The Magic Of Ordinary Days Part 14

I found nothing beside his bed. I lifted the pillow and checked the crack between bed and wall. Then I ducked into the bunk and sat, thinking. Next, I looked under the bed and from there, I pulled it out. The cover was unmarked; no t.i.tle on the spine, either. I opened the book and saw diagrams of pregnant women and stages of fetal development.

Now I slammed it shut. I could feel heat creeping up into my neck.

Why was he reading this? I didn't expect anything of him. I stood and faced his chest of drawers. Not since the first morning after my arrival had I considered looking in it. Every few days I brought in Ray's fresh laundry, but I always left the folded clothes on the chest top for him to put away.

Now I strode right up to the chest of drawers and opened the top one. Underwear and socks. In the next drawer, unders.h.i.+rts and handkerchiefs. Continuing to search downward, I found nothing but personal articles of clothing, and in the bottom drawer, letters from his brother Daniel, but I wouldn't stoop so low as to read them. On top of the letters lay a man's gold pocket watch, one I guessed had probably belonged to his father. So this was what I had heard ticking on my first morning in this house.

Now the watch lay silent. I picked it up and wound it until the ticking resumed. But why had I heard it ticking on that first morning? I'd never even seen Ray wear this watch, not even for church. After I put it back and closed the drawer, I picked up the pregnancy book, marched back into the kitchen, all the while chastising my own behavior. What had I expected to find in Ray's drawers? Evidence of secrets? I had been foolish. Mother had once told me that every person had a secret compartment within himself or herself, a locked door. But Ray was exactly the way he appeared to be, nothing more and nothing less.

I let the book drop on the table with a thump. When Ray finally came in that night, he glanced at it, went to the bunkroom to change clothes, then came back to the kitchen without acknowledging that the thing existed. I found his eyes. In them, I saw those same held-back tears he would never cry, and I found I'd lost hold of my anger. As he stood at the sink, shoving up his sleeves and was.h.i.+ng his hands, I had the strangest of thoughts. I wondered how large was the circle of his arms, if ever I found myself in it.

"I have to tell you something, Ray," I said. "I looked in your drawers today. I can't even explain to you why I did it. I invaded your privacy, and I'm sorry"

He turned away from the sink and dried his hands. That familiar line sank down into the center of his forehead. "You could've looked in there anytime you wanted. I got nothing to hide from you."

I swallowed hard. "It's a beautiful watch. Did it belong to your father?"

He nodded.

"I heard it ticking once. On my first morning here."

Ray sat down and rubbed the red thorns in his eyes. "Sometimes I wind it up. When I want to remember him."

I peered into his face. "And on that morning?"

He cleared his throat. "I remembered how good he was to my mother. The kind of husband I want to be." He sat back and smiled through suffering eyes. He looked off then, as if remembering. "He took care of himself. When he spilled his coffee, he never waited for her to clean it up. And he'd pick her whole bunches of wildflowers, and she'd keep them in water until they got to dropping their dead petals on the table." He turned to me. "That first morning you were here, I wound up that watch." He shrugged. "For no good reason. Just for luck."

Ray got up again, put his coat back on, and headed toward the door.

"You haven't eaten," I called out to him before he could leave.

He stopped and turned in my direction. Then he moved one step closer and took my arm. He was so close I could see the threads in his s.h.i.+rt collar and every line in his lips. He took my face in one hand and moved closer still. Then he pressed soft, closed lips into mine in a way so awkward, but so sweet, it glued my shoes to the floor.

"Is there anything you like about me, Livvy?"

Now my lungs caved in. I could smell my attempt at Italian lasagna burning in the oven, and Ray had just kissed me. The book about pregnancy was sitting on the table, and Ray was standing over me demanding an answer.

I had enjoyed the day of fis.h.i.+ng. I had taken some pleasure in watching him work. I remembered the gentle way he held that fish in the water, the way he lost himself in prayer. His faith in G.o.d's will made him more of a true believer than even those deacons in my father's church. I even appreciated that he had checked out a book, any book. But I couldn't give him false hopes that I'd grow to love him as a husband. I thought we had entered this arrangement for the convenience of us both, not expecting love.

"I never meant to hurt you," I began.

But he turned and walked out the door before I could finish what I had to say.

Twenty-five.

The third time I saw Edward, it was only days after D-Day during the ongoing Allied invasion of Normandy. He had managed to get leave from his base, and at first chance, had called me to meet him. We met again outside the five-and-dime, then we went for lunch at an old saloon-turned-steak-house, where the owner walked around and talked to customers weighted down with a holster belt and a six-shooter. On the walls were hundreds of animal heads, spoils from the chase. After eating, we walked along the path that followed the Platte River. Some of the Canada geese were already returning to build their nests there, and the river ran full to its brim with early summer runoff.

Edward most enjoyed talking of his plans. "I learned more from watching my parents operate a business than from anything else," he said. He smiled in that way I now imagined whenever I closed my eyes. "But the degree I earned will help to open opportunity." He gazed up and down the river. "My resort will be the finest and most efficiently run."

"Would your parents help you get started?" I asked him.

"They would." He glanced my way. "But I won't ask them." He reached down to pull a blade of gra.s.s. "I want to take on the risk, no one else."

"You'll start small, then?"

He nodded. "We'll start with a T-bar." He looked to see if I understood. When I nodded, he continued, "They're far superior to a rope tow. Then we'll need to buy rental skis and some equipment to groom the snow, but after that, we could go ahead and open."

He held that blade of gra.s.s in his fingers like it was a stem of crystal. "As the years go by and we start to pull in a profit, we'll invest in further improvements, such as a base lodge, a hotel, a restaurant."

I pictured a modern resort for skiing high in the mountains and being there with Edward. I saw myself gliding down the slopes alongside him during the day, cuddling together in warm sweaters before a fire at night. "It sounds wonderful, Edward."

He stopped walking and turned to me. "If I make it back."

But I couldn't allow myself to think about that.

Along the riverbank, purple lupine and white candytuft grew up through the soil. "I heard something on the radio this morning," I said. "Our troops in France have started moving inland, and they've found fields spread far and wide with red poppies waiting for them."

He moved closer and touched my face. "That proves it, then. Even in these tough times, it's possible to find something good."

I closed my eyes.

"Look at us," he whispered, "I'm s.h.i.+pping out soon, but I've found someone to love."

I could look at him now. "Maybe the war will end before you have to go."

"No," he said softly. "I'll go. I'll do my part."

"Europe is lost to the n.a.z.is."

"Shhh," he said, putting a finger to my lips. "Don't even talk about that. Let's just make the most of this time we have left together."

He took me for dining and dancing at the Brown Palace, and I do believe he spent all the money he carried in his wallet. When he first took me out to the dance floor, I was so nervous with antic.i.p.ation of his arms around me that I tripped over his shoes and half stumbled into the center of the dance area. Surely I would die from embarra.s.sment. And surely he'd never been with someone as clumsy as me before. But to my surprise, I found Edward grinning at me, not in a mocking way, but in a way that was nice.

And when he slipped his arms about my waist, I found myself no longer nervous. Instead, waters of calm and confidence came coursing through me. My feet were fluid on the dance floor. Not much later, that newfound sense of pride visited me again, and I danced high in Edward's arms, a sailing s.h.i.+p rising high out of the waves. If only my sisters could see me now. And wouldn't Mother, too, have been proud? Not to speak of Aunt Eloise and Aunt Pearl. There I was, floating over the dance floor in the arms of a handsome man. Me, Livvy.

After we grew tired of dancing, he took me to a bar. We sat leaning close to each other on our barstools in a place that played jazz, where hazy cigarette smoke drifted in the air, and where laughter became contagious. Nearby, the bartender splashed honey hued liquor over ice cubes in small gla.s.ses, pouring with both hands at once to keep up with orders.

I cupped a hand to my face and said over the sound of the music and the other voices, "I've never been to one of these places before."

He c.o.c.ked his head my way. "Why is that?"

I shrugged. "My father is a minister. He doesn't believe in alcohol."

A look of reservation came over Edward's face.

"It's okay. I've always made my own decisions, and I want to try it."

He thought for a minute, then seemed to relax again. "Better start off easy, then. Try orange juice and gin. It's a fairly mild one".

Edward drank heartily and with confidence, downing two small tumblers of whiskey while I sipped on my drink. I found it not bad at all-orange juice with an aftertaste of white fire. He hummed along with the music and occasionally glanced over at me with a smile. The bartender served me just as he did everyone else, without a falter. I must have looked as if I belonged, and when I finished the first drink, Edward ordered me another.

I thought the alcohol was having no effect on me until I rose to leave. Then I found myself woozy on my feet as Edward steered me outside into the cool night air. I walked onward, but I could have sworn my legs had been sliced away at the thigh. I put one foot before the other, but it seemed to be happening by some other's will, not my own.

I would have followed him anywhere he wished to take me.

Even now, however, I don't use the alcohol as an excuse for what I later did. I went to his room willingly. My body was reacting quickly, instinctively, subliminally, before rational thought had a chance to compete in the race. I fell so deeply in love that night, and since I had so little to give, I gave it all.

He didn't seem to mind my inexperience. In a hotel room lit by a yellow light, he undressed me tenderly. The act itself began painfully, and at first I found his weight on me a bit frightening, but I loved it anyway. I took in every thrust of the way he desired me so. How hungry and desperate he seemed to be for my body, and how new and unexpected it all was-the feeling of our chests pressed together, sounds that came involuntarily from the back of his throat, the happy exhaustion that came after. Never had I felt wanted in this way, never had I felt the power a woman possesses to give a man pleasure.

Afterward, we lay together on top of the covers. Murmuring words of love, he kissed my neck and face and nose and ears, and of course my lips, too many times to recall. His touch on my skin was eloquent; he wrote words on my body never uttered before. And when he entered me again, this time his love was given slowly. After long moments with my eyes sealed shut, I opened them to look at the molding on the ceiling, breathe in the damp air of his neck, and remind myself that this was actually happening to me.

In the early hours of morning, I slipped back into my father's house, praying that he would not be up waiting for me. But instead I found that I probably could have remained out the entire night, could have spent even more time in Edward's arms. Father was sleeping soundly in his room, his snores so loud that I could hear them in the hallway as I tiptoed by.

In only a few hours, Edward would be arriving alone at the bus station to return to Camp Hale. I had wanted badly to see him off, but he had insisted that our last memories come from our night together, in the yellow-lit hotel room, that he would take that memory away with him instead of one of us having to say goodbye.

"Don't be sad. And don't worry for me," he had said as he kissed my face for the last time outside of the hotel.

"When will I see you again?"

He kissed me again. "A soldier never knows."

"But you can let me know. Keep in touch with letters."

He smiled and smoothed back my hair on either side of my face. "I'm not much of a writer, but for you, I'll make an exception."

"Oh, please do," I said and clung to his shoulders. "Write to me every day."

He kissed me for the last time, then took a step away. "For the next few weeks, we'll be in the last of our backcountry training. But as soon as I get back to base, before I s.h.i.+p out, I'll write. Okay?"

At the breakfast table the following morning, Father ripped off his gla.s.ses and stared me down over the top of his newspaper. "Olivia. What has gotten into you?" he demanded.

I shook myself. In front of me, I held a large spoonful of oatmeal. I had no idea how long the spoon had been hanging up there in the air, dripping globs of oatmeal onto a lace tablecloth that had been Mother's favorite.

I laughed at myself and set the spoon down in my bowl. "Just daydreaming, I guess."

Father grumbled as he turned back to his newspaper. "Daydreaming ? Folly for Abigail and Beatrice. But never before for you."

I laughed again. Yes, how dull my days had been before this joyous creature had come to sit beside me, to ride with me. "True enough, Father. Never before for me."

Twenty-six.

The night after Ray kissed me found me rolling and turning in bed like potatoes boiling in water, and I slept little. I tried flicking on the light and reading but couldn't keep my eyes focused on the page. I kept thinking about leaving the farm, going back and finis.h.i.+ng my graduate work, as Abby had suggested.

As a divorced woman with a baby, I wouldn't be allowed on an expedition to Egypt, but probably I could teach at any of several colleges. And maybe I could work at an excavation site nearby. I'd once visited the center of the world of the Anasazi, Chaco Canyon, and found it magnificent. Much work still needed to be done there. Or I could take the baby and work at Mesa Verde. Those Indians who lived on and around Mesa Verde had been Colorado's first farmers. And perhaps I'd feel closer to Edward there. I remembered the first time he and I had talked out on the sidewalk in front of the USO, and how he had smiled when he realized we shared an interest in the Anasazi. Edward had smiled, that crooked smile.

But now I lay still. Which side rose up higher? Already I was forgetting his face. The father of my unborn child. I'd never had a chance to take a snapshot of him, so it would be up to me to remember. I closed my eyes and tried to picture sitting across from him at the snack counter in the bright artificial light. I took myself back to those precious hours when his face lingered just above mine, kissing me. But still, hard as I tried to recall, I couldn't remember the details. The memory of his face was starting to fade away from me. Instead, I kept seeing Ray's face, demanding an answer.

Is there anything you like about me, Livvy?

I made mental lists of Ray's faults, so I wouldn't forget. He had few interests beyond this farm and no good friends beyond his family. He was inexperienced, but his lack of exposure to women didn't bother me as much as his lack of interest in the larger world. He was prejudiced or ignorant; either way, he didn't see people like Rose and Lorelei as true Americans.

The next evening, I drove over to the camp again. Rose and Lorelei had invited me to help chaperone a high school dance in the mess hall, a themed "barn dance," and to bring some bales of hay out with me to be used for decoration. I arrived in time to help move tables and chairs out of the way after dinner, then we decorated the room with the bales of hay I'd brought out, some pumpkins and gourds and Indian corn, and finally with orange, red, and yellow crepe paper and balloons.

I was surprised to find that the tension between Rose and Lorelei had returned. They had dressed for the dance-Lorelei in denims cut off just below her knees and Rose in men's overalls over a plaid s.h.i.+rt. But they seemed uncomfortable every time they moved near each other, and therefore we worked together in silence until the dance began. When the music started, we sat in chairs pushed up against the wall and tapped our toes to the beat of the four-boy band, named the Jive Bombers. The mess hall soon filled with high school boys and girls all dressed in their cotton s.h.i.+rts and rolled-up jeans, some of them wearing straw hats and freckles painted on their cheeks. The musicians were quite good. After we had listened and watched for an hour or so, Rose and Lorelei looked more relaxed. Lorelei looked over at Rose and me. "Come on," she said. "We can't just sit here listening all night. Let's try some steps."

At first Rose and I didn't move. Then Lorelei looked at me again, pleadingly. When I told her I knew how to do the jitterbug, Lorelei sprang off the chair. "Oh, please show us," she pleaded.

Rose jumped to her feet, too.

"This should be interesting." I half laughed. "I feel much too heavy for dancing."

Even Rose was begging me now. "Oh, come on. Please try"

I pushed to my feet and we danced together, the three of us. We practiced the fast steps and swings, bops and twists, taking turns in the lead. I stood back as Rose swung Lorelei behind her back, and Lorelei slid Rose in between her legs. Dust came puffing out of the wood floor beneath our feet. I found myself laughing and saw them smile and laugh, too. I hoped things would be better between the girls after this. When we finished trying some Lindy Hop steps, they were panting and brus.h.i.+ng the hair off their foreheads. And when they smiled at each other again, I laughed like no war ever existed.

It made me remember past New Year's Eve parties. Our family had listened to the countdown in Times Square on the radio, pa.s.sing the time by dancing to all the previous year's best tunes. Mother would let us girls sip apple juice out of winegla.s.ses and pretend to be grown-ups. It was the only time we were allowed to stay up until midnight. And how my mother could sing. She never played the piano or organ, musical skills almost expected of a minister's wife, but she could sing along with the music so well, it would be hard to distinguish her voice from that of the professional. Father was usually in one of his better moods for this occasion, and always he took turns with each of us girls, letting us dance on the toes of his polished shoes, moving us about in the dance steps that Mother said once he had practiced with her for hours. I remembered how Abby, Bea, and I would fight for our turns, and how sophisticated I felt swaying about in his arms.

After the dance ended, I couldn't face driving back alone to the farm, not yet. The girls and I found the Umahara quarters empty, and there we sprawled out together across one of the lower beds. I flipped through the b.u.t.terfly notebook, the same one they'd carried with them when we had taken our drives during the harvest. Rose stretched out beside me and glanced over at the b.u.t.terfly drawings before me. She pushed the curls away from her forehead. "If you could be a b.u.t.terfly, what kind would you be?"

I turned another page. "Oh, probably one with very large, false eyes."

Rose looked me over and s.h.i.+fted forward on the bed so her face was close. In a whisper, she asked, "Livvy, why would you say that?"

I still don't know why I told them. It was unplanned, escaped from me before I knew it. "The baby isn't Ray's."

Lorelei was right beside me now, too. She and Rose looked helpless, confused.

"I got in trouble. My father arranged this marriage."

Now they looked wounded.

Rose waited for a moment, then said, "You don't love him. Your husband."

I shook my head.

Lorelei barely nodded, then breathed out her words. "You married him for the honor of your family."