Nathaniel by John Saul Read Free Book Online Page A

idyllic, all a dream, and all of it, always, gently derided by Mark. All the reasons why it was impossible, all the excuses that they continually debated: They were city people, though they both had been born in the country, and New Yorkers by choice, Mark would insist; choices could still be made, Janet would counter. Marie was a teacher, not a farmer; there were colleges in New England, everywhere you looked—he could still teach, and they could hire someone to run the farm. Michael was happy in his school, Mark would point out; children change schools all the time, and there’s no proof, Janet would argue, that city schools are better than small-town schools.
    In the end, however, it had always come down to the one argument for which Janet had no answer.
    They couldn’t afford a farm, couldn’t manage to save enough even for a half-acre in the suburbs, let alone a farm.
    Now, Janet realized that it had all been a lie. From the day they were married, the lie had been between them, and she had never felt it, never faintly suspected it. There had even been times when Mark had seemed to join in her dream.
    They had been in Millbrook, and they had come around a curve in the road, and there, spread out before them, was Janet’s dream. It had been Mark who had noticed it first; Janet had been studying a map, trying to match the route numbers to the street names that seemed to be posted only every five miles and then changed with every village they passed through. Suddenly Mark had stopped the car and said, “Well, there it is, and even I have to admit that it’s pretty.” She’d looked up, and across a pasture that sloped gently away from the highway, she had seen her farm—white clapboard house, red barn, white post-and-rail fence, even a stream, dammed to form a millpond. And it was for sale.
    They’d talked about it all weekend, even going so far as to investigate the possibility of Mark’s finding a job in Poughkeepsie. But in the end, on Sunday night as they drove south on the Taconic Parkway, they’d faced reality.
    They had no money, and they couldn’t buy the farm without money.
    But it had been a lie. And Mark had known it was a lie.
    What else was there? How much had this stranger with whom she had spent thirteen years of her life kept hidden from her? What else would she find as the days went by and she learned more about the man she had married?
    Anna. Had Mark known his mother was confined to a wheelchair? It seemed impossible that he hadn’t, and yet it seemed equally impossible that he had never said anything to her about it. But he hadn’t.
    When Janet had asked her mother-in-law about it just before coming upstairs that night, Anna had only shrugged, a look of philosophical resignation in her eyes. “I suppose he must have known,” she’d said. “It happened after he went away, but I think Laura must have told him about it.”
    “But he never heard from Laura,” Janet had protested. “He never even
talked
about her. Until yesterday, I didn’t even know Mark had a sister.”
    Anna’s eyes had flickered with pain for a moment. “You have to understand,” she’d finally said. “There were some things Mark just wanted to shut out of his mind. He always did that, even when he was little. I remember he had a puppy once—a little black shepherd—but it got sick, and Amos had to put it down. Afterward, I tried to talk to Mark about it, but he wouldn’t admit the puppy’d ever even existed. Just shut it out completely.” She sighed, weariness spreading across her features. “I suppose that’s what he did when he left Prairie Bend. Shut us out, just like that dog.”
    “But why? Why did he leave?”
    And for that, there had been no answer. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” was all Anna would say. “It’s all in the past. There’s no use dredging it up now. It would only cause pain.” She’d looked beseechingly at Janet. “I’ve had enough pain, dear. Can’t we leave this