Manroot (9 page)

Katherine shrunk from her and he
r gift. “What did you say?”

Frieda began weeping; she let herself down heavily in a kitchen chair, covered her face with her apron and began sobbing for Anna.
She had killed the myth; she could never find comfort in the stories again. Tears flowed as she called her daughter’s name, over and over, as if someone was there who would answer. She seemed to hear the baby’s high-pitched cries when she had taken her in the vegetable basket and laid her on the orphanage steps. The pain now was as real and fresh as it had been that day.

Katherine forgot her rough words in the horror of the revelation; timidly, she patted Frieda
’s shoulder. It was the first time the woman had allowed herself to be touched.

Between sobs she tried to justify her sin.
“Women alone like us, there ain’t no way we can raise a bastard child…no way.”

Katherine felt afraid; she looked at the white envelope with terror.
Perhaps it did contain a ten-dollar bill, or goodbye. Frieda’s words had created anguish in her heart. She could not open the note now; she would read it later. She put it on the dresser, promising herself she would read it tonight. But the letter lying there appeared ominous. She delayed. She would read it in the morning. It stayed there unread for days. In her daydreams, her dreams at night, her imagination composed terrible messages of degradation and dismissal. The letter lay there unread for six whole days. When Friday arrived, Mr. Taylor told her that hereafter this was to be her day off. That knowledge gave her courage and she ripped the envelope open. It contained only three words.
‘See you Friday.’
It was signed
‘W.’

On Friday she bathed and bathed; by three o
’clock Mr. Taylor complained that something was wrong with the water-heater. He sent for a repair man from St. Louis, as hot water was needed for the guests. She did not share with them the information that she had taken six baths.

She had starched the white dress she had worn when she first came to Castlewood.
From the heart-box she found a length of orchid ribbon and tied it around her waist. With trembling hands she fastened the imitation pearls around her throat, and combed her hair loose; it billowed around her face like a complementary frame. Three o’clock found her dressed and sitting stiffly on her bed, waiting. Her heart beat wildly. Though the room was cool, she felt beads of perspiration forming on her forehead.

The Judge arrived at his usual time.
He was ill at ease. He had had time to think things over; he couldn’t understand his rash behavior. Perhaps it had been something to do with his recent birthday. The half-century mark had sent him into the depths of despair. He felt foolish and old, and he had the insidious feeling that he had missed something important in his life. He had respect, wealth, a lovely wife, he was the Judge…could any man want more? And if so, what?

He couldn
’t decide. Should he send a note, with a check, or should he give it to her in person? He must resolve this somehow, or his visits hereafter would be awkward, yet he felt reluctant to face her. He rang for the bourbon, certain that she would not bring it, for he in a silly moment had arranged for her to be off on Fridays.

The older woman brought it; he saw scorn in her face.
He sat sullenly in the room drinking, yet the place reminded him of her. He should choose another room. Like a man craving more, he postponed sending for her. He faced the fear; he was afraid of finding out that those moments that had seemed so sublime were merely illusion. The emptiness that stayed with him always, began to grow! He felt incredibly tired after a week of decisions. Deciding how lives would change for others was a terrible burden, and he cursed his father for putting this burden upon him. It was his father who had urged, cajoled…no,
insisted
, that he make the law his life’s work. A radiator in the room hissed; mentally he went over all the regrets in his life, and there were many.

When the clock struck nine, Katherine rose from her bed.
Her limbs were stiff from sitting so long. She climbed the stairs, knocked softly several times. When he did not answer, she opened the door. She only meant to see his room, touch his things. She did not expect to find him sleeping in the chair.

Like a cautious cat, she crept
in and sat on the floor before him. His face was slack with sleep, yet he looked dear to her. She noticed minute things about him that she could not study while he was awake: the steady pulse that throbbed in his throat, the network of veins in his hands, the well-manicured nails. Then the unbelievable happened. He murmured her name in his sleep.

She drew close and kissed his hand.
He smiled, thinking that this, too, was a part of his dream… She could say it now, clear and without any embarrassment. “William, I love you. I love you.” He heard it, coming out of his dream. He opened his eyes to see her drawing near. She laid her head against his knee. He stroked her silken hair, and her presence drove the emptiness away.

He came every weekend. He loved her with a passion that he had never felt for any woman. She had found within him, and reawakened, his child’s heart. Their passion was colored with a desperation so fierce, that she held him in a grip so tight that he felt faint, and in their lovemaking she tore him with her nails and bit his shoulders and his cheeks until he grew a beard to cover the bruises. There were dark times when he questioned her, and badgered her about her faithfulness until she cried in exhaustion…then, too, came the joy of making up. He told her of his fears, of men who would come – younger than he, more vigorous, more desirable. She tried to quell his fears, but in the joy of having found her, he discovered within himself an alien emotion…he felt at times a raging jealousy. She never told him of the things that happened now – the sneers from other men, even Mr. Taylor – boldly looking her over and wondering aloud if she smelled.

Things Sally had told her about now occurred regularly
– bold, unwanted attentions such as a subtle touch, furtive winks. She ignored them as best she could. The community gossiped about the lovers – and she was called ‘the Judge’s whore.’

One weekend in December when it turned unseasonably warm, the locals talked of hurricanes and looked warily at the sky
, which was a peculiar grayish-green.

William came with presents and watched as Kathy unwrapped them, sitting on his bed.
He brought dresses and jewelry which she could only wear for him. Unwrapping it, she shrank from the box she had just opened. “You don’t like it?” he asked, crestfallen. “It’s rabbit. I wanted you to be warm,” and he held up the white coat!

She smoothed the furs, feeling all the life that had once been.
Not wishing to displease him, she put it against her cheek and was reminded of the day in New Mexico when she had heard it speak. He paced the room, restless, opened the window and felt the unusual thaw. He ordered her to dress warmly, then left to make the arrangements for a surprise. She wore the fur coat to please him, and as they left the hotel the men rushed to the window to watch them leave – ‘her,’ as she was called, prancing like a queen, wrapped in white fur, and ‘him,’ as he was referred to, carrying a picnic basket he had gotten from the kitchen. They watched them drive off. “Damn,” Mrs. Taylor said to herself as she peered at them. “It’s as if she has bewitched him. A picnic in December!” In the barroom they laughed and commented, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

He rented a john-boat and seated her in it.
From the trunk of his car he brought two red satin pillows, and she leaned back against them as he rowed down the silent brown river. Watching the curious greenish sky, she found one fluffy white cloud. “Look, William, it’s like a lamb skipping.” They slid past stark, dark trees that rustled in the wind; only the pin oaks clung to their brown leaves, reluctant to let them go until spring.

Overhead in a
‘V,’ mallards honked, changing lakes. He felt an incredible sense of peace, happiness, and awe with her beside him. It was not only that he had found in her a rare beauty both inside and out, but as he viewed her, wrapped in the softness of the furs, her full head of hair spread out on the pillow, her face turned up to the sky watching the ducks in their flight, he felt a catch in his throat. He had released her from the silent, brooding girl to a woman fulfilled, who chattered easily, smiled often, and hummed without realizing that she was creating music. Her total happiness had left behind the silent Katherine; she had been replaced by this radiant Kathy. It was this in itself that spurred his jealousy on.

On the bank, they picnicked.
He spread a blanket among the crackling leaves; they were but a spot of color and life among the bleak landscape. They ate the cold chicken, drank strawberry wine, and as he rested, finding pictures and memories in the clouds, she foraged among the brush and discovered some holly. In jest she wove a crown and placed it on his head. “I’m so happy,” she told him.

“
I’m glad,” was his reply and the crown reminded him that he had brought her some more books – some Shakespeare and more Greek mythology. She now read avidly. Often they talked of literature since he had opened this new door for her.

They spent the day outdoors and returned happy and rested, their cheeks red.
He checked his watch; it was hours later than he usually left. In the room, he packed and unpacked; he walked to the lobby rehearsing what he would tell Elizabeth. When finally he picked up the receiver he was told that because of high winds, the phone wires were down. He could not make the call.

In the lobby he saw Bruce sweeping out the hearth.
He offered him a sum of money that was inconceivable to the young man, to take a message to Hilltop. “I’ll rent a horse from the stable,” he suggested. “You could make it there and back before dark.”

“
No, no,” Bruce said and backed away from him, pure terror in his eyes as he ran home to tell his mother.

William told Kathy of his unsuccessful attempt to send a message to Hilltop and the peculiar response from Bruce.
“His injuries,” Kathy reminded him. “He’s afraid. He was kicked by a horse when he was little.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bruce knocked on their
door. “My mother,” he blurted out, “she said I am very strong. I’m not afraid of the dark. I run very fast,” and he held out his hand for the money. Quickly, William scribbled a note and handed it to him with the large banknote.

Bruce had just bought them
a stolen Sunday. They awoke early and took a drive among the hills. They stopped to eat in a restaurant on the outskirts of St. Louis and later visited the riverfront. Kathy looked at the giant width of the Mississippi River and said, “This was our destination. My father heard of work on the river, but from sheer exhaustion, we stopped at Castlewood.”

Like a man possessed, William
’s face flushed with the knowledge of his near miss. “Oh Kathy, thank God for providence – or whatever makes these twists of fate happen. I might never have found you.” A vague thought in his mind blossomed forth. “We’ll buy a cottage, with acreage. This spring, we’ll find it, whatever you want. It will be our house – would you like that?” He caught her unspoken questions. “I can’t leave her. She is fragile, she has nothing. Even the babies…in her womb they withered and died.” He wondered now if it would have made a difference if their two sons had lived. He thought not.

“
She has nothing,” he repeated, “and we have so much.” He held her, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Kathy, I swear to you, you are more my wife than she is. In God’s eyes, in my heart, you are my wife.”

She clung to him.
“If only that were true!”

“
It’s true, I swear it. I pity her and love her as one would love a sister. She’s a spoiled child. I do not love her as a woman or a wife.”

Kathy hated herself for saying it, but it stole out.
“But you go home to her.”

He patted her, comforting her.
“We’ll have a home…our home, yours and mine.” He felt the excitement of the idea as his mind whirled on. “I can retire – God knows I have enough money. We can buy time. We’ll find this cottage, I promise you.”

Pictures of their home danced in her head.
“Can we have chickens and cows?” she asked, catching his excitement.

“
Yes, yes,” he promised, “whatever you want…and it’s curious that that’s all I ever wanted. I wanted to be happy, to be with the land. I never wanted to be a judge!”

He knew he had an obligation to spend some time at Hilltop, but this idea was a real possibility.
He would
make
it happen!

When William was in the city, Katherine hummed, did her work, and never tired of telling Frieda about the cottage. “Oh Frieda, you can come and stay. It’ll be so nice, having our own cottage. We’ll have chickens and fresh eggs…” She talked on and on; the cottage seemed real and within reach. Even the older woman, who prided herself on knowing just how the world worked, softened, began to hope that maybe this would turn out different.

A telephone call came from Sally; they were shocked to hear her voice, a pathetic whine, asking if Justin were there.
The tone of desperation stilled Frieda, and she asked no questions. She sent Katherine to the young man’s room to see if he were still in; his key was not on the hook.