Sweet Everlasting (46 page)

She leaned her head back again. Through half-closed lids, she watched the afternoon sun glimmer behind the hemlock branches between her and her beautiful house, a hundred yards away in the mellow distance. She lived in a stone house in Rock Creek Park. It had four chimneys, a slate roof, a porch that looked right out over the creek, and best of all, a new addition on the southwest corner that she couldn’t even see from here because it was hidden by a curtain of laurel, willow, and holly trees.

The addition was a bedroom, a late wedding gift from Ty to Carrie. They’d occupied it for only a month because it had taken the workmen all summer to build it. Carrie hadn’t been allowed to go near it during June, July, and August, and toward the end the workmen had even put up a big yellow tarpaulin on the north side so she couldn’t see it from the summerhouse. Now it was her favorite room in a house full of beautiful rooms, and not just because it was Ty’s present to her or because he’d designed it himself. It was her favorite room because it was magic.

She lifted her head to see Louie loping up the leafy path and over the step into the summerhouse, tongue lolling and tail spinning, thrilled to see her. “Who let you out?” she wondered, putting a hand down to rub his nose. Rachel eyed him with interest but kept nursing. Louie was a sober, responsible one-year-old dog now; he’d all but stopped chasing birds, although chipmunks and squirrels still defeated him. Fortunately, he never caught anything. He was a good dog, and Carrie never doubted he was going to get even better. Ty said there must be retriever in him, and probably spaniel too because of the way he liked to lie with his chin on your foot, trapping you in your chair, out of charity, for an average of ten minutes a day longer than you’d otherwise sit in it. Ty said—

“I knew I’d find you two out here.”

Carrie started grinning before she looked up and saw him. “You’re early!” she called softly, so she wouldn’t disturb Rachel. He came up the step with that long, athletic stride of his that made it hard to remember a time when he’d ever limped or looked gaunt or been sickly. He had on his brown tweed suit with a light blue shirt, and he’d loosened his tie and taken off his stiff white collar. Even when he had his reading glasses on, he didn’t look much like Carrie’s idea of an assistant professor of bacteriology and clinical microscopy. He was just too handsome and dashing and … well, beautiful. She didn’t know any other word for it. She only knew one person who was more beautiful than he was, and that was his daughter.

“How are my two ladies today?” he asked, settling himself on the bench beside them. He gave Rachel’s forehead a soft kiss, which pleased but didn’t distract her from her purpose, and then he kissed Carrie on the mouth. Sometimes their welcome-home kisses were short, busy little pecks, and sometimes they weren’t. This one wasn’t. The sensation of Rachel’s lips pulling on Carrie’s breast became pleasurable in a slightly different way. Still kissing her, Ty slipped his hand inside her clothes and fondled her other breast until the nipple stiffened. She closed her eyes and sighed against his mouth, thinking this much contentment inside one woman must surely be a terrible, terrible sin.

“You’re home early,” she finally got up enough energy to say.

“Mmm.”

She remembered he’d had to give a speech today to the Medical Society of the District of Columbia. “How did your talk go?”

He put his arm on the bench behind her, resting his hand on her far shoulder. “Very well. Nobody threw any fruit at me.”

“Were you brilliant?”

“Naturally. They wanted to argue, they were
itching
to show me up, but they couldn’t get past that one little hurdle.”

“What hurdle?”

“That since the army began fumigating for mosquitoes in Havana in the spring, the city’s been free of yellow fever for the first time in a hundred and fifty years.
That
little hurdle. Dr. James Addison finally stood up and said the Reed commission’s findings were more important than anything since the discovery of anesthesia.”

She put her hand on his hard thigh and squeezed. The satisfaction and rightful pride in his voice filled her with pride, too. He never took credit, always claimed he hadn’t done anything but follow orders and try to be a careful scientific observer. But Carrie knew better, and nothing would ever shake her certain knowledge that her husband was a genius.

“Mail came,” he mentioned. He drew some letters out of his breast pocket, thumbed through them, and put one back.

“What’s that?” she asked, curious about the one he’d stuck back in his pocket.

“That’s for later,” he said mysteriously. “Look, here’s one from Stoneman.”

“Oh, what does it say?” She wrote to Dr. Stoneman about twice a month, but letters in return were much rarer.

Ty opened the envelope and scanned the letter inside. He chuckled.

“What?” Carrie wondered.

“Oh, it’s just the usual curmudgeonly carping. Poor Dr. Perry is ‘an egomaniac with a roomful of shiny, utterly useless equipment that would put Dr. Frankenstein to shame.’ I guess that means he doesn’t use leeches.”

Carrie giggled.

“Uh oh.”

“What?”

“He’s writing a book.”

“A book!”

“Forty Years of Country Doctoring,
he’s calling it. ‘Tell Carrie to enjoy her moment of glory while she can because it’s almost over. Wayne’s Crossing is about to boast
two
famous native authors.’ He’s got ‘two’ underlined about four times.”

“ ‘Famous,’ ” she snorted, giving Rachel a kiss to keep her awake and sucking. Carrie’s bird book had been wonderfully well received by the handful of people who’d bought it, but it had definitely not set the world on fire.

“Well, well,” said Ty, reading again. “Guess who’s getting married.”

“Who?”

“Eugene Starkey.”

She looked up at that.

“To Teenie Yingling. Stoneman says they deserve each other.”

“Teenie’s nice,” Carrie protested automatically. Ty never had a kind word to say about Eugene, and she’d finally stopped trying to defend him. He’d loved her as much as he could, and she truly believed he’d have tried his best to make a good life for her and the baby. What he’d done at their wedding had shamed him very badly, she knew. He didn’t deserve to be miserable forever, no matter what Ty said, and if he was marrying Teenie, it must mean he was feeling better about things. How could she be anything but glad?

“You’re happy for him, aren’t you? Admit it.”

His accusing look made her smile. “I can’t help it,” she shrugged.

He shook his head and made a pretend-exasperated noise, then went back to the letter. “Stoneman went to see Broom at Brockhurst on Sunday.”

“How was he?”

“ ‘I could almost envy the little bugger,’ ” he read. “ ‘He talks about missing Carrie, but except for that he seems genuinely, obliviously happy. He looks good; he’s put on weight from the starchy institution diet, and the nurses are fond of him and keep him clean and combed. Personally, I think he could live out his life there in perfect contentment.’ ”

“I wonder if he will,” Carrie mused, a little sadly. “Live out his life there, I mean.” She watched Ty fold Dr. Stoneman’s letter and put it away. “I told Broom I’d bring Rachel the next time I came to see him. I think she’s old enough now, don’t you, Ty? I’ll go soon. Maybe tomorrow.” He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on the temple. She smiled and asked, “What’s the other letter?”

“It’s from my mother.” He opened it while Carrie shifted Rachel to her shoulder and gently patted her between her shoulder blades. Ty passed her his handkerchief absently while he read. “Good Lord, she’s coming again.”

“Is she really? So soon?”

“Do you mind, Carrie? She can’t seem to stay away. I’ll ask her to put it off, if you like.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind at all, not at all.” It was the truth. “I know it’s Rachel she’s in love with,” she added slowly, “but do you know, Ty, I think she’s starting to like me, too?”

“Well, finally. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you for about eight months? You know, for a bright girl, my love, you’re kind of slow.”

“Well, but you must admit, it’s a bit of a miracle.”

“Nothing of the sort,” he scoffed. “My mother’s not stupid. Why wouldn’t she love you? You’re supremely, egregiously lovable.”

She never got anywhere with him when they had this discussion, partly because it was more fun to let him win. But she knew a miracle when she saw one, and Mrs. Wilkes’s acceptance of her, once she’d gotten over the shock, was and always would be one of the main wonders of Carrie’s existence.

“Abbey’s coming with her,” Ty mentioned, his nose in the letter again.

“Oh, good.” Abbey was the first woman friend her own age she’d ever had, and the quick closeness they’d formed, founded on their mutual love of Ty, qualified as one more miracle in Carrie’s opinion. “Maybe she’d like to go with me to that Rock Creek Garden Club meeting.”

“What’s this? You’re not afraid to go by yourself, are you?” He raised his eyebrows at her humorously. Seeing her expression, he leaned in for a closer look. “Are you?” he guessed, turning serious. “But you already know a thousand times more than any of those ladies do, Carrie, about everything.”

“Not everything. Just some things.”

“Just the things their club is supposed to be about,” he pointed out.

“But that’s
not
what their club is about, Ty. It’s about being ladylike and sociable, knowing how to dress and what to say. And being smart.”

He gathered her up, Rachel between them, and heaved a great sigh. He was going to give her one of his bracing speeches, she could feel it coming. She liked his arms around her so she didn’t pull away, but she forestalled the speech by saying, “I’ve already decided to go to the meeting, whether Abbey comes with me or not. I’m going to wear something modest and becoming—maybe that plum-colored suit with the Eton jacket if it’s not too warm a day,” she digressed thoughtfully—”and I’ll behave like a quiet young matron.”

“A quiet young matron, eh?”

She could tell from the movement of his cheek against hers that he was smiling. “Yes. Quiet so they won’t know how ignorant I am.”

“Carrie—”

“At first. I’ll go a few times, and I’ll pay attention and study everything and figure out what’s what. After a while people will quit paying me any mind, they’ll get so used to seeing me, and then I’ll make my move.” She settled the baby on her lap and smiled down at her, although Rachel was getting so sleepy she could barely focus her eyes.

“Your move?”

“I’ll talk to somebody.”

“Aha.”

“I’ll have her all picked out beforehand. She’ll be the nicest one there, the most approachable.”

“Good idea.” He stopped stroking Rachel’s cheek to pull Carrie’s hair back behind her ear and kiss her.

“I’ll just say something casual at first, to see how she takes it. If she wants to be friends, I’ll know right away. Maybe she’ll have children, and we can talk about babies and things. And maybe she’ll have a friend, and I’ll like her, too—or there might be
two
women in the garden club I can start talking to. Pretty soon …” She forgot the rest because Ty’s open mouth on her throat was so hot, and he’d put his hand inside her dress again to caress her milky breasts.

“Pretty soon the house will be crawling with your sociable lady friends, and you’ll have no time for me. Let’s go inside and take a little nap before dinner, Carrie.”

“All right,” she agreed breathlessly. She loved their little naps before dinner—or lunch, or anything else they could think of to say to Mrs. Jordan, the housekeeper, to excuse their frequent withdrawals to the bedroom. “Kiss me first, though.” He did, until her legs started to quiver from the delicious tension and she was afraid her shaky knees would wake up Rachel.

“I’ll take her.” Gentle-handed, Ty picked up the baby and rocked her while Carrie got her dress rebuttoned. Holding hands, they started walking toward the house—slowly, to prolong the anticipation; and also to throw Mrs. Jordan, if she happened to be watching, off the scent.

Rachel’s nursery was across the hall from their bedroom. Ty tucked her into her crib and then they stood over it to look at her for a while, marveling, whispering to each other about how pretty she was, how lucky they were. At length they gave her last kisses and tiptoed into their own room.

It was a magic room, and the most magic time of the day for it was now, when the setting sun twinkled and glimmered behind the trees that were clearly visible through the glass wall and the skylight in the ceiling. A glass wall! Carrie had had a month to get used to it, but every time she came into her new room, she had to stop, stare, and shake her head in disbelief. They could cover the glass wall just by drawing the heavy drapes, and maybe they would if it got too bright for sleeping once the trees were bare and the sun dropped lower in the winter sky. But for the rest of the year they would keep it open, they’d decided, even at night with the lights on, for the ground sloped away so steeply on the southwest corner that nobody could see in unless they stood on a ladder.

Was there ever such a room? “I didn’t want you to be homesick,” Ty had said on the day he’d finally unveiled the surprise. “I thought it might remind you of your mountain, Carrie.” And when they lay in bed together, looking up through their skylight at sunshine or moonshine or misty rain falling on the waving branches of spruce and oak and maple trees, she did think of her mountain. But never, not once since he’d taken her away from High Dreamer and made her his wife, had Carrie been homesick. She had a new home and it was here. With Ty.

She hurried out of her clothes, leaving on only chemise and pantaloons and the ribbon in her hair—Ty liked her to keep something on for him to take off—and got under the quilt on top of their big bed. Their “sinfully” big bed, she’d called it on first sight; it took up half the room and could’ve slept about four grown-up people side by side. She’d gotten used to it pretty quickly, though, and she couldn’t deny that at one time or another she and Ty had used every inch of it.

“Mmm, I really could go to sleep,” she purred, burrowing deeper into the fresh muslin sheets, stretching her arms and legs into the four corners of the bed. She opened one eye to see how Ty had taken that. He was down to his pants, and the hot, I-dare-you look he sent her while he slowly unbuttoned them wiped away her teasing grin and every thought of sleeping.