The Glimpses of the Moon, Edith Wharton [most important books of all time .TXT] 📗

safe on the waiting taxi. One heard such stories....

His voice came back to her. "Susy! Listen!" he was entreating. "You must see yourself that it can't be. We're married--isn't that all that matters? Oh, I know--I've behaved like a brute: a cursed arrogant ass! You couldn't wish that ass a worse kicking than I've given him! But that's not the point, you see. The point is that we're married.... Married.... Doesn't it mean something to you, something--inexorable? It does to me. I didn't dream it would--in just that way. But all I can say is that I suppose the people who don't feel it aren't really married-and they'd better separate; much better. As for us--"

Through her tears she gasped out: "That's what I felt... that's what I said to Streff...."

He was upon her with a great embrace. "My darling! My darling! You have told him?"

"Yes," she panted. "That's why I'm living here." She paused. "And you've told Coral?"

She felt his embrace relax. He drew away a little, still holding her, but with lowered head.

"No... I... haven't."

"Oh, Nick! But then--?"

He caught her to him again, resentfully. "Well--then what? What do you mean? What earthly difference does it make?"

"But if you've told her you were going to marry her--" (Try as she would, her voice was full of silver chimes.)

"Marry her? Marry her?" he echoed. "But how could I? What does marriage mean anyhow? If it means anything at all it means--you! And I can't ask Coral Hicks just to come and live with me, can I?"

Between crying and laughing she lay on his breast, and his hand passed over her hair.

They were silent for a while; then he began again: "You said it yourself yesterday, you know."

She strayed back from sunlit distances. "Yesterday?"

"Yes: that Grace Fulmer says you can't separate two people who've been through a lot of things--"

"Ah, been through them together--it's not the things, you see, it's the togetherness," she interrupted.

"The togetherness--that's it!" He seized on the word as if it had just been coined to express their case, and his mind could rest in it without farther labour.

The door-bell rang, and they started. Through the window they saw the taxi-driver gesticulating enquiries as to the fate of the luggage.

"He wants to know if he's to leave it here," Susy laughed.

"No--no! You're to come with me," her husband declared.

"Come with you?" She laughed again at the absurdity of the suggestion.

"Of course: this very instant. What did you suppose? That I was going away without you? Run up and pack your things," he commanded.

"My things? My things? But I can't leave the children!"

He stared, between indignation and amusement. "Can't leave the children? Nonsense! Why, you said yourself you were going to follow me to Fontainebleau--"

She reddened again, this time a little painfully "I didn't know what I was doing.... I had to find you... but I should have come back this evening, no matter what happened."

"No matter what?"

She nodded, and met his gaze resolutely.

"No; but really--"

"Really, I can't leave the children till Nat and Grace come back. I promised I wouldn't."

"Yes; but you didn't know then.... Why on earth can't their nurse look after them?"

"There isn't any nurse but me."

"Good Lord!"

"But it's only for two weeks more," she pleaded. "Two weeks! Do you know how long I've been without you!" He seized her by both wrists, and drew them against his breast. "Come with me at least for two days--Susy!" he entreated her.

"Oh," she cried, "that's the very first time you've said my name!"

"Susy, Susy, then--my Susy--Susy! And you've only said mine once, you know."

"Nick!" she sighed, at peace, as if the one syllable were a magic seed that hung out great branches to envelop them.

"Well, then, Susy, be reasonable. Come!"

"Reasonable--oh, reasonable!" she sobbed through laughter.

"Unreasonable, then! That's even better."

She freed herself, and drew back gently. "Nick, I swore I wouldn't leave them; and I can't. It's not only my promise to their mother--it's what they've been to me themselves. You don't, know... You can't imagine the things they've taught me. They're awfully naughty at times, because they're so clever; but when they're good they're the wisest people I know." She paused, and a sudden inspiration illuminated her. "But why shouldn't we take them with us?" she exclaimed.

Her husband's arms fell away from her, and he stood dumfounded.

"Take them with us?"

"Why not?"

"All five of them?"

"Of course--I couldn't possibly separate them. And Junie and Nat will help us to look after the young ones."

"Help us!" he groaned.

"Oh, you'll see; they won't bother you. Just leave it to me; I'll manage--" The word stopped her short, and an agony of crimson suffused her from brow to throat. Their eyes met; and without a word he stooped and laid his lips gently on the stain of red on her neck.

"Nick," she breathed, her hands in his.

"But those children--"

Instead of answering, she questioned: "Where are we going?"

His face lit up.

"Anywhere, dearest, that you choose."

"Well--I choose Fontainebleau!" she exulted.

"So do I! But we can't take all those children to an hotel at Fontainebleau, can we?" he questioned weakly. "You see, dear, there's the mere expense of it--"

Her eyes were already travelling far ahead of him. "The expense won't amount to much. I've just remembered that Angele, the bonne, has a sister who is cook there in a nice old-fashioned pension which must be almost empty at this time of year. I'm sure I can ma--arrange easily," she hurried on, nearly tripping again over the fatal word. "And just think of the treat it will be to them! This is Friday, and I can get them let off from their afternoon classes, and keep them in the country till Monday. Poor darlings, they haven't been out of Paris for months! And I daresay the change will cure Geordie's cough--Geordie's the youngest," she explained, surprised to find herself, even in the rapture of reunion, so absorbed in the welfare of the Fulmers.

She was conscious that her husband was surprised also; but instead of prolonging the argument he simply questioned: "Was Geordie the chap you had in your arms when you opened the front door the night before last?"

She echoed: "I opened the front door the night before last?"

"To a boy with a parcel."

"Oh," she sobbed, "you were there? You were watching?"

He held her to him, and the currents flowed between them warm and full as on the night of their moon over Como.

In a trice, after that, she had the matter in hand and her forces marshalled. The taxi was paid, Nick's luggage deposited in the vestibule, and the children, just piling down to breakfast, were summoned in to hear the news.

It was apparent that, seasoned to surprises as they were, Nick's presence took them aback. But when, between laughter and embraces, his identity, and his right to be where he was, had been made clear to them, Junie dismissed the matter by asking him in her practical way: "Then I suppose we may talk about you to Susy now?"--and thereafter all five addressed themselves to the vision of their imminent holiday.

From that moment the little house became the centre of a whirlwind. Treats so unforeseen, and of such magnitude, were rare in the young Fulmers' experience, and had it not been for Junie's steadying influence Susy's charges would have got out of hand. But young Nat, appealed to by Nick on the ground of their common manhood, was induced to forego celebrating the event on his motor horn (the very same which had tortured the New Hampshire echoes), and to assert his authority over his juniors; and finally a plan began to emerge from the chaos, and each child to fit into it like a bit of a picture puzzle.

Susy, riding the whirlwind with her usual firmness, nevertheless felt an undercurrent of anxiety. There had been no time as yet, between her and Nick, to revert to money matters; and where there was so little money it could not, obviously, much matter. But that was the more reason for being secretly aghast at her intrepid resolve not to separate herself from her charges. A three days' honey-moon with five children in the party-and children with the Fulmer appetite--could not but be a costly business; and while she settled details, packed them off to school, and routed out such nondescript receptacles as the house contained in the way of luggage, her thoughts remained fixed on the familiar financial problem.

Yes--it was cruel to have it rear its hated head, even through the bursting boughs of her new spring; but there it was, the perpetual serpent in her Eden, to be bribed, fed, sent to sleep with such scraps as she could beg, borrow or steal for it. And she supposed it was the price that fate meant her to pay for her blessedness, and was surer than ever that the blessedness was worth it. Only, how was she to compound the business with her new principles?

With the children's things to pack, luncheon to be got ready, and the Fontainebleau pension to be telephoned to, there was little time to waste on moral casuistry; and Susy asked herself with a certain irony if the chronic lack of time to deal with money difficulties had not been the chief cause of her previous lapses. There was no time to deal with this question either; no time, in short, to do anything but rush forward on a great gale of plans and preparations, in the course of which she whirled Nick forth to buy some charcuterie for luncheon, and telephone to Fontainebleau.

Once he was gone--and after watching him safely round the corner--she too got into her wraps, and transferring a small packet from her dressing-case to her pocket, hastened out in a different direction.


XXX

IT took two brimming taxi-cabs to carry the Nicholas Lansings to the station on their second honey-moon. In the first were Nick, Susy and the luggage of the whole party (little Nat's motor horn included, as a last concession, and because he had hitherto forborne to play on it); and in the second, the five Fulmers, the bonne, who at the eleventh hour had refused to be left, a cage-full of canaries, and a foundling kitten who had murderous designs on them; all of which had to be taken because, if the bonne came, there would be nobody left to look after them.

At the corner Susy tore herself from Nick's arms and held up the procession while she ran back to the second taxi to make sure that the bonne had brought the house-key. It was found of course that she hadn't but that Junie had; whereupon the caravan got under way again, and reached the station just as the train was starting; and there, by some miracle of good nature on the part of the guard, they were all packed together into an empty compartment--no doubt, as Susy remarked, because train officials never failed to spot a newly-married couple, and treat them kindly.

The children, sentinelled by Junie, at first gave promise of superhuman goodness; but presently their feelings overflowed, and they were not to be quieted till it had been agreed that Nat should blow