The Awakening Page 10

  “Nor does it seem that you know how to please me, either.” There was another pause. “You may go to your room and you will stay there the rest of the day, through dinner, and you will devote yourself to your books and you will find a topic that will interest this man. If he leaves here and meets with his unionists it will be your fault and you will be”—he lowered his voice—“punished for your disobedience. Now go. I can no longer bear the sight of you.”

  Hank heard Amanda’s steps leaving the library and his first impulse was to go to Taylor and hit him in the face, but Hank held up his hands and saw that they were trembling. What he had just heard made him sick to his stomach. He remembered being angry when he saw Blythe Woodley with her fiancé because the man was overbearing with Blythe, but Blythe’s intended had been nothing compared to Taylor Driscoll. Taylor had assumed absolute control over another human’s life.

  Hank left the conservatory and walked outside, trying to get enough air to breathe, but there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen on earth. This is what he’d seen in Amanda’s eyes, this sadness, this look of a caged animal—not frightened but resigned. Taylor owned her mind, her thoughts, even her body. He controlled her as if she weren’t an autonomous human being—as if she were something he’d created.

  Hank began to understand things that had happened since he’d arrived: the rigid timetable of Amanda’s. Of course she knew that she had three and a half minutes left in the bathroom because that was how much time Taylor had allotted her. Her dresses were of somber colors and cut, and her hair was pulled back tightly. Taylor wanted her that way. She spoke only of things she’d learned in books because Taylor didn’t allow her to take her nose out of them.

  Hank thought back to the times he’d seen Amanda sitting at her desk late at night. She had to entertain him all day yet keep up with her studies at night. This was a woman who was old enough to have graduated from college yet she was still being sent to bed without supper if she didn’t obey her master.

  Master! Hank thought. How he hated the word. Each man was master of his own fate, but some men, because of their wealth or ancestors, set themselves up as better than others. Taylor had said that Hank was working class, as if there were classes in America. And he’d told Amanda that if unions were brought in, their ranch would be taken away from them. The union was the boogy-man of the owners.

  Hank closed his eyes for a moment and thought of all Taylor was doing to subjugate Amanda, to keep her in line, to deny her her God-given freedoms: the freedom to choose, the freedom to love, to like or dislike, the freedom to laugh or frown or cry. He had taken all that away from her, holding over her head threats of bankruptcy and of withdrawing from a marriage.

  Hank walked to the front of the house and looked up at Amanda’s window. He understood now, understood why he had first been drawn to her. It was his hatred of oppression and injustice. Some part of him had recognized it in her and knew he needed to help her. He would help her realize that she had just as many rights as another person had and that she didn’t have to eat, sleep and breathe according to a schedule made by someone else. He would teach her these things, and when he was finished, she’d be able to tell Taylor Driscoll to go to hell.

  He smiled up at Amanda’s window. “Sleeping Beauty,” he said, “I’m going to wake you up.”

  He turned away from the house and started toward the garage. He needed to get away and make plans—plans about how to bring Miss Amanda Caulden to life.

  Hank stood in his room on the second floor of the Caulden house and put the canvas rucksack he’d just bought on his back. He left his jacket in the closet and wore only his shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his trousers held up by suspenders. He walked out on the balcony and stood there a moment looking up at the starlight. To his left he could see a light behind the curtains of Amanda’s bedroom and just the faintest shadow of her bent over her desk.

  Making as little noise as possible, he threw a leg over the balcony railing and stepped onto the porch roof which ran just under Amanda’s open windows. The roof was steeper than it looked and his shoes slipped, but he caught Amanda’s windowsill with one hand and the frame with the other. He was halfway inside the room before she looked up and saw him. She was as primly dressed as always, every button fastened, every hair in place, in spite of the fact that it was ten o’clock at night and she was alone in her room.

  Amanda looked up from her book on economic history to see Dr. Montgomery coming through her window. Shocked was not the word for what she felt. Her first thought was, Taylor will not like this.

  She stood, her body stiff with disbelief, and, again, that rising feeling of anger. “Dr. Montgomery,” she said, “you cannot possibly come into my room.”

  “Sssh,” he said as he stepped inside. “You’ll wake everybody.” He nodded toward the bare floor in the center of the room. “That looks like a good place. Here, take this.” He removed the canvas bag from his back and handed it to her.

  To Amanda’s utter disbelief, he went to the bed and removed the spread. “Dr. Montgomery!” she gasped. “You cannot—”

  “You really are going to wake everyone.” He lifted the cover, let it billow in the air, spread it on the floor, then sat on it. He reached up for her to hand him the rucksack and, as Amanda watched, he began to pull food from it.

  There was a salad of lettuce and what looked to be lobster or crab meat, another salad of chopped chicken with peas, little sandwiches, olives, stuffed celery, pickles, strawberries and pretty little white cakes.

  Dr. Montgomery held up a bottle of a thick, red liquid. “Strawberry sauce for strawberry shortcake.”

  Amanda just stood where she was, looking down on the food in wonder.

  “You aren’t hungry? I missed dinner and I thought you did too, so I hoped we could share this. I don’t really see any difference between eating here together or in the dining room, do you? If you do, we could go downstairs and wake the servants and they could boil something white for you. Maybe we could wake up Taylor and he’d join us.”

  “No,” Amanda said quickly, and blanched at the thought of waking Taylor. The smells of the food were drifting up to her and making her knees weak. She sank down to kneel on the spread as a general might kneel when surrendering his sword to an enemy.

  “Sandwich?” he asked, holding out the plate full of tiny crustless sandwiches to her. “They’re minced ham with just a hint of mustard.”

  Amanda took the sandwich and made a nibbling bite, then the whole thing disappeared into her mouth. The flavor of it, tart and salty, was delicious.

  Hank, smiling, handed her a pretty little porcelain plate. “Help yourself. It’s not much but it’s the best I could do on such short notice. I hope you like lobster.”

  “Yes, anything,” she murmured, reaching for food and eating too fast, but everything tasted so divine and she had this feeling that it was all going to be taken away from her.

  “You were studying?” he asked.

  “Economic history,” she mumbled, mouth full of chicken salad made with a rich, creamy mayonnaise.

  “Ah, yes, I guess that’s because I’m here. Or have you always studied economics?”

  “I thought it would be something to converse on. I didn’t realize you—” She stopped because she meant to say that she hadn’t realized he would be more interested in fast cars, motion pictures and women from the wrong side of the tracks.

  “But we haven’t spent much time talking of economics, have we?” he said. “Or speaking of anything else, for that matter. I have been terribly rude to you, Miss Caulden, I do hope you’ll forgive me. More lobster salad?”

  “Yes, please,” she said. She was beginning to relax somewhat. It was, of course, outrageous for this man to be in her bedroom late at night, but he certainly didn’t seem dangerous and he did seem genuinely contrite over his past behavior.

  “You like economics so much you miss meals to study it?”

  “No, Taylor—” She starte
d to tell him the truth but caught herself. “It was better that I stay here and study.”

  “I admire your dedication. I was in school for years but I don’t believe I ever missed a meal while buried in a book. I get hungry and I want food. Nor could I eat what you do. You have enormous self-discipline, Miss Caulden.”

  “I guess I do,” she murmured, but at the moment she didn’t feel very disciplined. She felt as if she might sell her soul for a heaping plateful of that strawberry shortcake.

  “When do you graduate?”

  “Graduate?” she asked, looking at the strawberries.

  “Yes, you’re what? Twenty-three, twenty-four? Most women have finished school by now, yet you still have a tutor.”

  “I will finish when I marry,” she said, reaching for a strawberry.

  Hank began to heap her plate high with cakes and strawberries, drenching it all with thick strawberry sauce. “When you marry Taylor, that is? Tell me about your wedding plans.”

  “We haven’t made any yet.”

  “Isn’t that unusual? How long have you been engaged?”

  Abruptly, Amanda set down her plate of half-eaten food and glared at him. She was beginning to understand now what he was doing and why he was in her room. Just as the devil enticed people, so was he enticing her. “Dr. Montgomery, contrary to your opinion of me, I am not a fool. Will you please leave my room and take your things with you at once?”

  “There are more strawberries.”

  “I do not want more strawberries,” she said, lying. “Now will you please leave?”

  He sat where he was, knowing she would call no one. When she was angry the quiet sadness left her eyes. “Where do we go tomorrow?”

  “I think perhaps you and I will not go anywhere. I have things I need to do here.” A lump of fear formed in her throat as she thought of telling Taylor she would not keep Dr. Montgomery occupied tomorrow.

  “Taylor wants you to keep me away from the house. He wants you to take me somewhere where the unionists can’t find me, right?”

  She hesitated. “I am merely to make a guest’s stay comfortable.”

  “Uh-huh,” Hank said, munching on a strawberry.

  She glared down at him, her half-eaten strawberry shortcake glaring back up at her. “Dr. Montgomery, you must leave.”

  “Not until you tell me what you have planned for tomorrow.”

  She was afraid he’d do something embarrassing if she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. She went to her desk to get the schedule Taylor had given to her at eight P.M. “We are to go to the Pioneers’ Museum in Terrill City tomorrow.”

  “That sounds like a barrel of laughs. I should be glad it isn’t to the library to memorize dates of the Spanish-American War.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Where did you get your Ph.D., Dr. Montgomery? From a mail-order catalog?”

  He chuckled. “I just like to do things in life besides study, that’s all, and it might do you good to look at something besides the inside of a book. Could we compromise? I’ll go to your museum with you if you go where I want in the afternoon.”

  “I do not waste my time on motion pictures,” she snapped at him. “I want to improve my mind and—”

  He jumped to his feet. “You ought to try improving your life.”

  For a moment they stood glaring at each other, then Amanda backed away from him. No one had made her angry since she was a child, but this man did. But there was something else, too, as she looked into his deep blue eyes, something she didn’t understand at all, something that she was feeling deep inside her.

  “Please leave,” she whispered.

  He turned away from her and began shoving leftovers and dishes into the rucksack. He had been right, he thought. Somewhere under her icebox exterior was a woman. He could make her angry, and that was a step in the right direction, and just a moment ago he’d seen something else in her eyes. Something that for the first time made him think she’d seen him as a man.

  He picked up her plate containing the half-eaten shortcake and set it on her desk.

  “Take it,” she said. “I don’t want it. I shouldn’t have eaten with you in the first place.”

  “You’ll save all your meals for Taylor? Is he the only one fit to eat with?”

  “You aren’t fit to sit at the same table with him.”

  “That’s the best compliment I’ve heard this year. I’ll see you tomorrow morning and, remember, the afternoon is mine.” He put his rucksack on his back and left her room through the window.

  Amanda sat down on the bed, her body feeling heavy and weak after her encounter with that man. What an utterly bizarre few days it had been, with everything turned upside down. Taylor was telling her he couldn’t bear the sight of her, and this awful man, Dr. Montgomery, was making her act like a schoolgirl again. It was as if he were making her forget all her years of training with Taylor. Twice she had looked up from her studies and caught herself thinking of food—not good-for-you food but the kind Dr. Montgomery kept forcing on her.

  As she thought, she looked across the room at the strawberry shortcake on her desk. Telling herself she was not going to eat it, she went to it and picked up the plate. There was no fork but, in spite of that, in spite of telling herself no, she picked up the sticky cake in her hands and began to eat as if she were starving.

  When she was finished she looked at her gummy hands in horror, and even while refusing to believe what she was doing, she began to lick her fingers. Once finished, she sighed in disbelief of herself, then went to the door and silently opened it. She made her way down the dimly lit hall to the bathroom, making as little noise as possible in the hopes that Taylor wouldn’t hear her.

  When she came out she glanced nervously at Taylor’s door, but there was no light. Nor was there a light on under her father’s door or Dr. Montgomery’s. Turning, Amanda saw a light shining from under the door of the spare bedroom where her mother spent her days. For just a moment, Amanda wondered what her mother was doing at this time of night. Years ago Taylor had forbidden Amanda to spend time alone with her mother as he thought Grace Caulden was a bad influence on her daughter. And Grace soon learned her daughter’s precise movements, so they rarely saw one another.

  Amanda shook her head. This, too, was Dr. Montgomery’s fault for disrupting her orderly life. Her mother was a bad influence on her, just as Dr. Montgomery was a terrible influence on her. But she had to put up with him until the hops were harvested and all danger of a strike was past. When that was done, then she could return to her normal life. Once again she and Taylor could sit in the parlor after dinner and discuss intelligent, meaningful things. They could eat food that was good for one’s body. And she would know what was going to happen during a day. There wouldn’t be any more riding in speeding cars or having a man climb in your window during the night. And there wouldn’t be any more anger in her. She was calm and quiet when she was with Taylor, but when she was with Dr. Montgomery she was constantly having to repress her anger.

  Back in her room, she changed into her nightgown, put the spread back on the bed, then hid the dirty plate Dr. Montgomery had left behind. It wouldn’t do for Mrs. Gunston to find it in the morning.

  She cleared the top of her desk because Mrs. Gunston reported on the condition of her room each day to Taylor. Amanda felt a little guilty about not studying more, but she felt so tired and sleepy with her full stomach and, besides, what was the use of studying? Dr. Montgomery never talked about anything intelligent. He merely ate and drove his little car faster than the wind. Both of which she detested, she reminded herself.

  Tomorrow she’d do better than she had today. Tomorrow she’d act as if Taylor were standing beside her. She would direct their conversation to intelligent, enlightening matters, and nothing he could do would make her show her anger at him.

  And she’d not eat his food, either! And when he drove fast, she’d demand that he slow down. She’d have to deal with him firmly and show him that she
was indeed master of her own life. How dare he say she was oppressed! She’d show him that she was capable of making her own decisions.

  She went to sleep and dreamed of creamed corn and fudge and roast beef, and when she woke she was ravenous, and the thought of a single poached egg and a dry piece of toast revolted her. But she stamped the feeling down so that she was in control again when Mrs. Gunston came to wake her.

  Chapter Eight

  When Hank woke the next morning he felt great. Last night with Amanda, he had done just what he meant to do: he had made her show emotion. If he could rouse her anger, he could rouse other emotions in her, and emotion was the key to making her realize she was being controlled by someone else.

  He was whistling when he went down to breakfast, and he was greeted by a scowl from Taylor Driscoll. “Good morning,” Hank said cheerfully. “Ready for another hearty breakfast of ham and eggs?” Smiling, he passed Taylor and went into the dining room. How in the world could Amanda think she loved that ramrod-stiff caricature of a man?

  He smiled warmly at Amanda, who was already seated at the table behind her meager breakfast, and went to the sideboard to help himself to the feast laid out there.

  “Bacon?” he asked Amanda before Taylor entered the room. “It’s awfully good.”

  “And bad for your body,” she said coolly.

  “ ’Fraid he’ll catch you eating it? Well, don’t worry, you can make up for it at lunch. I’ll feed you something good.”

  Amanda wanted to say something scathing to this man but Taylor came into the dining room. She was beginning to genuinely hate Dr. Montgomery. There seemed to be no end to his vanity. He presumed that he knew what was good for everyone else in the world.

  She looked from Taylor to Dr. Montgomery. They were both good-looking men, but she liked Taylor’s dark handsomeness better than Dr. Montgomery’s blond boyish good looks. She liked the way Taylor sat up straight, the precise, clean way he ate. Dr. Montgomery ate with too much enthusiasm and he had a lazy, slouching way of sitting. He was too big, too…too masculine. Yes, she definitely liked the reserved strength of Taylor. Taylor was a man who knew exactly what he wanted in life and went after it. And Amanda knew what Taylor wanted from her, whereas Dr. Montgomery seemed to want…Well, she didn’t really know what he wanted—but whatever it was, he wasn’t getting it from her.