Property (Vintage Contemporaries) by Valerie Martin Read Free Book Online

him a son, and that this creature is allowed to run loose in the house like a wild animal, would that be, in your view, sufficient cause for a wife to despise her husband?”
    He shrugged. “Mrs. Gaudet, there are many such cases. This cannot be unknown to you.”
    “That is precisely my grievance,” I explained. “That it is common.”
    “Why not sell the girl?”
    “No. He would only find another. And this one suits me. She hates him as much as I do.”
    I saw a flicker of sympathy cross his expression, but I didn’t think it was for me. He was feeling pity for my husband, trapped between two furies. “Well,” he said. “God willing, you will have a child. You’re young, in good health.”
    “That’s what I fear,” I said. “That’s why I consented to see you. I want you to tell my husband that I cannot bear children. That it endangers my life even to try.”
    “You want me to lie? I would never do that.”
    “Not to save my life?” I said desperately.
    “Your life is not in danger.”
    Against my will, tears sprang to my eyes. I felt one of my headaches tightening across my forehead. I drew my handkerchief from my sleeve and pressed it against each eye. Dr. Sanchez was speaking, but I could hardly make out what he was saying through the awful red clamp of pain. It was something about a child, my child, who would secure my husband’s affections to me. “Can’t you at least give me something for these headaches?” I blurted out, interrupting him.
    He paused, midsentence, as if to draw attention to my rudeness, but I no longer cared what he thought of me. “And something to make me sleep,” I added.
    “Yes,” he said softly. “That much I can do for you.”

    WHILE WE WERE at dinner, a boy arrived with a note from Dr. Landry saying there was cholera at Overton and he could not come to us until supper. “You must tell him our case is not urgent,” I said. “He will be exhausted if he has to make the trip back there before morning.”
    “Why should he?” my husband said. “He can stay here and have a decent night’s sleep, instead of being up a hundred times in the night to bleed hysterical negroes.”
    “You wouldn’t say so if they were your own negroes,” I observed.
    “If they were my negroes, I’d move the quarter up from that swamp they’re in at Overton, and there would be no cholera, as there is none here.”
    This is one of his favorite pastimes, pointing out that everyone’s troubles are their own fault and if the whole world would only submit to his excellent management, it would be an earthly paradise. It bores me past endurance. I pushed my plate away and got up from the table. “I must speak to Delphine about supper,” I said. As I went out, Sarah was coming in with a plate of rice cakes. She had a smirk on her face, pleased with herself, I thought, because Walter was going to get the doctor’s attention. I went through the house, out the back door, across the yard, and in at the kitchen. Delphine had her back to me, rolling out some dough at the table. The fire was up, the room stifling. I threw myself down in a chair, startling her momentarily. “It’s hell in here,” I said. “How can you stand it?”
    “Can’t cook without fire,” she said, continuing her rolling.
    “Give me a glass of water before I faint.”
    She wiped her hands on her apron and went to the pump. I seldom go into the kitchen, but whenever I do, in spite of the heat, I feel more at ease than in my own room. Delphine is the only person in this house I trust at all. She reminds me of Peek, my mother’s cook; they are both small, very dark, lively, jittery, but sensible at bottom. She brought me the water glass, wiping the rim with her apron. “They’s flour on the glass,” she said.
    “I don’t care,” I said, gulping it down. She took up her pin again. “The doctor is coming to supper tonight,” I said. “It’s too hot to eat, but he probably will. He’s a big man.”
    “Doctor