Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [70]
“You don’t suppose that splendid boy would refuse you for your misstep and forgive you for a fortune, do you?” I demanded indignantly.
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.
“Amelia, why do you speak as if you were a hundred years old? Walter is only a few years younger than you, and you are still in your prime. In the last week you seem to have drunk from the fountain of youth; you are looking younger and more attractive every day.”
I stared at her in astonishment.
“Come, now, Evelyn, don’t let your fondness for me destroy your aesthetic sense. I have been scoured by windblown sand, dried out and burned by the sun, and I have ruined every decent dress I own. Forget me, and let us settle your problem once and for all. If you would only listen to me—
“I honor and love you,” she interrupted, in a low voice. “But in this matter I cannot follow anything but my own conscience.”
“But it is such a waste,” I lamented. “You love this life. Your seeming fragility conceals a will of iron; you could be a helpmate as well as a wife to Walter.”
“You are the one who loves this life,” Evelyn said, watching me curiously. “What an archaeologist you would make, Amelia!”
“Hmmm,” I said. “That is true. It is most unfortunate that I was not born a man. Emerson would accept me then as a colleague; my money would support his work; what a splendid time we would have, working and quarreling together. Oh, it is a pity that I am a woman. Emerson would agree.”
“I am not so sure,” said Evelyn. There was a faint smile on her lips.
“You are distracting me again,” I complained. “You cannot avoid the issue, Evelyn. Suppose I were to finance—”
“No, Amelia,” Evelyn said. I knew that gentle tone. It was as final as Emerson’s growl.
“Then accept Lucas’s offer. No, no, I mean his offer of money. Half of your grandfather’s fortune is yours, morally. If you really believe Walter would accept—”
“Amelia, that is not worthy of you. Could I accept Lucas’s generosity and use it to buy the affection of Lucas’s rival?”
“You put things in such a cold-blooded way,” I muttered.
“It is the honest way.” Evelyn’s animation had faded; she was pale and sad. “No, Amelia. I cannot—will not—marry Lucas, nor will I accept a penny from him. Are you so anxious to rid yourself of me? I had dared to let myself envision a life together… Growing old with you, winding wool and keeping cats and tending a garden somewhere in the country. We could be content, could we not? Oh, Amelia, don’t cry! I have never seen you weep; don’t do it on my account…”
She threw her arms around me and we clung together, both sobbing violently. I did not often cry, it is true; I don’t know why I was crying then, but I found it soothing to do so. So I let myself go, wallowing in the luxuriance of openly expressed emotion, and Evelyn made me cry even harder by the fond expressions she choked out.
“I do love you, Amelia; you are dearer to me than any sister. Your kindness, your sense of humor, your saintly temper …”
The last phrase appealed too strongly to the sense of humor she had just mentioned; I stopped crying and began to laugh feebly.
“Dearest Evelyn, I have a temper like a fiend’s, and the disposition of a balky mule. How beautiful is friendship, that it blinds one to the friend’s true nature! Well, child, don’t cry anymore; I know why you weep, and it is not because of my saintly nature. I suppose the Almighty will order our lives as He sees fit, and there is no reason for us to worry. I have not altogether decided to accept His decrees; but whatever happens, you and I will not part until I can give you up to a man who deserves you. Here, wipe your eyes, and then give me the handkerchief so I can wipe mine. I did not expect to need more than one handkerchief this evening.
We mopped our wet faces and went on with our dressing. Evelyn had one more comment to make.
“You speak as if I would be the one to leave you. Will you keep me on, Amelia, to wind wool and wash lapdogs, after you are married?”