Chapter Thirty
Breathless, Peter and I climb Boston City Hall’s granite steps, our coats whipped by the wind. As we cross the slippery hallway tiles the fact that soon I will have a license to marry makes me so dizzy that I grip Peter’s hand. When he pushes open the door to the city clerk’s office I smell cigar smoke, must from old filing cabinets, and the tang of typewriter ink.
“Right this way, lawbreaker.” Peter leads me to the counter. “I’ll have this filled out in a jiffy.” I hold on to the cool edge of the counter while Peter fills out our marriage license. When it comes time for me to sign it he pushes the paper across the counter. There is a pause as he hands the application back to the clerk, then says, “Oh, great. Another Keller fan.”
“What? Someone’s followed us here from the rally?”
“No, it’s this McGlennan, the clerk. He says he saw you raising money for the blind in downtown Boston—hold on, when? Oh, back in 1905. He still remembers it because when you spoke, the women in the audience cried, and the men had to look away.”
“As long as they looked in their wallets, that’s all right with me.”
“You’re a stellar fundraiser, promoting goodwill around the world.”
“I’m an international beggar.”
“I’ll make you beg.”
“Seriously, Peter, if this McGlennan knows who I am, he needs to promise to keep our marriage license a secret.”
“I’ve already asked him. He can’t—or won’t—keep it quiet.” Peter’s hand felt tense in mine.
“What do you mean? He’ll sell it to the highest bidder?”
“A marriage license is public information. According to McGlennan, if anyone asks for it, he’s obligated to show them the application. But if no one asks, well then we’re two free birds.” Peter looped his arm through mine. “It’s okay, no one saw us come in here—I looked. We’re fine. We’ll return in two weeks for the license. Now let’s get back to Wrentham before anyone sees us.”
We slipped out into the warm Boston sunshine. “Wait here,” Peter said. “I’m going to get a cab.” One minute passed, then two. I put my hand on a cool marble pillar of the building to steady myself—under my feet the sidewalk trembled from the subway beneath the street. When his footsteps thudded back across the pavement minutes later, a familiar scent made me take Peter’s arm.
“He’s back.” I held my coat closed against the wind.
“Who?”
“O’Rourke.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s a drinker. I can smell whiskey a mile away.”
“If you’re quick on your feet we can get in the cab. Too late. He’s coming toward us.”
Peter turned from me to talk to O’Rourke.
“What does he want?” I took Peter’s hand.
“He’s yammering away about what we’re doing here. Were we at City Hall? Why were we in McGlennan’s office a few minutes back? ‘Miss Keller,’ he wants to know, ‘are you planning on marrying?’”
“If Mother finds out …”
“You forget, Helen. Reporters are trained to tell stories. I just told him we’ve never been to City Hall.”
“You denied it?”
“One hundred percent. I said we have no intention of marrying. I am your humble servant, that’s all. That’s why I’m accompanying you on this trip to Boston.”
“You’re not humble.”
“True, but he doesn’t need to know that. Now let’s get going before he snoops around even more.”
We sat together awkwardly in the cab all the way to the train station. “If he files a story, it would run …”
“Tomorrow. Otherwise, we’re safe. You’re important, Miss Keller, and yes, the world is hungry for news about you, but there’s this little thing called a war going on, and let’s see.” I felt Peter check his watch. “Today’s the third. President Wilson is scheduled to give a press conference tonight, and whatever he says, I guarantee you, will be all over tomorrow’s papers, upstaging any story that says ‘Helen Keller to Wed.’”
“You’re sure?”
“Yup. I’m sure there will be no newspaper story about you.”
“No, you’re sure about today’s date?”
“Positive.”
A wave of happiness ran through me, but not for the reason Peter thought.
From the time I was fourteen, cramps sent me to bed the first week of every month because of “female troubles.” If I had a speech scheduled during those times, I canceled it. If I had classes, Annie let me stay home and rest in bed. So in the two days after Peter and I were alone in the cabin by the pond, I should have felt that familiar cramping, but nothing had happened. I began to think that I might be pregnant. I could have everything: Peter, marriage, a child.
Nothing felt as wonderful as that moment. Annie had told me stories about women who had children after giving themselves to a man only once. I still remember how she paced the hall of our house when she told me this, berating herself because after over ten years of marriage to John she never got pregnant. Mother said women like me should never have families, that God had given me a special role to play in life. But since I’d met Peter, I didn’t want to be a saint anymore. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle had happened.
A thrill, a feeling of new grass, hot stars, moved through me.
After we boarded the train home he led me down the swaying corridor to our sleeper car. I held on to the seat backs as we walked, but the train swayed so much that I stopped. “Peter, I have to … sit down for a minute.” I felt so close to him when he led me to a seat, and tucked a blanket over me because of the window’s chill. In that warm, closed space with Peter I felt the outside world recede. But as the train rattled farther from the station, he leaned toward me.
“Out with it, lady,” he said.
“Out with what?”
“Don’t kid a kidder. What are you keeping from me?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you turning your head to the left, the way you do when you’re avoiding something?”
“Well, I am a leftist,” I laughed.
“Okay, lefty. Fess up. What’s the big secret?”
I wanted to say, “Maybe I’m pregnant,” but I knew I shouldn’t say anything. I ran my hand through Peter’s hair. If I were pregnant I’d need Mother, or Annie, with me once I married, to help raise a
child. And the closer that would make me to my mother and Annie the farther away it would take me from Peter.
So I kept it from him. Instead I said, “Mother’s done it. She told me last night she’s taking me to Alabama next week.”
“Just you? Without me?”
“Right. She booked passage on the SS Savannah. She said she’s had enough of you and doesn’t know what to do with me now that Annie’s going away.”
“Mothers,” Peter said.
“Children.” I shifted in my seat. “She wants to protect me.”
“Protect you? She wants to keep you the size of a flea. And she’s made a religion of it.”
“Peter, please—”
“Okay.” He cut me off before I could say anything. “She’s not to be criticized. That bread pudding of hers at dinner last week was fit for a king—but listen, Helen. She wants nothing more than to keep you exactly as you are—outspoken, yes, but not free to be a woman. If she’s scheming to sweep you away, then lucky us. We’ll move up the date of our escape. We’ll marry sooner.”
“But the license takes two weeks.”
“Not if you’ve got this.” Peter put the honorarium envelope from the rally in my hands.
“It’s empty.”
“No, it’s full—of freedom, my dear.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The honorarium. I spent it for a good cause.”
“You gave it to the antiwar people?”
“No. I followed your advice.”
“What advice?”
“I’ve known McGlennan for a while. I’ve run into him at press conferences at City Hall, mayor’s breakfasts, pub crawls. He’s always hungry for a little extra cash. He took the twenty, and while he couldn’t guarantee some bozo wouldn’t get ahold of our marriage license, he did say he could rush the application through …”
“I thought you weren’t a lawbreaker?”
“I’m not. I’m a lawbender, when I need to be.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need a lock picked.”
“I don’t do break-ins.”
“But you’ve broken me in.”
“I have, haven’t I.” He leaned his knee into mine. “Helen, have I told you …” I held my breath. In all our time together, he had never uttered the word love. I put my finger to his lips, held it there, as if I could draw the word out.