Property (Vintage Contemporaries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

and my cheeks burned with shame. I heard my father’s voice, reminding me that a gentleman never raises his voice to a servant in public. What would he have thought of a man who strikes a child at a dinner party? My husband sat down in a huff and busied himself pouring out the port. An awful silence enveloped the table, and I could think of no way to break it. At last Joel said, “Are you going to serve me that dessert, Manon, or is it just there to tempt my appetite?”
    “Of course,” I said, taking up the spoon. “Just pass me your plate.” Then my husband asked Joel about the shooting at his place, a question which genuinely interested our guest, as he thinks the only pleasure in country living is the hunting, so they began to talk, and we went on as if nothing had happened, as if Joel wasn’t going back to town with a story that would amuse his bachelor friends: Manon Gaudet has no children, but her husband is not childless. It was a common enough tale; no one would think it a paradox. My only comfort was that I knew Joel would say nothing to my mother.

    AFTER JOEL LEFT, my husband went to see Mr. Sutter and I went to my room. I was still flushed and tipsy from the wine, but my good humor had been thoroughly destroyed. As we stood on the porch bidding our guest farewell, my husband had insisted on passing his arm around my waist, and there was nothing I could do but bear it until Joel was out of sight. There we were, a loving couple, waving and smiling as our guest turned his horse toward the town, no doubt eager to be done with us and our sham of a marriage. When he was out of earshot, I removed my husband’s hand and said, “Won’t Joel have some amusing stories to tell when he gets to town?”
    “What are you talking about?” he said.
    “He can tell all my friends I live with a man whose bastard son runs wild in the dining room and who strikes his servants in public. That should paint an edifying picture of the choice I’ve made.”
    He made no answer, but strode off toward the quarter.
    In my room, I threw myself across my bed and wept. I cried until I fell asleep. When I woke, Sarah was there nursing her baby, her eyes closed, a dreamy expression on her face.
    “Did you send Walter in to get even with me or with him?” I asked.
    Her eyes snapped open. I turned my face away.
    “He just snuck in,” she said.

    I STAYED IN my room all evening. Sarah brought my supper on a tray, but I could scarcely eat it. Just after dark it began to rain and a wind picked up, rattling the shutters against the house. I changed into my nightclothes. After Sarah had brushed my hair, I sent her and the baby away for the night. Then I lay upon the bed thinking about Joel, about the look on his face when he turned to me over Walter’s babbling head and said, “What have we here?” Was it pity? I couldn’t bear that. I thought about my husband, and these thoughts, never warm, were like icy jets darting about in my brain. I could hear him moving about downstairs. I dozed, woke again to hear him climbing the stairs. He is heavy-footed. It’s hard to figure how one man walking can make as much noise as he does. He passed my door and went on to his own room. The rain had stopped, the wind had swept the clouds away, and moonlight streamed in through the window. My head ached from the wine and my throat was parched. I slipped out of bed, poured myself a glass of water, then went to look out the window, just for something to do. I felt I wouldn’t sleep again for years. It was still windy, the trees waved their upper branches as if they were calling me outside. I looked up at the clear sky, the glittering stars, then I looked down and discovered, near the foot of an oak, a man. Startled, I stepped away from the window. Had he seen me? I pulled the curtain in front of me and looked out past it cautiously, though my room was dark and it was unlikely that he could see me. It was a negro, dressed in a white shirt and loose