Mary Clark - A Cry In The Night

Jenny felt a rush of shame at her feeling of irritation. She smiled up at him. “You’re too good to be true.”

The bath helped. She soaked in it, enjoying the unaccustomed length and depth of the tub, which was still mounted on its original brass claw feet. As the hot water soothed the muscles in her neck and shoulders she determined to relax.

She realized now that Erich had carefully avoided describing the house to her. What had he said? Oh, yes, things like, “Nothing much has been changed since Caroline died. I think the extent of the redecorating was to replace some curtains in the guest bedroom.”

Was it just that nothing had worn out in these years or was Erich religiously preserving intact everything that reminded him of his mother’s presence here? The scent she loved was still lingering in the master bedroom. Her brushes and combs and nail buffer were on the dresser. She wondered if there might not still be a few strands of Caroline’s hair caught in one of the brushes.

His father had been desperately wrong to have allowed Erich’s childhood bedroom to be left intact, frozen in time, as though growth in this house had stopped with Caroline’s death. The thought made her uneasy and she deliberately pushed it aside. Think of Erich and yourself, she told herself. Forget the past. Remember that you belong to each other now. Her pulse quickened.

She thought of the lovely new nightgown and peignoir inside her new suitcase. She’d bought them in Bergdorf Goodman with her last paycheck, splurging extravagantly, but wanting to truly look like a bride tonight.

Suddenly lighthearted, she got out of the tub, released the stopper and reached for a towel. The mirror above the sink was clouded over. She started to dry herself then paused and began to wipe away the steam. She felt that in the midst of all the newness she needed to see herself, find her own image. As the glass dried, she glanced into it. But it was not her own blue-green eyes that she saw reflected back.

It was Erich’s face, Erich’s midnight-blue eyes meeting hers in the reflection. He had opened the door so silently she hadn’t heard him. Spinning around, she instinctively clutched the towel in front of her, then deliberately let it fall.

“Oh, Erich, you scared me,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

His eyes never left her face. “I thought you’d want your gown, darling,” he said. “Here it is.”

He was holding an aquamarine satin nightgown with a deep V cut in the front and back.

“Erich, I have a new gown. Did you just buy this one for me?”

“No,” Erich said, “it was Caroline’s.” He ran his tongue nervously over his lips. He was smiling strangely. His eyes as they rested on her were moist with love. When he spoke again his tone was pleading. “For my sake, Jenny, wear it tonight.”

For minutes Jenny stood staring at the bathroom door, not knowing what to do. I don’t want to wear a dead woman’s nightgown, she protested silently. The satin felt soft and clinging under her fingers.

After Erich handed her the gown he’d abruptly left the room. She began to shiver as she looked at the suitcase. Should she simply put on her own gown and peignoir, simply say, “I prefer this, Erich.”

She thought of his expression when he handed his mother’s gown to her.

Maybe it won’t fit, she hoped. That would solve everything. But when she pulled it over her head, it might have been made for her. She was thin enough for the tapered waist, the narrowly cut hips, the straight line to the ankles. The V cut accentuated her firm breasts. She glanced in the mirror. The steam was evaporating now and tiny driblets of water were running down. That must be why she looked different. Or was it that something in the aqua tone of the gown emphasized the green in her eyes?

She could not say the gown did not fit and certainly it was becoming. But I don’t want to wear it, she thought uneasily. I don’t feel like myself in it.

She was about to pull it over her head when there was a soft tap on the door. She opened it. Erich was wearing gray silk pajamas and a matching dressing gown. He had turned off all the lights except for the one on the night table and his burnished gold hair was a counterpoint to the glow of the lamp.

The brocaded cranberry-colored spread was off the bed. The sheets were turned back. Lace embroidered pillows were propped against the massive headboard.

Erich was holding two glasses of champagne. He handed one of them to her. They walked to the center of the room and he touched his glass to hers. “I looked up the rest of the poem, darling.” His voice soft, he spoke the words slowly:

“Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in:

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me,

Say I’m growing old, but add,

Jenny kissed me.”

Jenny felt tears in her eyes. This was her wedding night. This man who had offered so much love to her and whom she loved so much was her husband. This beautiful room was theirs. What difference what nightgown she wore! It was such a little thing to do for him. She knew her smile was as happy as his as they toasted each other. When he took the glass from her hand and set it down, she joyfully went into his arms.

Long after Erich slept, his arm pillowing her head, his face buried in her hair, Jenny lay awake. She was so accustomed to the street noises that were part of the night sounds of the New York apartment that she was not yet able to absorb the absolute stillness of this room.

The room was very cool. She liked that and reveled in the clear fresh air. But it was so quiet, so absolutely still, except for the even breathing that rose and fell against her neck.

I am so happy, she thought. I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy.

Erich was a shy, tender and considerate lover. She had always suspected that there were far deeper emotions possible than Kevin had ever aroused in her. It was true.

Before Erich fell asleep they had talked. “Was Kevin the only one before me, Jenny?”

“Yes, he was.”

“There’s never been anyone before for me.”

Did he mean he’d never loved anyone before or he’d never slept with anyone before? Was that possible?

She drifted off to sleep. Light was just beginning to trickle into the room when she felt Erich stir and slip out of bed.

“Erich.”

“Darling, I’m sorry to wake you. I never sleep more than a few hours. In a little while I’ll go to the cabin and paint. I’ll be back around noon.”

She felt his kiss on her forehead and lips as she drifted back to sleep. “I love you,” she murmured.

The room was flooded with light when she awoke again. Quickly she ran to the window and pulled up the shade. As she watched she was surprised to see Erich disappearing into the woods.

The scene outside was like one of his paintings. The tree branches were white with frozen snow. Snow covered the gambrel roof of the barn nearest the house. Far back in the fields she could catch glimpses of cattle.

She glanced at the porcelain clock on the night table. Eight o’clock. The girls would be waking up soon. They might be startled to find themselves in a strange room.

Barefoot she hurried out of the bedroom and started down the wide foyer. As she passed Erich’s old room, she glanced into it, then stopped. The coverlet was tossed back. The pillows were bunched up. She went into the room and touched the sheet. It was still warm. Erich had left their room and come in here. Why?

He doesn’t sleep much, she thought. He probably didn’t want to toss and turn and wake me up. He’s used to sleeping alone. Maybe he wanted to read.