He’d made a big mistake in telling her. His mother had been right. And in a letter too, which meant it could be read by others. What had he been thinking? He had a sinking feeling that he’d live to regret his disclosure.
“Now, Maude,” said Helen, “no complaints about the food. You get what you get, and you’re lucky to get it. Others are not as fortunate.” Of all the sisters, Helen, after Alice, was the most maternal. John could see a day when she’d be taking over the household, leaving Alice free to marry. In his imaginings, he was the one she would marry, but now that idea seemed impossible.
At dinner John ate a few bites of cold chicken and a biscuit, the food feeling like a brick dropping into his stomach. He excused himself and went to the barn for the night, not even staying to help with the dishes.
He tried to read, lighting a kerosene lamp when the sun lowered in the sky, but found that the words refused to go from his eyes to his brain. He had gotten through several chapters, none of it sticking. He closed the book and turned off the lamp.
The sun was almost below the horizon when he heard the arrival of a wagon, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves accompanying the sound of female voices, one of them Alice’s. He sat up and listened but was unable to make out any words. Now the women were laughing as he heard the wagon come to a stop. Getting to his feet and crossing the barn, he passed the cow, who lowed in her stall, a mournful, deep-throated cry. “Hush,” he said, making his way to the door and peering out through the crack. He saw Alice hop down from the wagon and exchange goodbyes with her friend. Listening carefully, he could make out what was being said.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Alice,” Edna said. “You are a true-blue friend.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Alice said. “I hope your mother feels better soon.” Alice waved as Edna drove off, then stepped lightly into the house. She didn’t appear distraught or upset, but it was hard to tell.
Miserable, John went back to his mattress and settled down, cradling his head in his hands. A dozen thoughts whirled through his brain. Maybe she hated him and was disgusted by the memory of the times they’d touched, brief and fleeting though they had been. Or perhaps she couldn’t love a man who hadn’t been truthful from the start. Alice herself was so good, he couldn’t imagine her deliberately lying. He wouldn’t blame her if she held others to the same high standards. She deserved that and more.
The more he thought about it, the odder he found the timing of her visit to the Clarks. A coincidence? Unlikely, he thought.
Despite his best efforts, he never did fall asleep. He shifted position, then considered trying to read but dismissed the idea. The animals in the barn, sensing his fidgeting, were themselves restless, mooing and whinnying in their stalls.
When he heard the barn door open, his breath caught in his chest. Could it be Pearl again? After her visit to the barn earlier in the summer, she hadn’t approached him in such a forward way again, perhaps embarrassed at being turned down. This time around, it was more likely to be Mr. Bennett, coming to take him to task after having heard about his talk of marrying Alice.
He stood up and pulled the curtain back, stunned to see Alice walking toward him, a kerosene lantern in her hand lighting the way. She was dressed for sleep, a cotton dressing gown wrapped around her front and tied in the middle. One long braid fell over her shoulder.
“Alice,” he said, her name coming out like a breath.
“Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips. “I can’t stay long, but I had to see you.” She was close now, so close he could have leaned over and kissed her with one small movement, but he held back.
“My letter,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before . . .”
She put a finger up to his lips and shook her head. “I came because I knew you would worry, but you needn’t. It doesn’t matter to me. None of it matters.”
He clutched her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm. “It matters a lot to the rest of the world. There are doors that will be closed to me, to us, if I’m found out.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” she repeated. “There will always be ignorant people spouting nonsense and causing trouble. I wouldn’t care about any of that if we were together. You’re you, and I love you.”
Could a heart swell with joy? He knew from having studied the anatomy of the human body that it didn’t work that way, but he could have sworn that was exactly what happened.