Occasionally, our outings diverted from this familiar pattern. I remember one time in particular when Etna came to me — that is, I went to fetch her, but she came to the college. On Sundays at Thrupp, faculty were permitted to invite guests to dine with them after church. Sometimes these guests would be relatives from out of town, or colleagues one had business with the next day, or a professor’s wife and children who for one reason or another had decided not to eat at home. Toward the end of February, I invited Etna to join me for one of those Sunday dinners. I did this partly to repay her hospitality (I had had several meals at her uncle’s house), and partly to announce her to my colleagues. Etna always provoked a little flurry of attention in public, about which I sometimes felt ridiculously proprietary, as if I had fashioned her.
It was snowing the day I called for her, an icy snow that stung the skin, and, as I walked, the sleet blew horizontally, straight into my nose and mouth. I had to hold on to my hat and fold my cloak around me. It was, in truth, a filthy day, and had my desire to be with Etna not been so keen, I surely would have canceled our engagement.
When I arrived, she opened the door to me at once, as if she had been watching out for me, and I could not help but be pleased.
“Etna,” I said, shaking the weather from my coat and hat. Wisely, I did not say more at that time, for I did not want to overemphasize the wretchedness of the day. I still had hope that the afternoon would develop as I had planned.
Etna had to turn and back into the door to shut it against the wind. “I wondered if you would be lost,” she said, and in her voice there was an unmistakable note of relief. Her face was flushed, as if she had the fever. She brought her fingers to her temple in the manner of someone who has a severe headache.
I had a new thought, a dispiriting one. “Are you ill?” I asked. If I was concerned for her health, I confess I was also worried that I should have to return to the college without her.
“No,” she said, removing her fingers from her face. “It is just… Sometimes I find it hard….” She shook herself slightly. “Is it so very bad outside?”
“It’s not impossible,” I said carefully. “Unpleasant, perhaps, but there will be a good fire in the dining hall, and the meal today is goose.”
She raised her chin. I noticed that her hands were trembling. Though I very dearly wanted to believe that she trembled for me, I knew otherwise. She was gasping for oxygen.
I took a step toward her, but she put a hand out as if to stop me. Had it been at all within the realm of possibility, I would have crossed the distance between us and forced her face to mine. I would have dug my hand into the small of her back so that she was pressed hard against me. I would have lifted her skirts and run my hand along her thigh and tucked my fingers into her stocking. I would have done all those things, and perhaps she saw this, for she drew herself together in an instant, as if she had plunged her wrists into icy water. Of course, I did nothing, but I cannot help wondering what might have happened between us had I been bold enough to touch her then.
I looked at my outstretched hands. To give them occupation, I reached over toward the hat rack and took her cloak from it. I held it to her, and she stepped inside, wrapping herself in the wool. Perhaps I let my arms linger around her a moment longer than was proper. Her hair had been freshly washed and smelled of castile. She pulled away and put her hood over her hair.
“We should go,” she said quickly, “before my aunt detains us.”
There was no need to say anything more, since I was as eager as she to quit that house.
(What bargains — what bargains — did I force Etna Bliss to make?)
The storm had increased in its ferocity. Etna held her hood low over her face, and I had to lead her in what I hoped was the right direction. It was madness to be outside on such a day, and my thoughts were split between embarrassment for having allowed this foolish outing at all, and a kind of exultation that comes with adventure and risk.
By the time we had arrived at the college and stepped into the hallway of Worms, the fronts of our cloaks were sheeted with ice. My mouth had frozen into a grimace, and it was hard to speak properly for those first few seconds. A college servant helped us off with our outer garments and even encouraged us to remove our wet boots, which Etna would not do. We went immediately into the dining room and stood by the fire, warming ourselves. Etna’s cheeks and nose were crimson from the stinging snow — but, my God, how lovely her face was! She could not suppress a smile: we had survived an ordeal. As the warmth rushed back into her face and her limbs, so also did the words pour from her lips. I had hardly ever seen her so animated.