The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (64 page)

 

 

Barbara stood up for them. She kissed Cynthia and wished her luck.
After the ceremony they drove Barbara to New York. She had decided to
join Pat and Liz at West Palm Beach. Barbara had called her husband and
told him that she was going to get a divorce. "He said it was silly,"
Barbara told them; "that I should think it over. How do you like that?"

 

 

Driving back to Midhaven the next day, sitting close to Yale, Cynthia
worried aloud. "Barbara's all mixed up, Yale. She knows that if she
divorces Tom it won't accomplish anything. She still loves him. She'll
end up marrying someone else. Their children will be separated from their
parents and Barbara will still be carrying a torch for Tom. What do you
think she should do?"

 

 

"I wasn't asked for my advice," Yale answered. He squeezed her hand.
"But if I had been I would have told her to go back to him. It isn't as
if Tom had pushed her out. The crowd she is in are all the same. They
reach a certain age and then start to play the field. Some get mad at each
other or think they have found the perfect love with someone else. They
get divorced and the rat-race starts all over again."

 

 

Cynthia looked at him unbelievingly. "You mean that she should just
accept another woman in her husband's life? I couldn't do that!"

 

 

"You have accepted another woman in my life," Yale said calmly.

 

 

"I know, and it frightens me. Supposing Anne really does love you?
Supposing she didn't have an abortion? Supposing she had a baby and
for some reason couldn't find you? Wouldn't that be terrible? Oh, God,
Yale, I don't know . . . I don't know. Marrying like this, so quickly,
was crazy. Our marriage has so many strikes against it already. You're
going to have an awful problem with Pat. You can't help but feel funny
that I've been married . . . that I'll have a baby that's not yours that
you'll have to support me and Mat's baby."

 

 

Cynthia was crying. Yale stopped the car on the side of the road and
kissed her wet eyes. "Look, Cindar, we've been over and over this for two
weeks. First, I'm not going to work with Pat. I've told you already.
I have some other plans. When Pat gets back I'll toss the ball in his
lap. He can take it from there. If he wants us as part of his family,
it will be on our terms. It will take some reeducation for him. If he
doesn't . . . okay. I'm not bragging but there is one thing I am sure
I can do thanks to Pat's prodding . . . and that is make money. I need a
few weeks to work out some of the ideas I have. If I succeed, Pat will
be drawn in by the only thing he respects -- money." Yale smiled at the
wonder in Cynthia's eyes.

 

 

This was a Yale she had never known. She was both pleased at the new
strength she had found in him, and a little frightened. She prayed for
his sake that he wasn't just whistling in the dark.

 

 

"Just as soon as I'm sure," Yale continued, "I'll tell you the idea I
have and how we will work it out together. But not now. What I want to
have you understand, Cynthia, is that in the past few years I have grown
up. Back in the Midhaven College days I never could have accepted that
anyone else had ever touched you, let alone that you were pregnant. That
was a war ago . . . plus the loss of you. Now, I know that a deep love
between a man and a woman doesn't start in the genital organs. It starts
and grows in a man's and a woman's brain -- in their sincere desire to
overcome the demands of self . . . to break those barriers so that while
there are two bodies, there is only one self. This is marriage. The baby
in your womb is as much of a stranger to you as it is to me. That the
baby is the result of Mat's seed and yours, and not mine and yours, is
not important. You are the one, just as I am the one who could make this
baby a genital thing -- devoid of anything else, and we're not going to
do it because neither of us believes that the flesh between your legs or
Mat's penis, or mine, is the vital factor in love. I'll love this baby,
Cindar. Stop worrying so darned much! I don't think you are sullied
because you have had intercourse with another man, nor would I if it
happened, now
after
we are married. I don't want to own your body.
I want to share life so deeply with you that if for some reason you did
have intercourse with someone else, you'd still come back to me."

 

 

Cynthia kissed him, unable to repress her tears. Yale, she thought, you
are so wonderfully, beautifully idealistic. I'll love you forever. "Come
on, let's hurry," she said, "I love you so much, my brain and my breasts
and the flesh between my legs . . . altogether want you."

 

 

A few days before they were married Yale had gone with Cynthia to see
Ralph Weeks. He had remembered Weeks' remark that he wanted to sell
his house. Yale told Cynthia that it was just an idea -- the house was
probably such a wreck that it wasn't worth considering. Weeks had greeted
them at the door. They followed him through the empty rooms. With the
exception of the kitchen where Weeks slept on an old brass bed before
a tremendous fireplace, the house was empty.

 

 

"After Martha died the antique dealers descended on me," Weeks said
genially. "You see, Martha inherited this place and every stick of
furniture that went with it."

 

 

"There must have been some very valuable antiques," Cynthia said.
"I wish we had seen them."

 

 

Weeks smiled, "Oh, I'm no fool, young lady. Martha wised me up. After
she died I moved everything she told me was real good into the barn.
I sold the rest to one buyer for three thousand dollars. The stuff out in
the barn is kind of a legacy. None of the collectors has seen it yet,
but unless Martha was wrong it has enough value to keep me going for a
few years."

 

 

As they examined the empty rooms both Cynthia and Yale were amazed at
the construction of the house. All of the rooms had wide panelled floors
built with dowels. Each of the six upstairs rooms had its own fireplace.

 

 

"No central heating," Weeks explained. "Had to use the fireplaces to
keep warm. There's plenty of wood. More than twenty acres uncut."

 

 

"There are no bathrooms either," Cynthia said, looking sadly at Yale.

 

 

"Hell's bells, young lady, all the country folk ever used was a chamberpot.
Keep it near the bed. Darned handy on a cold night. There's a two-holer
out in back. Many a night I sat there with Martha when she was alive."

 

 

They followed Weeks back into the kitchen, smiling furtively at each
other. A fire built of huge six-foot logs crackled quietly in the
fireplace. Weeks proudly showed them his still. "Got a batch fermenting
now. Try this." He poured them drinks in pewter mugs. "This last run is
damned good. Too bad I can't sell it. Be a rich man in no time. Course,
I keep a few friends around here supplied."

 

 

Sitting opposite each other, leaning on their elbows on a heavy pine table,
Yale and Cynthia sipped their drinks. They grinned shyly at each other.
Both of them wondered what the other thought of the house.

 

 

"It would be kind of fun," Cynthia said tentatively. "I'm a country
girl. But this is an awfully big house."

 

 

"You'll have it filled with kids in no time," Weeks said, grinning at
Cynthia. Cynthia blushed.

 

 

"I think the place has possibilities," Yale said carefully. "But it would
take a lot of money to put it in shape. If you lived out here you'd need
a handy man."

 

 

"I'm pretty handy," Weeks said. He poured himself another drink. "I'm a
pretty fair carpenter. Tell you what. If you want to buy this place you
can have me along with it. Real reasonable. After all I've got nowhere to
go." He saw Yale look at Cynthia questioningly. "I could live out in the
barn. Couple of good harness rooms out there. Won't be no trouble at all."

 

 

"How much do you want for the place," Yale asked, thinking that it was
probably crazy to make a deal after one drink of Weeks' corn liquor.

 

 

"Look, I know you're Pat Marratt's son," Weeks said. He stared at Yale.
"But I know your old man would tell you this place was a dump. He offered
me four thousand for it. Hell, the land is worth that. I wouldn't sell it
to him, but I kind of like you and your young lady. You seem different
from your old man somehow. If you want it you can have it for four
thousand. If you'll let me live in the barn, and give me a couple of
meals a day, I'll work for you for nothing." Weeks sighed. "You see,
I'm kind of lonely. Be nice to have some people around. I'll keep you
in corn liquor, too!"

 

 

Yale and Cynthia had exploded with laughter. "I like this house,"
Cynthia said. "I'll bet it has ghosts. I like the idea of living in a
house where men and women have had babies, and families have grown and
died. A new house has no roots. Yale, can we afford to buy it? I'll work
hard to make it nice."

 

 

As they drove through Midhaven to spend their first night in their old
house, Cynthia smiled happily. "This is a nice honeymoon. Yale, I mean
it. It will be a challenge making the Langley house into our home. I'm
so happy you decided to buy it."

 

 

"I'm glad you like challenges," Yale said, "because it isn't going to be
easy. Right at the moment I have about two hundred dollars. I'm going to
have to figure out how we are going to pay Weeks." Cynthia told him she
had enough money from Mat's insurance. Yale refused to touch it. "That's
your security," he said. "In case I go broke."

 

 

He wondered what Cynthia's reaction would be to the plans that were
formulating in his mind. If he told her that he was going to try to
accumulate several million dollars very rapidly . . . if he told her the
purpose he had in mind for the money . . . she might have felt that he
was quixotically tilting at windmills.

 

 

Agreeing to buy the Langley house was the first step. For Cynthia it was
a home; for him, now that he had Cynthia, it was to be a headquarters;
a command post in a private war he planned to wage against bigotry and
oppression. Cynthia should understand, he thought. She had lived with
Mat. Mat and he were cut from the same mold. Cynthia had been persecuted
because of her love for him. But Yale sensed that Cynthia would prefer
a withdrawal into the womb of her married life rather than fight for
ideals. Strangely enough, Anne would have understood the necessity
driving him. In a way the two women he had loved reflected the twin
parts of his personality. Anne the visionary, the dreamer. Cynthia,
the practical one with her feet firmly planted in reality.

 

 

He turned into the road that led to the Langley house. "We're here, Cindar.
Here's our challenge. I hope we can rise to it."

 

 

"Challenge Farm." Cynthia chuckled, "Shall we name it that?"

 

 

"Wonderful," Yale said. You have named it better than you know, Cindar,
he thought.

 

 

Ralph Weeks was waiting at the door. He watched Yale carry Cynthia over
the threshold, and smiled as Cynthia held Yale in a long kiss. "I've got
a beef stew on the stove. The piano came and the refrigerator. They had
the darndest time getting the piano through the door. That's the biggest
piano I've ever seen."

 

 

"Piano?" Cynthia asked excitedly, her mouth half open in surprise.
"Piano?"

 

 

"It's a wedding present." Yale grinned. They followed Weeks into the
living room. There was nothing else in the room except a grand piano.
"I guess this room is as good as any. I can't get used to this house
with all the old-fashioned parlors and sitting rooms. We'll make this
room a music room. What do you think?"

 

 

"Yale Marratt," Cynthia wailed. "A piano! Are you crazy when we haven't
even got a bed or a stick of furniture and we are broke?"

 

 

Yale was bubbling with happiness. "But we've got a piano -- so what the
hell! I have a rule for living. If all you can afford is the choice
between a luxury and a necessity then buy the luxury. We can always
sleep on the floor but now we'll have music to delight our souls."

 

 

"My God," Cynthia said. "You are crazy!"

 

 

Yale banged out a two-fingered version of the wedding march. "You bet
I am. Crazy like a fox. This is your wedding present, but I'm going to
get the enjoyment every time you play for me."

 

 

"Don't worry," Weeks said to Cynthia. "You've got a bed with a feather
mattress and a canopy. It's Martha's and my wedding present to you.
I dug it out of the stuff in the barn. The sheets and quilt are new.
I bought them Saturday. It's upstairs." Cynthia started up the stairs.

 

 

"Wait a while," Weeks said. "You can see it later. There's a fire going in
the kitchen. Come on, let's eat and then you can go to bed. When Martha
and I got married we spent the first week in bed." He bellowed with
laughter and put his arm around Cynthia. "Martha had two of our kids on
that feather mattress. I helped deliver them. Both kids as healthy as
you could wish. That mattress will be good luck for you."

 

 

As they ate the stew Weeks had prepared, washing it down with corn
liquor, Cynthia said, "I like my wedding present very much, Yale.
But it is impractical."

 

 

"May we never experience another practical day as long as we live,"
Yale said. Feeling the liquor, he grinned widely at Cynthia and Ralph.

 

 

"That's my sentiments, boy," Weeks said, his face flushed. "But you'll
never accomplish them with a woman. Women are made to keep men like
you and me with their nose to the grindstone. There ain't no solution,
you've got to have 'em."