Life Works 032 - Story: I Will
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I Will
© Christopher Shennan 2008
Skip Rooney knew something was wrong.
It wasn't just the abandoned look of the farmhouse, stark and ghostly in the moonlight, that gave that impression, or that Kerry Moses had gone missing. It was something else!
He had felt it the moment he had gotten into town. After three years in the big city he had expected some changes. You lose touch with people when you are not there to notice things happening in their lives. It is natural to feel a little strange with old acquaintances, till you have a chance to talk and catch up on things that have happened since you saw them last. He had expected that.
What Skip had not expected was the sudden silence that greeted him when he entered a room, or met a friend on the street. It was not unkindness that caused the silence. He would have picked up on that right away. They were not hostile to him, but he got the idea they were embarrassed; as if they had some secret knowledge, and were not sure how he would react if they told him. It made him feel uneasy -- and anxious.
He was sure of one thing: whatever was bothering the town people it had something to do with Kerry Moses -- the girl he loved.
Skip remembered how it had been that morning when he had first hit town.
'Why . . . no S . . . Skip,' Ted Engstrom stammered, his round face looking flushed and embarrassed against the background of grocery shelves. 'I can't tell you nuthin. I kinda mind my own business, like.'
"But Ted, when someone you've known all your life suddenly stops coming to your store, surely you get curious? And you say no one else has seen them in town for the past two months. People don't just disappear without questions being asked."
'Never said that,' Ted snapped, a stubborn look appearing on his face. 'I said I cud tell you nuthin' 'bout the last two months. Never said I hadn't seen her.'
'Come now, Ted, you've known me since I couldn't even peek over this counter. Why all this secrecy. You know I went away so I can come back to marry Kerry Moses. She stopped writing two months ago. Before that I got a letter two or three times a week. Every week, Ted. Then, suddenly -- nothing.'
'A hard look came into the grocer's eye, "You been a way three years. Three years! " He turned away, delivering a parting shot over his shoulder, "I got nuthin' more to say to you, Skip Rooney. Nuthin' yet anywise.'
Skip emerged onto the sunlit street with his first puzzlement deepening into alarm. Several people he had known well brushed past him on the sidewalk, with only curt greetings that held no warmth. Clearly the feeling was general that he had treated Kerry badly. That was evident from Ted's remarks and the almost identical looks he had received from the time he had first arrived in town.
He couldn't say he altogether blamed them. Three years was indeed a long time. But None of them seemed to understand he had stayed away out of a sense of honor. He loved Kerry with an intensity that almost frightened him. He had vowed to himself he would not return till he could offer her a life without toil and drudgery. He had seen his own mother, and a number of other village woman, melt like beautiful wax dolls in the summer's heat. They had changed from fine postured examples of the fair sex, into faded replicas of their former gentle loveliness. That would never happen to Kerry.
'Could anyone imagine," Skip mused, "the agony I endured to keep to my original plan; the lonely nights and labour-filled days; the thousands of times I almost packed up and come home to marry Kerry -- with or without enough money to set up home. Nevertheless, I kept true to my principles -- for Kerry's sake.'
Still, Skip admitted to himself that however much money he had saved, it had never been enough. When he was able to buy out Ted Engstrom, who was near retirement, the vision of owning Ma Benson's Haberdashery store kept him working and saving. Next, Bud Everett's saw-mill rose up to claim another year of his labour. The original one year's planned absence had stretched into three.
He snapped out of his reverie when he noticed a girl coming out of a store across the street. She wore a powder-blue dress that contrasted fetchingly with her wavy dark tresses, reaching almost to her waist. He cried out as he raced to intercept her, dodging a youth on a bicycle, who swerved wildly to avoid crashing into him. The unpaved street sent up a protesting cloud of dust, but Skip hardly noticed.
'Mary! Mary Bennett!'
The girl had progressed half a block along the wooden side-walk before turning at the sound of her name.
He had expected the same hard look he'd been getting all morning. Instead, her large dark eyes regarded him with a kindly, almost pitying benevolence. The old quality of friendship was also there. After all, Kerry, Mary, and he, had been inseparable throughout their childhood years. Looking at her, Skip knew that none of that old comradeship had changed, except that now there was a mild reproach in her manner.
'I expect you want to know about Kerry?' She avoided his gaze, toying nervously with her purse.
'You know I do! Mary, what's all this mystery about Kerry? She wasn't at the farmhouse. No one was there, neither her mother nor her brother. Now people I've known all my life will hardly speak to me. Even old Ted is secretive, even offensive. "What's going on?'
'You've been away three years, Skip.'
'That's what Ted said. Don't you understand. I was doing it all for Kerry. I vowed I'd never let her be broken by hardship and poverty.'
Mary said gently, 'You never even came back for a visit.'
Skip sighed, "Mary, believe me. I couldn't! Not if I was going to fulfill my goal in the shortest time possible. Besides, I wrote to Kerry nearly every day. She knew what I was doing and how much I loved her.'
Now it was Mary's turn to sigh, 'Do you really think that was enough, Skip Rooney. Can a girl in love with her man clasp paper and ink to her heart for three years and be satisfied with words, instead of the warmth of his embrace.'
'But that's not . . .'
'No, Skip. You listen to me!' She glanced around.
Till then Skip had not noticed how people had stopped to eavesdrop on the conversation. Now he realized a dozen or more town folk, most of them old friends, were unashamedly watching the exchange between Mary and himself, like spectators at a fist-fight. He wanted to escape, but the force of Mary's speech held him transfixed. There was still something he wanted ask her.
'I doubt whether you've ever really seen Kerry,' Mary was saying, "I sure you love her, but your way of showing it ignores what the real Kerry Moses is like. You see her flaming hair, flashing green eyes and perfect complexion. You're terrified something will mar that vision of loveliness and leave you with a worn out shell.
'Well, I have news for you, Skip Rooney. Even if hard work doesn't bend her figure; if drudgery doesn't spoil the smoothness of her skin -- she won't escape. Time will ravage her. Age will bend her and form wrinkles on her face. Life will deal her blows that will form frown marks on her forehead and bring a pained expression into her eyes.
'What will you do then? Will you still love her when she no longer fits the perfect picture of your dreams? Perhaps you don't love her at all. Perhaps you're in love with the "idea" of Kerry Moses -- the "beautiful maiden" Kerry Moses. You've never seen the Kerry Moses that is faithful and true and caring and brave -- qualities that won't fade with time or hardship. Perhaps you have fallen in love with the wrong Kerry Moses.'
Mary's eloquence stunned him. Skip realized she must have rehearsed this speech countless times in the last year or more. After all, she was Kerry's closest friend. Now, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing. He did not move until the small crowd had dispersed -- then he hightailed it after her.
She had turned the corner into a side-street before he caught up. He was breathless and ashamed when she faced him. Nevertheless, in spite of the hardness of her speech, there was sympathy in her gaze.
'What is it, Skip.'
He stared down at his city-bought shoes, 'I . . . I . . . have to ask you . . .something. I've got to know. Has Kerry . . . I mean . . . has she found someone else?'
'I'm sorry, Skip,' Mary said softly, 'but I can't tell you that.' Then, sensing his pain, she said, 'I'll tell you this much. If you'll be at the old farmhouse at seven tonight, I'll see if Kerry will agree to see you. I don't promise . . . but I'll try.' Then she was gone. There was nothing left for Skip to do but hope blindly that all was not lost.
That had been at midday. Now it was after seven and the darkened and deserted farmhouse mocked the tiniest shadow of hope he had entertained during the afternoon. She had not come. She was finished with him. He suddenly saw how blind he had been. Tendrils of despair tugged at his heart. He admitted that his obsession had been foolish, however well-intentioned. Kerry had every right to dump him.
Skip shook himself. He could at least walk down the hill and make sure she was not waiting for him in the dark, though why she should do that was beyond him. He smoothed his hands over his expensive jacket and tested the knife-edge pleats of his trousers with his fingers, before forcing himself to walk mechanically to what he now believed was a futile exercise.
The door creaked on its hinges, but otherwise made no other protest as he opened it. The interior of the house was pitch dark. He found a lamp hanging on hook near the door and lighted it. The place was deserted. A candelabra, devoid of candles, stood on the piano. Beside it was a photograph he had not seen before. He moved forward and held the lamp high. It was a picture of Kerry and her brother, and with them a young man of stunning appearance. He was tall and masculine, with the classic features of a Greek god. He seemed the ideal compliment to Kerry's beauty.
Skip felt an unaccustomed jealously boil and seethe within him. However, he was too honest and fair-minded to allow it to overflow into vengeful action. He had deserved whatever pain and anguish there was to endure. There was nothing left but to walk out of Kerry's life and allow her to choose her own path of happiness. So that is what he did. He blew out the lamp and hung it in his place. He did not search the house for he sensed his barrenness. Besides, even if Kerry was there, it would be too painful to see her now. He slammed the door and walked out across the yard toward town.
He was almost to the gate when he saw the barn. He thought he had seen a flicker of light around the edges of the door. There had been no light in it earlier. He might well be mistaken, but the incident peaked his curiosity. He veered off toward the barn to investigate.
For the first moments after Skip opened the door, he stared into utter darkness. Then, all over the interior lamps were lighted and greetings burst from a hundred throats. Nevertheless, it was not the greetings, or the lighting of lamps, that drew his attention.
On a platform, no doubt rigged for the occasion, stood the pastor of the local church. Beside him, resplendent in a wedding-dress so white it hurt his eyes, stood Kerry Moses. Skip had blundered into a wedding party. His worst fears had been realized. Not only had Kerry found another man in his absence, she was going to marry him tonight.
He had decided to flee when he noticed something: Kerry and the preacher were on the platform, but there was no bridegroom to be seen. Mary Bennett stood in a bridesmaid dress beside the Greek god character he had seen in the picture, but he was totally absorbed in Mary. He seemed to have no eyes for the bride. Smiling faces beamed at him from everywhere: townsfolk who had acted strangely all day but now seemed delighted to see him.
And Kerry? She was gazing at him across the barn floor with such loving devotion he thought he would faint from sheer joy.
Suddenly the preacher called out in his deep, resonant voice, 'Skip Rooney, will you take this woman, Kerry Moses, to be your lawfully wedded wife.'
The world seemed to spin as Skip almost staggered toward the girl of his dreams, managing to croak out in a hoarse whisper, 'I will!'
Then he swallowed and said it louder, 'I will!'
Credits
- The barn photograph is by Brian Everett, found on Flickr. Used under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.
- The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.
- The intro voice belongs to Steve "Snowball" Saylor.
- This podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.
