Wives and Mistresses by Suzanne Morris

Author:Suzanne Morris
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504028974
Publisher: Open Road Distribution

Chapter 12

Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.…

It was Jordan who was the most pitiful victim of what happened here on the night before last. He had already written that during these Christmas holidays from his first year at college, he wanted to stay with us rather than at home, and before I met Paul for the last time I had written Jordan to tell him we would agree to have him here.

Honestly I had forgotten about his coming, with so many things on my mind. In the week following Paul’s visit, I received two more brief letters from him, begging me to come to him while there was still time. I could hardly bear to read them, I was so torn with regret. Finally I wrote him a letter telling him that I felt obligated to remain with Beryl. For the sake of the children. For the safety of the child I was carrying. The fact that I loved him and would carry that love always could not dismiss me from responsibility. If Beryl were sincere in his desire to work out his problems, and it appeared that he was, then I must forget about the wishes of my heart because I made the commitment to him first.

It was harder to mail that letter than it had been so many years ago to hand the bulky stacks of wedding invitations to the postmaster. I held onto it for days and days before mailing it. I did not hear from Paul at all in response. I knew, since I had made that decision, there was nothing further for him to say to me. Yet I felt it was only fair to relieve Paul of at least part of the burdens he was carrying right now. Perhaps, if we had been given more time, everything would have worked out differently. There was no stopping the relentless march of war in Europe. There was no stopping the date on which Paul would leave for France, December 14. There was no stopping the daily changes becoming visible in my body as the child grew and flourished inside me, already making its own demands.

Then, early in December, Beryl went back to work in the shop. He did not take time off to go to the treatment center for alcoholism, claiming that he had already lost so much time that any further delay would be an “unaffordable luxury.” For three days he was much the same as he had been since the accident. Then, on the fourth day, he began to drink again. For several days I did nothing but grow more nervous and watch to see what would happen. I kept hoping there would be some limit to this, that he really would not let it get out of hand again.

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