Perilous Assurance

 Perilous Assurance

 

  Carol Anne Vick

  Copyright 2016

  As always, many

  thanks to my husband, Ray

  Other Books by the Author:

  The Village of

  Gerard's Cliff

  Copyright 2014

  The Summer of Gauguin

  (Sequel to The Village of Gerard's Cliff)

  Copyright 2014

  An Obscure Haven

  Copyright 2015

  A Pale Paradise

  (Sequel to An Obscure Haven)

  Copyright 2016

  Perilous Assurance

  "Nothing is less real than realism."

  Georgia O'Keeffe, 1965

  "We live in a culture of death...and it is up to us to resist it."

  Daniel Berrigan, 1968

  "All we are saying is Give Peace a Chance."

  John Lennon, 1969

  Chapter I

  Mattie picked up the book from atop the end table beside the sofa and walked back to the dining area to set it on her oak desk, one of the few pieces she'd brought with her to Brooksford two years before, since the apartment had come furnished. A photo fell to the floor, and she reached down and picked it up, holding it out from her. She squinted down at the black and white photo of Robert and herself standing arm in arm in front of the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and she wondered how the picture had ended up in her text. Hmm. She must have used it for a bookmark at some point. This was taken in, what, spring of 'sixty-six, she figured. Her thoughts drifted back to a pivotal day fourteen months after the photo was taken - a hot summer day in 'sixty-seven. A day that would prove to be life-changing......

  She'd looked out through the screen of the open window of her small apartment as he strode up the walk. She crossed her arms, and her eyes gazed past him to his light blue, 'sixty-three Ford Galaxy parked in front of her apartment, seeing that the car was still wet from the earlier shower. She frowned, somewhat puzzled, as she noticed the tiny pale pink petals scattered and stuck to the roof. This was the second time this past week that his car had been covered in the delicate blossoms. A strange tightness crept up to her chest, and she bit her lower lip, narrowed her brows and decided immediately to brush it aside. She picked up her wood cane from its resting place against the pale green wall, and held it in her left hand as she walked the short distance to the front door, opening it to see his arm up, ready to knock. He laughed and bent his head down, giving her a peck on the cheek. She leaned past him and grabbed her mail out of the mailbox and closed the door as he moved past her and walked briskly into the living room.

  "Hello, Robert." She laid the mail on the front table.

  "How were your classes today, Mattie?" he asked lightly, as he sat down on her beige couch. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him, peering up at her. She couldn't read his face, and couldn't shake the odd feeling.

  "Well, summer classes are almost over, thank goodness," she smiled at him as she rested her cane on the edge of the sofa and joined him. "The heat is really getting to us all, the students especially." She smoothed a crease in her lightweight black slacks, and wiped her damp brow, brushing back a stray strand of her dark blonde hair, frizzing now from the humidity. "I'll be glad to see cool autumn weather get here, that's for sure."

  "I'll bet." He smiled tenuously at her, then looked around as if trying to think of something to say. "Do you mind if I turn on the news? I heard there's something going on about the war."

  "Sure." Mattie brushed her damp hair back from her forehead and watched as he walked over to the stand under the window and turned on the small television set. The black and white static came up and he turned the knob until the image of Walter Cronkite came into view. He turned up the volume and returned to the sofa, and they watched the national news, rife with footage of angry protests around the country against the war. Mattie glanced down at her watch, feeling a bit agitated, and saw that it was almost the end of the half-hour news program. She sighed.

  "I heard that Cronkite's going to make a statement on the war." Robert turned to her. She nodded and returned her attention to America's most trusted newsman as he finished his broadcast with an editorial.

  "To say that we are closer to victory is to believe, in the face of the evidence, the optimists who have been wrong in the past. To suggest we are on the edge of defeat is to yield to unreasonable pessimism. To say that we are mired in stalemate seems the only realistic, yet unsatisfactory, conclusion." Cronkite ended his newscast with his customary "...and that's the way it is." Robert got up and turned off the set.

  "Wow." Robert exhaled. "I'll bet old LBJ is going to make a statement of his own after that rebuke from Cronkite." He turned and shook his head at her. "He'll probably send even more troops just to spite him."

  "I'm very tired of the politics of this war, Robert." Mattie sighed. "What can anyone do? Politicians lie and people are dying. The country is obviously fed up with it."

  "It's all about perception, Mattie." Robert peered at her as he returned to the sofa. "LBJ has been saying one thing about the war and now the press is finding out it's not the case, but I still support his beliefs in the domino theory and ending communism. I don't like all these protests, though. They're dividing the country. We have to support the troops. There are almost four hundred and fifty thousand there now, can you believe it?"

  "I heard that, but, I don't know where I stand, honestly. I do wish it were all over." She exhaled, studying his blue eyes. She had to say it. She had to get it out in the open. She was tired of feeling suspicious. "Speaking of perception, Robert, something's been on my mind."

  "What is it, Mattie?" His blue eyes seemed skittish to her now and he turned his head to look at the blank tv. She sighed, knowing that he was trying to avoid any type of confrontation, that's just how he was, but she had to say it.

  "What on earth has been wrong the past couple of weeks? You've seemed extremely distant - very pre-occupied lately." She saw him take a deep breath, and lean back on her sofa, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. He seemed fascinated with the swirled plaster pattern above him for a moment and his short, light brown hair ruffled from the warm air emanating from the metal oscillating fan on the wall shelf, as it turned in their direction. "Is everything all right at work?" She paused, her hazel eyes squinting at him seriously, as she continued slowly and steadily. It was now or never. "Or...is there something else you need to tell me?"

  "Yes....well, Mattie, I've been meaning to talk to you about something." He cleared his throat and looked back over towards her but she noticed that he still couldn't look her in the eyes.

  "All right, I'm listening." She was right. She'd known, really, for a while now. It had been winding down. This was just the formality. Get on with it then.

  "Whew...this is hard." He wiped his damp forehead and continued to stare at the blank television screen as he cleared his throat again. "All right....Mattie, umm...all right. I'll just say it then...I've...met someone else..." His voice trailed off.

  "I figured as much." That wasn't quite true, but she pursed her lips and lowered her lids as she waited for the rest. That would explain the cursory pecks on her cheek lately.

  "...at work." He sounded rather pathetic to her. Now she felt like a parent, listening to the mournful confessions of a small child.

  "Hmm..m." She raised her eyebrows and sighed, nodding as she looked down at her cane and ran her hand along the curved handle and the carved and painted floral design down its side. She kept her breathing slow and even, waiting for any other revelations. Well, she'd felt like she had been the only one present in their relationship for several weeks, and now she knew for sure, and it all made sense,
and it was a relief, actually, if she were honest with herself.

  "She understands me."

  "I'm sure." Why did she find his explanation humorous? She could smile at that. "Well, I've known that something was wrong." She laughed softly "I'm not sure if I considered that another woman could be the reason, but thank you for telling me." Well, perhaps it had been in the back of her mind. Why was she so calm? She had no clue. Her breathing was normal. Why wasn't she livid? Yelling for him to get out. Throwing something at him? A little over a year together was nothing to give up so casually, but yet, strangely, it was all right. Really, why would she want to be with someone who didn't want to be with her? She'd thought this scenario out already, well...minus the other woman...several times in fact. So this was no surprise, and she was all right with it, really. She was ready now for him to make his exit, so she could get on with her life...and her wonderful plans. Should she tell him? She pondered this for a moment as she watched him stare at the leaves of the golden pothos in the ceramic pot on her coffee table as if they were infinitely intriguing. Well, she guessed it wouldn't hurt at this point. Why not. "Actually, your timing is really interesting, Robert."

  "What are you talking about?" She noticed that he'd turned to look at her now, his eyes puzzled and blank at the same time. He looked exhausted to her after his confession, as he wiped some droplets of sweat from beneath his eyes.

  "Well, I accepted a teaching position at a college in New Hampshire."

  "What? For the fall session?" He seemed incredulous, and she nodded in reply. "Why would you leave Virginia?" He paused. "And why didn't you tell me?" He brushed back his hair as the oscillating fan's breeze blew some damp strands on his forehead.

  "Because, Robert, I had applied for a teaching job there a couple of years ago, before we met, and a position just opened up last week. I called them back this morning to accept their offer." She smiled at him. "Brooksford College, in Brooksford, New Hampshire." She ignored his last question.

  "Never heard of it."

  "Well, I'm not surprised. It's a small town and a small college, but they have a strong art department..." She took a deep breath. "...and I'll be the full-time art history professor." He nodded, still looking rather puzzled. "The faculty live on-campus, so I don't have to look for a place."

  "When were you planning on leaving?" He narrowed his brows at her and his voice had an edge to it, as if she'd just told him she'd met someone else.

  "Mid- August." She smiled at him, pleased in a strange, self-satisfied sort of way that she'd turned his ridiculous news into something positive for herself. Maybe she'd known all along that they were not a good match, and were just drifting along together for the last few months. She lifted her chin. "As soon as I knew, I put in my notice at the community college here."

  "Well...I don't know what to say." He was looking directly at her. "I guess we've both had our secrets then." He laughed a little shakily and she shook her head.

  "Yes, I suppose we have." She cleared her throat and stood up, grabbing her cane. She was done with their conversation now. Why drag it on. "I'll see you to the door, Robert."

  "I hope you like New Hampshire, Mattie." He headed to the foyer and his voice was irritatingly soft as he turned back toward her. "And your teaching position."

  "Thank you, I appreciate that." She leaned against the edge of the white door as she held it open for him, but he turned instead and leaned against the door jamb, looking down at her.

  "I'll never forget you, Mattie." He sounded wistful. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

  She eyed him thoughtfully, her mind clear, unmuddled by sentiment.

  "I think this is for the best, Robert, for both of us. It was time." She thought he seemed disappointed in her answer, and he turned to leave. She watched him as he walked out onto the front stoop. "Good luck with your new girlfriend." She wasn't being sarcastic, she really did mean it, she guessed. How could she have planned for a new life if they were still together? It would have all been very difficult and uncomfortable for them both. It had all worked out. Robert turned and laughed a little at her comment, seeming uncomfortable, and she was glad that he didn't make a move to hug her, or attempt any other sentimental gestures. It would be inappropriate, in her opinion. She waved goodbye and shut the door behind him, not bothering to glance out the living room window as she walked back into her living room. She looked around her cozy room, mentally making a list of what she should start packing for her move to Brooksford........

  Mattie slowly closed the book on early medieval art and held out the photo, staring at the crinkled image. She'd been more than right. She and Robert had been completely wrong for each other. Their brief time together had been spent on a very superficial level, in her opinion, and it was a good thing it had ended. She tore the photo into four neat pieces, grabbed her cane and walked over to the kitchen and let the pieces fall into the metal trash can at the end of the white counter with the black and white tile.

  Mattie went back to the dining area and leaned over the black shelf beside the desk and picked out one of her favorite albums, Tosca, with Maria Callas. She pulled out the record from its cover, and slid it on the record player's spindle, carefully dropping the needle onto the groove, and adjusting the volume as the sounds of the opera began. She sat at her desk and turned the study light down toward her and opened the book to the chapter on Ambrogio Lorenzetti, and began to write out her notes for the next day's lecture. She peered at the accompanying book illustration, studying the detail of his fresco on the wall of the town hall in Siena, Italy - The Allegory of Good and Bad Government, painted in thirteen, thirty-eight, and made notations on his style and materials in her notebook. She pulled out the matching slide from the slide-tray and held it up to the light, then returned it to its place among the twenty or so slides on medieval art that her students would view during the hour-long classes.

  She hummed along to the opera, as she worked on her lecture, immersed simultaneously in the music as well as the details of Lorenzetti's intricate painting. She enjoyed teaching her lesson on medieval art, but modern art was her true passion, and she'd decided to have her students jump ahead to that period next. The 'sixties had just exploded with art forms that perfectly embodied the spirit and unrest of the violent decade, and she was pleased that she'd been able to add several books on Andy Warhol, Robert Indianna, Roy Lichtenstein, Bridget Riley, Jasper Johns, and others to her already extensive private collection from various periods in history. She spent the next hour finishing her lecture and organizing the slide tray to her satisfaction, then placed the book, her notebook, and the tray in her brown suede shoulder bag.

  Mattie flipped the kitchen light switch, and made her way through the living area, turning off the desk and floor lamps, and laying her shoulder bag on the sofa. She stopped and leaned on her cane for a moment to gaze around her at the cozy space. When she'd moved to Brooksford College, she'd been delighted with the apartment provided her as part of her contract. It was a duplex really, the left half of an old, two-story, gray stone building with a stately porch and pillars that had been renovated into two living quarters for faculty. She was glad that they'd left some of its charm, and she smiled as she let her eyes roam over the taupe-colored walls, and the large, double, front window with the wide sashes and window seat. The rust-colored drapes accented the formal windows with their cream-colored, pull-down tasseled shades. The sofa was covered with a sage-green cotton slipcover, and a beige overstuffed chair sat next to the white-manteled, brick fireplace. The rust, beige, and sage green oriental rug tied everything together. She checked the front door lock, then turned and walked up the wood staircase, carrying her cane, not needing it as she held onto the wood rail. Tomorrow was Friday, and then...the glorious weekend. She was looking forward to her trip Saturday with the Coulter's, an older married couple, both professors at the school for at least twenty years. Their plans included lunch out at a local pub, then a trip to a nearby orchard in Bristol near the
White Mountains to buy enough fresh apples for a couple of days of baking. The cool, autumn air would make it the perfect trip and she really did enjoy the Coulter's company. Jerry, the head of the history department, was jovial, and she loved his wit, tinged usually with a touch of laconic sarcasm. His wife, Fran, taught English literature, and was more reserved, much like herself. Mattie smiled at the way Fran would lower her reading glasses and roll her eyes at her husband after he'd made some caustic comment on current politics, but they were two peas in a pod, really, and a perfect match, in her opinion. They'd teased her when she'd first arrived, after she'd called the college Brooks-ford, letting her know that the proper pronunciation was Brooks-fud with the emphasis on the first syllable. On a serious note, Mattie found that she could hold long conversations with them on the current batch of artists in the 'sixties, and their visual commentary on the war or the state of affairs in the country, as the three friends sat on the patio behind the couple's house, just down the street from hers. She felt that in the short two years she'd been at the college, that they had become her dearest friends, and she looked forward to spending the day with them.