The Glimpses of the Moon by Edith Wharton (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

“I’m sorry; but there is no other way, I’m afraid. No other way

but one,” he corrected himself.

She raised her head sharply. “Well?”

“That you should be the woman. —Oh, my dear!” He had dropped

his mocking smile, and was at her side, her hands in his. “Oh,

my dear, don’t you see that we’ve both been feeling the same

thing, and at the same hour? You lay awake thinking of it all

night, didn’t you? So did I. Whenever the clock struck, I said

to myself: ‘She’s hearing it too.’ And I was up before

daylight, and packed my traps—for I never want to set foot

again in that awful hotel where I’ve lived in hell for the last

three days. And I swore to myself that I’d go off with a woman

by the first train I could catch—and so I mean to, my dear.”

She stood before him numb. Yes, numb: that was the worst of

it! The violence of the reaction had been too great, and she

could hardly understand what he was saying. Instead, she

noticed that the tassel of the window-blind was torn off again

(oh, those children!), and vaguely wondered if his luggage were

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’ honeymoon 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.

IT took two brimming taxi-cabs to carry the Nicholas Lansings to

the station on their second honeymoon. In the first were Nick,

Susy and