Her face became more pale. "So it was true, then. I couldn't be
completely certain. But I suspected it. It made me sick to think that
could be going on. And it was part of the pattern. Everything came so
easily. I don't think he even realized what he was doing to himself and
to George. She was trash. Everybody was sorry and shocked when George
married her."
"Timmy told me about Eloise and he told me he was sorry about it. He
wanted to come back so he could make things right. I guess he knew he
couldn't turn the clock back and make things like they were before, but
he wanted to be able to make amends of some sort."
"I don't think George has ever suspected. But even if he knew now it
couldn't hurt too much. He knows what she is now."
"What was she like?"
"Quite pretty in a sort of full-blown way. A tawny blonde, with a kind
of gypsy-looking face. I don't know where she got those features.
They're not like the other people in her family. She was a year ahead
of me in school at first, and then in the same year, and then a year
behind me. She never did graduate from high school. She was dumb as a
post as far as schoolwork is concerned. But smart in other ways. Very
smart. She was sloppy. You know, soiled collars, bare dirty ankles. She
always soaked herself in perfume. She had a very sexy walk, full hips
and a tiny waist and nice legs. She had a lot of little provocative
mannerisms. Boys used to follow her around like stupid dogs, their
eyes glazed and their tongues out. We used to make fun of her, but we
hated her, and in some funny way we were jealous of her. She did as she
pleased. She always seemed to be mocking everybody. It was a very good
marriage for her, to marry George. Then the three of them were living
in that house. I guess she got bored. Being right there in the house,
once she got bored Timmy had as much chance as--hamburger in a panther
cage. I guess they were careful, but in a place this size people get to
know things. Quite a few people were talking by the time Timmy went
away. I hadn't had a date with Timmy for over two years when he went
away."
"Then Eloise went off with a salesman."
"That was so stupid of her. She had everything she wanted. George
believed in her. The man's name was Fulton. He was a big red-faced man
who drove a gray Studebaker and came to Hillston about once every six
months. Eloise ran off almost--no, it's over two years ago. George had
to be out of town on business. People saw Eloise and Mr. Fulton right
here in this place having dinner one night, bold as can be. They must
have left that night. When George came back they were gone."
"Did he try to trace her?"
"He didn't want to. He was too badly hurt. She'd packed her prettiest
things, and taken the house money and gone without even leaving a note.
I'll bet that some day she's going to come crawling back here."
"Would George take her back?"
"I don't know. I don't know what he'd do. I've been trying to help
George." She blushed. "Dad always teases me about the way I keep
bringing kittens and homeless dogs back to the place. He says my wards
eat up all the profits. It's sort of the same with George. He hasn't
got anyone now. Not a soul. Not anyone in the world. He's drinking all
the time and he's lost most of his business. I do what little I can.
Cook for him sometimes. Get his room cleaned up. Get his clothes in
shape. But I can't seem to make him wake up. He just keeps going down
and down. It makes me sick."
"I saw him at the store. He wasn't in very good shape. He acted
strange."
"The store is doing almost no business at all."
"The lumberyard looks all right. I was out there to talk to Fitzmartin.
He was in the same camp."
"I know. He told me that. I--is he a good friend of yours?"
"No."
"I don't like him, Tal. He's a strange man. I don't know why George
hired him. It's almost as if he had some hold over George. And I have
the feeling he keeps pushing George downhill. I don't know how, or why
he should. He kept bothering me. He kept coming to see me to talk about
Timmy. It seemed very strange."
"What did he want to talk about?"
"It didn't make much sense. He wanted to know where Timmy and I used
to go on picnics when we were in high school. He wanted to know if we
ever went on hikes together. And he acted so sly about it, so sort of
insinuating that the last time he came it made me mad and I told him I
wouldn't talk to him any more. It seemed like such a queer thing for
him to keep doing. He's creepy, you know. His eyes are so strange and
colorless."
"Has he stayed away?"
"Oh yes. I got very positive about it.... He had such an unhealthy
kind of interest in Timmy I wondered if it was the same sort of thing
with you. But if you're going to write about him I can understand your
wanting to know things."
The honesty in her level eyes made me feel ashamed. There was an
awkward pause in our conversation. She fiddled with her coffee spoon
and then, not looking up, said, "Timmy told you about Eloise. Did he
tell you about me?" She was blushing again.
"He mentioned you. He didn't say much. I could make something up to
make you feel better, but I don't want to do that."
She raised her head to look directly at me, still blushing. "This
isn't anything to go in your book. But it's nothing I'm ashamed of.
And maybe you can understand him better, or me better, if I tell you.
We went steady during our senior year here. A lot of the kids, a lot
of our friends, who went steady, taking it for granted that they were
going to get married as soon as they could, they slept together. It
was almost--taken for granted. But Timmy and I didn't. Then we both
went up to Redding. We were both away from home. We were lonely and
in a new environment. It--just happened. It got pretty intense for a
few months, but we began to realize that it wasn't helping anything.
We stopped. Oh, we had a few lapses, accidents. Times it wasn't meant
to happen. But we stopped, and felt very proud of our character and so
on. You know, I sometimes wonder if that is what spoiled things for us.
It's a pretty Victorian attitude to think that way, but you can't help
wondering sometimes."
I felt ill at ease with her. I had never come across this particular
brand of honesty. She had freely given me an uncomfortable truth about
herself, and I felt bound to reciprocate.
I said, too quickly, "I know what you mean. I know what it is to feel
guilty from the man's point of view. When they tapped my shoulder I
had thirty days grace before I had to report. I had a girl. Charlotte.
And a pretty good job. We wondered if we ought to get married before
I left. We didn't. But I took advantage of all the corny melodrama.
Man going to the wars and so on. I twisted it so she believed it was
actually her duty to take full care of the departing warrior. It was a
pretty frantic thirty days. So off I went. Smug about the whole thing.
What soft words hadn't been able to accomplish, the North Koreans had
done. She's a good kid."
"But you're back and you're not married?"
"No. I came back in pretty bad shape. My digestive system isn't back to
par yet. I spent quite a while in an army hospital. I got out and went
back to my job. I couldn't enjoy it. I used to enjoy it. I couldn't do
well at it. And Charlotte seemed like a stranger. At least I had enough
integrity not to go back to bed with her. She was willing, in the hopes
it would cure the mopes. I was listless and restless. I couldn't figure
out what was wrong with me. Finally they got tired of the way I was
goofing off and fired me. So I left. I started this--project. I feel
guilty as hell about Charlotte. She was loyal all the time I was gone.
She thought marriage would be automatic when I got back. She doesn't
understand all this. And neither do I. I only know that I feel guilty
and I still feel restless."
"What is she like, Tal?"
"Charlotte? She's dark-haired. Quite pretty. Very nice eyes. She's a
tiny girl, just over five feet and maybe a hundred pounds sopping wet.
She'd make a good wife. She's quick and clean and capable. She has
pretty good taste, and her daddy has yea bucks stashed."
"Maybe you shouldn't feel guilty."