“Now, honey, stop your foolishness,” Molly cried. “Men don’t marry women they can get without marryin.
The two women looked at one another. Each remembered the teaching of their mothers. “If Bettina’s given herself,” Molly went on; “what is there she can make him marry her for now?”
Lucinda smiled. The worry rolled from her mind.
“Maybe it’s a mercy that things have gone so far,” she said cheerfully. “Thank God, it’s not Pierce! But it’s still sickening. Molly, what do you suppose is the matter with men?”
She was a little shocked by the greedy interest in Molly’s blue eyes. Molly’s red lips were parted and she wet them.
“So long as it isn’t your Pierce, it isn’t so bad,” Molly agreed. She felt hotness creeping up her back, and her eyelids fluttered before Lucinda’s surprised look. “Men are — well, just that way,” she said. She patted both sides of her fluffy red hair. “We have to put up with them, Lucinda.” Then she laughed. “Maybe God felt sorry for women and gave us a little whip of our own to do the drivin’ with!”
She felt relieved to laugh because Lucinda was staring at her so hard. She considered telling Lucinda in return about John and how he was wounded and then decided she would not. She had a whip over John, too. John was afraid all the time. Poor old John! “What does Pierce say?” she inquired.
Lucinda shrugged. “Oh Pierce—”
“He can’t approve?” Molly cried.
“Oh, he doesn’t approve,” Lucinda said impatiently, “but after all, Tom is his brother — and when you come right down to it, men are all the same about that one thing, Molly.”
Molly laughed again, her eyes shining. She put out her soft plump white hand on Lucinda’s slender one. “Honey if I were you, I just wouldn’t pay any mind to it. I’d just live as though the whole thing was beneath my notice. That’s the way ladies have always done, you know, and it’s the best way. My own mother used to say that we had to realize men have a lower nature and the less it was noticed, the better.”
Lucinda drew her hand away gently. “I do believe you’re right, Molly,” she said with gratitude. “So long as you don’t think harm could come of it … It isn’t like it was before the war, you know. I get to worrying for fear Bettina would be uppity.”
“I wouldn’t notice anything,” Molly said smoothly. “If she gets uppity I would just send her away like a servant. There’s that good thing out of the war — you can send ’em away.”
“You could sell them before,” Lucinda reminded her. “I wouldn’t like to lose Georgia, and if Bettina went, Georgia would probably want to go, too. We’d lose two good house girls without getting a penny for them, though Papa could have sold them for a thousand dollars apiece. I know, because Mama scolded him so, when we didn’t need them. It isn’t fair, do you think, Molly? I mean, for that poor white in Washington just to write a few lines and say that your property isn’t your property!”
“I’m glad he was killed,” Molly said simply.
They rose, feeling, that everything had been said and decided, and went downstairs, their arms about one another like girls.
Lucinda kissed Molly when she went away. “You have certainly made me feel better,” she said. “I’m going home and I’m not going to speak of it again, not to Pierce or anybody.”
“I’m sure that’s best, honey,” Molly replied.
She looked at Lucinda a moment and then laughed. “Why do you stay way out here in the country, honey? We’re goin’ to Wheeling, John and me.”
Lucinda looked at her, speechless. “Why, Molly, leave your own house?”
Molly’s eyes flitted restlessly about the room. “I feel to change. I’d like to travel. I tell John he’s just got to get rich. Honey, he’s goin’ into the railroad.”
“Railroad!” Lucinda cried. She thought of the smoking, puffing, bell-topped little engine that ran choking and spluttering westward from Baltimore. “I don’t see how that’ll make him rich,” she declared.
“Railroads are goin’ to grow,” Molly said firmly. “We’ve borrowed money and bought stock—”
Lucinda felt a jealous envy of possible riches. She hid it behind her pretty smile.
“I certainly do hope you will get what you want, Molly dear,” she said. She rose as she spoke and brushed Molly’s red cheek with the palm of her hand. “Of course, I have the boys. Pierce would kill me if I didn’t let them be brought up at Malvern — and I’ve a girl here under my belt.”
She pressed her wrist. A flicker in Molly’s eyes made her suddenly smile. “Goodbye, honey!” she said and tripped away.
So meditating, Lucinda rode home through the mild evening air. An instinctive resolution was growing within her. She would say nothing at all about Bettina, not to Pierce, not to Tom, and not even to Bettina herself. She would ignore the whole matter, as generations of women before her had ignored the doings of their men. After all, Tom was only a brother-in-law. Sooner or later he might even be leaving Malvern. There was no use upsetting her house over Tom. Besides, she wanted to think about railroads. Why should Molly MacBain be rich?
When her horse ambled into the yard again, she smiled at the two boys who ran to greet her.
“Is your papa home yet?” she asked.
“He ain’t come,” Martin said.
“Don’t say ain’t,” she commanded him. She handed the reins to Joe, who came forward scratching himself. “You surely are going to have to start some schooling, Martin … Joe, have you got fleas?”
“No’m, I hope I don’t,” Joe answered grinning. “But maybe I has,” he added, and led the horse away. “I’m liable,” he muttered. “I shore am liable. Until there’s soap again, fleas take advantage.”
But Lucinda was walking toward the house, her long riding habit sweeping the grass, a hand on the shoulder of each son. She felt strong and clear for the future. The ride had not hurt her, and she would not even tell Pierce she had taken it.
When Pierce came home that night he found his house quiet, his children cleaned and fed their supper and ready for bed. Tom was outstretched on the long chair on the terrace, and opposite him, in the calmest of moods, Lucinda sat on a garden seat. The sun had set and a pure light flowed over the landscape.
Pierce approached, aware suddenly of the beauty of the scene, and warmth welled up in his heart. If things were quiet, it meant that Lucinda had decided to keep them so. He drew near, his intuition alert. Lucinda turned up her face for his kiss. He smelled a faint perfume upon her skin, and beneath his eyes hers were calm. Yes, she was all right. She was in a good mood. God knew why, after the fuss she had made after luncheon, but he was grateful. Maybe she had talked with Tom and they had decided something. He glanced at Tom.
“Hello, Tom,” he said. “You’re looking well enough to be your old self.”
“I feel well, at last,” Tom replied.
“The children are waiting for you to kiss them good night, Pierce,” Lucinda reminded him.
“I’ll go upstairs,” he said. He was bewildered by the utter peace, but he was too grateful for it to speak of it. He went upstairs slowly and turned into the nursery. Georgia was there with the boys, reading to them while they lay on their stomachs, listening. She ceased when he came in, and the boys shouted to her to go on.
But she rose and stood waiting, her eyes fixed on Pierce’s face. He saw her eyes, doubtful and defensive, and looked away.
“Tell your father good night,” she said in her soft voice. The boys rose and jumped up and clung to his legs and he leaned to them and kissed them, and then, his arms on their shoulders, he looked at her again, and made up his mind to be completely casual. “Had you a chance to talk to Bettina?” he inquired.
“No, sir,” Georgia said simply. “We’ve both been busy. Tonight, I’ll ask her, sir.”