The weight of water - Anita Shreve [74]
“I’ve never been unfaithful,” I say.
Rich scrutinizes my face. “I’d be very surprised to hear you had been.”
“Thank you for —”
“Don’t,” he says sharply. “I’m not sure you understand. Back there I wanted to. Believe me, I wanted to. I’ve been angry with Thomas for a long time. Angry at his carelessness. Angry at the way he takes you for granted. But it’s more than that. I’ve” — he searches for the word — “admired you since the day I first met you.”
“Admired?” I ask, smiling.
“I don’t dare use any other words,” he says. “Not now.”
“It’s all right,” I say with a small laugh. “Feel free. I can take it.”
Rich crosses his arms over his chest and gazes out over the expanse of Smuttynose. I think I see, in Rich’s profile, something of Thomas. The long space between the upper lip and the nose. The slant of the brow.
“Rich,” I say, touching his arm lightly. “I’m only kidding.”
His face, when he turns back to me, seems momentarily defeated. Sad.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he says.
Fat drops of rain begin to fall around us, making saucer shapes in the sand. Rich looks down at his feet, then wipes the top of his head.
“The rain is coming,” he says. “We’d better go.”
Early in the trial, Maren Hontvedt, the only eyewitness to the murders, took the stand. She gave her name as Mary S. Hontvet, using the name and spelling she had adopted in America. She said that she was the wife of John C. Hontvet and was the sister of Karen Christensen. Evan Christensen, she stated, was her brother.
Yeaton began to question her.
“How long before this matter at Smutty Nose did you live there?” Yeaton asked.
“Five years,” Maren answered. “I was at home day before the murder.”
“Was your husband there that day?”
“He left in the morning, about day-light with my brother, and his brother. Evan is husband of Anethe.”
“After he had left that morning, when did you next see your husband?”
“I saw him the next morning after, cannot tell, but about ten o’clock.”
“At nine o’clock that night, who were present at your house before you went to bed?”
“I, Karen, and Anethe. There were no other persons upon that island at that time.”
“What time did you go to bed that night?”
“Ten o’clock. I slept in the western part of the house in the bed-room. I and Anethe slept together that night.”
“About ten o’clock you went to bed.”
“About ten. Karen stayed there that night; she slept on a lounge in the kitchen. The lounge upon which Karen slept was in the easterly corner of the kitchen, corner standing up that way, and my bed-room that way.” Maren pointed with her hands for the benefit of the court.
Yeaton then asked her how the door between the kitchen and the bedroom had been left that night.
“Left open,” Maren said.
“How were the curtains?”
“I did not haul them down, it was a pleasant night, so I left them open.”
“I speak now of the curtains to the kitchen.”
“Yes.”
“How was the outside door to that part of the house, fastened or not?”
“No, sir, it was not fastened. The lock was broke for some time, broke last summer and we did not fix it, it was unfastened. Karen was undressed, bed made; we made a bed up.”
“Was there a clock in that room?”
“Yes, clock standing right over the lounge in the corner.”
“If you were disturbed that night or awoke, state the first thing that awoke you, so far as you know, what took place.”
There was an objection here by Tapley for the defense, and some talk among the lawyers and the court. Finally, Maren was allowed to answer.
“‘John scared me, John scared me,’ she says.”
“Are you able to determine in any way about what time during the night that was?”
“We woke up. I know about his going and striking her with a chair.”
“About what time was it?”
“The clock has fallen down in the lounge, and stopped at seven minutes past one.”
“After you heard Karen cry out, John scared me, what next took place?”
“John killed me. John killed me, she halooed out a good many times. When he commenced striking her with a chair she hallooed out, John killed me, John killed me.”
“What did