The Unforgiven Read online

  “He’s had an interesting life,” she agreed. “A regular Conrad character.”

  “You did very well with him. He really opened up to you. That story about him falling out of the boat and the swordfish towing him in the tangled line was great.”

  “It should be a good story,” she said.

  “Were you a reporter on the papers you worked for before?”

  Maggie stiffened and answered him curtly. “No.”

  “Where’d you work? Big dailies? Small-town papers?”

  “Small papers. Why?” she countered.

  Owen was taken aback. “Just curious. I thought maybe you came here to escape the rat race. It’s the perfect place for it. I used to work in New York myself, years ago.”

  Maggie backed down. “Just small papers,” she said.

  “I just keep having this nagging feeling,” he went on, “that I know you from somewhere. That’s why I wondered if you ever worked in New York.”

  Maggie’s stomach tightened into a knot. A photographer from New York. Maybe he had even been at her trial upstate. A vivid memory came back to her of flashbulbs and floodlights bursting through the darkened corridors of the courthouse. No matter how she tried to hide her face, they swarmed over her, mosquitolike, devouring her with their cameras. In the grainy black-and-whites she looked stunned and ghostly. “I’m sure we’ve never met,” she said coldly.

  A flash of lightning was accompanied by a tremendous thunderclap.

  “Uh-oh,” said Owen. “Here it comes.”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth before the rain started, pouring down on them. Owen drew his jacket over his camera equipment. “There’s my jeep,” he yelled to her. “I’m going to make a run for it. Tell Jess I’ll bring the pictures in a day or two.”

  Before she could reply he was sprinting across the street. Sheets of gray, chilling rain drove down the sidewalks and the street. Maggie ran for the Cove News building, but it was already too late to preserve an inch of dryness. She threw open the door and stood panting in the front hallway, water dripping down her face and hair, seeping all the way to her soggy shoes.

  Jess came out of his office and stared at her. “God, you’re soaked,” he observed.

  She glanced down at her dripping garments and shrugged. “I’m afraid so.”

  “You’d better go home. It’s nearly five anyway.”

  Maggie nodded, still panting.

  Grace and Evy came out and stood in the doorway of the office. Grace shook her head and clucked her tongue.

  “Where’s Owen?” Jess asked.

  “He’s gone home. We got a nice story from Ben.”

  “Tell me about it tomorrow,” Jess urged her. “Go on home now. Get out of those wet clothes.”

  By the time she reached the door of her house, the downpour had become a steady rain. Maggie was chilled through by the cold, wet garments plastered to her body. Wearily she sank down into a chair in the dank, cheerless living room. Almost immediately she jumped up again, conscious of the spreading stain from her wet clothes. The oncoming gray twilight gave the house a gloomy aspect. Maggie could feel a vague depression settling over her.

  Jess had made no further advances, no mention of seeing her. Perhaps she had been successful in convincing him last night. So, there she was, just as she should be, alone in her damp, empty house. That’s just what you wanted, wasn’t it, she thought. Listlessly she paced the living room floor, not even bothering to turn on a light. At last she stopped in front of the fireplace and stared into the ash-filled grate. She realized she should try to pull herself out of it. There was no point to just sinking further into her depression.

  Bending down, she began to build a fire, deftly adding wood to kindling until a small fire burned energetically in the fireplace. She stared into it for a few minutes. The wet fabric facing the flames felt as if it were beginning to steam.

  All right, she told herself. A hot shower, dry clothes, and you’ll feel better. Forcing herself wearily to her feet, she trudged into the bedroom and dropped her clothes in a sodden pile on the floor. Then she headed for the bathroom, stopping on her way to poke her head into the living room. The fire was crackling cheerfully. The chill was beginning to come off the room.

  Maggie closed the bathroom door halfway.

  She walked over to the tub, leaned over it, and turned on the water. She adjusted the hot and cold spigots until the water ran hot. She wanted to make it hot enough to banish the chill. Then she turned on the spigot for the shower. Standing up again, she was about to step into the shower when she paused to glance at herself in the mirror above the medicine chest. Gray circles were beginning to form under her eyes. She had slept so little the night before, tormented by familiar, troubling dreams. She was weary, and she wondered if she would sleep more soundly tonight.

  With a sigh she stepped up over the high rim of the tub and stood squarely beneath the cascade of hot water. It felt soothing, heating up her chilled flesh and dousing the cold, rubbery strands of her damp hair. She let it fall over her, drinking in the heat. Then she turned and began to grope for the bar of soap in the clamshell.

  Suddenly she stopped. Through the loud rain of the shower she heard a noise outside the bathroom. She stood still, listening. The house was silent, except for the steady beat of the water on the floor of the tub.

  Stop it, she thought. Don’t be ridiculous. Shaking her head, she stepped back under the full blast of the water, rubbing a nubby washcloth over her skin. With grim determination, she began to hum.

  From just outside the bathroom door, she heard a dull thud. Instantly she grabbed for the spigots and turned them off. She stood naked in the tub, gooseflesh rising on her bare arms. Once again there was silence outside. She waited uncertainly behind the curtain, her heart thudding. With a sickening sensation in her stomach, she realized she had left her robe in the bedroom. What if she pulled back the curtain and someone was there? She could not step out naked.

  After what seemed an interminable amount of time Maggie remembered the towel hanging on a hook outside the shower. She reached outside the curtain and fumbled for the towel, half expecting a hand to clamp down on her wrist. Her fingers grasped the soft terry cloth. She snatched it roughly from the hook and pulled it behind the curtain. With a shuddering sigh of relief, she wrapped the towel around her and tucked it in. Then she threw back the shower curtain.

  There, facing her in the doorway, stood Evy, grinning.

  Maggie let out a cry and clutched the towel tightly to herself.

  “Did I frighten you?” the girl asked. She lifted up her hand and held out Maggie’s bathrobe. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you might need this.”

  “What are you doing here?” Maggie snapped, stepping out of the tub and grabbing the robe from the girl’s outstretched hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Evy apologized, a hurt expression on her face. “I just came by to visit, and I heard the shower running, so I came in. I called out but you didn’t answer.”

  Maggie turned her back to the girl and pulled on the robe, pulling off the towel and tying the belt securely around her. Her heart was still hammering from the shock of seeing Evy in the doorway. She tried to calm the hysterical tremor in her voice. It was all innocent enough, she thought.

  “You shouldn’t just creep up on people like that,” Maggie said angrily, turning back to face her.

  Evy seemed surprised by her anger. “I just came by to be friendly. I didn’t know you’d get so mad.”

  The steam and the damp heavy air in the bathroom were suffocating. Maggie felt almost irrationally cornered by the way the girl stood in the doorway, blocking her path with an expression of wounded innocence on her face. “Excuse me,” she muttered, pushing by the girl’s thin frame.

  The cool air in the hallway hit her with a rush that seemed to revive her and calm her temper. She turned back to face Evy. She put up a hand in a gesture of reconciliation. “You just startled me, that’s all. You may as well come i
n and sit down.”

  “I’ll leave if you want,” said the girl. “I just thought you wanted to be friends.”

  Maggie was conscious of a tiny headache which was beginning to throb over her left eye. “I do,” she said. “Of course I do. Would you like something from the kitchen?”

  “No, I’m fine,” said Evy.

  “Have a seat.” Maggie indicated the sofa, which faced the fireplace. Maggie sat down in the rocker beside the hearth and began to rock absently, back and forth, staring into the fire. The heat from the fire felt soothing on her face, as if she were lying in the sun. The girl settled herself into the corner of the couch.

  “I can’t wait until next summer,” Maggie sighed.

  “Next summer?” Evy asked.

  Maggie shook her head. “Don’t mind me. I was thinking of the sun. That’s all.”

  “Oh,” said Evy flatly. She leaned back against the throw pillow in the corner of the sofa. “Summer’s a long way off.”

  Maggie nodded moodily and continued to rock.

  “Winters aren’t so bad,” Evy offered. “Doesn’t snow that much. It has to do with being so near the ocean. I remember one time, though, when my mother and I first came here, there was this big ice storm. All the trees, everything was covered with ice. You could hear the branches creaking as you passed by. And then every so often one would just break from the weight. Crack,” said Evy, smacking her palm with her bony hand, “just like that.”

  Maggie started at the girl’s demonstration. She looked up at Evy, who shifted in her seat, adjusting the pillow behind her. “I hope we don’t get one of those,” Maggie said.

  “Oh, it really looked neat,” said Evy. A silence fell between them. Maggie felt weary from the day’s events and the tension of Evy’s appearance. The heat of the fire was making her drowsy. She wished the girl would go, but Evy seemed content to sit on the sofa, watching her. Feeling obligated to make conversation, Maggie searched for something to say.

  “Did you get much done at the office after I left?” she asked at last.

  “Not much,” said the girl.

  “I had a good time meeting that old sailmaker today.”

  “Ben?” Evy asked.

  “Yes. He’s had a fascinating life.”

  “He’s really old,” Evy observed, rearranging herself in her seat again.

  Maggie stifled a yawn. It seemed as if the girl was incapable of making conversation. And yet she made no move to leave. Maggie gave it another stab.

  “I’ve been reading these notices we’re putting in the paper about a fair on Sunday. Is this an annual event?”

  Evy nodded. “Every year.” She squirmed in her seat again. “There’s something under here,” she complained.

  Maggie screwed up her mouth impatiently. “I could make some tea if you’d like,” she said, hoping Evy would refuse, and take the signal to leave.

  Evy stuck her hand behind the pillow and rooted around. “No thanks,” she said. She stopped fumbling and seemed to grasp something. “What’s this?” she asked, dislodging the object from between the cushion and the sofa back. She held it up and scrutinized it. It was a pipe with a carved wooden bowl. Maggie tried to imagine how it had gotten there. Then she remembered that Jess had sat there on Saturday, when he came with the perfume. It must have fallen out of his pocket. He had mentioned at dinner that he’d lost his good pipe.

  “How about that,” Maggie said, careful to keep her tone indifferent. “Must be Thornhill’s.” She extended her hand to Evy, indicating a desire to look at it.

  Evy did not look at Maggie, but continued to examine the pipe in her hands. “Why do you say that?” she asked softly.

  “It must be,” said Maggie, insisting on her own fabrication. “It’s certainly not mine.”

  Evy’s eyes met Maggie’s. Her face was drained of all color. “Actually, it’s Jess’s pipe.” Evy placed the pipe carefully on the low table in front of her, as if jarring it even slightly might cause it to explode.

  “Jess’s?” Maggie’s attempt to show surprise resounded unconvincingly in the room.

  “Mr. Emmett gave it to him last year, on his birthday,” said Evy slowly.

  “Well,” said Maggie weakly. She rose from her seat and walked over to the fire, avoiding the girl’s stare. She crouched in front of the fire and rubbed her hands together, all the while casting about in her mind for a way to explain. “It might be Jess’s, come to think of it. He was here to pick me up. I had some car trouble the other day…”

  Evy spoke coldly from behind her. “Why’d you lie about it? You knew it was Jess’s.”

  Maggie reached out angrily and disengaged the poker from the stand which held the fireplace tools. She grasped the metal rod tightly and began thrusting it into the glowing logs. “I didn’t lie,” Maggie insisted defensively. “I didn’t recognize it at first. I have no reason to lie, Evy. I told you, Jess was here the other day. That old car of the Thornhills seems to be a lemon. And I needed to get out and do some errands so I asked Jess for a ride. That’s all there was to it. He came by and visited for a few minutes…”

  “Stop it,” said Evy. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Maggie clutched the poker tightly in one hand. Evy’s words began to break across her back like lashes from a whip.

  “What’s the matter with you?” said Evy. “Do you think I’m so stupid that I don’t know what you’re doing? With Jess. Throwing yourself at him. It’s disgusting. You’re doing something disgusting and trying to pretend you’re not.”

  “That’s not true,” Maggie whispered into the fire.

  “Who do you think you’re fooling with your lies?” the girl railed at Maggie’s back. She stood up and inched toward the crouching woman, squeezing and unfurling her fingers. “I know what you’re doing. I know all about it. But Jess. How did you ever lure him into it?”

  Maggie wheeled around and stood up, the poker clutched tightly in her trembling hand, her eyes wild. “Stop it,” she cried. “Stop it. I won’t listen to it.”

  Evy drew back in alarm at the sight of Maggie’s fury. The poker bobbed a few feet from her breastbone. “All right,” said Evy. “All right.” Her eyes were riveted on the menacing poker.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Maggie breathed.

  “I take it back,” Evy placated her. “Maybe you’re right. Just don’t hit me.”

  “Hit you?” Maggie looked down at the poker on which Evy’s eyes were fixed. She looked genuinely perplexed, as if she had forgotten she was holding it. Her eyes traveled back to Evy’s frightened face. “Hit you?” she repeated. Then she groaned. “Oh, God.” She threw the iron rod back among the collection of fireplace implements, then rested her forehead against the mantelpiece. “I’m sorry,” she moaned.

  Evy’s eyes glittered as they moved from the fallen poker to Maggie’s face, hidden in the crook of her elbow. She took a step toward her. Just then an impatient knocking sounded at the back door. Both women looked up, startled, at the door.

  “Open up,” cried Jess’s voice. “I can’t hold this thing.”

  9

  Maggie opened the door to see a smiling Jess, cradling a fluffy brown and white puppy that squirmed in his arms. His smile faded as he looked at her.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You look awful. You’re as white as a ghost.”

  “I’m okay,” she said. She reached out to touch the whimpering ball of fur. “You brought my puppy.”

  “Can I bring him in?” he asked. “I think he’s gonna pee on me any minute.”

  “Evy’s here,” said Maggie.

  “Well,” said Jess, “I hate to interrupt, but this guy ain’t gonna wait.”

  Maggie nodded and stood aside, letting Jess and his tiny bundle through the door.

  Evy was putting on her jacket as he came in.

  “Hey, Evy,” he said pleasantly, “you want to meet Maggie’s new pup?”

  “Cute,” the girl muttered, avoiding his
eyes. “I’m just going.”

  “Don’t run off,” he said. “I think this guy wants us to play with him a little. Hey, will you hand me that newspaper in the log basket?” Evy handed him the paper without a word, then walked around him as he bent down and put the puppy on the paper.

  She continued on past Maggie and out the door.

  “Evy,” Maggie pleaded as the girl walked by with her head bowed. Evy stopped but did not look at her. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Good-bye,” the girl muttered and she started down the porch steps into the misty evening.

  Maggie turned back into the room and saw Jess sitting beside the little dog, his forefinger in the puppy’s tiny jaws. He looked up at her apologetically. “I guess I came at a bad time. I thought you might be cheered up by having your puppy. You seemed so blue last night.”

  Maggie smiled, her happiness at seeing him overshadowing how upset she was about the scene with Evy. “I’m glad you brought him.” She knelt down beside him and ran a finger over the puppy’s damp fur. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” she said.

  “I don’t give up without a fight,” he said. “What was Evy doing here?”

  Maggie shrugged. “She just came by to be friendly.”

  “That was nice,” said Jess hopefully.

  “We ended up having an argument.”

  “About what?”

  Maggie glanced at him. “About you. She’s very attached to you. She found your pipe under a sofa cushion and she got kind of jealous.”

  “Well, she’ll just have to learn to get used to it,” said Jess firmly. Then he smiled. “I’m glad to get my pipe back.”

  “Jess…” Maggie began, and then stopped.

  “Yeah?”

  “Does she have any reason to be so jealous? I mean, is there, was there ever anything…”

  “Oh, Maggie,” Jess protested, “for heaven’s sake, I told you. I’m her friend. She’s like a kid sister to me. How often do I have to say it?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want to be in the middle of anything. I can’t tell you how much it bothers me.”