Bitter Eden (63 page)

"Unharness them, Peter," he said, taking the whip.

Peter went obediently to do as he was asked. When they took the horses back to the stables, Stephen handed the whip to Peter. "Destroy it. Destroy them all. Remember one thing; this is our farm, Peter, no one else's. We do as we want here, and you're the boss. You always were."

Peter didn't appear for dinner that night, and Callie looked up in concern when Stephen said, "Let him do as he likes. It's been a bad day."

Callie remained seated. Neither of them ate. When it was time to retire and Peter had still not made an appearance, Callie stopped by his room. Peter wasn't there.

She found him sitting in his study, looking out the window that overlooked the Hudson. A half-empty bottle of rum sat on the desk beside him.

"I wondered where you were," she said, coming into the room. "Are you hungry? I'll fix something for you if you like."

"I'm not hungry."

"Stephen said you had a bad day. Will you tell me about it?"

"No."

"Peter, talk to me, please."

"There's nothing to talk about," he said edgily.

"You're unhappy." *

"Let me be, Callie," he pleaded.

"I cant. I want to know everything that concerns you."

"You can't do anything, Callie."

"If I knew what to do . . . just talk to me, Peter."

He stood up, putting his glass down on the desk. The rum was doing no good tonight. The memories were razor sharp, and no amount of rum seemed to dull them. He looked at Callie, then away, not able to bear looking at her. The greater his longing grew, the more repulsive he found the idea of her ever really being with him. He couldn't think of her by his side without hating what he had become. He didn't want her, by her nearness, ever to learn the things he had learned in prison. When he finally managed to look at her again, his voice was unsteady. "I . . . can't talk to you. I don't want to talk to you." His voice rose and quivered with emotion. "I don't want you to know. Can't you understand that!? I dont want you to know!"

Chapter 42

Natalie had not spoken to Peter since his return. She stayed in her room, going out only to watch Jamie play. If Peter came near or tried to talk to her, she fled. He seemed to accept her peculiar behavior as he did everything else. After awhile he paid little attention to Natalie, but Callie began to.

Natalie had done nothing toward Peter that Callie could put her finger on, but she had begun to talk to Jamie about Peter.

"Aunt Natalie says Papa is a rake-hell. What's a rake-hell, Aunt Callie?"

"It's a very naughty thing for Aunt Natalie to call your papa."

"Are you going to get mad at her?"

"I certainly am."

"Will you wash her mouth out with soap?"

Callie grinned at him, then laughed. 'It's not such a bad idea."

"What is a rake-hell?"

"Someone who is wild and bad."

Jamie wandered around the kitchen, coming back

to poke his fingers in Callie's bread dough. "What did Papa do?"

"Nothing bad."

"Then why do so many people say he's bad?"

"Who?"

"Aunt Natalie, and sometimes Mary Anne."

Callie stopped kneading the dough. She looked at Jamie and then away, unwilling to allow him to see the depth of her anger. Without realizing, her hands began to pummel the dough revealing what she wouldn't permit her eyes to do.

Jamie watched her hands in fascination and went on, "Some of the kids at the schoolhouse say they know all about Papa. I'm not allowed to play with some of them. I don't know why they know if I don't"

"What do they know?"

"That he's bad."

Callie forced herself to move slowly, talk softly. "How bad? What did he do?"

"I don't know."

"That's what they know too. He did nothing bad. Now think what you do know. Is he good to you? Does he love you? Is he kind?"

"Lots of yesses."

"Then that's what you know, and yours is better."

Callie went to Natalie's room late that afternoon. She knocked at the door and waited what seemed a long time for Natalie to answer. "Who is it?"

"It's Callie. I want to talk to you, Natalie."

"Are you alone?"

"Of course, I'm alone. Open the door."

Natalie opened the door a crack, peeking out to see if Peter was near. Satisfied, she let Callie in, closing the door and locking it.

"I've just been talking to Jamie, Natalie."

Natalie tested the door to be certain it was secure.

"Did you hear me? I know what you've been up to. I won't have it. I am willing to put up with all your other nonsense, but not this."

"Shhh."

Callie took her shoulders and roughly turned Natalie to face her. "Listen to me! You may not talk badly of Peter. Not ever! I mean it, Nat!"

"Peter's going to die." She nodded her head earnestly. "I saw it. I've been watching and I've seen it."

Callie rolled her eyes in exasperation at Natalie's favorite evasive tactic. "You're not going to get out of this with one of your dreams, Natalie. If you dare say one more word, just one single word more to Jamie against his father, I'll move you right out of this house. I mean it, Nattie. Ill get you a room in Poughkeepsie, or send you back to Kent."

"No . . . no . . . not me . . . I'm not the one who did it. He did! They said he did!"

"Don't try to test me, Nat. I'll do it."

"But you can't! Everything will be all right again as soon as Peter ... is gone. It will be just like it was."

"Peter isn't the one who will go. It is you. Don't say any more. Not to me or to anyone else."

That evening after supper Callie told Stephen about her threat to Natalie. "Where's Peter?" she asked, making sure he wasn't in the room as she entered.

"Upstairs with Jamie. He gets along well with Jamie."

"No thanks to your sister!"

Stephen looked up from his newspaper. She sat across from him frowning. He put the paper down on his lap. "Well . . . ?" he asked, when she remained silent.

"You won't like what I've done, but it's done and I mean to stick to it."

"Am I supposed to guess?" he asked, grinning.

Bitter Eden q^3

"It isn't funny. I've told Natalie 111 put her in a rooming house in Poughkeepsie if she ever says an-other thing to Jamie about Peter being bad." "You want her to leave?" "Yes."

"She cant manage on her own." "Then shell have to change her ways." "You're becoming quite a little dictator, aren't you?" Callie looked hurt, then defiant. "It doesn't matter what you think I've become. She cannot behave as she has been." "All right. HI talk to her." "I already have."

"Well, if you've handled it and made your decision, why bother to tell me? Or do you want me to do your dirty work for you, and put her out?" It was mean of you to say that, Stephen." "No meaner than your thinking it." "You used to understand and help me." "We used to do things together, Callie. I don't like being your second Mary Anne." "Well, there's no talking to you! I can see that" "No, there isn't. I'm going to visit Jack," he said angrily.

"Oh, Jack," she scoffed. "Why don't you just say what you're going to do. Why always—Jack?"

"Because, my stiff-necked beauty, it would turn your face bright red to hear what I'm going to do called by its proper name," he said nastily and stalked out of the house.

After Stephen left, Callie sat alone in the parlor as long as she could stand it. She was angry at everyone. Peter stayed as much to himself as possible. Natalie got worse by the day, and Stephen was spending more time with Jack than he was at home.

She went to the kitchen for lack of anything better to do.

"I don't need any help, Miss Callie. Everything's all done," Bea said as she came in.

"Did you find my bread knife?"

"No, ma'am. I've looked everywhere. It just ain't here."

"Well, it has to be here," she said and pulled all the knives from their holders and drawers.

"It's not. I've been all over this kitchen looking. It ain't here!" Bea insisted, cleaning up behind Callie.

Callie moved angrily toward the pantry.

"Don't you mess my pantry, Miss Callie. It ain't there neither. Why don't you go ask Mr. Peter. If anyone knows, it'd be him."

Callie glared at her.

"Don't blame me. I don't know what he carts all that stuff off for, but he does. All kinds of things up there in that room of his. Ain't no business of mine, but when Ginnie and Penny clean up they tell me about it."

"Well, it's his house. He can do as he likes."

"That's what I'm tellin' you. It ain't my business, but if you want your bread knife, I'd look there."

Callie stormed from the pantry back into the parlor. The longer she thought of Bea, the knife, and Peter, the angrier she got. She went upstairs to his room.

He was standing by the open window looking out into the night.

"Peter!"

He turned around smiling tentatively, walking toward her. Then he stopped. "You're angry . . . what have I done?"

"Do you have my knife?"

"What knife?"

"You know very well what knife. My bread knife. Did you take it from the kitchen?"

"I took nothing."

"Don't lie to me!"

He stepped away from her. "I didn't take your knife."

Callie put her hands out helplessly. "Knives don't just disappear."

Peter's face was pale. "Why did you accuse me? Why not Stephen?"

Nonplussed, Callie stared at him. He continued to move away, putting the expanse of the room between them. "You . . . you bring things up here sometimes," she stammered.

"Not knives."

"No. I never really thought you had," she said deflated and ashamed. She walked over to him. "Will you forgive me?"

"Forgive you?"

"I don't know what's wrong with me these days. I've managed to snap at everyone in the house today. It isn't you, Peter. It's me that's all wrong."

He stood looking at her, not knowing what to say. He didn't like to see her blaming herself for anything. Without her they'd all be at a loss, and yet he was afraid to say anything for fear it would bring her back to an accusation of him.

"I don't know what to say, Peter."

"There's nothing you need say."

"I guess not," she said and turned to go. She walked to the door, thinking only of going to her room and closing herself inside. She didn't know what was wrong with her. It wasn't really the knife, although it did worry her, and she had wanted to know what had happened to it. It was mostly Stephen she was angry

with. She couldn't get near him anymore. He was always around and never truly there.

"Callie."

She turned, surprised to hear Peter call her name. He so seldom initiated any conversation. "Yes?" she asked and went back to him, waiting.

He looked at her, indecisive and tense, then shook his head. "Nothing/'

"Oh. Well then . . . good night, Peter," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

He went back to his window, and Callie having had enough of a bad day went to bed.

Stephen and Jack had begun with the nearest tavern and were continuing their prowl of the village. By the third tavern, Stephen wanted broader horizons. "Let's go somewhere else. Poughkeepsie is too quiet."

"Way too quiet," Jack agreed. His driver wisely took them back to the first tavern they had visited.

Stephen laughed as they entered. "We've been here before. Hello, everyone! Good-bye, everyone!"

Jack sat down. "Let's rest here for a minute and catch our breath. Are you having fun, Stevie? You said you wanted fun when you came bangin' at my door."

The waiter brought them glasses and a bottle without being asked.

"No. I'm gonna leave," Stephen said morosely.

"Wait till we finish the drink."

"No, I mean I'm gonna leave the house."

"What house?" Jack asked, looking around and concentrating hard.

"My house—Peter's house—our house—everybody's house. I'm gonna leave it all." He sat quietly for a moment. "I don't want to be there."

"I told you, you should marry Agnes. I think I'll many her since you won't."

"You marry her. I don't want her."

"She won't marry me."

"Callie won't marry me either"

"Oh, God, Stevie, we're a sad pair. Nobody will marry us," Jack said sadly. "Why don't you move into my house &hd then we can be nobody will marry us'es together."

"That's a good idea," Stephen agreed happily.

"What are you gonna tell Callie?"

He shrugged.

"You should tell her fancy. Go out in grand style."

"She wouldn't care."

"We'll give her a party."

"A party?" Stephen asked, interested.

"Yeah! A going-away party—for you." He laughed, belching and choking himself. "Sure—we'll go home and sing and dance and tell her you love her and you're going away. She'll like that. All the girls like that. Look! June! Come over here," Jack called to the bargirl. She came over to the table, putting her arm around his shoulders. 'Tell Stevie you like parties."

"Sure I like parties. Who doesn't?"

"See? I told you. And dancin'?"

"You want to dance, Jack?" the girl asked.

"Dance with Stevie. He's the one we got to cheer up. He's got a party to give to Callie."

June took Stephen's hands, drawing him to a clearing among the tables. Before long everyone was watching, clapping and stamping feet, laughing as Stephen continued to drink and began to sing merrily in his husky baritone, parading and clowning with everyone in the room.

By the time the tavern owner was ready to close

and Jack's driver was falling asleep on his barstool, Stephen was feeling quite up to anything—including taking his party home to Callie.

At three thirty she was awakened by the raucous, very inebriated voices of Jack and Stephen singing loudly on the front porch. She sat up groggily, then lay back down again, thinking he would eventually find his own way into the house and to his room.

"Callie!" She imagined his voice carrying for miles in the night air. "Callie!"

She got out of bed and ran down the stairs. Mary Anne, nightcap askew, stood barefoot in the hall trying to fasten her robe. "Should I let them in?"