Stoner

And so he called, walking across town to her aunt's house on an intensely cold midwestern winter night. No cloud was overhead; the half-moon shone upon a light snow that had fallen earlier in the afternoon. The streets were deserted, and the muffled silence was broken by the dry snow crunching underfoot as he walked. He stood for a long while outside the large house to which he had come, listening to the silence. The cold numbed his feet, but he did not move. From the curtained windows a dim light fell upon the blue-white snow like a yellow smudge; he thought he saw movement inside, but he could not be sure. Deliberately, as if committing himself to something, he stepped forward and walked down the path to the porch and knocked on the front door.

Edith's aunt (her name, Stoner had learned earlier, was Emma Darley, and she had been widowed for a number of years) met him at the door and asked him to come in. She was a short, plump woman with fine white hair that floated about her face; her dark eyes twinkled moistly, and she spoke softly and breathlessly as if she were telling secrets. Stoner followed her into the parlor and sat, facing her, on a long walnut sofa, the seat and back of which were covered with thick blue velvet. Snow had clung to his shoes; he watched it melt and form damp patches on the thick floral rug under his feet.

"Edith tells me you teach at the University, Mr. Stoner," Mrs. Darley said.

"Yes, ma'am," he said and cleared his throat.

"It's so nice to be able to talk to one of the young professors there again," Mrs. Darley said brightly. "My late husband, Mr. Darley, was on the board of trustees at the University for a number of years--but I guess you know that."

"No, ma'am," Stoner said.

"Oh," Mrs. Darley said. "Well, we used to have some of the younger professors over for tea in the afternoons. But that was quite a few years ago, before the war. You were in the war, Professor Stoner?"

"No, ma'am," Stoner said. "I was at the University."

"Yes," Mrs. Darley said. She nodded brightly. "And you teach--?"

"English," Stoner said. "And I'm not a professor. I'm just an instructor." He knew his voice was harsh; he could not control it. He tried to smile.

"Ah, yes," she said. "Shakespeare . . . Browning . . ."

A silence came between them. Stoner twisted his hands together and looked at the floor.

Mrs. Darley said, "I'll see if Edith is ready. If you'll excuse me?"

Stoner nodded and got to his feet as she went out. He heard fierce whispers in a back room. He stood for several minutes more.

Suddenly Edith was standing in the wide doorway, pale and unsmiling. They looked at each other without recognition. Edith took a backward step and then came forward, her lips thin and tense. They shook hands gravely and sat together on the sofa. They had not spoken.

She was even taller than he remembered, and more fragile. Her face was long and slender, and she kept her lips closed over rather strong teeth. Her skin had the kind of transparency that shows a hint of color and warmth upon any provocation. Her hair was a light reddish-brown, and she wore it piled in thick tresses upon her head. But it was her eyes that caught and held him, as they had done the day before. They were very large and of the palest blue that he could imagine. When he looked at them he seemed drawn out of himself, into a mystery that he could not apprehend. He thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he said impulsively, "I--I want to know about you." She drew back from him a little. He said hastily, "I mean--yesterday, at the reception, we didn't really have a chance to talk. I wanted to talk to you, but there were so many people. People sometimes get in your way."

"It was a very nice reception," Edith said faintly. "I thought everyone was very nice."

"Oh, yes, of course," Stoner said. "I meant . . ." He did not go on. Edith was silent.

He said, "I understand you and your aunt will be going to Europe in a little while."

"Yes," she said.

"Europe . . ." He shook his head. "You must be very excited."

She nodded reluctantly.

"Where will you go? I mean--what places?"

"England," she said. "France. Italy."

"And you'll be going--in the spring?"

"April," she said.

"Five months," he said. "It isn't very long. I hope that in that time we can--"

"I'm only here for three more weeks," she said quickly. "Then I go back to St. Louis. For Christmas."

"That is a short time." He smiled and said awkwardly, "Then I'll have to see you as often as I can, so that we can get to know each other."

She looked at him almost with horror. "I didn't mean that," she said. "Please . . ."

Stoner was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, I-- But I do want to call on you again, as often as you'll let me. May I?"

"Oh," she said. "Well." Her thin fingers were laced together in her lap, and her knuckles were white where the skin was stretched. She had very pale freckles on the backs of her hands.