Double Jeopardy (3 page)

Arriving there, I lingered in the shadows of the closed freight warehouse, my attention riveted on the lighted interior of the waiting-room. I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes to nine. I was badly in need of a smoke but I did not want to risk revealing myself to anyone who might happen by. From where I stood I could not of course see the lights of Ithaca's famous crescent but the Trumansburg road rose in a steep, broken line of lights, reminding me, for no apparent reason, of Jacob's ladder. A west-bound freight, probably going to Buffalo and Chicago, thundered past. The headlight of the locomotive rested upon me for a brief moment and then flashed away.

Soon I was rewarded for my patience. Doctor Carpenter stepped out of the waiting-room and onto the platform, carrying two satchels. Far up the track the whistle of a train came faintly mournful to my ears. I looked around for some sign of Anita. I could see none. If she was there, she must be still inside the waiting-room. The two pieces of luggage, though, were a bad omen. Moreover, the doctor kept turning his head this way and that as if he expected someone.

Soon the train ground and hissed to a stop. A porter descended and lifted the two bags into the Pullman and as the conductor cried, “All 'board!” and waved a signal to the engineer, the doctor reluctantly climbed up as the train gathered speed.

Well! No words of mine can express how elated I was! I could have sung and, strangely enough, that is exactly what I did do. My voice, at best, has never been much more than a nasal groan which, as it increases in volume, gets worse. As the train disappeared in the distance, its red tail-lantern shrinking smaller and smaller until it could no longer be seen, I let loose my joy with such fervor that every person within a mile of the station must have been seriously alarmed. I remember the station-agent came out onto the platform and recognizing me asked: “What's the trouble, Pete? Ya sick?”

Of course I recalled that Carpenter and Anita had scrapped before and had made up within a few hours. But this, I hoped, would be a permanent rift which they would never allow their prides to bridge. While my own suit was in no way furthered, at least I knew my most formidable rival was temporarily out of the picture, leaving the field clear. It was now up to me.

But how? I had never had any great experience with women and, except for one or two occasions at medical school when, in the company of some classmates, I visited a house of ill repute, absolutely no intimate relations with them at all.

This problem occupied my mind that night as I returned to my house and took up my usual position near the lake. That I could never be happy without Anita had long ago impressed me; and I knew that unless I worked fast the doctor might return and make up with her. Yes, or she might become infatuated with someone else. There were so many nice young men in town, business people and wealthy students from up on the hill. I wondered at my conceit in hoping to succeed.

Fortunately, the problem solved itself without my having to devise any schemes by which she would fall in love with me and consent to a marriage. And the very night that marked Doctor Carpenter's departure from the scene marked the fulfillment of all my dreams.

I must have dropped off to sleep in my deck-chair for several hours on that night of July 2nd; for when I opened my eyes the absence of any lights across the lake made it obvious that midnight was a thing of the past. I felt refreshed after my nap and, as my mind awakened and became conscious of what had transpired earlier, I felt even buoyant. Despite the fact that I would have to be at the store earlier than usual the next morning to receive a shipment of fireworks, I decided not to turn in. I was not the least bit sleepy and anyway I wanted to think.

But on my back porch I had left a light burning and it annoyed me. Although my back was to it, the yellow glow coming over my shoulder seemed to intrude upon the welcome comfort of the darkness. The night was unusually dark for that season of the year. The sky was a vast expanse of mourning veils, uncontaminated by a moon or even by stars. And the air was almost cold.

Over Cayuga the wind seemed to moan the syllables of the lake's name and the rustling leaves of the trees sounded like the applause of some vast audience. Even with these noises, I got the strange feeling that it was quiet.

Always having been an ardent admirer of Nature and never having failed to be impressed by each and every one of her miracles, I am also sadly ignorant of her—;like most people. I have never been able to remember the names of stars or trees or to distinguish types of birds; but I have always appreciated their beauty and often thought how strange the world would be if there were no such things. At the moment, however, even Nature could not force her way into my thoughts, occupied as they were with Anita and the baffling problem of winning her.

As I was about to extinguish the porch light, I was startled by the sound of splashing in the lake. I left the light burning and made my way to the shore. Something was emerging from the water. I could not make out who it was or even if it was a human. At first I fancied it might be some dog belonging to a neighbor.

“Who's there?” I called, feeling very silly.

I was rewarded by a groan of relief. “So you've awaken at last, have you? I've been paddling around for over an hour! Didn't you hear me call?”

The voice shook me and I fumbled in my pockets for a match. I might have spared myself the effort because I recognized her voice instantly. The match flared and before it flickered out, burning the tips of my fingers, I saw that she was in a bathing suit and shivering with the cold.

“Miss Hunt!” I gasped.

“That's right,” she replied, her teeth chattering. “And whoever you are I'm sorry to have got you out of bed. I'm afraid I lost my bearings in the dark. Am I anywhere near town? Lucky I saw your light.”

I struck another match so that she would recognize me. Needless to say, this unexpected visit seemed most portentous and left me temporarily tongue-tied. Of all the persons who might have been swimming in the lake, it had to be Anita! And of all the places she might have come ashore, it had to be at my own landing! I almost began to believe in God.

Now when I look back on it I can only regret that she came that night. If I had not left that light burning, in all probability she would have drowned or landed at some other point. In any case I am certain we would never have been married and the marriage, I reiterate, was the direct cause of my undoing.

“I'm Peter Thatcher,” I managed to say.

“Yes, of course. I know. The druggist man.”

I became suddenly aware that her mouth was blue with the cold and that her arms were goose-flesh. “Will... will you come inside, Miss Hunt? You've got to warm yourself or you'll catch your death of cold. I... I live alone here,” I stammered apologetically as an afterthought.

As I uttered this, I was sure she would refuse. Ladies did not visit bachelor's homes unchaperoned in the dead of night.

“I was waiting for you to invite me in.” And she accepted my invitation with a celerity that was not surprising when you saw how chilled she was.

“I was only thinking of the proprieties.” I removed my Norfolk jacket and placed it about her wet shoulders—;not without misgivings because the shirt I was wearing was rather shabby and none too clean. She murmured her thanks.

“Proprieties? I'm only interested in something warm.”

“Watch out for those sharp stones,” I warned her. “You'll cut your feet. I've been promising myself to clear this beach for years but somehow I never got around to it.”

Guiding her with a hand on her bare elbow, we soon reached the house. I led her around into the living-room. “If you'll wait here, Miss Hunt, I'll run upstairs and find you some towels and maybe something to warm you up inside. I'm afraid that there are no logs for this fireplace but... but it might be warmer in the kitchen if I light the stove.” I remember that I felt ashamed to suggest that. In those very formal days one did not entertain their guests in the kitchen. Now, I understand that parties are given in attics, cellars, kitchens and even in hotel bedrooms. Such affairs twenty years ago were almost unheard of.

But Anita smiled reassuringly. “O, let's do go into the kitchen. I'll be lighting the stove while you fetch the towels.”

I must confess that I am not much of a housekeeper, and during the years I lived alone, my place was generally very untidy. It was my custom to hire a scrub-woman on the first of each month to do a thorough job of hoeing out. Frequently, by the end of the month I would find myself without a clean dish to eat from and all of my towels black with shoe polish. Therefore I was infinitely grateful that this was the
second
of the month. With everything in good order the little house was very presentable and I know that Anita was delighted with it.

I changed my shirt while I was upstairs before I did anything else and then I combed my hair. Besides three fresh towels, my best bathrobe and a pair of slippers, I also unearthed a bottle of rare brandy which I had set aside for some state occasion. I have never been an habitual drinker of hard liquor, being partial to beer and light wines; but I thought a glass or two of brandy might do her good after her cold swim. Then too I was hoping that the spirit might loosen her tongue and put us on more intimate terms... make us friends.

This accident of Fate, I realized only too well, could never happen again. Therefore I was determined to make good use of the opportunity and not sit there like a ninny, uttering asinine generalizations and getting nowhere. I knew that I must make that night the key which some day would open the door of her heart to me.

I hurried back to the kitchen. Anita had the stove going full blast and already it was comfortably warm. She thanked me for the towels and without further ado, fell to rubbing herself vigorously. As she removed her rubber cap (which I at once recognized as part of my merchandise) her lovely yellow hair cascaded down her neck and shoulders. I had never seen her this way before and she looked so unspeakably beautiful with her hair unbound that I could not withhold an explanation of delight. The urge was strong in me to cast aside all restraint, to take her in my arms; but she was my guest, at the moment helpless, so I refrained. Besides, the inhibitions of civilization are hard to break through. Seldom in my life had I given way to impulse. At the moment, however, I had to summon the full force of my restraint.

She flashed me a quick glance and for a moment I thought she would be angry. I cursed myself silently for a fool. But, instead she laughed and said: “Turn your back. I want to get out of this wet suit.”

“Wait,” I cried. “I'll go, if you like.”

“O, don't bother. I trust you.”

I turned around to face the wall and heard the crisp snap of elastic and the rustle of heavy taffeta. It gave me a pleasant sensation, her saying that she trusted me. It proved that she considered me something more than a chance acquaintance. There was also a breath-taking joy in the knowledge that we were in the same room together while she engaged in the intimate task of drying her naked body. My honorable intentions were somewhat frayed and stretched to the breaking-point. For this reason my voice sounded somewhat high and excited as I spoke to the wall, striving to appear casual and completely at ease. “I'm afraid I haven't much to offer you in the way of refreshment,” I said, “except that brandy on the table or some tea. I never drink coffee.”

“Did you say brandy? Lead me to it! You can turn around now.”

As I obeyed, I started to say, “It's not very good brandy.” I never finished the sentence. That first glimpse of her in my bathrobe—;I'll never be able to forget. The robe was dark blue, matching her exquisite eyes; and her hair, tumbling down it.... But I have resolved not to go into raptures. I am sure that she noticed my appreciative stare for all the time we sipped away at our bandy I felt her eyes on me.

Thirty minutes passed. “Perhaps you're hungry?” I suggested.

“Famished! I could eat a horse.”

“Well, I haven't any horse,” I told her, “but if you like....”

Later, over bacon and scrambled eggs which she had insisted that she prepare herself, I summoned up enough courage to say: “But you haven't told me how you happened to be swimming so late at night. The water was certainly too cold for you to have enjoyed it.”

A slight shadow flitted across her face. “I always go swimming when I'm angry. That's the only way I can get it out of my system. Cold water does wonders to my awful disposition!” She tried to laugh convincingly. Of course she did not suspect that I knew what was wrong. And I never told her that I had heard she had quarreled with Doctor Carpenter.

“I don't believe it!”

She looked up at me with a frown. “What? That I go swimming every time I get a grouch on?”

“No. That you've got an awful disposition.”

She seemed pleased at that. “Oh, you don't know me yet!”

My heart thrilled at the “yet.”

“My misfortune,” I returned, feeling that I was talking like some hackneyed, if gallant, character in a cheap novel. “But how do you manage in winter?”

“Oh, I don't, really. You see I'm from the South where you can get angry as often as you like without catching pneumonia or bunking your head on a cake of ice.”

That got us onto the subject of her past life. I found out that she came from Florida—; Palatka—;and had come North after her father died. “But you don't sound like a Southerner,” I said. “I haven't noticed the slightest trace of an accent.”

“Why should I have?” she retorted. “My dad was an English teacher in the Palatka school. What do you think? Only Yankees can speak the King's English?”

Lest the Civil War break forth anew, I changed the subject.

Another hour flew by. I scarcely realized the passage of time. By virtue of the four fingers of brandy I had consumed, I had grown more bold and I was commencing to call her by her first name. She, sadly, did not reciprocate. I remained, as far as she was concerned, nameless. But this was better than being addressed as “Mr. Thatcher.”