But while that might explain a first transgression and perhaps mitigate the guilt, it could not explain why he had gone to her the next night, and the nights after that. He might promise himself to end it when Delia came home. He might even try to excuse his actions by reminding himself (lamely) that what his wife didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. (How many errant husbands use that for an excuse? he wondered.) But he could not escape what he knew to be a fundamental truth: that he loved Annie and he needed to be with her.
In the beginning, of course, he had been simply powerless against the force of his need. Delia had long ago insisted on separate bedrooms, for she slept better, she claimed, when she slept alone. She had always made it clear that by allowing him in her bed, she was performing her marital duty, but after Caroline was born she had seemed to merely tolerate him, rather than welcome him. In fact, now that he thought about it, he realized that it had been quite some time since he and his wife had made love. It had been at least a month before she went off to Galveston, hadn’t it? Or perhaps even six or seven weeks. She had pleaded headaches, and then a painful monthly, and after that a lingering summer cold. And every night, they continued to sleep apart.
In contrast, Annie’s eager passion, her physical hunger for him—quite astonishing, he thought—was equal to his desire for her. When he was with her, he drowned in her physical presence. When they were apart, he was filled with the memory of holding her, kissing her, moving inside her. The feeling of her bare body beneath his hands and the urgency of her warm mouth under his had made an impression on his soul that would haunt him to the end of time. He remembered the song his friend Doug had often sung to her: And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I would lay me down and die. He understood that now, for he felt the same way. Rapt, entranced, enchanted, he couldn’t stay away.
But as the days and nights went on, Adam began to understand—dimly at first, then more and more clearly—that what compelled him was not just simple physical need, powerful as that might be. Over the three years since Douglas’ death, he had watched Annie become proudly, fiercely self-reliant. She had organized her business and pulled together a team of women to do the work. She knew what she wanted and had the courage to reach for it—and the determination to keep on reaching even when fate slapped her hands. He saw her as an incredibly brave woman, with a deep inner reserve of strength and resiliency. For all she was able to do under the most difficult circumstances, for all that she was, he loved her.
And when he knew this for certain, he told her so, holding her face between his hands, compelling her to look into his eyes when he said, “I love you, Annie.” He wanted her to know that what he was telling her was God’s truth. And when she whispered, “I love you, Adam,” his heart sang out.
But he couldn’t tell her what else he knew: that above all things, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, to give her a child, and children. He didn’t tell her because he knew that this was impossible, and when he let himself think of it, the knowledge filled him with the blackest despair. For better or worse, he was married to Delia. People got divorced in these modern days, but they were fashionable people in big cities. And while his wife often chafed within the boundaries of their marriage, he knew she would never give up its comfort and security, nor tolerate the disgrace that would inevitably come with a divorce. And he could never bring himself to give up his daughter, whom he loved fiercely.
But he didn’t know how he could give up Annie, either, and the thought of it made him cling to her now, while he could. He felt himself being torn apart, and he could see nothing but darkness and danger ahead.
And then things got worse.
• • •
QUITE suddenly, and a full week before she was expected, Delia came home.
Adam was glad to see Caroline, and he swept her up in his arms with a cry of delight. “How’s Daddy’s little princess?” He brushed her damp strawberry curls from her forehead. “Are you glad to be home?”
“Oh, yes, Daddy!” she said, and kissed him. “I’ve missed you so much, every day!”
But Delia was another story. When he touched his lips to her cheek in the usual welcome-home kiss, he felt her pull away from him, and her glance was sharp as she looked around the sitting room.
“I see you’ve let Greta skip the dusting,” she said. “And the carpet needs to be taken out and beaten. What did that girl do while I was gone?”
At first he was relieved at Delia’s distance from him, for a night with her could afford no great happiness beyond a certain physical release. He would have felt oddly unfaithful, as if Annie were his true wife and Delia a woman who shared his house. But when she pulled away from even the most casual touch again and then again, he was swept by a wave of guilty apprehension. Had his wife returned home early because she had learned about him and Annie? But how in the world could she have found out? Had the hired girl—Greta—somehow discovered what they were doing and written to tell her?
At first, he had dismissed that possibility, because he didn’t think Greta could have found them out, or was likely to know Delia’s Galveston address, or have
