CHAPTER TWELVE
ANOTHER MORNING – NARRATTED BY NELL
"Surely the FACTS ought to speak for themselves…?"
"For a smart woman, you sure are dumb sometimes."
"Wha..."
"According to you, you and Ann've been trying to whip up publicity for this cause of yours for months. And it don't work 'cos the only ones reading what you put together are other folk already campaigning on the same sorta thing. They send pamphlets to you. You send pamphlets to them. You don't need me to tell you that's preaching to the choir, huh?"
"We don't only send the information to each other! Of course we distribute it more widely and we bombard – BOMBARD – the major journals with letters and articles…"
"Sure you do. But, for all you know, they don't even read 'em. They sure don't print 'em."
Silence. I want to say something really clever back, but since he is absolutely right, nothing springs to mind.
"Now, every piece you send, you've been loading 'em up with facts and figures, huh?"
"Of course."
"And because it's worked so well to date, you're gonna re-run the same tactics one more time?"
The logic of this sinks in. "I suppose you have a better plan?"
"Yup. Much better. It's the masculine brain, y'see," One finger taps at the dark hair. "Twelve percent larger, on average, so we're better fitted for thinking." Pause while my mouth falls open. "Has anyone ever told you, you look gorgeous when you gape like a fish?"
"Do I look gorgeous when I do this?" I thumb my nose and stick my tongue out at him.
"Yup. So gorgeous that I'm gonna hafta…" I let out a yelp as a hand slips under me and I am pulled hard against him.
"Let me g…" I shut up. It is hard to speak articulately when you are being thoroughly kissed. Even harder if you feel it only polite to show appreciation by joining in. Well! He may be flippant, but you cannot deny the man is punctual and not one to complain about a little early rising.
---oooOOOooo---
"…That could work," I admit. We are both on the blanket he brought to leave in the boat-house. He is propped on one elbow, smiling down at me. "It seems a shade – disingenuous."
"Is that Nell-speak for sneaky?"
"Uh huh."
He is right. I can see that. What is needed is 'human interest' – immediate, happening NOW, human interest - behind which a few facts can be smuggled through. Ann and I have tried to pull together suitably anonymous case studies, but they lack the immediacy of proper news.
A plan begins to form in my brain. He gave me some ideas – but this would be even better! This would be superb! If I dare… If…
Hmmmm?
Silent pondering. More silent pondering. Despite the ever-present danger of wrinkles, my forehead puckers up. I need to talk to Ann.
"Nell?" There is hair nuzzling going on.
"Uh huh?" I grunt, absent-mindedly. I say 'uh huh' all the time now! I must be careful. It must be so obvious where I have picked it up.
"Nell, are you listening?"
I drag myself back, I can work on my plan anytime. "Sorry, I was miles away. Uh huh?"
"Am I still supposed to be helping out on the self-control?"
Er. Yes, I suppose so.
I do not know.
If anyone sees us, arms wrapped around each other, my reputation is gone. I may not agree with the rules, but I cannot claim ignorance. Kissing a man to whom I am not officially betrothed - we are not talking a quick peck under a handy sprig of mistletoe here - brands me as a cheap little tart. No arguments. No excuses. No mitigation.
Part of me thinks, since I would be utterly ruined anyway, I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
"Why do you ask?" I murmur, once again doing my imitation of a wet lettuce.
If Joshua really, really wants me – maybe…
I will own up. I am wearing - something. Just in case. NOT planning. Just in case.
"Because…"
My neck is being kissed. I have not put on my starched collar yet, he can reach the curve of my throat.
"Because…"
Tiny nibbling kisses work back up to my ear. A curl, dangling over the lobe is softly blown aside to let his mouth move…
"Because, if I'm still expected to be all self-controlled…"
Nuzzle. Tiniest touch of tongue tip in my ear. Gentle nip to a lobe. A shiver runs down my spine. My heart pounds. Literally. Well, it would, wouldn't it? It is busy sending blood to all the parts of me currently throbbing with eagerness.
If this IS love – and whatever love means, I believe myself in it – should I not care more about making HIM happy than about myself? If the theory is you would happily lay down your life for the man you truly love, hesitating to lay down your – well – your chastity, seems a tad contradictory.
"IF that's what you want…" he murmurs.
Yes! I mean, no. No – yes. Er…
Help!
"…I'm gonna hafta ask you to move your hand."
What? I drag my gaze away from those melting brown eyes, look down at my right hand which is absent-mindedly resting on…
Oh!
I snatch it away. The pounding blood diverts to my flaming face.
"Sorry!" I blurt. "I am SO sorry!"
"Not a problem, Helen." A wicked grin, "Believe me, it was my pleasure!" He sighs, once again searching my face, "I take it that pole-axed expression means you had no idea what you were doing and I DO hafta stick with the self-control?"
Does he?
You see the thing is; a woman deciding marriage is tainted with the whiff of a commercial transaction and concluding she believes in free love can be seen (I suppose) as an admirably emancipated radical, risking all for her principles.
At any rate, it is the kind of argument a hypothetical over-educated, self-excusing, throbbing with frustration, female doctor could make.
A man deciding marriage is not for him is merely – and I do know this is not exactly fair –looking for a little no-strings sex and risking absolutely nothing.
I want him to ask him to marry me.
However foolish it is, I will say yes SO quickly it will make his head spin!
I am so very, very, very nearly sure he loves me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me.
If only he would SAY so.
He is smiling down at me, stroking my face in the way I absolutely adore.
Ask me!
Please ask me. Please.
He does not. He kisses my forehead, helps me to my feet, walks me to the edge of the trees, says good-bye.
---oooOOOooo---
YET ANOTHER MORNING – NARRATTED BY NELL
"…Oughta make some story over the arrival of this new automated band saw and shifting lumber edger. Me and Charles have been trying to get an angle on it – Hey! There's a pun in there somewhere, 'cos one of the things the edger'll do is work on any angle. Anyhow, by itself it's kinda dull even though it cost…"
"Joshua…" I loose my stone. One – two – three – four – five skips across the water. I am getting better at this.
"Uh huh?" His stone leaves his hand, smooth as silk. Five – six – seven – eight. Eight! EIGHT! "Count 'em and weep. That makes fourteen thousand dollars you owe me! Like taking candy from a baby!"
We have decided it is not wise to – you know – embrace all the time. Pleasant, sure; wise, no!
"Do you ever think about…?" I take a breath. I really want this to come from him, but… Well, I suppose I can drop a feminine hint or twelve? "Do you ever think about the future?" Skip – skip – oh!
"Two!" he scathes. "TWO! There's critters living under stones can throw better'n that!" Six – Seven – Eight! Again! He was lulling me before! "That's twenty thousand dollars you owe me! The future?"
"Yes. The future. It comes after the present. I know it can be a difficult concept to grapple with, but try and keep up. By the way, I'm calling a smug smirk penalty on that last stone – that'll be twenty thousand dollar fine – so it's back to all square."
"Hey!"
"Do you want to incur an arguing-with-the-permanent-referee-penalty? Do you? I thought not." I take another breath. "We were talking about the future. We can't keep on meeting like this forever. Enjoying the dawn is one thing in midsummer; it's not going to be so much fun once winter comes round."
"Reckon not. 'Course, by the time winter comes you mighta won so much money off me, you'll be managing this hospital of yours in some big city. AND running for President. AND…" He skips a stone across the water, watches it closely. "…DEFINITELY not needing a man to complete you, because you're already a complete human being."
Did I say that? Good heavens, I am pompous! Perhaps I had had a glass or two of wine at the time. That is my excuse anyhow!
"I may not need anyone to complete me," I say, quietly, "but that does not mean my life cannot be made still richer by sharing it with someone special."
Pause.
I feel my cheeks burn as he plucks another stone from the ground and skips it. If he does not respond to that I will… Well, I suppose I will carry on, but with a paper bag over my head to hide my embarrassment.
The pause goes on. And on. He skips another stone. This time it is HIM taking the deep breath, as if he has finally made up his mind about something.
He turns to look at me. The face I have come to adore has no trace of the teasing look. He is about to say something. Something really serious. I can see it in his eyes. Is this going to be it?
"Helen…?"
Yes. Yes. Yes.
"There's something you oughta know."
Oh. That does not sound as if what is coming is him popping the question.
"Uh huh?" I encourage.
The silence lengthens. At last, he says, "I told you I lost my folks during the war."
"Yes," I say, softly. He's mentioned his mother since. Not about losing her. About how she loved to read. What she loved to read.
"After that, I got sent to a home. It was…" Pause. "There were a lot of kids orphaned round about the same time. A lot of kids, not a lot of folks left to care for them. Those that were left… Well, I guess, looking back, they had their own problems. You don't see that when you're twelve. You just see, so far as they're concerned, you're nothing more than one more annoying little snot-nose. Money was scarce. Food was scarce. And what there was, you never knew but what it might get requisitioned by one side or another." Pause. "There came a point when… I dunno. I guess I'd had enough of following orders, keeping quiet and chores that just got harder an' harder on the back as I got older. Anyhow – I ran off." Pause. "I was so cocky, so sure I could make it by myself."
"How old were you?"
"Too dang young to make it by myself. I - I hadta do stuff that…" Pause. "Times were pretty tough. Half the country licking its wounds, glowering at the other half. Lots of folk feeling cheated and… I wasn't…" A tiny return to the usual Joshua Smith. "I wasn't the suave, debonair, self-possessed charmer you see today. I was scrawny and stroppy and sulky and 'bout as pleasant to be around as any other scrawny, stroppy, sulky fifteen year old boy."
"Fairly ghastly then?" I smile. I press his hand. My brow puckers. "Wasn't Thaddeus with you then? I had the impression you grew up together?"
His eyes meet mine. They have an arrested look. Why? It seems an innocent enough question. When his answer comes, his voice is – I do not know – almost careful.
"Uh huh. We grew up together and were together in the home. Like I say, we – I did stuff that… We – I - we…" More than a pause. Silence.
"Are you saying this is why you started drifting job to job? You were running away, so at first you couldn't settle and apply yourself – and by the time you could, you'd become used to a roving life? Perhaps even trapped in it, as you had no respectable references?"
He is looking at me, searching my face. "Calling it a roving life might be kinda underselling it, Helen. I did a lotta things which, looking back, I'm not exactly proud of. I…" He stops. Eyes still fixed on me. A frown creases his forehead. It is as if he cannot make up his mind. About what? Is there more to come? Or is he worrying how I will react? Do I look too censorious? I do not mean to!
"Oh, Joshua," I – I cannot help it – I raise his hand to my lips, kiss the palm, hold it against my cheek. "I did guess that your past wasn't… I did realise you'd probably been guilty of…" I do not want to hurt his feelings by making it sound worse than it was. They were so young when they were left alone. "Of gambling and drinking to excess and…" I blush, "…exploiting disadvantaged women forced by circumstances into a life of prostitution. I can't help but realise that, at some point, you've become so used to the reaction a tied-down gun stirs, that walking around armed seems routine. Perhaps, at times – at first, there was even a little petty dishonesty…" I break off. His expression looks… I don't know. Perhaps disappointed? Or, more than that. Dejected? Oh, please! If my big mouth has ruined everything… "I am so sorry!" I blurt. "Joshua, I should never have said that. I only meant that when you first cast yourself adrift in the world, maybe you had to manoeuvre ways of getting a meal and avoiding the bill. I didn't mean to imply anything worse… " I take a deep breath. "Consider it my turn to apologise unreservedly. I should not have presumed."
"Helen. You've got nothing to apologise for. Sheesh. I wish the worst thing I ever did at fifteen WAS skip out without paying a bill, or rustle a chicken or liberate the odd apple pie left on a window ledge to cool."
"Joshua, you were still almost a child! What matters most is not what kind of youth you had, it's what kind of man you became."
If he looked dejected before, now he looks almost desolate. I see this only for a second. Then he sits up, turns away from me, stares over the lake. When he turns back, the dimpled smile has returned. He gets to his feet, holds out his hand. "C'mon. Time I walked you to the edge of the trees."
We walk. I slip an arm around his waist. I look up. Still smiling, but it does not fool me.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Are you worrying that …" deep breath, "What you were saying earlier; are you trying to tell me you're not good enough for me?"
IS that what is holding him back?
"I don't need to tell you. It's pretty dang obvious. I'm a no-account drifter, you graduated medical school fourth in your…"
"Third equal!"
"Third equal in your year. A man good enough for you'd hafta be – what – some fancy-pants lawyer, a professor, another doctor…?"
"Pfffttt! What would be the point of THAT?" I hug his waist, "Now, if you'd said, someone with a flair for using the written word persuasively, or a superlatively silver-tongued fund-raiser, or someone capable of swaying a crowd, or someone with a real flair for organising..."
He gets the gist. I hope.
"I guess that kinda fella'd be more use to you, huh?" Pause. "'Course, IF you found anyone that good – why the Sam Hill would HE settle for YOU?"
---oooOOOooo---
