Property (Vintage Contemporaries) Read Online Free PDF

rifles and machetes and intent on joining a band who lived in the swamp downriver. I had not had time to respond to this jittery letter.
    My husband wanted to talk about cane, and so he did, all through the meal. He went on about the press and the bagasse and the market and the weather until I thought I would faint from boredom. All Joel knows about sugar is what his overseer tells him. He and I drank most of the wine while my husband entertained us with estimates of how much time and money he could save if he had the newest mill, which is more efficient than any previously invented and more expensive than any planter can afford. Sarah came in and out, bringing new dishes, removing plates. My husband neither spoke to her nor looked at her, nor did Joel, who was occupied in sending me sly remarks about a new mill that ran on bourbon, or another that actually ran on sugar, an invention long overdue. He is so droll, and since he kept filling my glass, I was soon feeling relaxed and gay, as I always was in the old days. My husband didn’t appear to object; it is such a rarity for him to see me smile. When the bottle was empty, he excused himself to go off for another. Joel took my hand in his and said, “Manon, why don’t you come to town for a visit? It’s so dull without you there.”
    “You have no idea what dullness is,” I said. “You’ve no experience of it.” At these words my husband returned, carrying two bottles, his timing so appropriate that I was overcome with laughter. Joel laughed too, at his host’s expense. My husband regarded us hopefully. “I’ve an excellent port,” he said.
    “I shall fall off my horse before I get to False River,” Joel exclaimed.
    Then my husband pressed him to stay the night, but there was never any hope of that. I could see the wasted afternoon through Joel’s eyes, napping or reading or looking at dogs when he could be arriving in town in time for an elegant supper, followed by gambling and flirting. What would it be like to be married to such a man, I thought, to enter on his arm a room full of envious girls? A familiar gloom descended upon me. With Joel, I would have had children.
    Sarah came in with the blancmange, which Joel, smiling at me, pronounced his favorite. He ate an entire one once at my mother’s house, so it is a joke between us. Sarah set the dish down before me and my husband directed her to bring the port glasses. As she passed behind him on her way to the sideboard, she cast him a furtive look; she wasn’t happy about something. Then we heard a clattering in the hall, the door flew open, and Walter rushed in.
    He was barefoot, wearing only white pantaloons and a red kerchief around his neck. He dashed around the table, his spindly arms raised over his head, his eyes rolling wildly, singing something he apparently thought was a song, though it had neither tune nor sense. He stopped at my husband’s chair only long enough to shriek and push himself off against the table, then he careened past me and threw himself at Joel, grasping him by the waist and burying his curly head in his waistcoat.
    A good many things happened at once. My husband rose from his seat, shouting at Sarah to take the boy from the room. Walter lifted his face and began gibbering at Joel, who turned to me with an expression of astonishment and asked, “What have we here?” Then, as Sarah pulled the boy away by the arm, I saw Joel take in the mad creature’s marked resemblance to my husband. I believe his mouth dropped open. My husband understood that Joel understood, which infuriated him. He pushed back his chair and followed Sarah and the screaming child, directing slaps at one and then the other. The boy took the blow on the back of his head and howled, so enraged that he lost his footing. Sarah scooped him up by the waist and took him, kicking and screaming, from the room. My husband slammed the door behind them and came back to the table.
    I could feel Joel’s eyes upon me