Quentin Collins had always appreciated an ironic twist in
any situation, never more so then
now. Having concluded his call to Evan he laughed, out loud and
alone, at how much it
was costing his brother to be rid of him. He could clearly picture
Edward, arranging for
the transfer of funds, telling his lies, perhaps adding grand
embellishments to give credence
to whatever made up excuse he had concocted to cover Quentin's
abrupt departure.
It would have been so simple for Edward to cut him off without
a cent, to send him away
with nothing, but that would have meant to do the unthinkable:
speak out loud the truth,
that Quentin had been sleeping with his wife. Edward was too much
of a ninny to realize
that Laura was nothing, and really not worth the trouble and expense
Edward was taking
to salvage his pride. That in doing so, Edward was serving no
one so well as Quentin. He
would never run the risk of Grandmama finding out, he would not
want her to think him
so ineffectual he could not control his own wife. So long as Quentin
had contact with
Evan, he would have a link to his grandmother. It was really too
amusing that Edward
himself had made this possible. It would be easy to pity Edward,
if he did not hate him so.
He thought of Jamison, and was grateful that Edward was
far too concerned with his own
appearance to ever let the boy know the circumstances of Quentin's
leaving Collinsport.
Except for Jamison, and his grandmother, it didn't really matter
what any of them thought.
Dirk knew, but who was Dirk anyway? Beth knew...he thought for
a moment of her
standing there, in the near darkness of the foyer, watching him.
How she had met his
gaze, as though looking into his eyes she could see her own soul.
He wondered where she
was tonight, and knew that where she was, Jenny would be. It was
the only thought he
had given his wife since walking out of her room, and he quickly
pushed her aside,
preferring to think only of those last minutes at Collinwood,
when he had stood, locked
into an instant's understanding with Beth.
The telephone at his bedside rang, and picking it up, he
listened to the man at the desk. A
woman, here in the lobby asking for him. No, she hadn't given
her name, but she was a
handsome woman, with blonde hair and blue eyes.
He ran down the stairs, to the lobby, his eyes searching
until he found her. She sat across
the room from him, in the wing backed chair by the fire. He crossed
over to her, looked
down at her, feeling what ever lightness had briefly touched his
heart drain away.
"What in hell are you doing here?"
Laura looked up at him, and smiled. "Really, Quentin,
such a greeting. Is it possible that
it is life itself that makes you so surly, not just my husband?"
"And is it possible that you could be so vain that
you would have expected me to run to
you with open arms? You shouldn't be here, Laura. Don't you realize
that if I'd wanted
you, I would have taken you with me, despite Edward?"
"Despite Edward? Or in spite of Edward? I would have
thought, Quentin, that you
would have seen the practicality of having me with you. If Edward
is willing to spend so
freely to keep you away from him, can't you see what it is worth
to him to spare the
embarrassment of my returning? I'm sure that by now he has contrived
some excuse for
my leave, you know he would never have anyone whispering that
I may have simply
walked out on him. No, he has explained me away, perhaps he has
me in Saratoga, taking
the springs. He would like that wouldn't he? To have people thinking
he possessed so
delicate a flower? Now enough talk about Edward, come sit by me,
so that we can talk
about us."
"There is no us." He looked down at her, sighing.
There was no point of telling this
woman a thing, better to let her rattle away, pretending to listen,
then move on, leaving
her behind. "Oh, all right then. Tell me of your grand plans
for 'us'." But he would not
sit, nor would he look into her eyes, rather beyond them, to the
flames that danced in the
fireplace behind her.
Her voice rose and fell, but he did not hear what she was
saying, only saw how the flames
seemed to rise and fall in cadence with her words. Even the crackling
of the logs seemed
to punctuate points in her murmurings, underscoring each breath
of talk. It surprised him
to realize that her words were weaving their way through him,
that the warmth of the fire
had lulled him into acceptance. He turned to look at her, and
she was different somehow.
She had stopped talking, the fire had lost some of its brilliance,
and in its waning light, her
skin seemed nearly translucent...it was hard to remember all that
he hated about her. Even
her smile had softened, so as to seem almost real. He knew that
he would go with her, but
did not know why, knew that what she had been saying was some
truth he had not yet
realized. He tried to pull her words from his recent memory to
his lips, but already they
had burrowed so deeply inside him, he could not reach them. Only
one remained within
his grasp, and he repeated it back to her.
"Egypt."
It was all he could find, but he would follow her, let her lead him to the rest.
She knew they wanted her gone, that would have been obvious
even if Edward hadn't
taken such pains to tell her so clearly. She would have known
by the way they had
stopped speaking her husband's name, by the way they had stopped
speaking directly to
her.
But how could she go? How could she leave now, when she
had this wonderful secret
inside her, and when Quentin would be coming back someday. If
she left, how would he
know where to find her, to find them? Sometimes she thought that
she would tell them,
but then she would remember Magda, always coming and going to
see the old woman,
and it scared her to think Magda could find out. If her sister
knew, she would never go
away, and if she never went away, sooner or later someone would
find out, and she could
not let that happen.
So she kept her secret, and kept to her room, where Quentin
could find her when he came
back. When she thought that no one would find her doing so, she
would steal away to
play with the children, and when she was with them she would feel
happy for awhile, but
then they would remind her of their mother, and she would be angry
at them for this.
Then she noticed that they seemed frightened of her moods, and
that made her sad, so she
stopped going to see them.
She wouldn't leave her room for breakfast or lunch, only
for dinner when she knew that
Edith would be at the table, and that Edward and Judith would
never speak of what had
happened in front of their grandmother. With Edith there, Edward
could not very well
talk of her leaving, she thought it was a wonderful trick to play
on him. She could tell that
Carl didn't know all the truth either, and she knew that was because
they thought he was
stupid, and she felt sorry for him, she liked Carl. He really
was the nicest of all of them,
she would tell Carl her secret, except she knew that Carl had
become friends with Sandor.
She couldn't really blame him, because Sandor was a nice man really,
he just had to do
everything Magda told him, because he couldn't always think things
out on his own. She
supposed that Carl and Sandor were a lot alike, and that maybe
it would be a nice thing
that they were friends, if Sandor wasn't married to her sister,
she would be friends with
them, too.
But Sandor was married to Magda, so she couldn't talk to
Carl as much as she wanted to.
The only person she really talked to was Beth, but now even Beth
was acting funny
around her, always trying to get her to leave her room, suggesting
that she should maybe
get out for some fresh air and do something. But she was doing
something, she was
waiting for her husband to come home. Over and over she had to
explain that to Beth,
and still, every single time Beth came to her room, it would be
the same thing. Mrs.
Collins, she would say, it is a lovely day, and the paths have
been cleared of the snow if
you would like to take a walk. Or she would talk of how soon it
would be spring, and
that maybe she would like to go into the village, to see the new
styles?
Well, she could not go, because if she left then maybe Quentin
would telephone, and she
would not be there to talk to him, and she had to talk to him,
so she could tell him and
then he would come home and he would love her again and everything
could be all right.
Now, here was Beth again with her lunch on a tray, and she
hoped that maybe they could
just have a friendly little talk, without Beth trying to get her
to get out of bed and get
dressed. They were friends now, she had even told her to call
her Jenny, just so long as
none of the others were there to hear. This house was so big and
with Quentin gone it
was so lonely, it was nice to have someone here that could be
her friend. Of course they
could not be best friends, because best friends had to tell each
other everything, and she
could never tell anyone the truth about Magda, the truth about
herself, so she could never
have a best friend, but Beth was nice, and so long as she didn't
try to push her into leaving
this room and doing things, she liked it when she came to see
her.
Beth put the tray down on the table by the fire, and Jenny
left the bed to sit down to her
lunch. She watched as Beth opened the drapes at the window to
let the sun in, and knew
that this was going to be just another one of those times when
she would have to explain,
again, that she really was not at liberty to leave the house,
that she must be here, waiting.
She broke pilot crackers into her bowl of chowder, watching, listening.
Beth was telling
her that there was to be a bake sale in the village tonight, that
Edith would be going, that
maybe Jenny would like to join her?
Jenny sighed, "I can't, you know that. I've told you
I can't leave, I must wait to hear from
my husband. It is so important that I be here when he telephones.
You know that."
Beth went over to Jenny, knelt by her, took her hands in
her own. Every day it was
getting harder and harder to pull Jenny back out of herself, she
was so afraid that one
morning she would find her completely lost. She thought of how
much like a little girl
playing dress up Jenny had been when she had come for that first
interview, of how much
she had liked her. Anger against Quentin rose in her, she pictured
him sitting somewhere,
oblivious to any thought of what may have become of his wife,
to any thought other than
his own pleasure. She knew that it would never occur to him that
Jenny could be sitting
here, every day growing more and more bewildered at not hearing
from him, but never
growing impatient. She wondered how any woman could give so blindly,
to any man,
much less Quentin Collins.
Suddenly, as though he knew, wherever he was, that he had
crossed her thoughts, he
flashed into her memory, that last night, standing there by the
door with his hand on the
latch. She could see again the look in his eye as tried to find
something to say. A wave of
empathy swept through her, she bit her lip to keep from telling
Jenny how well she did
understand, after all.
Instead she reached up, cupped Jenny's cheek in her hand,
and tried to break through the
mirrors of illusion Jenny was standing behind to keep herself
safe.
"Jenny, Jenny, you must listen to me. Quentin is gone,
he isn't going to be coming back.
They won't let him come back, and they won't let you stay here.
You have to think of
what you are going to do. He's gone, Jenny, do you understand?"
She tried to convince
Jenny, and knew that she was also trying to let the reality of
her words convince her own
heart. "He's gone."
Jenny looked down at Beth, and felt sorry that she hadn't
been paying any attention. Poor
Beth, her eyes looked so sad. She wished she had been listening
to her, so that she knew
what was bothering her, she didn't like people being sad. She
would have to say
something so that Beth could be happy, but what?
She smiled, of course! She knew a happy thing. She would tell Beth her secret.
Pregnant. Jenny had laughed when she said the word.
Pregnant, she had said, so you see,
when he comes back I must be here.
Beth had paused for a moment, trying to find the words that
would coax Jenny into
reality, and in the brief time that she was silent she had looked,
really looked, at Jenny, and
knew that it was true. Knew that whatever reprieve Jenny had been
given had ended, that
Edward Collins must be told, and that she could no longer protect
Jenny from the full
extent of the hatred Edward felt for his brother.
Pregnant. Edward had spoken the word as though it
were an aberration. You are quite
sure, he had wanted to know, and Beth could only tell him
yes. She had gone with him to
Jenny's room then, and standing beside him, his rage palpable,
she had seen Jenny through
his eyes. She had, of course, realized that Jenny had changed,
been changing daily, but
had tried to believe that it was grief and shock that had numbed
her to the reality of the
turns in her life. That Jenny would find her way back, her way
to going on.
But now there was to be no comforting deceit...mad, Edward
had said, she has gone
completely mad, and Beth had nodded, acknowledging the truth she
had not wanted to
accept.
She had gone with him then, to his study, watched as he
paced, waited with him for Judith
to come. Listened to the plans they made, their plans for Jenny,
plans that included her.
She had told them, yes, she understood, yes, she could be relied
on, all the while thinking
that they must have lost their minds as surely as Jenny had lost
hers. But she would agree
to what they said, go along with them, if it meant protecting
Jenny. She could see no
other way.
Evan Handley. The name had come to her for a second, and
she had thought that maybe
he could help. Maybe he could tell her how to contact Quentin,
but then she had
remembered the cottage, seeing Quentin, with Laura, and knew that
even if she could find
him he could do nothing...Edward would never let him return home,
and she doubted very
much that he would send for his wife. Not now, not with Laura
having followed him.
She couldn't understand any of it. It was obvious to her
that Laura made him
uncomfortable. She thought back to that afternoon, to his coming
into the house, asking
her if Dirk had told Edward. She had expected him to be afraid
of her answer, but he had
seemed almost relieved. What had bothered him was her knowing,
but why? She would
have thought that he could have enjoyed that, used it to provoke
her as he so loved to do.
Always he had been coming around, saying something too outrageous
for her to ignore,
prodding her into an argument with him. It had been annoying at
first, she wasn't sure
when that had changed, when she had started looking forward to
those encounters with
him. She knew only that she had never felt so alive as she did
when he was near.
She realized she missed him, and wondered how he had done
it. How he had worked his
way into her so that she would always feel as though a part of
her was out of reach, lost to
her somewhere, far away, wherever he was.
She was in love with him, impossibly and hopelessly in love
with him. She thought she
probably had been from the moment she met him, and knew she definitely
would be until
the day she died. All that was left to her was the memory of a
moment of shared
understanding before he was gone, and the care of the helpless
wife he had left behind.
Mad, Edward had said. Well, of course Jenny was mad,
for how could she not be? How
could it be possible to stand in the warmth of Quentin Collins
and not lose your very being
when he went away, taking his light with him? How could they expect
Jenny to go about
the impossible task of living a life that he was no longer a part
of?
Her heart ached for Jenny, who would never again know the
happiness that must have
been hers, the incredible joy of belonging to him. Once he had
told her that she should be
nicer to him, that if she were he would show her how exciting
life could really be. She had
laughed at him then, but thought often of that moment. Always,
its memory made her
heart leap to think that she had been a part of his thoughts.
For always, he was in hers.