Helen Keller in Love (22 page)

Applause flowed over us and Peter held my hand tight. The thrum of floorboards told me the crowd was inching closer. “Let’s get a move on, missy. We’d better make a run for it, or they’ll keep us here all day.”

“Yes, boss.” A jolt of happiness running through me.

“Hold on.” I felt him wrap his arms around me, leading me down the back steps to avoid the crowd. But they surged forward so forcibly that even with Peter protecting me, when we pushed our way through them behind the stage, they tore at my dress. Peter tried to push people back, but the crowd was too much for one man. I felt the press of people around me, and I felt myself about to fall. Finally, two strong hands on my shoulders and I was pushed free of the crowd.

“You’re my hero,” I exhaled.

“They’re your heroes,” Peter said.

“Who?”

“The policemen lined up outside. They got the crowd under control; they’re keeping this rowdy bunch of Keller worshipers at bay. Not me. I could use a cup of coffee,” Peter said. “There’s a café right across the street.” He hustled me into the café, where we sat across from each other.

“Peter. Let’s get married, today, here.”

“What? You want to take your sacred vows in a coffee shop?” He laughed.

“No. At
Boston City Hall. We’ll be there for our license and—”

“The license takes two weeks. It can’t move any faster than that. As soon as it comes to your house in the mail, believe me, Helen, we’ll marry.”

But I had the distinct sense that if it didn’t happen now, something would prevent it. “It has to be today,” I repeated. “Can’t you …” I fumbled in my purse, found my leather wallet. “Here.”

“Why, Miss Keller, are you trying to buy me?”

I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. I always kept one tucked into my wallet for emergencies.

“Or are you asking me to bribe a public official?”

“I’m asking you to … make things happen.”

“I’m shocked at the things you know.”

“No, you’re not.” I slid my hand into his pocket. “Peter, today, if you can.”

“A Socialist I am, a lawbreaker I’m not. Sorry, Helen. We’ll wait two weeks, then we’ll tie the knot.”

Was Peter stalling? No. I was the one who needed to move fast. Because Peter couldn’t foresee what life would really be like with me. Caring for me every day might begin to seem like a burden. How I wished, for one moment, to be a regular person, less of a responsibility, “normal.”

And at that point Peter did not really know the toll I would take on him. The longer we delayed, the more likely he would realize. I could not take that chance.

I wanted him to marry me before he found out.

Peter led me through the coffee shop door.

Chapter Thirty

B
reathless, Peter and I climb Boston City Hall’s granite steps, our coats whipped by the wind. As we cross the slippery hallway tiles the fact that soon I will have a license to marry makes me so dizzy that I grip Peter’s hand. When he pushes open the door to the city clerk’s office I smell cigar smoke, must from old filing cabinets, and the tang of typewriter ink.

“Right this way, lawbreaker.” Peter leads me to the counter. “I’ll have this filled out in a jiffy.” I hold on to the cool edge of the counter while Peter fills out our marriage license. When it comes time for me to sign it he pushes the paper across the counter. There is a pause as he hands the application back to the clerk, then says, “Oh, great. Another Keller fan.”

“What? Someone’s followed us here from the rally?”

“No, it’s this McGlennan, the clerk. He says he saw you raising money for the blind in downtown Boston—hold on, when? Oh, back in 1905. He still remembers it because when you spoke, the women in the audience cried, and the men had to look away.”

“As long as they looked in their wallets, that’s all right with me.”

“You’re a stellar fundraiser, promoting goodwill around the world.”

“I’m an international beggar.”

“I’ll make you beg.”

“Seriously, Peter, if this McGlennan knows who I am, he needs to promise to keep our marriage license a secret.”

“I’ve already asked him. He can’t—or won’t—keep it quiet.” Peter’s hand felt tense in mine.

“What do
you mean? He’ll sell it to the highest bidder?”

“A marriage license is public information. According to McGlennan, if anyone asks for it, he’s obligated to show them the application. But if no one asks, well then we’re two free birds.” Peter looped his arm through mine. “It’s okay, no one saw us come in here—I looked. We’re fine. We’ll return in two weeks for the license. Now let’s get back to Wrentham before anyone sees us.”

We slipped out into the warm Boston sunshine. “Wait here,” Peter said. “I’m going to get a cab.” One minute passed, then two. I put my hand on a cool marble pillar of the building to steady myself—under my feet the sidewalk trembled from the subway beneath the street. When his footsteps thudded back across the pavement minutes later, a familiar scent made me take Peter’s arm.

“He’s back.” I held my coat closed against the wind.

“Who?”

“O’Rourke.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s a drinker. I can smell whiskey a mile away.”

“If you’re quick on your feet we can get in the cab. Too late. He’s coming toward us.”

Peter turned from me to talk to O’Rourke.

“What does he want?” I took Peter’s hand.

“He’s yammering away about what we’re doing here. Were we at City Hall? Why were we in McGlennan’s office a few minutes back? ‘Miss Keller,’ he wants to know, ‘are you planning on marrying?’”

“If Mother finds out …”

“You forget, Helen. Reporters are trained to tell stories. I just told him we’ve never been to City Hall.”

“You denied it?”

“One hundred percent. I said we have no intention of marrying. I am your humble servant, that’s all. That’s why I’m accompanying you on this trip to Boston.”

“You’re not
humble.”

“True, but he doesn’t need to know that. Now let’s get going before he snoops around even more.”

We sat together awkwardly in the cab all the way to the train station. “If he files a story, it would run …”

“Tomorrow. Otherwise, we’re safe. You’re important, Miss Keller, and yes, the world is hungry for news about you, but there’s this little thing called a war going on, and let’s see.” I felt Peter check his watch. “Today’s the third. President Wilson is scheduled to give a press conference tonight, and whatever he says, I guarantee you, will be all over tomorrow’s papers, upstaging any story that says ‘Helen Keller to Wed.’”

“You’re sure?”

“Yup. I’m sure there will be no newspaper story about you.”

“No, you’re sure about today’s date?”

“Positive.”

A wave of happiness ran through me, but not for the reason Peter thought.

From the time I was fourteen, cramps sent me to bed the first week of every month because of “female troubles.” If I had a speech scheduled during those times, I canceled it. If I had classes, Annie let me stay home and rest in bed. So in the two days after Peter and I were alone in the cabin by the pond, I should have felt that familiar cramping, but nothing had happened. I began to think that I might be pregnant. I could have everything: Peter, marriage, a child.

Nothing felt as wonderful as that moment. Annie had told me stories about women who had children after giving themselves to a man only once. I still remember how she paced the hall of our house when she told me this, berating herself because after over ten years of marriage to John she never got pregnant. Mother said women like me should never have families, that God had given me a special role to play in life. But since I’d met Peter, I didn’t want to be a saint anymore. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle had happened.

A thrill,
a feeling of new grass, hot stars, moved through me.

After we boarded the train home he led me down the swaying corridor to our sleeper car. I held on to the seat backs as we walked, but the train swayed so much that I stopped. “Peter, I have to … sit down for a minute.” I felt so close to him when he led me to a seat, and tucked a blanket over me because of the window’s chill. In that warm, closed space with Peter I felt the outside world recede. But as the train rattled farther from the station, he leaned toward me.

“Out with it, lady,” he said.

“Out with what?”

“Don’t kid a kidder. What are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you turning your head to the left, the way you do when you’re avoiding something?”

“Well, I am a leftist,” I laughed.

“Okay, lefty. Fess up. What’s the big secret?”

I wanted to say, “Maybe I’m pregnant,” but I knew I shouldn’t say anything. I ran my hand through Peter’s hair. If I were pregnant I’d need Mother, or Annie, with me once I married, to help raise a child. And the closer that would make me to my mother and Annie the farther away it would take me from Peter.

So I kept it from him. Instead I said, “Mother’s done it. She told me last night she’s taking me to Alabama next week.”

“Just you? Without me?”

“Right. She booked passage on the SS
Savannah.
She said she’s had enough of you and doesn’t know what to do with me now that Annie’s going away.”

“Mothers
,” Peter said.

“Children.” I shifted in my seat. “She wants to protect me.”

“Protect you? She wants to keep you the size of a flea. And she’s made a religion of it.”

“Peter, please—”

“Okay.” He cut me off before I could say anything. “She’s not to be criticized. That bread pudding of hers at dinner last week was fit for a king—but listen, Helen. She wants nothing more than to keep you exactly as you are—outspoken, yes, but not free to be a woman. If she’s scheming to sweep you away, then lucky us. We’ll move up the date of our escape. We’ll marry sooner.”

“But the license takes two weeks.”

“Not if you’ve got this.” Peter put the honorarium envelope from the rally in my hands.

“It’s empty.”

“No, it’s full—of freedom, my dear.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The honorarium. I spent it for a good cause.”

“You gave it to the antiwar people?”

“No. I followed your advice.”

“What advice?”

“I’ve known McGlennan for a while. I’ve run into him at press conferences at City Hall, mayor’s breakfasts, pub crawls. He’s always hungry for a little extra cash. He took the twenty, and while he couldn’t guarantee some bozo wouldn’t get ahold of our marriage license, he did say he could rush the application through …”

“I thought you weren’t a lawbreaker?”

“I’m not. I’m a lawbender, when I need to be.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need a lock picked.”

“I don’t do break-ins.”

“But you’ve broken me in.”

“I have, haven’t I.” He leaned his knee into mine. “Helen, have I told you …” I held my breath. In all our time together, he had never uttered the word
love
. I put my finger to his lips, held it there, as if I could draw the word out.

But
this time Peter was the silent one.

So I moved closer. I put my mouth to his ear and slowly moved my lips across his skin. Then, carefully, I spelled
I l-o-v-e y-o-u
into his hand.

He put his mouth to my neck, and with his fingertips in my palm wrote, “Yes, I love you, too.” I could hardly hide my pleasure. I instinctively wanted to cry.

Whatever Annie, or even Mother, said, I knew Peter was not an opportunist. He was vulnerable, like me. Because he was a hostage to my fame. Once we were married, people would stare at him, I knew. Whisper about our relationship. Constantly wonder if Peter had taken advantage of me. But they can stare all they like. He knew that and still had reached out to me, across my void, and filled me with pure joy.

Moments passed. Then Peter touched me again. “I’ll tell you more when we get to the sleeper car.”

I couldn’t wait.

“Helen, in the meantime, check your mailbox in the next few days. The license will be here in two, three days at most.”

“We’ll leave before Mother can …”

“Get you under her wing.”

“I can’t just leave her.”

“You can. Do you want her to take you down to Montgomery for the holidays? Let me guess.” He leaned back and ran his hand through my hair. “First there’s the annual pre-Thanksgiving afternoon where you gals get fussed over by the local women’s club, who come in carting tea and little biscuits the size of a child’s fist …”

“How did you know?” I laughed. “Then Mildred’s card party will visit, and on Thanksgiving we’ll get up early to see the men before they tramp outside to hunt, coming back close to supper, when the turkey’s dried out and we’ve been alone by the fire for five hours.”

“Okay.
Is an early wedding to me looking better?”

“Come with me.” I took his hand.

“Charmed, I’m sure.”

I stood up, a surge of desire moving through me. He’d bribed McGlennan; he loved me; we could leave in a few days, marry, run away. I wanted to get to the sleeper car, fast.

Peter closed the compartment door so it made a solid
thunk.
He turned me around and eagerly pulled my hips toward him. With my hands pressed on the door, I felt his thighs against the backs of my legs. I arched my back as he lifted my skirt. As I raised my hands further up the door, Peter turned me around and put his mouth on my neck.