TWAIN'S END - LYNN CULLEN

Twain's End - Pg 297

   A quiet descended. Isabel became aware of every little sound--a ticking somewhere in the bowels of the furnace, The King's slow breathing. As she strained to listen, she felt something else: the reaching out of another person to her, not by movement of his body but with is very will.
   Without speaking, she knew to take off her blindfold. Ralph was waiting for her, his brown eyes intense. Marry me, he mouthed.

Twain's End - Pg 223

   "So in closing, friends, remember that life is short. Break the rules. Forgive quickly, kiss SLOWLY. Love truly, laugh uncontrollably. And never, ever regret ANYTHING that makes you smile."

Twain's End - Pg 216

   "When it was over, and Mother was weeping in the house, and Father had stormed away, I crept out back to be next to Jennie. She was lying in the dust, all in a heap. I whispered that I was sorry, real sorry, but that did no good. She did not move. So I lay down next to her and, shyly, crept my hand upon her arm. And as I lay there begging God to help her get up so we could run away together, I saw that the skin of her forearm was paler than the freckles on my hand. How could Mother call Jennie black if she was whiter than me in places?"

Twain's End - Pg 188

   A flash of lightning illuminated his shock of hair. "Come over here. I want you to see this."
   At the window, he had slid his arms around her from behind. Conscious that they were in his bedroom, that his forearms were crossed over her ribs, that his sensitive hands with their tapered fingers, an ink-stained callous on the side of his index finger, were near her breasts, she lifter her gaze to the storm sweeping toward the mountains. White fissures sliced the curtains of rain slanting from the black heavens. Thunder jarred the house. At the edge of the lawn, the fir trees reached up as for mercy, their supplications lit up by the relentless lightning.
   Mr. Clemens tightened his hold until she could feel his every contour pressing into her back. She dared not move.
   By and by, the terrible ecstasy beyond their window died away, until the only sounds were the hissing of the phonograph needle at the end of the cylinder, their breathing, and the purr of the now sleeping cat.
   Mr. Clemens's mustache had brushed against her cheek when he spoke. "Is that you, Lioness, or the cat?"
   "Me," she had said.

Twain's End - Pg 187

   A lump had scalded her throat when he finished and taken off his reading glasses. "Well, what do you think?" he asked.
   "Eve tells all the reasons why she could love Adam, but those aren't really why." Fireflies signaled as she'd swallowed her tears. "She loves him because he's hers."
   Just then a rocket, a leftover from Independence Day, had soared over Mount Monadnock. It struggled toward a heaven it couldn't reach and then, in a piteous burst, fell to earth in despair. They had looked at each other with shining eyes. The very world seemed to have been created just for them.

Twain's End - Pg 184

   Isabel plucked at the coral necklace that he had given her, thinking of all the times she had been patted, kissed, or had her hand grasped by both men and women so they might touch someone close to the great man. One woman, after kissing her on the forehead, had asked how she ever managed to come to work for such a saintly man, as if Isabel somehow maneuvered her way into his confidence. Isabel had "managed" nothing. The most wonderful things in life came of their own accord; you just had to be open to them.

Twain's End - Pg 172

   "I loved her, you know. People said that I married her for her money, but that wasn't true. Oh, I loved her money, don't get me wrong, and I loved how she made me respectable, or at least tried to, but that's not why I had to have her." He took a drink, then set down his glass. "She was just a little girl, you see, frail as a child. It was as if I could hold her in one hand. I was so honored that she trusted me not to crush her. " He sighed. "But I did. I crushed her every day."

Twain's End - Pg 158

   Olivia would hold his letters to her breast, trembling. She yearned for him to take her in his arms and ravish her. Oh, and when he finally did, after a thrilling two years of courtship and breakups and tearful reunion--
   Olivia closed her eyes again, remembering the first months of her marriage. He had tried to be tender, calling her his little girl, his sweet delicate, fragile little girl, stroking her, petting her, until his kisses became so passionate she thought he would eat her. He made her scream out in ecstasy, her body tearing with pleasure.

Twain's End - Pg 154

   The gloaming. Eventide. Dusk. Twilight. For this hour to have so many names, it must have troubled the ancients. As a girl in Elmira, before her health had become delicate, she'd liked this time best, especially in summer, when there were fireflies to capture and a white moon to watch rise, after which she would drag herself indoors, sticky and tired from playing, to sit in the warm soapy water of a tin hat tub. Now the folding of day into night held none of these delights. Twilight felt purely ominous: the ending of a chance; the dwindling of time that would never repeat itself; a loss. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath during these fading minutes, as if afraid of what was to come. The lingering made the surrender so poignant, until the light finally... went.

Twain's End - Pg 125

   Grunting softly with each breath, Mrs. Clemens waited until Isabel stopped smiling. "If you care about him, let him talk about the rugs in this place, Miss Lyon. Let him talk about the wall color. Let him talk about the shutters. Just don't encourage him to tell the truth about himself." She paused, panting slightly. "No one wants to hear about the deepest part of another person's heart. It's too unbearable."

Twain's End - Pg 111

   Although Mr. Clemens walked with Jean, Isabel could feel him reaching out to her. Keenly Isabel willed her inner self to let him know that she was reaching back.

Twain's End - Pg 74

   "I'd like to be king." He tossed his graying auburn mane and held out his cigar like a scepter. "How's that?"
   She bowed to him. "Your Highness."
   "What am I king of?"
   She thought of his fondness for cards. "Hearts."
   He nodded. "Right." He put out the other hand. "You may kiss the royal mitt."
   She gazed at his wedding band shining from within its sparse thicket of hair. When she looked up, he lifted his hand.
   She returned his bold look, then leaned forward and kissed his knuckle. The salty taste of his skin stayed on her lips after she pulled back; she smelled the tarry smoke of his cigar.
   The laughter in his eyes settled into seriousness. They took a breath and, as one, turned toward the river. Below, a paddle ship, trailing smoke from its single black stack, navigated the broad and sparkling seam in the earth.

Twain's End - Pg 69

   She genuinely liked Jean, though there was something about her that made Isabel sad. Outwardly, Jean seemed to have everything--a world-famous father, money, intelligence, and, with her strong chin and Greek-goddess nose, healthy good looks. At age twenty-three, she was still a tomboy, not only in her appearance--she refused to wear a corset under her plain white shirtwaist and brown corduroy skirt, or to fashion her hair in anything but a single dark braid--but in her ungraceful movement as well. She spoke in the same way she moved: bluntly, plainly, no mincing allowed. Yet as sturdy as she looked, there was something vulnerable about her, something broken, like the stray dogs and cats she was continually nursing back to health, like the dray horses in the city for which she bought freedom whenever she could.

Twain's End - Pg 58

   Her father had made her sit next to her mother, and then he put the infant, heavy as a small sack of sand, into her arms. Baby Charlie scowled up at Isabel with his double chin and furrowed brow, a petulant worm being pulled into the light. Love surged through her bony chest. Gritting her teeth against the overwhelming pain of it, she squeezed his arm. He cried out.
   "Charles!" her mother exclaimed. "Take him away from her."
   Her heart had broken as her brother had been wrenched from her. Even now, as she looked out over the majestic river, she could taste the bitterness of being misunderstood.

Twain's End - Pg 51

   They exchanged a smile that was limited to the eyes, the art of which Isabel had not fully valued before making Mr. Clemens's acquaintance. Who knew that forcing a grin away from your mouth drove it directly to your heart?

Twain's End - Pg 43

   At fifty-three, he was handsome in an almost violent way, his gray eyes too piercing, his cheekbones too raw, his arched nose somehow sexual. Although he was only sitting there and smoking, his energy seized the little room. His avalanche of silver-shot auburn hair, even his mustache--a coarse, impenetrable, orange and black buffer between the world and the man--was aggressive.

Twain's End - Pg 34

   "I believe cats are the smartest creatures on earth. Unlike dogs, who will stay and let an idiot mistreat them, cats won't stand for it. They don't like how they're being treated, they leave."

Twain's End - Pg 21

   He once told Isabel, after giving a dinner for eighteen worthies from New York in his former Fifth Avenue home, that he felt a good host should monopolize the conversation so his guests could be free to enjoy their meal. Mark Twain should entertain so they could relax. She had wondered then how the real Sam Clemens bore up to the burden that Mr. Twain so frequently imposed upon him, and had turned to him to ask. But he had shut his eyes as if to nap, his beautiful head sinking against the back of his chair, the subject closed.

Twain's End - Pg 17

   He didn't have to marry Isabel. She'd seen too many marriages that were nothing more than legal contracts, having little to do with love and respect. She didn't need that. She just wanted his acknowledgment of their mutual devotion. She just wanted him to claim her.