ocean.
She put her hands to her face. Her cheeks were hot, but she was shivering. For
some unaccountable reason she wanted to laugh aloud. She wanted to strip off
her clothes and run into the icy sea. She only smoothed her skirt over her hips
and adjusted the collar of her jacket. A few minutes passed. Then Luke returned
to where she stood.
He
reached out to touch her again, then drew his hand back, as if she were fire
and he would be burned.
"Listen
to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "What happened, what we,
that is, what I did. I don't want you frightened."
I'm
not frightened, Amy thought. You are. She didn't say anything, just kept
looking at him.
"It's
natural and even beautiful," he said, "but only when you're married.
This way it's all wrong. That's not your fault, it's mine. You're too young and
innocent to know better."
She
didn't know what he was talking about, but she didn't care. Married, he'd said.
She had watched his sensitive mouth form the word. Married. Two people joined
together for always; sharing a home, their hearts, the very air they breathed.
Married. Mrs. Luke Westerman. Yes, Amy thought. Oh, yes!
Don't
say anything, Eve-like instinct warned her instantly. Not yet. "It's okay,"
she whispered. "Don't worry." She smiled at him, and all the sunshine
of her seventeen years was in that smile. "Come," she said quietly.
"The others will be waiting."
He
nodded and they retraced their steps along the beach toward the new houses
thrust so incongruously into the primitive landscape. "They don't look as
if they belong at all," Amy said. Luke merely grunted. He was still lost
in his own thoughts. Amy didn't mind. She understood everything with her pores,
her nerves, and her instinct. Married, her blood sang. Married, married,
married.
For
a day or two she worried that he might start avoiding her because the truth she
perceived so clearly was a worry or an embarrassment for him. "Men can be
very difficult," her mother had sometimes said with a sigh. Usually the
comment followed some obstinacy of Daddy's or some small quarrel. But Jessie
had smiled knowingly at her daughter, and in a brief time the cloud, whatever
it may have been, was lifted. Amy had learned the lesson well, without ever
realizing that she'd learned it.
She
took to washing her hair every other day, so that she would look her best
whenever Luke appeared. Each morning she dressed with special care, grateful
for the pretty new things Lil had made her buy and no longer worried about the
expense. After four days her patience was rewarded.
"Luke's
coming for dinner this evening," Lil said on Wednesday. "Shall we
have pot roast or chicken?"
"Whatever
you think," Amy said. What did she care about food? Luke was coming. Lil,
accustomed to never getting answers to her questions, went to the kitchen to
confer with Maureen. Amy danced around the room and hummed the wedding march,
silently, so that only she could hear.
That
night Luke was relaxed, animated, and charming. He was his old self. While she
dressed, Amy had worried just a tiny bit. Perhaps he'd be stiff or embarrassed
because he had half proposed, and now he didn't know how to finish it and make
it official. I'll have to find some way to put him at his ease, she'd thought.
But it wasn't necessary. He laughed at her and teased her and complimented Lil,
and as always the whole apartment seemed alive and new just because he was
there.
"I
saw an old friend of yours today," Luke mentioned to his aunt. "Father
Clement at St. Vincent's. He sends you a big hello."
"How
nice," Lil said. Then, to Amy, "I knew him years ago before he was a
Dominican. Joe Devereaux he was in those days. How did you happen to see
him?" she asked Luke. "I'd heard he was sent to the missions."
"He
was. Caught some tropical disease and had to come home. He's ok now. He was
hearing confessions. Just coming out of the box when I got to church.
She put her hands to her face. Her cheeks were hot, but she was shivering. For
some unaccountable reason she wanted to laugh aloud. She wanted to strip off
her clothes and run into the icy sea. She only smoothed her skirt over her hips
and adjusted the collar of her jacket. A few minutes passed. Then Luke returned
to where she stood.
He
reached out to touch her again, then drew his hand back, as if she were fire
and he would be burned.
"Listen
to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "What happened, what we,
that is, what I did. I don't want you frightened."
I'm
not frightened, Amy thought. You are. She didn't say anything, just kept
looking at him.
"It's
natural and even beautiful," he said, "but only when you're married.
This way it's all wrong. That's not your fault, it's mine. You're too young and
innocent to know better."
She
didn't know what he was talking about, but she didn't care. Married, he'd said.
She had watched his sensitive mouth form the word. Married. Two people joined
together for always; sharing a home, their hearts, the very air they breathed.
Married. Mrs. Luke Westerman. Yes, Amy thought. Oh, yes!
Don't
say anything, Eve-like instinct warned her instantly. Not yet. "It's okay,"
she whispered. "Don't worry." She smiled at him, and all the sunshine
of her seventeen years was in that smile. "Come," she said quietly.
"The others will be waiting."
He
nodded and they retraced their steps along the beach toward the new houses
thrust so incongruously into the primitive landscape. "They don't look as
if they belong at all," Amy said. Luke merely grunted. He was still lost
in his own thoughts. Amy didn't mind. She understood everything with her pores,
her nerves, and her instinct. Married, her blood sang. Married, married,
married.
For
a day or two she worried that he might start avoiding her because the truth she
perceived so clearly was a worry or an embarrassment for him. "Men can be
very difficult," her mother had sometimes said with a sigh. Usually the
comment followed some obstinacy of Daddy's or some small quarrel. But Jessie
had smiled knowingly at her daughter, and in a brief time the cloud, whatever
it may have been, was lifted. Amy had learned the lesson well, without ever
realizing that she'd learned it.
She
took to washing her hair every other day, so that she would look her best
whenever Luke appeared. Each morning she dressed with special care, grateful
for the pretty new things Lil had made her buy and no longer worried about the
expense. After four days her patience was rewarded.
"Luke's
coming for dinner this evening," Lil said on Wednesday. "Shall we
have pot roast or chicken?"
"Whatever
you think," Amy said. What did she care about food? Luke was coming. Lil,
accustomed to never getting answers to her questions, went to the kitchen to
confer with Maureen. Amy danced around the room and hummed the wedding march,
silently, so that only she could hear.
That
night Luke was relaxed, animated, and charming. He was his old self. While she
dressed, Amy had worried just a tiny bit. Perhaps he'd be stiff or embarrassed
because he had half proposed, and now he didn't know how to finish it and make
it official. I'll have to find some way to put him at his ease, she'd thought.
But it wasn't necessary. He laughed at her and teased her and complimented Lil,
and as always the whole apartment seemed alive and new just because he was
there.
"I
saw an old friend of yours today," Luke mentioned to his aunt. "Father
Clement at St. Vincent's. He sends you a big hello."
"How
nice," Lil said. Then, to Amy, "I knew him years ago before he was a
Dominican. Joe Devereaux he was in those days. How did you happen to see
him?" she asked Luke. "I'd heard he was sent to the missions."
"He
was. Caught some tropical disease and had to come home. He's ok now. He was
hearing confessions. Just coming out of the box when I got to church.
Similar Books
