He made no remark.
“How many more words did you write?” she said.
“Another ten thousand,” he said. “Give or take.”
“But you need fifty thousand more.”
“I know.”
“Well, what happened?”
“I didn’t write them,” he said angrily. He crossed his arms.
Jane shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why not?”
He said nothing.
“Fred?” She began to panic. She couldn’t understand it. “Why did you not tell me, when you were struggling? Before it reached this stage?”
“Because I knew you’d be mad,” he said.
“I’m not mad,” she said with a laugh.
“Yes, you are! You’re mad and you’re judging me. You pushed me to do this.”
“I object to that. I did not push you.” She could not believe what she heard.
He scoffed. “You sent the letter to the publisher! I never asked you to.”
“I thought you’d be grateful. Instead, you’ve squandered this opportunity.”
He glared at her. “I didn’t want to do anything else with this. It’s not working.”
She softened. “I know it’s difficult, but this is merely a blip in the road. This is the time—”
“The darkest before the dawn, I know.” His voice was cruel.
She squinted at him and began thinking cruel things herself. She recalled his time as a child when he walked two hundred of the eight hundred miles required to cross England. She admired his bravery, but she also thought, I’d keep going. I’d let naught and no one stop me until I walked the eight. “Don’t be angry at me because you failed,” Jane said. She realized she may have gone too far.
“I’m getting out of here,” he said. He stood and grabbed his coat.
“Wait, Fred. I’m sorry,” she said.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said, putting his coat on. “I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”
She gasped, horrified at the words and his tone. “I don’t want anything from you,” she replied meekly.
“I don’t believe that. I think you want many things I can’t give you.”
“Where are you going?” Jane said, her voice growing desperate.
“Anywhere but here.” He left.
IT TOOK SEVERAL hours for Jane’s anger to subside. When it did, Fred had still not come home. She stood in the kitchen, inert, and watched the door. She began to worry he might never return at all. Pain gripped her, a feeling like she had never felt before. She had never quarreled with someone like this; she had never quarreled with a man she loved. She felt torn to pieces and could focus on nothing except wanting him home. Another hour passed and still there was no sign of him.
She worried that he had gone for good. She collapsed onto the floor; her body seemed to fold into a neat pile of bones and skin. She stared at the pages on the table, the new ones he’d written, and felt ashamed. It was just a book and she had pushed him. She regretted this now. What were words on a page compared to him going?
So, this was love, then: a horrid, tremendous quickening, something terrible and sweet, painful and fierce. Nothing mattered but him coming back.
She was his slave, happily, she realized. A picture of her life stretched out before her. She would spend large parts of her time in a state of flux, wondering where she stood with him, wondering if he would leave, if he would do what she said, if he would hurt her. He would come first; she would set herself on fire to keep him warm. She would spend a part of her life trying to make him happy, and her success on that score depended entirely on him. She was signing her heart over to another human being. If he could only return, she promised to love him every day. She would do nothing else of value in that time.
THEN THE DOOR opened, and he walked inside. Fred pulled off his coat and lay it on the hook. He turned to face Jane. Relief and joy washed over her. She had never beheld a sight so wondrous as him walking through that door. He looked at her and smiled. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Oh, Fred,” she replied. “I’m sorry too.”
She ran to him and they embraced. “I thought I would never see you again.” He held her. She found herself lingering in the warm hold. He seemed to respond to this; she felt his arms tighten around her. A new feeling swelled in her. She buried her head in his shoulder.
Fred broke away first. His breath was ragged. He cast his gaze at the floor; he seemed unable to look at her.
“What are you thinking?” Jane asked him. She searched his face.
He looked up and met her eye, then shook his head. “You don’t want to know what I am thinking,” he replied.
She stared at him. She took his hand and led him to his room.
Once inside, she raised her fingers to a button. He moved and stopped her with his hand. “Are you sure?” he asked her.
Jane had been advised from her cradle about society banishing her if she came to know certain things outside marriage. A living death awaited. Those women who indulged in the unsanctified union were nonpeople, punished with disease and scorn. It was some terrible thing, for certain. She looked at his face, so glad to have him back.
“Never ask me that again,” she replied.
The next hour passed in seconds. A series of moments burned in her head.
The way he said “Jane” with a furrowed brow.
Him bending to untie her boots. His knuckles brushing the bone at the floor of her throat. The scent at his ear, which she knew was put there with her in mind. The weight of him.
Toward the end, there was a moment when he looked at her. It was the same look he gave her when they’d first danced together. Jane knew not what it meant then, and she was no wiser to its meaning now. It was something
