Even seated, Grandma Olivia had a way of rising beyond her actual height. She stood only a little more than five foot four in her stocking feet, but because of the manner in which she carried herself and the way she sat regally in chairs and somehow managed to gaze down at people (even those who stood a foot taller), she presented a firmer, stronger appearance. As usual, her snow white hair was pulled back in a bun as severely as Aunt Sara's, with a pearl studded comb at the crown. Sometime after I had first met Grandma Olivia, I realized the reason Aunt Sara wore her hair that way was because it was the way Grandma Olivia wore hers. Whether she did it simply to please Uncle Jacob or because she believed everything Grandma Olivia did was, as Mama Arlene would say, "The cat's meow," I don't know, but she did it.
The tiny age spots clustered at Grandma Olivia's hair line and on her cheeks looked more like freckles in the sunlight. Today, she wore a little blush on her cheeks. It was about the only makeup I ever saw on her. She had small features, her mouth just the width of her chin. Under her jaw, her skin hung loosely like a hen's, but her collarbone stood out prominently beneath her nearly transparent
complexion. Tiny veins crisscrossed her temples. I was sure that when she gazed at herself in the mirror and saw the illusory azure fluid running through her, she was further convinced she was a true blue-blood.
Today she wore an ivory cotton dress with frilled sleeves and a frilled hem. It had tiny pearls sewn onto the collar and down between her breasts. She had an elegant gold bracelet spotted with diamonds on her right wrist and a small gold watch she must have worn just for show. The hands and numbers were so tiny I couldn't imagine how she could read the time.
Despite her temperament, Grandma Olivia's skin was smoother than the skin of most women her age, her perpetual frowns had not put any wrinkles in her face. Her hands were graceful, the knuckles a bit bony with some age spots across them, but the skin wasn't crinkled. I was willing to bet she had never washed a dish or ironed an article of clothing in her life.
Grandpa Samuel looked dapper in his light blue sports jacket and matching slacks. He wore a pair of polished white loafers and bright blue socks. Grandpa Samuel's hair was mostly gray, but he still had a remarkably full and healthy looking head of it. It was trimmed neatly at the ears and sides with the top brushed back. There was a trace of a wave running through it. His green eyes brightened at the sight of me and he relaxed his lips into a soft smile.
Judge Childs held a cigar in his right hand, a glass of champagne in his left, his big diamond pinky ring glittering in the sunlight. Ever since I had begun thinking that Kenneth Childs might be my real father.
I looked at the judge with a great deal more interest each time I saw him. After all, I thought, this man could be my grandfather.
The judge was a distinguished looking, elderly man with gray hair still showing some of its original light brown color. He wore it neatly trimmed and parted on the right side. He dressed more
conservatively than Grandpa Samuel, wearing a charcoal jacket and pants, a bow tie, and black shoes and socks. I had seen pictures of Kenneth's mother in Kenneth's home. She was a very attractive woman with dark brown hair, but there was no question in my mind that Kenneth took after his father and had the same shape nose and chin. Kenneth's eyes were a darker brown, but the judge's eyes always seemed to darken when he gazed at me.
"Well, the guest of honor has arrived," the judge said. Both he and Grandpa Samuel rose, each bowing slightly. It brought a smile to my lips. I felt as if I had walked into a scene from Gone with the Wind.
I looked at Grandma Olivia and then at the rear of the house. There were no other guests, no elaborate setup of tables, tents, and chairs. Was I really the guest of honor?
"Good afternoon, Grandma Olivia," I said. "I always liked that dress on Laura," she replied instead of greeting me. The way she said it made me feel as if I was a poor relation dressed in a hand-medown.
"You look very nice, Melody," Grandpa Samuel said, nodding. "Come sit here," he said, patting the cushioned lawn chair beside him.
"Just like Samuel to want to sit next to the pretty lady," the judge said.
"You're just jealous because I invited her first," Grandpa said.
"Don't the two of you start acting like idiotic school boys," Grandma Olivia warned. "Sit where you want," she told me. I sat next to Grandpa Samuel, who beamed a smile back at the judge.
"Now here's a young woman with some taste," he said, making the judge laugh.
The maid brought the tray of hors d'oeuvres to me and I choose one and took a napkin. It was shrimp in a pastry shell and it was absolutely delicious.
"Please get her some lemonade," Grandma Olivia told the maid. She nodded and hurried out.
"What's going on at Jacob's house?" Grandpa Samuel asked.
"Cary and Uncle Jacob are working. May and Aunt Sara are going to town."
"I hate going to town during the season," Grandma Olivia remarked. "It's too crowded on those narrow streets with all those tourists gawking into store windows. I don't know why she drags that disabled child all about like that," she added looking at me as if I had the answer. I did.
"Aunt Sara is just trying to keep May occupied," I said pointedly "She was all alone when I left."
"Yes," Grandpa said nodding. "I guess you could have invited Sara and the child, Olivia," he told her.
"Don't tell me who to invite and who not to, Samuel Logan," she snapped. He stared at her a moment, his eyes cold and sharp but quickly warming as he folded his face into a smile again.
"Did you hear that whip snap, Judge?"
When the judge didn't respond immediately, I gazed at him and saw he was staring intently at me.
"What's that? A whip? Oh, yes, yes," he said laughing. "Well, I warned you, Samuel. Years and years ago, I warned you about the Gordons."
"You have that backwards," Grandma Olivia said. "Everyone in Provincetown warned me about the Logans."
The judge roared and sipped some champagne. He and Grandma Olivia exchanged furtive glances.
"I understand you are working for Kenneth," Grandma Olivia said, turning back to me. "How has that been going?"
"It's been fine, thank you."
"My son hasn't been too hard a boss then?" the judge asked quickly. "You're not bored out there in no-man's-land?"
"No. Actually, I'm learning a great deal about art."
"You're artistic too?" he followed.
"No, sir."
"She's musically inclined. Didn't you hear her play at the variety show?" Grandpa Samuel asked.
"Oh, I know she's musically inclined, but some people have a variety of talents."
"And some have none," Grandma Olivia inserted, her eyes fixed on Grandpa Samuel. "Except when it comes to putting their foot in their mouth. Grandpa Samuel looked uncomfortable and shifted his weight in his chair. Then he cleared his throat.
I didn't like the nasty tone of voice Grandma Olivia used, but I couldn't help being in awe of her strength and power. From what well did she draw it? I wondered. Where did she get such confidence, such self-assurance? I didn't like her, but I couldn't help wanting to learn something from her. She was living proof that women could be tough and strong when need be, and someday, someday soon, I too would need to find that strength.
"What's Kenneth have you doing there?" the judge asked.
"I help straighten up his home, make lunch, prepare his supplies, keep his studio in order, do odd jobs, take care of Ulysses. He showed me how to prepare the clay he uses for vases and small statues."
"Whatever he pays you to straighten up that home of his it can't be enough. He barely makes enough on that art work of his to feed the dog," the judge quipped.
"He doesn't believe an artist should be obsessed with making money," I offered and immediately regretted it, because they all looked at me as if I had said something blasphemous.
"Apparently, you've gotten to know him well already," the judge said after a moment of deep silence.
"No, not really," I replied. "We're just getting to know each other."
"Did he tell you he used to practically live here?" Grandpa Samuel asked with a wide smile. "I had to wash him off the welcome mat most of the time."
"Samuel, please," Grandma Olivia said. "He didn't live here."
"Well, he was here enough, wasn't he, Nelson?" Grandpa Samuel asked the judge.
"When Kenneth was younger, I had less of a fix on him than I have now," the judge said mournfully. Everyone sipped their champagne, but the judge and Grandma Olivia gave each other that sideways glance again. I took the lemonade from the maid, thanked her, and took a sip. I still wasn't sure why I had been invited to this luncheon, but I knew from everything I had been told and everything I had observed that Grandma Olivia didn't do anything unless it had a purpose.
"I hope you're hungry," Grandpa Samuel said. "We've got a small feast. Cold lobster, some of those wonderful fried potatoes I shouldn't eat, hickorysmoked ham."
"From the way he talks, you'd think that's all he cares about these days is food," Grandma Olivia said with a sigh. "I guess we had better get to it before he chews the arm off the chair." She started to rise.
"That is all he cares about," the judge quipped, and stood. Grandpa Samuel held out his arm for me to take and we followed the judge and Grandma Olivia into the house to the dining room, where the luncheon had been set out in smorgasbord style. The maid stood beside the table, waiting to hand us each a plate. Grandma Olivia went first and the judge stepped back for me to follow. The lobster meat had been shelled and dressed on a platter. Beside the potatoes Grandpa Samuel favored, there was a variety of vegetables, cranberry sauce and apple sauce. The hickory-smoked ham looked delicious.
Aunt Sara had warned me not to fill up my plate at Grandma Olivia's luncheons. That was something Grandma Olivia believed real ladies didn't do. It was proper to have something else afterward, a second helping of ham or vegetables, but not to fill the plate again. I saw how she watched out of the corner of her eye as I moved behind her, and I took a lot less than I wanted. The judge and Grandpa Samuel loaded their plates to the brim. We sat at the dining room table.
"As usual, wonderful, Olivia," the judge said. She nodded slightly, as one who expected
compliments would nod.
"You seem to have adjusted well to your new home," Grandpa Samuel said to me.
"What choice did she have?" Grandma Olivia snapped. "What you have to do, you do."
"Well, sometimes you can be lucky and you can like the things you have to do, too," he offered, without any hint of contradiction in his voice. He winked at me and we ate in silence until the judge and Grandma Olivia exchanged another one of those quiet looks filled with question marks.
"What do you do while Kenneth works in his studio?" Grandma Olivia asked.
"Sometimes I use the time to clean the house or walk Ulysses and sometimes I watch Kenneth work. He doesn't mind as long as I don't break his concentration," I added. "Once, he asked me to play my fiddle while he worked."
"He's not very talkative then?" she asked.
"When he talks about his art, he is," I said. I tilted my head, wondering why, if Kenneth had practically grown up here and this was his father who was sitting across from me, they were asking all these questions about him? They all acted as if they barely knew him and they should have known him far better than I did.
"Is that all he talks about?" the judge asked me insistently. He seemed impatient.
"Let the girl eat," Grandpa Samuel said. Grandma Olivia shot darts at him from her eyes, causing him to shake his head and return his concentration to his food.
I swallowed what I was chewing and replied.
"No. Sometimes he talks about the past," I said. The judge's eyes widened and Grandma Olivia held her fork frozen between the plate and her mouth.
"Oh? And exactly what has he told you about the past?" the judge followed.
"Just a little bit about what it was like to grow up here in Provincetown," I said.
Grandma Olivia put her fork down and looked at the judge, shaking her head in the slightest, but just discernable way. The judge returned to his food and the topic of conversation changed to what would happen to the country's economy if the Republicans didn't win control of the Senate.
After we had eaten, Grandma Olivia proposed something that made my eyes bulge with surprise.
"While you two idiots go have your cigars, Melody and I will walk out to the gazebo and have a private talk," she said. "Come along," she told me as she rose from the table.
"We'll be there shortly," Grandpa Samuel said.
"Don't rush your filthy habit on my account," she replied. The judge laughed and Grandpa shrugged. I followed Grandma Olivia out of the house and down the back steps. She paused and waited for me to walk alongside her.
"Did you enjoy the lunch?"
"Oh yes. Thank you. Everything was wonderful."
"Later, we'll have some tea and some petit fours. Tell me more about this summer job of yours," she said and continued down the pathway toward the gazebo.
Why was my working for Kenneth such an important topic? What did they expect me to tell them?
"There's not much more to say about it, Grandma Olivia. I enjoy watching Kenneth work. He lives in an interesting place, so close to the sea, to nature. I enjoy my walks along--"
"When he talked to you about the past," she interrupted, not satisfied with my response, "he didn't mention anything about his father?" When I didn't respond immediately, she stopped and looked at me. "Well?"
"He doesn't like talking about his father very much," I offered, but I saw that wasn't enough. She grimaced as if she had bitten into a sour apple, and then turned to step into the gazebo. I followed her inside and sat across from her on a pristine white garden bench.
"What did you want to talk about?" I finally asked. Surely my summer job wasn't the topic; it was obvious by now that I had been brought here for some sort of cross-examination.
"I think you're a lot smarter than your mother was at your age," she began. "Your mother's interests were quite simple to begin with, and her curiosity about anything more than boys was limited."
"I don't think it's fair to talk about her this way. She's not alive. She can't dispute anything," I countered. Standing up to her brought tears to sting my eyes. I took a deep breath and then looked away.
"Nonsense. If we couldn't talk about anyone who was dead, a great many mistakes would be made. It would also be a mistake for you not to tell me what, if anything, Kenneth Childs said about his father?'
I turned back to her.
"Why is that so important to you?" I asked. "Don't you dare ask me questions in response to questions I ask you," she admonished.
"All I know is that they don't talk much to each other, but I don't know why."
She raised her eyebrows.
"He didn't say?" she asked cautiously.
"No, not really."
"What's that mean, not really? Either he did or he didn't," she said, leaning impatiently forward in her seat.
"He didn't," I replied, the tears welling again in my eyes.
"I see," she said, continuing to scrutinize me. I felt as if I were sitting under a bright light in a police station.
"Is this why you invited me to luncheon, to interrogate me about what Kenneth said about his own father?" I demanded to know, despite her strict warning about questioning her.
"Don't be impudent," she snapped.
"I think it's pretty sad if the only way the judge can find out about his own son is through someone spying on him," I added.
"Don't you dare say anything like that to the judge," she chastised. "No one said anything about you spying on anyone," she added, but I glared back at her.
"You could have invited Kenneth to this luncheon," I suggested, "and asked him the same questions."
She glared at me and shook her head.
"Obviously, my son did not impart any
of the good manners to you that I taught him, or if he did, your mother ruined them," she said.
"How can you still hate her even though she's dead?" I asked. Finally, I had said something that made her turn away. She gazed toward the ocean, a blank look coming over her face.
"I don't hate her. I disapproved of her and I actually ended up feeling sorry for her, pitying her and Chester. To permit himself to believe such a terrible thing about his own father, just to have her as his wife. To think that my husband would seduce a young girl and embarrass me." She shook her head. "Well, that's all over now. Terrible words and ideas are like the tide. Once they go out, you can never pull them back. You can't unring a bell." She sighed. "So there's no point in discussing it now."
"Yes there is," I said boldly.
She turned to me. If her eyes were daggers, I'd have a hundred holes in me, I thought.
"What did you say?"
"I want to know the truth," I said. "Is Kenneth Childs my father? Is that why you have been questioning me about him?"
She started to smile.
"Is that what he told you?"
"He hasn't told me anything."
Her smile faded.
"I'm sure if there is one thing I don't know and don't care to know it's which of Haille's many men friends sired you. It would be easier to find the father of some shark in the ocean," she added with a wave of her hand toward the sea.
"Perhaps my real grandmother would know," I said, and Grandma Olivia burst out laughing.
"Belinda? Know anything that goes on around her? Please."
"I'd like to meet her. I would," I insisted. She stopped laughing.
"Don't be silly. She wouldn't have the slightest idea who you were or be able to make sense out of anything you said or asked her," Grandma Olivia said. "It would be a pointless visit."
"Still, I'd like to do it. Isn't she permitted to have any visitors?"
"She can have visitors, but I can't think of anything that would be more of a waste of time than visiting Belinda Gordon."