Pearl Buck - The Goddess Abides

“None at all,” she agreed.

“Where is this land?”

“It’s in North Jersey, near a town but not in it. A part of a great estate, I think, on a cliff with surrounding forest. One passes several of those great old houses—”

She gave exact directions, and heard him breathing heavily as he took notes.

“What’s your price range, Mrs. Chardman?” he asked.

“I just — want it,” she said.

He laughed. “Then I suppose you must have it! Why not?”

“Why not?” she agreed again.

…The filmy flakes of an early snowfall were drifting through the morning air. The sky was gray, a November gray, that morning as she opened the heavy front door. Even the door seemed heavier than usual, and she had more than once complained to Arnold about that door, hanging on immense brass hinges. Weston held the door open a moment now.

“I’m glad, madame, that you decided against driving yourself. It looks like a real snow — so quiet and all.”

“Please tell Agnes not to disturb the papers on my desk upstairs when she is dusting.”

“Yes, madame.”

“I’ll stop somewhere for luncheon but I should be home for dinner.”

“Alone, madame?”

She hesitated. “I think I’ll ask Miss Darwent to dine with me tonight.”

She went to the telephone in the hall and dialed. “Amelia? Yes, it’s Edith. I have an errand today in Jersey, but I’ll be back in time for dinner. Will you dine with me? Eight o’clock — that gives me plenty of time. Oh, good—”

She hung up, and turned to Weston, patiently waiting. “She’ll come, and she likes fresh lobster, remember!"

“Yes, madame.”

She was off, then, and the heavy door shut behind her. The driveway made a circle and from the window of the car, through the drifting snow, she saw for an instant the formidable house of gray stone, standing like a German baronial castle in the midst of tall dark evergreens. Somehow she must escape that castle, but which way escape lay she did not know. And why was she pinning her faith on a house? The land was now about to be hers, however, the site, the place, the view over the ocean, the cliff, the small semicircular steps to the beach. Wilton Senior had accomplished that much. The estate was in the hands of heirs, and they had been eager to sell and, learning of this, she had offered to triple the acreage upon which she had first planned. She now owned sixty acres, far more than she needed, but they gave her room, and a wider view. She would let it grow wild. There would be no formal gardens, no cutting and clipping.

The morning slipped away in silence. The chauffeur drove smoothly and swiftly. Arnold had trained him to a controlled speed but she had increased the speed to the limit in recent months and without sign of protest or surprise he had accepted the change as though he understood why she wanted now to be driven faster. What he thought she did not know, a silent man, still young in her terms, at least — perhaps forty? She knew nothing about him and it never occurred to her to ask. Now, however, shut in by the snow, she felt the silence oppressive and broke it.

“William, are you married — children and so on?”

“No, ma’am. I live with my old mother.”

“Old? How old?”

“Sixty-three, ma’am.”

“In Philadelphia?”

“At present, ma’am. We used to live in North Jersey. My mother was housekeeper in one of them big old houses. That’s how I know where to go now, ma’am. I grew up in those parts.”

“Oh? And did you know the Medhursts?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s where my mother worked.”

“How strange! I’ve bought some of the Medhurst land.”

“So I’ve heard, ma’am.”

She fell into surprised silence. Nothing in her life could be really private, she supposed, for Arnold had been well known in financial circles. But why should she care? She was herself the daughter of a famous man, the widow of a prosperous one. She had no need of secrets, and would have none, she decided firmly. To have no secrets was to be truly free. And so in this mood of freedom she arrived at her destination where she found Wilton Senior waiting in his car. He came to her at once.

“I brought the necessary papers for you to sign, Mrs. Chardman. I think everything is in order, provided you’re satisfied.”

“Let me just look at my view and see if it is all I remembered.”

The snow had momentarily ceased and she walked to the edge of the cliff and looked over the heaving gray sea. There was no wind to drive the waves to whitecaps, but far below her the surf broke heavily against the rocks that surrounded the beach. The chauffeur came to her side, also.

“I used to run down them steps, ma’am, when I was a kid, that is, and in the early morning before the family was up — all except Master Robert — Bob they called him. He wasn’t so much older than me. There’s good crabbing on that beach when the tide goes out.”

“The steps don’t look very safe now,” she observed.

“No, ma’am. But I could put them into shape easily enough. I’m handy that way.”

“Perhaps I’ll ask you to do it for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He went away when she said no more, and she continued to look out over the sea. Whether she ever built the house, this land was now hers. The house could be or could never be, but she stood firmly on her own land. The snow was beginning to fall again. She felt the flakes cold against her face, like the touch of cold fingertips, and she turned to Wilton Senior.

“I am ready to sign the papers,” she said.

…“Whatever became of that house you were going to build?” Amelia inquired over the dinner table.

She had been absorbed in the lobster and until now she had asked no questions. Indeed, there had been no time, for Edith had been late. The snow had increased into a quiet storm, so that when Weston opened the heavy door it was to inform her immediately that Miss Darwent had already arrived and was waiting in the library, the drawing room being too chilly for her, since the north wind had begun to blow on that side of the house.

“Tell her I’ll be down in five minutes — I’ll just change — and dinner can be served at once.”

“Yes, madame”" He hesitated and then went on, “I did tell the chauffeur when you were to be back, madame.”

She paused at the foot of the stairs to smile, remembering the jealous hostility between these two faithful servants. “It wasn’t his fault. The snow is already deep.”

“Very well, madame.”

In a few minutes she and Amelia were at the table in the dining room, where a fire blazed under the marble chimney piece. Amelia had drunk her clear soup promptly and was now busy with broiled lobster and melted butter, her napkin tucked into her collar.

“It’s still only in the mind,” Edith replied.

“You’ll never find a more comfortable house than this,” Amelia said. She was cracking a huge claw in a pair of pincers, and it gave way suddenly with a loud report.

“It will have a different sort of comfort,” Edith said, and then smiling at her old friend, she went on, “If I had anything to tell you, I would tell you, Amelia. The truth is, I am in a curious state of mind, not confused really, but searching. I haven’t quite found myself, I don’t quite know what I want, or where it can be found. I’m just — enjoying life in a queer sort of way, perhaps not really facing anything — I don’t know.”

Amelia put down claw and pincers. “You’re idle, that’s what. You need something to do. Why don’t you find a charity or something?”

“I don’t want or need busy work,” Edith replied. “I have my music — and books I haven’t read and—”

“And what?” Amelia demanded when she paused.