Part 9 (1/2)
He gave her a hostile look. ”I impregnated all the female students and they gave me a doctorate to get rid of me.” He took her arm as she got in the car, then when he was seated he turned to her. ”Look, I don't mean to be rude, it's just that you don't ever talk about anything besides what's in books. There's a whole world out there,” he said, gesturing, ”and I think you ought to see some of it.”
”I don't know why you a.s.sume I'm stupid, Dr. Montgomery. I have seen enough of the world to know what it's like. It is a dirty, angry place full of dirty, angry people.”
”And who told you that?”
”Taylor said-” she said, but stopped. ”It is my own observation.”
”Right, and I'm Christopher Columbus,” he said, putting the car in gear. ”You haven't been outside that house long enough to know what the world is like.”
She knew that if the world was composed of people like him she most certainly didn't want to see any more of it.
He stopped in front of a restaurant and came out a minute later laden with a big cardboard box that he strapped onto the back of the car between the spare tires and the gas tank.
”We're going on a picnic,” he said, as if he dared her to contradict him, then slammed the car into gear and took off.
Another waste of time, she thought. She was going to be so far behind in her studies that Taylor was never going to marry her.
He drove through the countryside, toward the Sierra Nevada mountains, past farmhouses and orchards and planted fields toward a dense grove of trees. There was a pretty pond in the center of the trees and he parked the car in the shade nearby. It was an isolated place, made private by the circle of trees, only a cow path leading into it.
Amanda looked around and began trying to identify the wild flowers and the birds. If Taylor asked her what she had been studying, she could tell him.
”Pretty, isn't it?” Hank asked, removing the box from the back of the car. ”They told me about it at the restaurant. Here, take the end of this.”
Amanda took the opposite end of the cloth he held. It hadn't crossed her mind that the place was pretty, but it was. The gra.s.s was greener here than in the full sun and the water was blue and the buzz of the insects was pleasant and- She pulled herself together. She was going to act as if Taylor was with her, remember?
”Are we to sit on the damp ground?” she asked.
”No, on the dry cloth. A little dampness won't hurt you. That's what skin is for-to protect you.” He began to unload containers of food.
Amanda swore to herself that no matter what he brought out of that box she would not eat it. If she kept eating meals with him she'd get fat in a week, and Taylor would despise her. It took a great deal of self-control to watch the food being spread before her. There were strips of chicken breast in a golden sauce, cold roasted guinea hen, bread sticks, a grapefruit and endive salad, cold, seasoned boiled potatoes, sauteed eggplant, strawberries and tapioca, pretty little meringues, and candied almonds on top of a gorgeous chocolate cake. He poured gla.s.ses of lemonade from a big, frosty jar.
Amanda swallowed but turned her head away.
”Where do you want to start?” Hank asked, holding out a plate to her.
She took the plate, then put on it a small helping of potatoes and began to eat in tiny bites. She didn't even take the lemonade because she knew it had sugar in it.
”That's it?” Hank snapped at her.
She ignored his words and his tone. ”Dr. Montgomery, could we discuss something less personal than my eating habits? Why don't you tell me what has made you believe that there is any good to come of unions? Were your parents, perhaps, migrant workers?”
”No, they weren't. Are you going to carry this subjugation of yours to the point where you don't eat?”
She ate a tiny piece of potato, hoping her body would ignore the tantalizing aroma of the food before her. ”I think you have me confused with your migrant workers. I'm one of the rich tyrants, remember? It is people like me who give them jobs and thereby cause them enormous amounts of pain and misery.” She kept looking at that chocolate cake. The icing was only on the top and dripping fatly down the sides, exposing seven layers of cake sandwiched together with thick, rich, dark chocolate cream.
”You don't know what you're talking about,” Hank said. ”Have you ever been in the fields during harvest time? Did you know that a lot of farmers sell drinking water to the workers? A hundred and ten degrees and they can't even get water.”
”I'm sure you must be exaggerating. Of course the workers could go elsewhere if they don't like the way they're treated. This is a free country, yet you make it sound as if they were slaves owned by their master.” She was looking at the cake, watching the way the light made the icing sparkle, and didn't see Hank's eyes turn dangerously dark. She was talking about the thing that meant most to him.
”It's people like you,” he said softly, ”that make a union necessary. The workers are simple people. They don't have the education and resources to fall back on so they can change jobs on a whim. They have kids to feed and clothe and they can't afford to quit a job. So they work in the heat and save a dime by not buying water and they faint from heat exhaustion.”
Amanda frowned at his words. She didn't like to think of the picture he was painting. What would Taylor say? she asked herself. ”I cannot be responsible for all the poverty in the world, Dr. Montgomery. My family merely offers jobs. If the workers do not like the conditions they can go to another ranch.”
Rage filled Hank. ”You pompous little prig,” he said under his breath. ”You sit there in your silk dress surrounded by food and you're too good- too superior-to even eat it while others are out there fighting to make enough to buy a loaf of bread. People like you make me so mad I could-” He broke off, so angry he could no longer speak. Without thinking what he was doing, he shoved his right hand into the cake she seemed so fascinated by and grabbed a quarter of it, then lunged across the food and slammed the cake in Amanda's face. ”There!” he yelled at her, grinding icing and cake and chocolate cream filling into her face. ”You can eat and won't. They want to but can't.”
He was trembling with rage. Amanda's face and most of her hair were black with chocolate, her eyes wide in horror.
”I'm going to wake you up, Amanda Caulden,” he yelled at her. ”I'm going to pull you out of that coc.o.o.n of yours no matter how hard I have to fight.”
It was very difficult to keep one's dignity when one's face was covered with chocolate cake, but Amanda did her best. ”Did it ever occur to you that some of us are happy the way we are?” she said, her own rage making her tremble. ”You set yourself up as a G.o.d and decide to change me, change the workers, yet maybe we like the way we are. If I'm asleep I'd rather stay asleep than partic.i.p.ate in a world where men bombard women with food.” With that she got up and went to the pond to wash her face.
She felt like crying; she felt like screaming. But most of all she felt as if she'd let Taylor down. He would be horrified beyond description if he saw her now. She turned when she heard Dr. Montgomery walking up behind her.
”If you do another thing to me I shall press charges,” she said, cringing away from him.
He winced, then held out a clean handkerchief. ”I thought you could use this.”
She s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hand and wiped her face. She thought she'd got most of it off but black smears came away on the cloth. Taylor was going to kill her. She'd have no supper for a month. How she wished the earth would open up and the flames of h.e.l.l swallow Dr. Montgomery!
”Here, let me,” Hank said, kneeling beside her.
”Don't you touch me,” she said, seething.
He s.n.a.t.c.hed the handkerchief from her and washed it in the pond. ”Amanda, you are a mess. You have cake all over your face, your hair, even your clothes.”
Amanda could feel the color draining from her face. She had never done anything to really, truly anger Taylor, but if she came home looking like this, what would he do?
Hank's face changed as he looked at her. ”You're scared, aren't you?” he asked softly. ”Do they beat you?”
”Of course no one beats me,” she said, but her tone showed her uncertainty.
He stood, then took her hand and pulled her up. ”All right, we'll fix everything. We'll wash your hair and your dress and everything will be dry by the time we return. You'll be as good as new.”
”Wash my dress?” she gasped, horrified. ”My hair?”
”Sure,” he said. ”It's either that or go home to your beloved Taylor looking like that.”
For a moment she weighed the consequences and she decided that most anything would be better than having Taylor see her like this.
Hank watched the emotions play across her face and he was reminded of the migrant workers, torn between wanting to cause no problems and wanting to join a union and protest. Was Amanda really that afraid of Driscoll?
Hank made her decision for her as he slid his suspenders off, unb.u.t.toned then removed his s.h.i.+rt and held it out to her. ”Go into the trees there and take off your dress and put this on. We'll wash the chocolate off and it'll dry in no time.”
Amanda looked up at him, standing there in an unders.h.i.+rt, exposing broad shoulders and muscular arms. Contrary to what she would have thought, he wasn't repulsive-looking or frightening. In fact, he looked rather pleasant.
”Go on,” he said, and his voice was a bit lower than usual.
Amanda stood and walked around the pond and into the deep shade of the trees. She was wearing a severe, straight suit of boyish cut, and right now she wished it were two pieces so she could leave her skirt on, but it wasn't. She removed it to expose an ankle-length slip of flesh-colored chiffon trimmed with wide borders of ecru Chantilly lace. It felt odd to be without long sleeves and a high collar but it also felt cool and unrestrictive. She glanced down at the skirt and frowned at the lace. The skirt was semi-transparent from her knees down, her black silk stockings peeping through. Once again she reminded herself of Taylor's wrath if she appeared at home with a chocolate-encrusted suit and face.
She pulled the pins out of her hair and let it hang loose to her waist, then shook it and smiled. Sometimes her hair was pulled back so tightly it hurt her head.