Page 15 of Helen Keller in Love

“Promises, promises.” He opened my blouse. “When we’re done here you can saunter downstairs all fresh and perky, and I’ll come down later. Like we’ve been apart all day.”

“You’re a master planner.”

“I could be a spy.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Maybe I am.”

It was a perfect escape, if only for a while. We stood glued together behind the Chinese screen propped in the corner of my study. I couldn’t have been happier. I felt the tread of Annie’s footsteps on the stairs. Peter and I stood stock still. Finally the door opened, I smelled the scent of Annie’s hair, then the door closed and her footsteps faded away. Within moments I inhaled the scent of car exhaust and asked Peter, “Is Annie leaving?” He spelled back that Annie was furious: she had yelled that there were no groceries, she was going shopping, and Mother was going to nap in her room. I noticed that Peter tried to seem easygoing, relaxed, but there was something tentative in his hands. I wanted to keep him by my side, so I did the only thing I knew how to do when situations got tense.

I took a deep breath and said, “I’m itching to get out of this house. We’ve been here for days since our Chautauqua trip. I like to keep moving. How soon till that speech in Boston?”

“It’s in …” He slid his fingers over my back, then down to the desk to grab the letter. “Five days.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s when Annie’s test results come in.”

“She’ll be fine. And then we’ll have three things to celebrate.”

“Three?”

“Annie’s health, your rousing speech, and …”

“And?”

“And the fact that you’ve agreed to marry me.”

“Marry you? You haven’t asked me properly.”

“I’ve seen you with your top off, missy. Don’t talk to me about proper.”

I smiled, waiting for him to go on.

“Am I to get down on one knee? To beg?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you to beg.”

“Beast. You want me to prostrate myself before you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Your wish is my command.” He lowered himself to the floor and said, “Thank God I have this.”

“A ring?”

“Better. One exquisitely sharp fingernail.” He scratched the back of my bare calf and then pressed hard on the inside of my bare thigh.

“Do you say yes?”

I couldn’t answer.

“Helen, let’s marry. Let’s run away.”

I couldn’t move.

“I’m begging,” he said, his breath warm on my thigh, his hand inside my skirt.

I called his name. My voice, which I hardly ever used in front of him, was ragged, but I couldn’t help myself. Yes.

As I pulled him toward me his curly hair, rough in my hands, smelled of teak, a kind of far-off tree. My senses told me that even as he proposed, fear pitched through him. He knew I was not like other women. Every day, in recurring, relentless ways, he would have to care for me. Strangely, I was not afraid. We would marry, run away. So when I felt him pull away from me I reached for him.

His skin was slightly slippery. He pulled hard at my hands and said, “You’ll marry me?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll let me deal with your mother and Annie?”

“Yes.”

Why didn’t I realize that Peter acted strong but was really frightened? It wasn’t clear to me then, when I put aside my loyalty to Annie, to my mother, even to myself, that Peter was what Annie called a paper fighter. A person who fought in print, through words, but when real people were involved, he would dissolve. I couldn’t see it at that moment. I didn’t want to see it.

There are so many ways to be blind.

We celebrated our engagement that afternoon. “Shhhh,” Peter said as he led me down the back stairs, past my mother, who napped in the first-floor bedroom, her rose perfume filling the air. “Let’s go outside.” With a shudder of the back door we were free: out and running across the bumpy grass to the edge of the yard.

“What do you want to do?” he said.

“How about you teach me to drive?” I laughed. “If I’m to be your wife, I’ll need to be at least your equal, maybe more.”

“For now let’s try a bike.” Peter laughed. “Let’s ride the tandem bike.” Peter yanked my hair loose from its pins. “Come on.” We dragged the heavy bicycle out of the garden shed, pulled on gloves, and off we flew over the bumpy New England roads, my hair flying as we pedaled up hills and down dales.

What seemed like an hour later we reached a field, where he dropped the bicycle on the grass with a chunky thonk that I felt in my legs. We were sweating.

“I’m no athlete,” he said. “That’s probably the last time we do that.”

“I’ll drive next time,” I laughed. “Put me up front. I can steer like a madwoman.”

“I’ll bet you’re a menace behind the wheel.” He trapped my wrists above my head so I couldn’t move.

Then he put some wildflowers in my hands.

“Your favorites, missy.”

The buttercups’ rounded flower heads were dense with something that burst straight from the earth’s center.

Then he opened my mouth and slid in a yellow bit of flower.

“Are you hungry?” he said.

I remembered how, when I was young, I pounded the table, craving meats, sweets, anything to put in my speechless mouth. I had the same feeling with Peter. Some new hunger flooded me.

“Starving,” I said.

Chapter Sixteen

By a slight quiver in my nostrils I could sense a storm’s approach. A flood of earth odors washes through me when a storm closes in. So I was not surprised when rain started to fall later that afternoon as Peter and I paused on the back lawn, cricket

s shirring open the hot air. Peter lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into the air. “Time to face the music.” He nodded toward the house.

“You know I can’t hear music.” I laughed.

“Excuse me for forgetting your handicap. But you’re lucky you can’t hear Annie stomping around inside.”

We both paused on the back steps.

“Do you think I can’t tell how angry she is?” The staccato of Annie’s footsteps crisscrossing the kitchen sent splinters through the floorboards of the porch.

“You want to face her alone? I’ll come with you.” Peter came up the steps.

“No. She’d tear you apart. I’d better go first.”

“Helen,” he said. “You act so strong. It’s not a sign of weakness to ask for my help. I’m here when you need me.”

The smoke from his cigarette smelled bitter.

It’s strange to me now, how as I walked through the downpour of warm rain and into the house my acute senses felt nothing to fear at all. The truth is that when I moved into the house to meet Mother and Annie I felt stronger, more alive, than either of them had ever been. The sweet scent of corn, the bitter tang of radishes, the warm scent of bread told me Annie was back with the groceries. She thumped and banged cabinet doors open in the kitchen as she unpacked the bags, and when I felt my way into the room Annie was so annoyed at seeing me that she slammed the French doors.

She herded me into the stuffy kitchen, where she drew the curtains against the rain. “Don’t make me ask, Helen. Just spit it out. Where have you been?”

“I’ll help with the groceries.” I tried to pry a bulky bag from her arms.

“Stop.” She dropped the bag to the counter. “Stop trying to distract me. Just tell me the truth.”

“The truth is I’m worried about you. How was your test?”

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