"No. She died before . . . just after I was born."
"You look a lot like her," he said, and then turned crimson at his own outburst.
"Thank you, Luther." I knelt down and kissed him and hugged and kissed Charlotte.
"Good-bye, children. Be good," I said.
"Or Emily will get mad," Charlotte recited. It made me smile through my tears.
I hurried out and never looked back.
Something happened to Bill during the business trip he had made instead of accompanying me to Papa's funeral, for when he returned days later, he was remarkably changed. He was quieter, more restrained, and spent long periods of time just sitting on the porch sipping tea or coffee and staring out at the ocean. He didn't wander through the hotel, teasing the young chambermaids, nor did he hold any of his card games in the game room for the waiters, bellhops and busboys, sometimes shamefully taking their hard-earned tips away.
I thought he might have gotten sick, even though he didn't look pale or weak. I asked him a few times if he was feeling all right. He said he was, eac
h time staring at me for a moment before going off.
Finally one night nearly a week later, he came into our bedroom after I had already gotten under the covers. After our initial months together, we made love less and less frequently until long periods of time passed without us as much as exchanging a kiss. He knew that whenever I did kiss him or make love with him, I did so more out of a sense of marital duty than affection, even though he was still quite handsome.
Never did our lovemaking result in my becoming pregnant. In my own mind I thought it was simply because of my terrible experience giving birth to Charlotte. Yet as far as I knew, there was nothing physically wrong with me, no reason for me not to become pregnant. It just never happened.
Bill came over to my side of the bed and sat down, his hands folded in his lap, his head lowered.
"What is it?" I asked. His curious behavior made my heart beat faster. Slowly, he raised his head and fixed his eyes on me—eyes full of sadness and pain.
"I got to tell you something. I've not been solely conducting business on my trips, especially the trips to Richmond. I've been gambling and . . . carousing." I released a trapped breath.
"It doesn't come as any surprise to me, Bill," I said, sitting back. "I never demanded to know about your trips and I'm not demanding it now."
"I know and I appreciate that. In fact, I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you," he said softly.
"Why this sudden reform?" I asked.
"I had a bad experience on this last trip. I was gambling on the train and it became one of these games that lasts for days. We took it off the train and into a hotel room in Richmond. I was winning. In fact, I was winning so much, one of the players who was losing accused me of cheating."
"What happened?" Once again, my heart began to beat in anticipation.
"He put a gun to my head. He told me there was only one bullet in the gun and if I was cheating, that was the chamber the hammer would hit. Then he pulled the trigger. I nearly emptied myself in my pants, but nothing happened. His friends thought it was funny and he decided that was just a test and he had to try one more time. He pulled the trigger again, and again it was an empty chamber.
"Finally, he sat back and said I could go with my winnings. Just to prove he wasn't kidding, he pointed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger once more, and this time the gun went off. I hurried out of there and got back home as fast as I could, thinking all the time that my life had nearly ended and what did I have to show for it. I could have died without any dignity in a hotel room somewhere in Richmond," he moaned. A little too dramatically, he raised his eyes toward the ceiling and sighed.
"My sister Emily would like to hear this confession," I said dryly. "Maybe you should make a trip to The Meadows." He gazed at me again and in a breathless gush, his words spilled forth.
"I know you're not in love with me and you still resent the way I got you to be my wife, but you're a woman with some inner strength. You come from good stock and I've decided . . . if it's all right with you, that is . . . that we should have children. I'm hoping for a son to carry on the Cutler heritage. I think if you want it, too, it will happen."
"What?" I sat back, amazed.
"I'm willing to reform my ways, to be a good husband and a good father, and I won't interfere with the things you want to do at the hotel. What do you say?" he pleaded.
"I don't know what to say. I guess I should be happy you're not asking me to cut a deck of cards to decide," I added.
He looked down. "I know I deserve that," he added, looking up, "but I'm being sincere now. I really am."
I sat back and studied him. Perhaps I was a fool, but he did look sincere.
"I don't know if I can get pregnant," I said.
"Can we try at least?"