The Twelfth Child (26 page)

“You’re a vision,” he said and gave a long low whistle. 

Never before had Abigail known herself to be the object of so much admiration, it was an aphrodisiac that seeped through her skin and settled into her bones.  

“A beautiful woman should always have beautiful things,” he whispered; then swept her into his arms and started swaying to the strains of
Beautiful Dreamer
.  The room was tiny, crowded with furniture, too small to do a waltz or fox trot even, but Abigail closed her eyes and imagined that they were at the Rainbow Room, high above the world.  She hardly noticed when the music stopped and an announcer started telling listeners that Duz is the detergent that does everything.

 “Merry Christmas,” John said, and handed her the glass of champagne.

Although December twenty-fifth was long gone and the calendar hanging on her kitchen wall had already been switched over to 1938, it was the best Christmas Abigail had ever experienced, so when John wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body to hers, she offered no resistance.  Nor, did she object when he slid his hand beneath the robe.  When he whispered, “I love you,” and cupped her breast in his hand, Abigail was long past remembering that she’d planned to bring up the subject of marriage.

   Only once, when John untied the shoulder straps of her gown and watched it drop to the floor, did she feel afraid of what was happening, but as she offered up the feeblest of protests, he worked his way into her body. 

That night she dreamed of Preacher Broody pounding on the pulpit and hammering home the message that an adulteress will forever burn in Hell’s pit of fire.  Abigail could see herself standing naked in front of the congregation, her body and her sins exposed.  But when she woke in the morning and found herself wrapped in John’s embrace, the dream was quickly forgotten.

That January John remained in Richmond for eight days, surreptitiously slipping in and out of the apartment building’s side door to save Abigail’s reputation, but it was she who ultimately gave rise to rumors of romance.  A rosy glow settled onto her skin like summer sunburn, she’d arrive at the library late and leave early, she’d find herself wearing one black shoe and the other brown, she’d be scribbling page after page of the name
Abigail Langley
and forget about the patrons standing in line to check out a book. 

“Isn’t your name
Lannigan
?” Melissa Cooper asked, after she’d been waiting for a full fifteen minutes. 

“It’s going to change,” Abigail answered with a smile.

Pretty soon, the word around town was that the librarian was in love and about to be married, but to whom people asked each other.

A
bigail figured it was only a question of time until John proposed, so she set about demonstrating the kind wife she would be.  She’d lock the library door on the dot of three and rush home to bake pork chops, or set a beef stew to simmering.  The moment he walked through the door, she’d bring his slippers and the day’s newspaper.  “Sit in the easy chair and relax,” she’d say, then start massaging his neck so he’d be certain to do so.  After dinner they made love, and she held back nothing.

On January eleventh, as he was packing his things into the suitcase, she brought up the subject of his traveling.

“That’s my business,” he answered with a grin.  “
Traveling
.  I’ve got to go where buildings are being built.  The bank depends on me.”

“Oh,” she sighed, making her disappointment obvious.

“Don’t frown,” he said, tracing his finger along the slope of her nose, “you’ll get wrinkles on that pretty forehead.”  He turned and walked out, promising only that he’d be back at the end of the month.

J
ohn had been there for only eight days, but once he was gone the apartment seemed so empty that Abigail was forced to walk from room to room making certain the furniture had not also disappeared.  Everything was as it had always been, except for the pair of slippers left alongside the living room chair. 

A
bigail, feeling very much in love, floated through January and February.  Although a winter storm stacked three inches of snow on the ground, she swore the lilacs were getting ready to bloom.  A smile settled onto her face and refused to leave.  She’d walk down the street greeting passersby as if they were lifelong friends, or stopping to tickle the chin of a snowsuited baby.   John was coming to Richmond every other week, sometimes he’d stay a few days, other times it would be just one night, and then he’d be gone before Abigail could rub the sleep from her eyes.  When he was there, her skin itched with the desire for him to touch her, hold her, be inside of her again.  Once they’d eaten supper, she’d stretch her arms above her head and start yawning, which was her way of suggesting the need to go to bed early.

When he wasn’t there, she’d be thinking of when he would be.  On Valentine’s Day, forgetting that he wouldn’t be back for another six days, she roasted a large round of beef.  That night she claimed to have heard the newspaper rustling in the parlor and John calling for a cold glass of beer, even though he was hundreds of miles away.  Night after night she’d fall asleep imagining herself in his arms; but on nights when there was a full moon, she’d wake and start wondering what city he was in at that moment.

On a March day when the wind was whistling through the window and Abigail was dreamily recounting how John had given her a satin slip with lace sheer as spun glass, Gloria asked, “What about getting married?  Has he said anything about that yet?”

“Not exactly,” Abigail answered.

“He ought to have asked by now.”

“He will,” Abigail sighed, “in time, he will.” 

Gloria started shaking her head side to side, “Don’t be too sure,” she grumbled, “some men just ain’t the marrying kind.”

“John’s not one of those!” Abigail answered indignantly, then she went on to tell about how he’d telephoned her long distance from New York City.

“Long distance ain’t the same as being there,” Gloria said, and it was a point with which anyone would have had to agree.

That night it was all but impossible for Abigail to fall asleep because when she tried to picture John lying beside her, the only thing she could see was a carved out indentation he’d left in the sheet. 

The same thing happened the next night and the night after that.  After she’d gone without sleep for three straight nights, Abigail found herself walking right by people she’d known for years without giving them so much as a nod.  When Bobby Granby inquired about a book of nursery rhymes, she ignored him completely.  She tossed Alice Flynn’s eyeglasses into the trash basket instead of the lost and found bin.  And when Gloria called to say that she’d decided to call the baby Belinda if it turned out to be a girl, it took Abigail a full minute to remember what baby she was talking about. 

By the time John arrived back in Richmond, Abigail had worked a conversation through her mind, a conversation that would lead him onto the subject of marriage.  “Did you miss me?” she asked.

“Of course!”  He pulled her body to his and kissed her so ardently that she almost forgot the thing she was leading up to.  After he planted a row of kisses from her mouth down to the valley in her bosom, he asked, “What’s for supper?”

“Well, actually,” she smiled in what she thought to be a most alluring manner, “I thought we could go out for dinner.  Someplace fancy.  Maybe that French restaurant, the one with red velvet wallpaper –”     

“Not tonight.  I’ve been on the road all day.”

“But, we haven’t been out in such a long time,” Abigail moaned.    

“I thought you enjoyed cooking for me.”

“Oh, I do!” she exclaimed.  “But someplace romantic would be –”

“This isn’t romantic?”  He came up behind her and brushed his lips across her shoulder.  “Me and you, alone together?  Nothing to do but make love?”  As he spoke he slid his hand beneath her skirt.

“But,” she sighed, “I thought maybe we could talk.”

“About what?” His fingers were working their way into her panties.

“A more permanent relationship,” she answered.

He pulled his hand back like he’d suddenly discovered a patch of poison ivy.  “Permanent?  I’m here every chance I get.  I go miles out of my way.  I’m supposed to be in Arlington but I drive to Richmond to be with you.  That doesn’t mean anything?”

“Of course it does, but you’re away so much of the time.”

“You think I
like
it?” he growled angrily.  “I have to do it!  It’s my job.  My territory is the
entire
eastern seaboard – you knew that when we met.”

“Well, yes –”

“What did you expect?”

His voice was hard edged, so cold it caused Abigail to shiver. “I just thought – ”

“Thought what?  That I’d quit my job?  Let you take care of me?  No!” he said emphatically, “That will never happen!  I’ve got my pride!”

His hurt settled like a stone in Abigail’s heart.  “I never meant to infer,” she said tearfully, but by then he’d turned and walked off to the parlor.  She swallowed back the rest of the conversation she had planned and went to fix supper.  

When they went to bed that night he turned his back to her and Abigail could sense the falling apart of things.  Nothing was going the way she’d planned.  Tomorrow morning he’d probably leave and never again come through Richmond.  Never again send flowers or whisper about how much he loved her.  Abigail reminded herself over and over again that he did indeed love her – he’d told her so a thousand times, maybe ten thousand times.  It stood to reason that he’d balk at the thought of giving up his job.  A man’s job was the measure of his merit, everyone said so.  Fred proposed to Gloria, but then he was an electrician who could
still
go to work each and every day.  In time, she and John would be able to work it out; they’d find a way to be together, people who were in love with each other always found a way.  He wouldn’t have to quit traveling, she could move to New York, maybe even ride along in the back seat of his car; but if he left with a wedge of anger stuck in his throat it could be the end of everything.  She reached out her hand and touched his shoulder, “John,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He turned to face her.  “I’m sorry too,” he said, then eased his arm around her body.  “I shouldn’t have flown off the handle that way.”

She shushed him with a kiss and then they made love as if no anger or hurt feelings had passed between them.  “I love you, Abigail,” he whispered, “I never meant to fall in love with you, but I have.”

Abigail didn’t hear the sound of sorrow muffled beneath his words; to her ear it was simply a declaration that he’d found her irresistible.  “I always meant to fall in love with you,” she answered, “I knew the day you walked into the library, that you would be my one true love.”  She kissed him again, softly, sweetly, with her heart soaring on wings wider than an eagle’s.

“I suppose it was meant to be.”  He breathed a sorrowful sigh that rose into the air and splintered like frozen teardrops.  At that same moment, a chill touched down on Abigail’s shoulder and she moved deeper into his embrace.  

By time they woke in the morning, John had slipped into an unusual mood of seriousness.  He braced his hands against her shoulders and once again told Abigail of his love.  “I only wish I could make you happy,” he said, then disappeared out the door.

Abigail sighed – deep inside she
knew
everything would work out fine, he needed time, that’s all, just a bit more time.

S
he waited two days before calling Gloria again.  “You’re wrong,” she told her friend, “John is
very
much in love with me.”

“He proposed?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a proposal – but, he said he loves me and wants to make me happy.  Sooner or later we’re gonna get married, but with his job it’s impossible for him to settle in one spot, right now.”

Gloria groaned. “What hogwash!”

“No, it’s not.  He’s on the road seven days a week.”

“Nobody works seven days a week.”

“Oh really?  And just how many property inspectors do you know?”

“None.  But I do know that when a man wants to latch onto a woman, he puts a wedding ring on her finger, job or no job!”

After Abigail hung up the telephone, she decided that although Gloria was her best friend, she had no understanding of John, so they didn’t speak again until almost two weeks after baby Belinda was born and when they did, the issue of John’s intentions was never again brought up.  Once they resumed their friendship, Abigail went to visit most every day, except of course, when John was in town.  “Look at that sweet smile,” she’d coo and jiggle Belinda in the air even when it was long past the baby’s bedtime.

T
he first time Abigail noticed the difference in her face was the day before Halloween, as she looked into the mirror and considered what type of candies she’d set out on the circulation counter.  Such a thing wasn’t possible she thought and wrinkled her brow.  She turned to one side and the other, then leaned in so close her nose touched upon its reflection; but regardless of how she turned or angled herself, the look was still there – the same look she’d seen on Gloria’s face last Thanksgiving.  Her skin was the color it had always been, but glowing.  Her eyes sparkled like a prism shot through with sunbeams.  Her mouth was fixed into a smile and even when she tried to reconfigure it into a frown, such a thing could not be done.

“Impossible,” she muttered and turned away from the mirror.  She’d not missed a monthly and John had been diligent about the use of a condom.  Abigail shrugged off the thought then sat at the kitchen table with her breakfast of tea and a muffin; before she’d taken a single bite, she was back at the mirror.  The look was still there. 

On her way to the library, Abigail bounced along the street as if she were dancing on a trampoline.  Each step felt as though the next would send her soaring skyward, to pluck loose a cloud the size of a baby pillow.  Pots of chrysanthemums were already lining the walkways but Abigail saw roses and daffodils, she caught the fragrance of jasmine and felt the warmth of a summer sun when the sky was drizzling rain.  She imagined John tenderly touching his hand to her stomach and stating that although he’d still have to do some traveling, they ought to be married right away.  Suddenly it struck her that even though she’d seen
the look
on her face, there was no other indication that she was pregnant.  It would be a terrible thing, she decided, to tell John that he was going to be a daddy and then disappoint him if she’d made a mistake.  It would be far better to wait – wait until she was absolutely certain.