“Laugh at you, Hank?”
“Yeah. You seem to be half laughing at me all the time.”
What could she say? How many times had she hurt his feelings? She said, “You know I’ve never been exactly tactful, but I swear to God I’ve never laughed at you, Hank. In my heart I haven’t.”
She took his head in her arms. She could feel his crew cut under her chin; it was like black velvet. Henry, kissing her, drew her down to him on the floor of the landing.
Some time later, Jean Louise broke it up: “We’d better be going, Hank.”
“Not yet.”
“Yes.”
Hank said wearily, “The thing I hate most about this place is you always have to climb back up.”
“I have a friend in New York who always runs up stairs a mile a minute. Says it keeps him from getting out of breath. Why don’t you try it?”
“He your boyfriend?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said.
“You’ve said that once today.”
“Go to hell, then,” she said.
“You’ve said that once today.”
Jean Louise put her hands on her hips. “How would you like to go swimming with your clothes on? I haven’t said that once today. Right now I’d just as soon push you in as look at you.”
“You know, I think you’d do it.”
“I’d just as soon,” she nodded.
Henry grabbed her shoulder. “If I go you go with me.”
“I’ll make one concession,” she said. “You have until five to empty your pockets.”
“This is insane, Jean Louise,” he said, pulling out money, keys, billfold, cigarettes. He stepped out of his loafers.
They eyed one another like game roosters. Henry got the jump on her, but when she was falling she snatched at his shirt and took him with her. They swam swiftly in silence to the middle of the river, turned, and swam slowly to the landing. “Give me a hand up,” she said.
Dripping, their clothes clinging to them, they made their way up the steps. “We’ll be almost dry when we get to the car,” he said.
“There was a current out there tonight,” she said.
“Too much dissipation.”
“Careful I don’t push you off this bluff. I mean that.” She giggled. “Remember how Mrs. Merriweather used to do poor old Mr. Merriweather? When we’re married I’m gonna do you the same way.”
It was hard on Mr. Merriweather if he happened to quarrel with his wife while on a public highway. Mr. Merriweather could not drive, and if their dissension reached the acrimonious, Mrs. Merriweather would stop the car and hitchhike to town. Once they disagreed in a narrow lane, and Mr. Merriweather was abandoned for seven hours. Finally he hitched a ride on a passing wagon.
“When I’m in the legislature we can’t take midnight plunges,” said Henry.
“Then don’t run.”
The car hummed on. Gradually, the cool air receded and it was stifling again. Jean Louise saw the reflection of headlights behind them in the windshield, and a car passed. Soon another came by, and another. Maycomb was near.
With her head on his shoulder, Jean Louise was content. It might work after all, she thought. But I am not domestic. I don’t even know how to run a cook. What do ladies say to each other when they go visiting? I’d have to wear a hat. I’d drop the babies and kill ’em.
Something that looked like a giant black bee whooshed by them and careened around the curve ahead. She sat up, startled. “What was that?”
“Carload of Negroes.”
“Mercy, what do they think they’re doing?”
“That’s the way they assert themselves these days,” Henry said. “They’ve got enough money to buy used cars, and they get out on the highway like ninety-to-nothing. They’re a public menace.”
“Driver’s licenses?”
“Not many. No insurance, either.”
“Golly, what if something happens?”
“It’s just too sad.”
AT THE DOOR, Henry kissed her gently and let her go. “Tomorrow night?” he said.
She nodded. “Goodnight, sweet.”
Shoes in hand, she tiptoed into the front bedroom and turned on the light. She undressed, put on her pajama tops, and sneaked quietly into the livingroom. She turned on a lamp and went to the bookshelves. Oh murder, she thought. She ran her finger along the volumes of military history, lingered at The Second Punic War, and stopped at The Reason Why. Might as well bone up for Uncle Jack, she thought. She returned to her bedroom, snapped off the ceiling light, groped for the lamp, and switched it on. She climbed into the bed she was born in, read three pages, and fell asleep with the light on.
PART III
6
“JEAN LOUISE, JEAN Louise, wake up!”
Alexandra’s voice penetrated her unconsciousness, and she struggled to meet the morning. She opened her eyes and saw Alexandra standing over her. “Wh—” she said.
“Jean Louise, what do you mean—what do you and Henry Clinton mean—by going swimming last night naked?”
Jean Louise sat up in bed. “Hnh?”
“I said, what do you and Henry Clinton mean by going swimming in the river last night naked? It’s all over Maycomb this morning.”
Jean Louise put her head on her knees and tried to wake up. “Who told you that, Aunty?”
“Mary Webster called at the crack of dawn. Said you two were seen stark in the middle of the river last night at one o’clock!”
“Anybody with eyes that good was up to no good.” Jean Louise shrugged her shoulders. “Well, Aunty, I suppose I’ve got to marry Hank now, haven’t I?”
“I—I don’t know what to think of you, Jean Louise. Your father will die, simply die, when he finds out. You’d better tell him before he finds out on the street corner.”
Atticus was standing in the door with his hands in his pockets. “Good morning,” he said. “What’ll kill me?”
Alexandra said, “I’m not going to tell him, Jean Louise. It’s up to you.”
Jean Louise silently signaled her father; her message was received and understood. Atticus looked grave. “What’s the matter?” he said.
“Mary Webster was on the blower. Her advance agents saw Hank and me swimming in the middle of the river last night with no clothes on.”
“H’rm,” said Atticus. He touched his glasses. “I hope you weren’t doing the backstroke.”