Free Peyton Place by Grace Metalious

whenever she lay in a tub of hot water, or whenever she ate something she particularly liked. Music affected Marion only sensually, lighting her medium face with a sudden pleasure and making it, for a few moments, extraordinary.
    Charles Partridge, young and impressionable, and perhaps with his resistance lowered by the long years of study now behind him, began to court Marion Saltmarsh. In August, five weeks after he had seen her singing in the choir for the first time, they were married, and on the first of September the young couple returned to Charles's home in Peyton Place where he was to begin his career.
    As he grew older, Partridge sometimes wondered if he would have married in such haste had he been able, during his years as a student, to afford to patronize the houses of ill repute so enthusiastically acclaimed by his classmates. He thought not.
    Success had come easily to Charles Partridge, and as the years passed, he accumulated money and a house on Chestnut Street, and Marion became active in club and charity work. She liked her comfortable life, uncomplicated as it was either by children or lack of money. Guiltily, she often realized that she gloated whenever she compared her circumstances now against what they had been during her childhood, but her guilt was short lived and easily forgotten.
    Marion liked things. She surrounded herself with all sorts of small bric-a-brac and odd pieces of furniture. It gave her a thrill of pleasure to open her linen closet and see the piles of extra sheets and towels stored there. The size, purpose or quality of an object was secondary to Marion, coming after her desire to acquire and possess.
    Immediately after her marriage, Marion deserted the Baptists and joined the Congregational church, for the latter was considered to be the “best” church in Peyton Place. Marion would have very much liked to instigate some sort of committee, with herself as president, to pass on memberships for her church. She hated to belong to an organization, even a religious one, which allowed “undesirables” to become members, and she had many dark thoughts about persons whom she considered “inferior.”
    “That MacKenzie woman,” she said to her husband. “Don't tell me a young widow like that is any better than she should be. Don't tell me she doesn't do a lot of running around that no one has heard about. Don't tell me she hasn't got an eye on every man in town.”
    “My dear,” said Charles Partridge wearily, “I'd never attempt to tell you anything.”
    But when Marion said the same things to Matthew Swain the doctor would fix her with a straight look and roar, “What the hell do you mean by that, Marion?”
    ‘Well, after all, Matt, a young widow like that, living alone in a house—”
    “Hey, Charlie! Marion feels bad for Connie MacKenzie living all alone. Why don't you pack up and move over there for a while?”
    “Oh, that Matt Swain is impossible, Charles. Impossible.”
    “Now, Marion,” replied Charles Partridge. “Matt is a fine man. He doesn't mean any harm. And he's a good doctor.”
    Shortly after Marion reached the age of forty, she developed symptoms which worried and frightened her, and she called Dr. Swain. He examined her thoroughly and told her she was as healthy as a horse.
    “Listen, Marion, this is nothing to worry about. I can give you shots to keep you fairly comfortable, but beyond that I'm helpless. This is menopause, and there isn't much anyone can do.”
    “Menopause!” cried Marion. “Matt, you're out of your head. I'm a young woman.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirty-six.”
    “You're a liar, Marion. You're over forty.”
    Marion went home and raged at her husband. She told him that friend or no friend, lifelong or not, Matthew Swain had stepped through her front door for the last time. Thereafter, she went to a doctor in White River who treated her for a delicate stomach condition.
    “What the hell, Matt,” said Seth Buswell, whenever