Bedelia (13 page)

She examined her fingernails.

“Why did you run off? Is there anything here that you're afraid of?”

“I was afraid that you didn't love me anymore.”

The simplicity of her statement astonished Charlie. He could think of nothing to say.

“You were unkind the other night. I thought you were tired of me and wanted me to go.”

“Bedelia, look at me.”

Her eyes met his.

“You tried to run off in the midst of a blizzard, you risked your life to get away from this house. Surely it couldn't have been because I refused to listen to your irresponsible talk of running off to Europe. There must have been more to it than that.”

“I love you so much, Charlie, and I'm always afraid I'm not good enough for you.”

“Biddy, my dear, please be sensible.”

“You're so much more intelligent that I am. Whenever I see you with Ellen, I realize how much better an intellectual woman would have suited you.”

“If Ellen had suited me better, I'd have married her. You ought to understand that. Now tell me honestly, why did you run off?”

“You were horrid to me. You hurt my feelings.”

“I?”

“You made me feel like a silly goose.” Tears gathered and she groped among the pillows for her handkerchief. Finally she had to ask Charlie to get one out of the top drawer.

He felt sorry for her. This was not reasonable, but he could not help himself. “I don't remember being cruel, and if I happened to say something out of the way, I'm sincerely sorry. But was that your only reason? Did you actually rush off like that because you thought I'd quit caring for you?”

She bowed her head.

Charlie prepared gloomily to speak his mind. Bedelia wiped her eyes and reached for the hand mirror. When she caught Charlie staring, she smiled ruefully.

He began clearing his throat. Then, “I also have something to confess. When I unpacked your bag, I discovered something.”

“You mustn't blame yourself for that, dear. Anyone would have done the same thing. I think it was sweet of you to unpack for me.”

“I discovered something!” He came closer to the bed and squinted down at her, expecting guilt or fear to be written on her face. She was not discomposed. He went on, “I discovered, first of all, that your flight was not unpremeditated. There were a number of travel booklets in your bag. You knew when certain ships were sailing. It's clear you've been thinking of this for some time.”

“Yes, I have,” she said amiably.

“You don't say!”

“Listen to me, Charlie. It's not easy to say what I'm going to say now. When I married you, I was very fond of you. I thought you were the sort of man who could make a woman happy, and I needed a man like that. I pretended to be more in love than I really was.” A penitent sigh escaped. “I can tell you this now because I am in love with you now, Charlie, desperately. It took me a while to understand how wonderful you are. And when I discovered that I was passionately in love with you, I began to be afraid. I felt that I wasn't half good enough nor clever
enough to be your wife, and I voiced that if you should ever get tired of me, if I ever discovered that you were unhappy or sorry you had married me, I'd run off.” She spoke readily, the words tumbled out, and she was soon out of breath.

“Why, Biddy,” Charlie said, shaken by her intensity.

“I'd die before I hurt you, Charlie.”

Charlie sat down at the foot of the bed. He was moved by his wife's outburst, but also bewildered. If love had sent her rushing out into the snowstorm to desert him because she had felt herself unworthy, why had she asked him, several hours earlier, to flee with her? He was tempted to ask that question, but unwilling to hurt her by showing that he lacked faith in her excuse.

“I know what you're thinking,” Bedelia said. “You're wondering where I'd get the money for a trip like that. I've got something to confess, dear.”

Now that he was close to the truth, Charlie was not sure whether he wanted to hear it. His forefinger traced the curves of a green calico snake quilted into the white muslin of the comforter. Better to live happily, he told himself, than to suffer painful knowledge. The trunks of the quilted apple tees were russet-colored, the foliage green with small white dots. In every fourth patch was stitched a round apple of scarlet cotton.

“I got a little money in November, money of my own.”

“How?”

“A legacy. Raoul's grandmother died. She left it to him and it became mine legally. His people didn't want me to have it, they were always against me, but they were afraid I'd make a scandal and show how mean and greedy they were, so they had to give it to me.”

“Why didn't you tell me?

She sighed. “Darling, darling Charlie, I hate to reproach you, but”—she uttered a slight, deprecating chuckle—“you are a bit jealous, you know, even of poor dead Raoul. So I decided to keep this fund secret and have a little money of my own to buy
Christmas presents with. So I could be as extravagant as I liked, and not feel that I was wasting your money.”

“Then you lied about saving the money out of your household allowance?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I'd rather you told me the truth.”

“Forgive me, Charlie, please say you'll forgive me.” She extended her hands. Charlie did not take them and they lay cup-like on the quilt. “I'll die if you don't forgive me.”

“That's extravagant talk.”

“Don't be so horrid to me, Charlie. I love you. I live only for you.”

Her fervor embarrassed him. He rose and walked away from the bed, and looked at his mother's portrait above the mantel. Harriet Philbrick had never colored her lips and cheeks with rouge. Only righteousness had adorned her countenance. She sat upright in the carved Victorian chair and faced the world with full assurance of her superiority. Emboldened by the look in his mother's eyes, Charlie whirled around and said in the voice she had used when she wished to show displeasure, “Why did you lie to me about the ring?”

“What ring, dear?”

“Please don't lie, Bedelia. I know you didn't give away the black pearl. I saw it in your bag.”

“Oh, that. Yes, of course, you found it in my bag. Since I thought I was leaving you, it didn't matter whether I wore it or not. You see, dear, you haven't improved my taste at all. I'm still fond of that imitation pearl.”

“But you said you'd given it away.”

“No, I didn't. I never gave that ring away.”

“You told me you had.”

“What a funny idea!”

“Look here”—Charlie almost shouted it—“you told me that on Christmas. I wanted to give Abbie the ring and you said you'd given it away.”

She shook her head.

“I distinctly remember,” Charlie said. “On two occasions you said it. The night we dined at Ben's.”

“No!” she interrupted. “No, I didn't say it at all. You said it. I remember now that you told Ben and Abbie I'd given the ring away. I didn't say anything then because I didn't want to contradict you in public, particularly after Abbie made that flattering remark about me and what an unusual wife I was. I wondered where you'd got the idea, and I meant to ask you about it when were alone, but you had your attack that night, and I was so frightened I completely forgot.”

“Do you mean to stand there and say you didn't tell me on Christmas that you'd given the ring away?”

“I'm not standing here,” Bedelia said, “I'm lying here in bed, sick as a dog, and it's very cruel of you to stand there and say I told you anything like that.”

“I could have sworn it,” Charlie said.

“You probably imagined it. You've got an awfully vivid imagination, Charlie.”

He could think of nothing to say. She might be right. He had been certain that Bedelia told him she had given the ring away. Was it only imagination? Was his memory unreliable, his truth illusion, his reality mere fantasy?

One question honestly answered might have cleared away all the confusion. But Charlie was loath to ask his wife about her relations with Ben Chaney. How much happier he would be if he attributed all suspicion to the workings of an overwrought mind. The truth was that Charlie did not want to know the truth, and willingly allowed himself to be confused by Bedelia's air of innocence and melted by her charms.

THAT NIGHT CHARLIE was awakened by the touch of icy fingers on his face. He had gone to bed in his old room, the one he had used when he was a boy and his parents were alive. While Charlie was ill, Bedelia had occupied this room. She had left her handkerchief on a table beside the bed, and as he drifted off to sleep, Charlie had been aware of the fragrance.

He smelled it again, but the odor was stronger and closer to him. Believing this and the icy finger to be part of a dream, he kept his eyes closed and turned toward the wall. The fragrance lightened, but the fingers seemed to be pulling at his flesh and through the walls of his drowsiness he heard his name spoken.

Bedelia bent over the bed. In one hand she held the candle which Charlie had left burning at her bedside. It had been a tall candle when he left it there at eight o'clock, but now it was burned to a half-inch stub. The white Angora shawl was slipping from Bedelia's shoulders, and her hair hung in dark tangles over it. Her eyes burned with an uneasy fire that seemed to be constantly heightening and dying. Her cheeks were scarlet.

Curiously there darted into Charlie's mind the echo of Doctor Meyers's voice and the old man's warning. He shook off this terror, remembering the doctor's apology, and so awakened himself that he sat up straight, and said in a firm voice, “What's the matter? Are you in pain? What is it?”

Bedelia could not speak. She looked less feverish than frantic; wild, like a frightened animal. Her throat had swelled and in it a pulse beat. She managed finally to whisper, “There's someone downstairs.”

“That's impossible,” Charlie said.

“I heard him, someone moving.”

Charlie leaned over and pulled the shawl up on her shoulders. “You oughtn't to be wandering around in the cold, dear. Go back to bed. We're completely cut off from everything. No one could possibly reach us.”

Unheeding, deaf to his words, she whimpered, “I'm frightened. Someone is here.” She leaned toward the door, listening.

Charlie heard the river spilling over the rocks, the usual creaks and groans of the old house. He put on the new green robe that his wife had given him, tied the belt tight around his waist, took the candle from her hands and lit his own candle. Bedelia crouched beside the bed, watching him.

As he started out, she cried, “Wait! Don't go!”

“Don't be foolish. I'm sure there's no one there. I'm just
going down to make sure so that you won't worry. Go back to bed and put on plenty of covers. I'll heat some water for the bag.”

“I love you so much, Charlie, I'll die if anything happens to you.”

He led her back to the front room, tucked the covers around her. She watched anxiously as he left, the candlestick in his hand.

Why, if there was no possibility of an intruder's entering the house, if they were so completely isolated that no one could reach them, why did his heart pound as if he, too, had heard Bedelia's enemy and feared meeting him in the dark? He walked cautiously, on tiptoe, holding the candle in his left hand so that he had his right free and ready. In the dancing shadows cast by the candle, he saw movement in the shadows, and every corner was occupied by a waiting foe. As he opened doors and entered dark rooms, his flesh crept.

He searched the house through, looked into closets, behind sofas and chests. No one was there. Their isolation was as complete as it had ever been, the night as quiet, the snow unscarred. Outside nothing moved except the river, winding like a black snake between snow-covered rocks. But the terror would not leave him. As he moved about the kitchen defiantly, heating a kettle of water, he found himself straining for unfamiliar noises.

Bedelia said, “I'm sorry that I disturbed you. Will you forgive me, dear?”

He filled the rubber bag, covered it with a towel and laid it under her cold feet. “Why are you so nervous? Perhaps you'd better talk to the doctor about those nightmares. They can't be normal.”

She kissed him and said that she was too tired to talk about it now. Would he please forgive her and let her sleep?

In the morning she was feeling much better. The nervousness had died with the fever and she was in a most winsome mood. “You've forgiven me for disturbing you last night, haven't you?” she pleaded.

Charlie stood at the window, his back toward the bed. Frost had crusted the snow so that it shone like frosting on a wedding cake. No human, no animal, no vehicle had scarred the surface.

“I can't understand how you happened to think that someone was in the house last night. You knew we were completely cut off.”