He looked thoughtful, as I inwardly cried for him and his "love"; then a blush rose up from the neck of his sports shirt covered with a red sweater that put color in his wan cheeks. "At least, I should add, the kind of marriage we used to have. It's not much of a marriage now, I'm sorry to admit. But that's not her fault."
A week later I was alone in my room, furiously writing in the journal, when I heard the pounding of Chris's footfalls as he ran and burst in on me. "Cathy," he said excitedly, throwing off his topcoat, hurling it to a chair, "I've got wonderful news! You know that experiment I was assisting with? There's been a breakthrough." He pulled me up from my desk, shoved me into a chair before the roaring fire. He explained in minute detail all that he and other scientists were trying to accomplish. "It means I'll be away from home five nights a week, now that winter's come. The snow isn't cleared until around noon, and that gives me so little time in the lab. But don't look sad, I'll be here on weekends. But if you object, tell me honestly. My first duty is to you and our family."
His excitement over this new project was so evident I couldn't dash his enthusiasm with my fears. He'd given so much to me, to Jory and Bart, and received so little appreciation. My arms went automatically around his neck. I scanned over his dear, familiar face. I saw faint etchings around his blue eyes that I hadn't noticed before. My fingers in his hair found silver that was coarser in texture than the gold. There were a few gray hairs in his eyebrows.
"If this is going to make you unhappy, I can always quit and forget about research, and devote all my time to my family. But I'll be very grateful if you give me this opportunity. I thought when I gave up my practice in California that I would never find anything to interest me more, but I was wrong. Perhaps this was meant to be--but, if necessary, I can give it up and stay here with my family "
Give up medicine entirely? He'd centered the major portion of his life on the study of medicine. To feel useful gave added zest to his life. To keep him here just to please myself, doing nothing that would contribute to mankind at this crucial point when he felt vulnerable by being middle-aged, would destroy him.
"Cathy," Chris said, interrupting my thoughts as he pulled on his heavy woolen coat again, "are you all right? Why do you look so strange? So sad? I'll be back every Friday evening and won't leave until Monday morning. Explain to Jory everything I've told you. No, on second thought, I'll stop by his room and explain myself."
"If it's what you want, then it's what you have to do. But we're going to miss you. I don't know how I can sleep without you beside me. You see, I talked to Jory, and he doesn't want to move to Charlottesville. I think he's grown to like his rooms very much. He's almost finished that clipper ship. And it would be a pity to deprive him of all the comforts he has here. And Christmas isn't too far away. Cindy will be coming home for Thanksgiving to stay until the New Year. Chris, promise to make real efforts to come home every Friday. Jory needs your strength as well as mine since Melodie fails him entirely."
Oh, I'd said too much.
His eyes narrowed. "What's going on that you're not telling me?" He pulled off the heavy coat and carefully hung it up. Swallowing first, I started to speak, faltered, tried to pull my eyes from the strong hold of his . . . but those blue eyes forced me to say, "Chris, would you think it terrible if you knew that Bart has fallen in love with Melodie?"
His lips twitched. "Oh, that. I know Bart's been infatuated with her since the day she came here. I've seen him watching her. One day I found the two of them in the back salon, seated on the sofa. He had her dress open and was kissing her breasts. I walked away. Cathy, if Melodie didn't want him, she'd slap his face and make him stop. You may think their affair is stealing Jory's wife when he needs her most, but he doesn't need a woman who doesn't love him anymore. Let him have her--what good can she do Jory now?"
I glared at him with total disbelief. "You're defending Bart! Do you think it's fair what he's done?"
"No, I don't think it is fair. When is life fair, Cathy? Was it fair when Jory's back was broken, and now he can't walk? No, it's not fair. I've been in medicine too long not to know justice isn't doled out equally. The good often die before the bad. Children die before grandparents, and who is to say that's right? But what can we do about it? Life is a gift, and perhaps death is another kind of gift. Who am I, or you, to say? Accept what has happened between Bart and Melodie, and stay close to Jory. Keep him happy until the day comes when he can find another wife."
Reeling from his words, I felt hazy and unreal. "And the baby, what of the baby?"
Now his voice turned hard. "The baby is another matter. He or she will belong to Jory, no matter which brother Melodie chooses. That child will help see Jory through--for he may never be able to sire another."
"Chris, please. Go to Bart and tell him to let Melodie go. I cannot stand the thought of Jory losing his wife at this point in his life."
He shook his head, telling me that Bart had never listened to him, and it wasn't likely he would now. And already he'd spoken without my knowledge to Melodie.
"Darling, face up to the facts. In her heart Melodie doesn't want Jory now. She won't come out and say that, but behind every word she doesn't say, behind all her excuses, is the plain fact that she just does not want to stay married to a man who can't walk. In my way of thinking it would be cruel to force her to stay, and even harder on Jory in the long run. If we do try to force her to stay, sooner or later she'd strike back at him for not being the man he was and I want to spare him that. Better to let her go before she hurts him even worse than by just having an affair with Bart."
"Chris!" I cried, shocked that he would think as he did. "We can't let her do this to Jory!"
"Cathy, who are we to judge this matter? Right or wrong, should we, who are considered sinners by Bart, sit in judgment on him?"
In the morning Chris drove away after telling me he'd be back Friday evening around six. I watched from my bedroom window until his car was out of sight.
How empty the days when Chris was away, how bleak the nights without his arms to hold me and his whispers to assure me everything would work out fine. I smiled and laughed for Jory, not wanting him to know that I was suffering from the lack of having Chris in my bed every night. Jory slept alone, I told myself, and I could manage if he could. I knew that Melodie and Bart were still lovers; howeve
r, they were discreet enough to try and hide that from me. But I knew from the way Joel glared at Jory's wife that he considered her a bitch. Strange that he didn't glare at Bart, when he was just as guilty. But then men had a way of thinking what was right for the gander was wrong for the goose, even pious religious ones like Joel.
We were two weeks into November, and our plans for Thanksgiving were complete. Our weather turned more severe and hurled blustery winds and snow our way, stacking snow around our doors, freezing it overnight to ice so we couldn't leave the garage in one of our many cars. One by one our servants deserted until there was only Trevor to prepare the meals with my off-and-on help.
Cindy flew home and helped cheer our hours with her easy laughter, her winning ways that charmed everyone but Bart and Joel. Even Melodie seemed a bit happier. Then she took to her bed, to stay there all day long, trying to keep warm now that our electricity went off so often, and that meant our furnaces controlled by electric thermostats refused to give out heat. We then had to resort to our coal furnace auxiliary.
Freely Bart carried in the wood he wanted to burn in his office fireplace and forgot the rest of us would enjoy a fire.
Bart was secreted away with Joel, whispering of the Christmas ball he planned, so I had to carry in enough logs to build a fire in Jory's room, where Cindy was playing a game with him. He sat in his chair, wrapped with an afghan, his shoulders covered with a jacket, and smiled at my futile attempts to set the kindling ablaze. "Open the damper, Mom, that always helps a little."
How had I forgotten that?
Soon I had -a fire going. The bright glow cheered up the room, which seemed so right in summer but not so right in winter, just as Bart had predicted. Now the dark paneling would have made Jory feel cozier.
"Mom," Jory said, suddenly looking very cheerful, "I've been thinking about something for days. I'm a fool to act as I am. You're right--been right all along. I'm not going to feel sorry for myself the minute I'm alone and no one can see, as I've been doing since the accident. I am going to accept what can't be helped and make the most of a difficult situation. Just like you and Dad did when you were locked away, I'm going to turn my idle moments into creative moments. I'll have plenty of time to read all the books I've never had time to read before, and I'm going to say yes to Dad the next time he offers to teach me how to paint with watercolors. I'll go outdoors and try landscapes. Perhaps I'll even venture into oils, other mediums. I want to thank you both for giving me the incentive to go on. I'm a lucky guy to have parents like you and Dad."
Feeling proud enough to cry myself, I embraced him, congratulating him for coming back to being his natural, enthusiastic self.