A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [92]
He hopped on the saucer, dug his hands into the snow to get some speed, and saw the jump coming. It looked considerably taller from ground level than it had from the top of the hill.
Harrison sailed up and over, getting air, tumbling as he came down. For a minute, he lay on the snow, the wind knocked out of him. He stared at the sky and felt again the bliss of childish activities, a feeling akin to the joy he experienced when he fielded grounders from his boys or dared to get on the ice with them. Bill, heading up the hill with his sled, said, “Beautiful, Branch. Just beautiful.”
Harrison rolled over, snow down the front of his jacket and packed inside his sneakers. He got up onto his knees and looked around. His saucer was halfway down the hill. His feet nearly numb, he fetched the saucer and made his way to the top.
“Quite a spill,” Nora said when Harrison had reached the summit. She had her coat wrapped over her shoulders, holding it closed with her gloved hands. Her sunglasses hid her eyes. “The game looked like fun,” she added.
“You sound wistful,” Harrison said.
“Every once in a while, I wish I was just a guest.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Harrison looked down the hill. “Someone’s going to hit that tree there,” he said.
“I know. I’ve . . . I’ve thought about removing it, but it’s such a beautiful tree. Especially in the fall.”
“What kind is it?” Harrison asked.
“Sugar maple.”
The lone tree at the bottom of the hill triggered a recollection. “Ethan Frome,” Harrison said aloud, referring to the novel in which a man and his would-be lover try to commit suicide by sledding into a tree. “That was supposed to take place somewhere around here, no?”
“Starkfield.”
“Not a real town.”
“No.”
Harrison had a further recollection. “In the early stage of your husband’s career,” he said, “he repeatedly praised Ethan Frome.”
“Carl didn’t like Wharton’s other works.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Harrison asked. “Most people who care for Wharton prefer the other books. The Age of Innocence and so on.”
“In any event,” Nora said, “he later changed his mind.”
“Why?”
Nora moved slightly to one side. “Tepid, Carl said. Artificial. Clunky. A novel shouldn’t have its architecture showing.”
“And what do you think?” Harrison asked.
Nora shrugged. “It is what it is. A sparsely written novella that high school students can read. Carl . . . Carl admired it at the beginning of his career because he thought he might be a novelist. If you’re a poet thinking of becoming a novelist, a sparsely written novella is just the ticket.”
Harrison turned his head and studied her. “I was unaware of that.”
“You’re surprised by this,” she said, looking up at him.
“Yes. Tremendously. Did he actually write a novel?”
Nora tucked her gloved hands under her arms. “He began one. He had me burn the pages when he knew he was dying.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I suppose that’s upsetting for an editor,” she said.
“A bit,” Harrison said with feeling. “I imagine his publisher would be upset as well. What was the novel about?”
“I don’t know,” Nora said, drawing her coat more tightly around her. “The first time I ever saw it was the day Carl told me where it was. I never took it out of the box. He made me burn it in the living room fireplace. He supervised from a chair. He was very secretive about his writing. When he was writing it, that is.”
Harrison stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He kicked at the snow with his sneaker.
“I’ve really surprised you, haven’t I?” she asked. “You’re struck speechless.”
“I was just thinking about the explorer Richard Burton. His wife burned all of his pornographic writings when he died.” Harrison paused. “I suppose that’s the widow’s prerogative, isn’t it? To protect the image of her husband?”
“Possibly,” Nora said, glancing at her watch. “But in this case, the writer was protecting himself. I have to go.”
“Don’t,” Harrison pleaded in mock distress, holding out his arms. “You’re always leaving me.”
Harrison meant this as a joke, but the words, once spoken, rang uncomfortably true.
“See you later?” she