Part 13 (1/2)
”Is it? You read the book. Did the possibility of stepping up a few rungs in the social ladder never enter her mind?”
”It did, but she was never willing to compromise to get there. All women have to be crafty and scheming to survive.”
”You weren't with me, Helen.”
”No, but you were different, not like other men.”
”Was I? I don't remember. I wanted to make love to you.”
”But you didn't try to seduce me. I wanted it to.” She murmured and lowered her gaze, trying to hide her blus.h.i.+ng. Then she faced him squarely, and exclaimed with a challenge: ”All that men want is to bed you, and if you give in, you are done. And when you're with child, they drop you.”
”Not all men.”
”But most. The only way to get them to church is to keep them at bay, letting them hope, but never giving in completely. And when they're married, they want to be served left, right, and center. We slave away, burdened with a child every other year, while they play gentleman.”
He looked at her, an admiring smile in his eyes. ”Don't you want any children, then?”
For a second, she was taken aback. ”Yes, I would like three or four... And I would like the girls to be able to go to school, same as the boys.” The defiant tone of old had returned to her voice. ”But it's more. I don't want that my opinions are always belittled and sneered at. I want to be listened to,” she wanted to add ”like you did,” but refrained. ”I want to be involved when important decision are made that affect me and my children.”
”Like whether or not to go to war?”
”Yes, that's right, and ...” All of a sudden, she became self-conscious and fell silent.
Andrew looked at her with a warm smile. ”We had some good discussions that summer, didn't we, Helen?”
They sat quietly and occasionally smiled at each other. She was listening to memories in her mind. After a while, she got up.
”I've to leave, Andrew.”
”I'll come down to the lochan with you.”
He walked behind her on the narrow path. At the bottom, she turned. He placed both hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met and held each other.
”Helen ...”
”Yes, Andrew?”
”I love you.” He pulled her slowly to him.
”Andrew, no! We mustn't.” She tried to avoid his kiss. ”I'm promised to be married.”
He let go. ”We were promised to each other,” he murmured, bitterness in his voice.
”But it could not be, Andrew. It could not be.” Her voice faltered. She turned to leave. Suddenly, he grabbed her and took her in a tight embrace. She struggled to get free. Then his lips found hers, burning, soft, yet demanding. She felt his tongue reach inside. Her own body responded, wanting him, and with a last desperate effort, she pushed him away and tore herself free. He let go.
”I'm sorry, Helen. I don't know what took me,” he murmured, but he knew exactly what. ”I love you.” It was only a whisper.
”It can't be. You are my brother.” She felt his strange look on her, as if he were denying it. He opened his mouth to say something, and she quickly added: ”I'm betrothed to Robert and we'll get married within the month.”
He lowered his gaze. ”Don't you love me anymore, Helen?”
When she did not answer he looked up and searched her eyes. She saw hurt, despair, resignation. She fought the urge to sooth his hurt, to embrace him.
”Don't you?”
”Why do you want to know? What would it change?”
”I just need to know.”
”Andrew, I'm betrothed.” It came out more vehemently than she intended. ”I knew I should not have come,” she added in a murmur, and started to walk away. Turning briefly, she said: ”Goodbye, Andrew.”
He did not answer. She hurried down the path, almost running, oblivious to the tears streaming down her cheeks. Only when she was hidden in the trees did she slow down and wiped her face. ”This won't do,” she murmured to herself and went down to the creek to wash her face.
Andrew watched her disappear, holding himself back from running after her. Why didn't I tell her that I'm not her brother? ... Was it fear to find out that she might not love me anymore? He ambled back up to the rock and watched again the sun slowly plunge behind the western horizon in a blazing, red ball. But he didn't really see it. He tried to conjure up her image as she said goodbye. There was deep sadness in her eyes. I should have told her! But would it have made any difference. She had chosen another man-one of her own clan. She must love him or at least be fond of him. His Helen wouldn't marry somebody she did not love. And she still believed him to be her brother. I should have told her! he berated himself again, while at the same time afraid to know the truth.
He knew that this was the last time he would meet her and rather than part as friends, he had spoiled it. What had he really hoped from meeting her? To win her back? Hadn't he seen her laugh happily at the dance and smile at her chosen man?
The light was fading when he returned to Killin. He went to bed without eating dinner. He didn't feel like eating. Lying in the darkness, he relived every moment with her on that rock. The light in her eyes when she smiled. Her soft chuckles when they ate. The righteous protest when she talked about men. The warm softness when he held her in his arms, the sad look in her eyes when they parted. What did that sadness mean? That he had spoiled everything ... or that deep down she still loved him? But what did it matter. Tomorrow he would leave, never to return. Finally, when dawn was breaking, he slipped into a restless sleep, a sleep haunted with visions of Helen's face peering from the misty sh.o.r.es of Lochan nan Geadas.
When he woke up, his resolve to depart was gone. Instead of packing his few belongings, he asked the inn keeper for another packed lunch, saddled his horse, and was off to the lochan. He didn't expect Helen to come again, but nevertheless waited on the rock until sunset. At midday, he quickly went down to the cave to fetch the chewed-up copy of the Canterbury Tales.
He was back on Tuesday and on Wednesday, and the day after. He didn't really know why he was not leaving-they had done their farewell-why he was lingering on, why he was irresistibly drawn back to the lochan, each day growing into a new torture.
He attempted to resurrect the happiness he had felt when they were sitting on the rock on Sunday afternoon. But instead of bringing solace, it only deepened his despair. He looked down into the dark waters of the lochan, idly throwing down pebbles, watching two or three tight little rings form, slowly expand over the surface, and ultimately lose themselves at the sh.o.r.es. It took minutes for the ever fading ripple to reach the opposite side. He searched for the spot where they had made love the first and only time and lay there looking into the sky. He closed his eyes and saw Helen in her full womanhood standing over him, one hand reaching out for him to get up. Once he stood at the edge of the rock and the thought crossed his mind that he could jump and just let himself sink into the black, cold depth of the water below. But it lasted only for a fleeting moment. He searched his mind whether he was secretly clinging to a hope for her to return, to be his again.
10.
After Helen returned from the lochan late Sunday afternoon, Robert became angry and abusive when she declined again to go walking with him. She couldn't stomach the thought of him touching her. She chided herself. In less than a month she would be his wife. Her meeting with Andrew had changed nothing. He was still her brother. She was frightened how close she had come to yield to him-in fact, wanting him to take her. And now, the thought of Robert making love to her gave rise to a queasy apprehension.
That same Monday, when Andrew was driven back to the lochan for the first time, the young people of the MacGregor clan moved into the s.h.i.+elings with their cattle. As the oldest, Helen was in charge, at least until her mother and the other women joined them after they completed sowing the oat and barley crops. She welcomed getting away from Robert who, with the help of her two younger brothers, Robin and Alasdair, was setting up the rafters for the roof of their cottage.
On Wednesday evening, Betty and Helen sat on the bench in front of their hut, reading in Pamela. Helen's thoughts began to drift. She read the words, but they slipped her mind immediately, as if they never reached her brain. Her thoughts replayed the discussion with Andrew about Pamela's real motives. She felt again his attentive eyes on her as she expounded her theory. Her gaze left the page and lost itself in the distance. Betty's hand coming to rest on hers startled her. She looked at her sister, confused.
”Are you going to see master Andrew again?” asked Betty in a low voice.
Helen blushed. ”How do you know I saw him?”
”I know. You're different. Often you seem to be far away, as you were just now.”
”Does anybody else know?”
”I don't think so. At least not yet. But mother will guess if you don't hide it better... Will you see him again?”
”No. It was our final farewell.”