Bartle awoke in the darkest part of the night, disturbed. He wasn't sure what had been in his dreams, but he didn't want to go back to them. He got up and paced around in his bare feet, drank a glass of water. He poked his head out the kitchen door, gasped in two or three quick breaths of frigid night air. Maggie followed him to the door to see what was up.
A squirrel was click-clicking over in the nearest tree. Another nocturnal creature was rummaging around in the brush on the other side of the house, possum or raccoon. Bartle shivered and closed the door. Maggie casually glanced into his food bowl. Both went back to bed. Maggie spun around a couple of times and curled himself up on his rag rug. Bartle knew the hound would weasel his way onto the foot of the bed sometime before dawn, but he didn't care about that tonight.
He lay thinking of his daughter and how it would be with her, wondering what kind of young woman she had grown to be. the kind of life had she led, how his solitary life would suddenly and drastically change. Then he thought of Louvina and the way she discomfited him, and how he wanted her for his wife. He fell back into a restless sleep, dreaming of women, stretching out their arms to him, their limbs wrapped around him so tightly he could scarcely breathe.
Bartle had spent the evening before composing a letter to his daughter and got it into the mailbox in the morning for the postman to take. He'd drunk too much coffee. He'd scribbled on, wadded up, and thrown on the floor four sheets of tablet paper before finally deciding that short and to the point would be the best. His letter simply said:
Dear Ayla
You are found after all these years and I welcome you, sweetheart,
more than I can say. I am enclosing money for the train ticket to
Sacramento. You let me know the day and time you will get here and
I will come for you at the station. Fifteen years is an entire life to catch
up on, but we will take our time. I hope you will come to me soon.
Your dad, Bartle Clunes
He worked all morning in his studio, lost in thought. He finished up a large painting of dark, somber digger pines. He was wanted in Sacramento with more of his work for the gallery and needed to concentrate. Around three o'clock he decided to go on over to Louvina's house.
Rounding a bend in the winding, narrow county road, he almost ran into Eizer Griggs, who was trudging down the middle of the lane in the direction of his home, cap jammed on his head, a long heavy coat on his back. Eizer was a local man, an odd character who walked everywhere. One never knew where he would pop up. He was a loner, harmless, everyone knew him, but for some reason they kept a little distance. Bartle slowed down and offered a ride.
“No, I thank you, Bartle, that's right kind, but I will just walk along home. Only got two miles to go. I need the walk, got to stay active.” Bartle wished him a good day and drove on.
Arriving at Louvina's house, he saw her washing hanging on the line, waving stiffly in the chilled breeze. She was pleased to see him. She welcomed him in and put a cup of coffee, a bowl of cherry Jell-O and a can of condensed milk on the table in front of him. Maggie sniffed around the kitchen floor for a minute and then went out to sleep on the porch in the late afternoon sun.
Bartle sat down at the table and dove right in. “Louvina, I have been thinking. We should get married,” he said, ears turning red.
She was startled. “We should? Now...why is that, Bartle?”
He was not prepared for the question. “Why? Why... because I... well... it just plain makes sense. It seems the logical thing to do, don't you think?”
“Bartle Clunes, I am sorry to disabuse you of your conviction, but women as a rule do not decide to marry out of logic. In fact, women make a multitude of decisions every day that logic doesn’t even enter into. If you want to marry me, you should know why, don’t you think?”
He stared at his coffee, looking for the right answer. “Well ... I...let’s see...I...
“What I mean is,” she said, “I would consider marrying you, but you will have to do better than that, that’s all. I am going out to take my wash off the line. You stay here and ponder on it a while,” and out she went with the big basket.
He followed her out into the thin sunlight a few minutes later. Louvina, holding clothes pins in her teeth, was taking down a sheet to fold into the basket. He took one end of the linen and helped her with it.
“I want to marry you, Louvina, because I love you and that is the plain truth,” he said. She knew he meant it, but this was serious business, and she was not going to make it easy.
She deposited the clothes pins into a striped cotton bag hanging on the line. “Now, you look at me, Bartle. What is it about me that you think you love?”
“You are... well... you’re smart and strong, Louvina, … and hard-working. And you're not afraid of things.”
“Yes ... all true,” she said with a smile. “And...?”
Bartle sighed and paused, looking for words. “You are a cheerful, patient woman. You make me laugh. I can talk to you, Louvina. I feel easy with you now. Shoot…at least I did until right this minute. You know, we could do things for each other that we cannot do for ourselves. We would be good partners.”
“Yes, I think we would, too. That's alright, then, Bartle. Thank goodness you did not say you love me for my rare beauty. You stopped just in time,” she said with a laugh. She put down the white linen bath towel she was folding and hugged him to her.
“Bartle, I have always found you to be a quiet, cultured, very smart man and I admire that. You are generous and kind. You enjoy simple, plain living, as I do. You don't mind silence, and you know the value of learning. We are similar – not in every way, but in the important ways. And I would be happy to be your wife.”
He held her in his arms under the clothesline - sheets, trousers, night gowns, dish towels, stockings lifting and flapping in a tangle around their shoulders.
To be continued.
Well, no wasting time. Good on them.
And now I’m hooked! Can’t wait for the next chapters.