarating.  My smile widened and I couldn’t resist hugging her one last time before I rushed forward.  I dropped her corpse onto the tracks and ran back toward West Grand Avenue.  The train never slowed and I knew they had no idea that she’d been hit.