The Awakening Page 9

  Courage, Amanda, she thought. She walked to stand behind him and, holding herself as rigidly as possible, she said, “Dr. Montgomery, I am very sorry that I have displeased you so. I am sorry that breaking the schedule distresses you, but now I think I should return home.” She turned and began walking west toward Kingman.

  Hank slammed the tire on the wheel. “If you’ll just hold your horses, I’ll take you back and then I’ll leave your precious ranch and—” He heard the crunch of gravel and turned to see her walking away.

  Serve her right to walk, he thought. It might do her some good to have to do something for herself. His hands on the spare tire, he stopped and rested his forehead against it. He didn’t think he’d ever been quite so angry in his life. Injustice was what made him angry, not pretty girls. He hated seeing people mistreated, hated tenements owned by rich landlords, hated to see poor sharecroppers, hated to see any person who lacked freedom.

  Maybe that’s what made him so angry: Amanda had tried to take away his freedom. She had set him on a schedule and expected him to do just exactly like she wanted. Just like her father, he thought, J. Harker believed that anyone who worked on his land had no rights.

  He turned and looked at Amanda, growing smaller in the distance.

  Just like her father, he thought. Just like her father, always trying to control people, and that Driscoll was cut from the same cloth. The two of them would like to control the world and everyone in it.

  Hank sat up straight, as if startled. “Control the world,” he whispered, “or just control one small daughter?”

  He was on his feet and running instantly.

  Amanda stopped when he blocked her way and hunched her shoulders as if prepared for a blow.

  “Amanda,” he said softly, disgusted with himself for frightening her. “Tell me about your schedules.”

  He didn’t look angry anymore, but Amanda didn’t trust him. “Taylor makes a schedule for me every evening.”

  “And how long has he been doing this?” Hank asked, his breath held. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find out, but he had just a nugget of an idea.

  Amanda was leery of him. Why was he asking questions about something as ordinary as a schedule? “Since I was fourteen. Taylor was hired to be my tutor.”

  “The schedule I saw seemed to list every minute of the day.”

  She frowned. “Yes, of course. It is what I do. Doesn’t your schedule list what you are to do?”

  Hank didn’t answer but he let out his breath. “And your schedule also includes what you wear?”

  “Yes.”

  “What you eat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even when the bathroom is yours?”

  She looked away, blushing. “It makes for an orderly household.”

  Hank stood and looked at her for a long while, looked at her profile, the curve of her neck. When he’d first seen her he had thought she had sad eyes and now he knew the reason for the sadness. At fourteen she had been a butterfly just starting to emerge from a cocoon, but her father had snapped her up and hired a butterfly killer—ol’ Taylor—to push her back into the cocoon. And there she had remained.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and tell her that now things would be all right, but that wouldn’t help, because, the truth was, Amanda didn’t know there was anything wrong that needed righting.

  “Amanda,” he said patiently, the way one would speak to a shy child. “You are being held prisoner. Just as your father mistreats the people who work for him, so is this Driscoll misusing you. Other people don’t have a schedule; other people are free to eat what they want, go to the bathroom when they want. Driscoll has taken all your freedom from you, and freedom is something that is granted to everyone under the American Constitution. Come with me now, Amanda, and I will take you away from here. I will see that you never again have to live by a schedule.” He held out his hands, palms up, beseeching her.

  Amanda was so stunned that for a few moments she couldn’t speak. She looked up through the bright sunlight at this tall, handsome man who at this moment looked like an evangelist trying to save sinners from their wicked ways, and the anger that she had been feeling since he arrived erupted in a volcanic mass.

  “How dare you presume to tell me about my life,” she said through teeth clamped tightly shut. “How dare you criticize my father and my fiancé.” She took a step toward him and her rage seemed to make her taller—or him shorter—as she looked him in the eye. “What do you know of me or my life? You come to my home as a guest and you have done nothing but sneer at us and look down your nose at us. For your information, I happen to like my life. I like orderliness. I like the feeling of accomplishing things, and most of all, I love my father and my fiancé. And as for your American freedom, I believe it also means a citizen has the right to choose, and I happen to choose to give some direction to my life. Now, Dr. Montgomery, I suggest you get in your fast little car and speed away as quickly as its wheels will turn. I will walk back to my home, and when I get there the first thing I will do is see that your clothes are sent to you.”

  With her back stiff, she stepped around him and started walking down the road, her every step showing her anger.

  In a state of shock, Hank stood where he was, listening to her angry steps behind him. He felt like a fool. Since the moment he saw her, he had felt that there was something between them. He had been angry at her for not seeing it. He had been jealous of Taylor and he had looked for a reason to believe she didn’t really love Taylor. He felt like a vain, strutting fool, so vain that he couldn’t believe she would love someone other than him. He could feel his face turning red as he remembered his arrogance in telling her he was going to rescue her and save her from big, bad Taylor.

  He ran his hand over his face and wiped away the sweat. Ever since he’d met Amanda he hadn’t been himself. He’d been behaving like a schoolboy who gave presents to the girl he liked then an hour later he was hitting her. Looking back at the last few days, he was mortified at his behavior. He remembered walking down streets and leaving her behind, making snide comments and sometimes downright rude ones. He had forcibly kissed her, something he’d certainly never done before.

  And what had Amanda done to deserve such treatment? Nothing but be herself. She had taken him to museums and he had sneered. She had offered to talk with him on subjects she thought might interest him and he had been contemptuous. She had even let him join in a simple after-dinner reading of poetry and he had ridiculed her by reciting a licentious poem.

  He had never felt so small in his life.

  He turned and walked down the road toward her, halting her by standing in front of her. “Miss Caulden,” he said before she could speak, “there is nothing I can say that will fully express the depths of my apology. You are right in everything you said to me. My behavior has been abysmal, beyond any level of decency. I do not expect you to forgive me, so I will leave your house at once, but please, may I drive you back to your home?”

  Amanda’s anger was beginning to cool now and she thought of Taylor’s fury when she told him she had screeched at Dr. Montgomery to leave her house at once.

  “I should apologize to you,” she said, knowing she was lying but also knowing that her future marriage to Taylor might depend on this lie. “My behavior, too, has been inexcusable. Please do not leave.”

  Please, he thought. She looked at him with those big eyes that exuded sadness and said, please. He should go; he knew that. He knew she wasn’t good for him. She was as tempting as cake to a fat person, as irresistible as liquor to an alcoholic. Yet he knew he couldn’t leave her. He was going to stay and he was going to learn to leave her alone. He had a job to do with the unionists and he was going to do it.

  “Yes, I’ll stay,” he said at last. “Will you come back to the car with me and wait in the shade while I finish changing the tire? I’ll take you into Terrill City for your lecture and I promise I won’t drive fast.”

  S
he murmured consent and sat under a tree while he changed the tire. She had been right in what she’d said. Every word, every syllable had been right, but she kept hearing his words. Was it true that other people didn’t have schedules? Were people free to eat when and what they wanted?

  She tried to push the thoughts from her head. She was choosing to follow Taylor’s schedule.

  Chapter Seven

  Hank drove ten miles an hour to Terrill City. The town was about three times the size of Kingman and much more modern, with many stores and places of interest, and the people on the streets were more fashionably dressed, several of the women wearing cosmetics.

  Some of the women eyed Hank appreciatively in his sporty yellow car, but he was too glum to notice them. He stopped before the Masonic Hall where Amanda’s lecture was being held, got out and opened the door for her.

  “What time will it be over?” he asked in a dead voice.

  “At one. You aren’t coming?”

  “I’m afraid Eugenics isn’t my cup of tea.”

  “The library is—”

  “I saw that there’s a matinee on. I think I’ll go see it.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “A motion picture?”

  Hank had his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you at one.”

  Amanda stood on the sidewalk and watched him drive away. A motion picture, she thought. He was actually going to see a motion picture. What would it be about?

  In the Masonic Hall, the woman lecturer was talking with enthusiasm about the selective breeding of people to create a pure race of intelligent, perfect beings, and all Amanda could think of was the motion picture.

  Afterward, she went outside, and Dr. Montgomery was leaning against the side of his car waiting for her.

  “Would you like lunch, then go home?” he asked.

  She agreed, and he drove her to a pretty little restaurant on the outskirts of town. Amanda’s mouth started watering the moment they stepped inside. The last time she’d had lunch with Dr. Montgomery she had eaten the most delicious meal.

  As the waitress came for their order, Amanda’s stomach rolled in anticipation, but Dr. Montgomery spoke before she could.

  “The lady is on a special diet. Could you give her some plain boiled potatoes, no seasoning, boiled green beans and fish, also no seasoning?”

  The waitress looked at Amanda, and Amanda hoped the young woman would say that no, that wouldn’t be possible, but she didn’t. “Sure, if that’s what you want. And what about you?”

  “I’ll have the house special,” Hank said.

  Amanda tried to conceal her disappointment. It was better, of course, that she eat good, honest, wholesome food instead of greasy, butter-dripping, sauce-coated—She made herself stop that line of thought.

  “Did you see your motion picture, Dr. Montgomery?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he mumbled, not looking at her. The truth was, he hadn’t paid much attention to it because all he’d been able to think of was Amanda. He had to get away from her. He couldn’t bear to continue seeing her hour after hour.

  “Was it enjoyable?” She wanted to ask him hundreds of questions but she didn’t dare. Motion pictures were frivolous things, not at all mind-improving.

  “The same ol’ thing,” he said. “Bad guy, good guy, and an innocent girl with too much eye makeup.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, not knowing how to get him to elaborate.

  Their food came and Amanda’s eyes bugged as she looked at the dishes spread around Dr. Montgomery: a salad of strawberries and pineapple, trout broiled in butter, creamed potatoes, cucumbers with French dressing, asparagus soufflé, popovers and coffee. Her own plate looked bland and tasteless, and she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep the envy out of her eyes if she didn’t get her mind on something besides his food.

  “Shall we have a conversation?” she asked.

  Hank looked up, startled. Her eyes were wide, her features soft. It would be better to never speak to her again, but he mumbled, “Sure.”

  “What shall we converse on?” she asked. “I have been studying President Wilson’s new tariff reforms. Or perhaps you’d like to discuss the economic reconstruction in the Balkan States?”

  Whenever she talked, he knew she wasn’t for him. He gave her a little smile. “Know nothing about them.”

  “Oh,” she said, and watched as he cut into his trout. There was butter glistening on it. “American income tax?” she asked with hope in her voice. “I also know about English and Danish income tax.”

  Hank smiled broader. “Not me.”

  He broke open a popover, and Amanda could smell it, and when he buttered it the butter melted and ran into the soft little holes of the dough. “Servia?” she said quickly. “Adrianople? Janina? Turkey?” Maybe talking about a war would take her mind off the smells and sights.

  “I know nothing about any of them,” he said happily. Now he was remembering what he didn’t like about her. “Why don’t you tell me?” If he could keep her talking, maybe he could remember long enough to get back to her house and get out.

  She talked while he ate. She talked about the Bulgarians having taken Adrianople after a three-day assault. She talked about Austria’s reaction to the takeover and then hypothesized whether Servia and Montenegro would unite.

  The more she talked—lectured—the better Hank felt. This was the Amanda he despised. He could imagine this Amanda and Taylor together with ease. Maybe they’d give birth to a set of encyclopedias.

  The waitress came back with two desserts of thick-crusted peach cobbler. Hank started to tell her to return Amanda’s portion but then Amanda grabbed the plate and began to eat it. She ate like no one else he’d ever seen: sensually, with pleasure in her eyes, almost as if she were making love.

  “Is that all you know about the war?” he asked angrily.

  Amanda was used to having her knowledge quizzed but it was difficult to think when flavors such as these peaches and this divine crust were in her mouth. “R…Russia is angry at Austria and Austria is…” She trailed off for a moment and closed her eyes.

  “Austria is what?” Hank snapped.

  “Angry,” she said at last. “Austria is angry at Russia.”

  “Good,” he said. “Are you finished yet? We have to get back. The schedule, remember? Don’t you need to study something to improve your mind?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said, coming back to reality. Tomorrow she was to have a test on the history and present consequences of the Panama Canal and she would need to study. She looked at the clean plate with regret. Taylor was right: unwholesome food was bad for one in more ways than one. The peach cobbler had just made her hungrier. “We should go.”

  He drove back to the Caulden Ranch very slowly and Amanda arrived without a hair mussed. The first thing she knew she must do was find Taylor and tell him they had returned and perhaps he’d like to revise her schedule since she was back from Terrill City earlier than planned. But at least she’d get her studying done and not have to stay up late tonight doing it.

  A servant told Amanda that Taylor was in the library.

  Hank left his car in the garage and stayed outside while Amanda hurried inside. No doubt she couldn’t wait to see her beloved Taylor, he thought, and realized he was getting angry again. At the moment, he couldn’t bear to see them together.

  With his hands in his pockets, he strolled to the side of the house, idly looking at the plants and the building. The door to the conservatory was open, and he went in. For a few moments he enjoyed the heavy fragrance of the jasmine, then he heard voices behind him in the library. He started to leave, but he knew it was Taylor and Amanda and he stayed where he was and listened.

  “You have returned early, Amanda,” Taylor was saying in a cold voice. “You were to keep him out until evening.”

  “I apologize, but he seemed to want to return.”

  “What he wants is of no consequence. Or doesn’t the welfare of the ranch mean anything to yo
u? You are willing for all of us—me, your father, your mother, yourself—to be thrown out with no means of support merely because you cannot occupy one rather ordinary working-class man?”

  “I am sorry,” Amanda whispered. “I don’t know what to talk to him about. We have nothing to say to one another.”

  “Nothing to say!” Taylor exclaimed. “Do you forget everything you have learned when you’re with him?”

  “No, I don’t, but he isn’t interested in scholarly pursuits, he…he goes to motion pictures.”

  “But the man is a college professor,” Taylor said, his voice puzzled, then he changed. “You must be doing something wrong.”

  “Should I…” Amanda said hesitantly, “…should I go to a motion picture with him? Or a dance? I believe he likes to dance.”

  Taylor’s voice was cold enough to freeze the plants in the conservatory. “Is that the kind of woman you are, Amanda? Have I proposed marriage to a loose woman? Have you been hiding your true self from me all these years? Perhaps next you would like a bottle of gin sent to your room.”

  “No, sir,” she said, slipping back to the time when he was just her tutor and not her tutor and her fiancé.

  “Or perhaps you’d like to wear short dresses and take a typewriting job.”

  “No, sir,” she said softly. “I want only what I have.”

  “It doesn’t sound so to me. Amanda, you have no idea how fortunate you are. You have everything life has to offer. You’ll never have to beg for money or for an education, yet you are willing to throw everything away.” He paused a moment. “Or perhaps it is me alone who you wish to thwart. Perhaps you want me off the ranch. Is that it, Amanda? You do not want to marry me and this is your way of telling me so.”

  “No,” Amanda said, and there were tears in her voice. “I want more than anything in the world to marry you, but I don’t understand this man. I don’t know how to please him.”