Patricia shrank in her chair. She whispered, “A little drink now and then, and you treat me as a criminal.”
Patrick said, “No. It’s a secret sorrow, I’m thinking, but I won’t pry. You’d best keep it to yourself.” Patrick’s voice expressed profound pity. Patricia stared, and then suddenly burst into tears, lowering her head almost to her knees. Patrick sighed. Her sobs filled the otherwise silent room.
When she grew quieter, Jason said, “There’s another thing. There’s a war in Europe. I’ve heard that you still plan to sail on the twenty-eighth, as originally intended. You can’t be such a fool!”
Patrick turned around quickly. “No! Patricia knows … she reads. That’s a lie you heard, Jase. Malicious. Gossip.”
But Patricia sprang up and confronted Jason with renewed energy. “You hate Nicholas! You don’t want him to be cured at Lourdes!” She whirled on her father. “I’m going. Try to stop me!”
Jason made a gesture of futility. He said, “Dad, I’ll leave your daughter to you. I’ve resigned.”
He left the room, followed by Patricia’s frantic screams and Patrick’s beseeching protests.
30
“It’s painful for me,” said Dr. Conners, “to have to admit that a lady—a lady—can indulge. Working-class women and … women who have loose morals, but not a lady like Patricia.”
Patrick, who was becoming more feeble day by day, and Jason sat silently in Patrick’s library this hot August of 1915.
“Perhaps it would have been better to let her go to Europe last year, with Nicholas,” resumed the doctor, “and satisfied herself that nothing could be done for the boy. Despite the war, despite the sinking of the Lusitania, Americans persist in visiting Europe. If Patricia had gone …”
Jason said to himself: I almost wish she had gone on the Lusitania! Solved all our problems, and poor little Nick’s, too.
“I don’t need to tell you,” said Dr. Conners, “that Patricia’s ‘problem’ has gotten worse. I recommend a hospital, a private sanatorium. They call her condition a nervous breakdown, avoiding scandal.”
“The scandal’s all over town!” groaned Patrick. “She never goes out except to visit Lionel and Joan. Deserted her friends, takes no interest in clothes—why, she used to live for clothes. Doesn’t even … wash. The chambermaid told me. Her bedroom is dirty, disordered. Her hair—rat tails. My beautiful colleen! I had such hopes for her.”
Dr. Conners sighed. “Typical of her condition.”
“Tell me! Truly and honestly, Ben. Is she … insane? Like Nick?” Patrick’s words were a desperate cry.
“No. Patricia isn’t insane. She has normal intelligence. Years ago, she was healthy in her mind and body—it is the drink that has destroyed her. Something must have driven her to it.”
The doctor’s tired eyes moved swiftly to Jason, who said dully, “Not guilty. I loved her when I married her. I loved her when I was a child. I tried to make her happy. You heard her: she hated me all that time. Lately I’ve had the feeling that she was in love with someone else. Probably nothing to it. Perhaps some man in Philadelphia who was unavailable.”
“No,” said Patrick, who shook his head over and over. “She’d have told me. She loved Jason, she said. She couldn’t wait until they were married. Something happened. What was it, Jase?”
Jason said with deliberate hardness, “You’ve asked me that a hundred times, and I said I didn’t know, and I still don’t know. She asked me to marry her, in a hurry. But we’ve been over all that in the past year or two! I’m sick of repeating the same words!” Losing control, he said in a louder voice, “And I’m sick, myself, over the life your daughter’s led me ever since we were married. I … I … loved her, until I realized it was no use—no use at all. My marriage has been a hell. I only stand it for my children. And I am pretty near the edge now.” His anger increased. “Let me alone, or I’ll take my children and get out and leave you alone with your daughter. I never had a life and it’s time I did. I’ve never had any joy—except once.” His voice became husky. “Just one day. In a lifetime—just one day. And I only realized it recently! I don’t blame anybody. I was a fool to put up with your daughter all these years.”
“Now, Jason,” said the doctor. “Pat’s sick—”
“I’m sick! Do you think I’m made of stone, and have no emotions, no feelings? That I live only to serve a woman who hated me from childhood? Mr. Mulligan, let’s understand this once and for all. I loved your daughter, but I thought it was hopeless. Then came a day she insisted on marrying me without your knowledge.”
The doctor got up. “I think I must go,” he said.
Jason turned furiously to him. “Hear me out! It’s time I took my own part. I’ve even accused myself, trying to discover what I did wrong. When I realized, after years of abuse, contempt, and ridicule, that I no longer loved her, I tried desperately to blame myself. But now it’s time to save my own life.” He almost choked with rage. “I refuse to participate in these discussions any longer. It’s up to you what you do with your daughter. I don’t care. Do you hear me! I don’t care!”
“Jase …” Patrick seemed to lose substance. “The marriage sacrament—”
“Sacrament! Our marriage was not a ‘sacrament.’ At least, so far as your daughter was concerned.”
He struggled for breath. “I not only have my debts to worry about, but the ruin of my marriage. I’m incapable of carrying the load anymore. Send her to a sanatorium; send her anywhere! I’m not interested any longer.”
“Jase …” Patrick was weeping, the tears of an old stricken man. “I’m sorry. I’m beside myself. Forgive …”
Jason felt a twinge of compassion, but he suppressed it. Too often had he been betrayed by pity. “I’m beside myself, too, Mr. Mulligan. Did you ever think of that?”
“You’re strong, Jase …”
“I’ve been strong long enough. I’ll do a little whining from now on. Perhaps it’ll make people realize that I’m a human being, too.”
“Jase, will you help persuade Patricia that she should go to a private hospital?” Patrick held out his hands pleadingly.
“No! She’s not my wife anymore!” He turned to the doctor. “Don’t bother me with your consultations in the future. I must save my own life.”
He almost ran from the house. He came to the little park, which was deserted, and threw himself on the grass and sobbed. “Molly. Molly. Molly.” He hid his face in his arms. The grass felt as parched as his life.
“A secret sorrow she has,” pleaded Patrick to Dr. Conners. “My little colleen.”
“Sorrow is the natural condition of man,” said the doctor, with some severity. “People with character conceal it from each other.” But out of compassion for Patrick, he talked to Patricia sternly and without compromise.
She went to a private sanatorium a week later, near Wilkes-Barre. She left her father’s house in stunned silence. She did not even speak to her children. Her father and her doctor accompanied her. Jason was not there.
On the journey, Dr. Conners thought about Jason: “Beware of a patient man when he comes to the end of patience.”
Jason visited Saul Weitzman at least once a week, for he felt Saul and Edmund Patterson were his only friends, since he rarely saw Molly these days. One cool evening in September he stopped by Saul’s little house. Jason settled himself in the old rocking chair which had belonged to Bernard. Saul regarded him with concern, for he had aged. His gray eyes were sunken and exhausted, and he was too quiet.
“How is Mrs. Garrity?” Saul asked.
“Gaining,” said Jason, and the muscles of his face became hard.
“And the children?”
Now Jason actually smiled. “Reverend Mother has taken over the household, including the servants. They obey her! She strikes terror in them. And Mr. Doherty—he consults her with the lessons and problems with the other children, Nick, Sebastian, and Edmund’s children, Jennifer and Gilbert. She lays down the law. Even N
ick … even Nick has some control over himself. Reverend Mother has a hard hand.”
“A tartar,” said Saul, with love. Then he said, “I need some advice; I can’t afford a lawyer, and you have troubles enough of your own.”
“Nonsense,” said Jason. “I brood too much on my own. Tell me.”
Saul hesitated. “I’m not an American citizen.”
“I thought you were.” Jason was surprised.
“I feel as if I were American-born, Jason. A feeling for a country makes her your motherland, nein?”
Jason nodded. “I suppose so. Why didn’t you become a citizen, then?”
Saul shifted uncomfortably and played with a tiny crumb on his immaculate tablecloth. “There is a difficulty. I first came to Canada. A work permit in the harvest. It ran out. Canada is very … very stern with aliens.” He paused. “I slipped across the border to America. From Alberta. Illegal.” His chest expanded, and he gave a beautiful smile. “I came home!”
“In spite of the prejudices you met?”
Saul gestured eloquently. “In spite of. Men are always prejudiced.” He hesitated. “The world is at war. I’d like to vote. I went to an office—the U.S. Immigration Bureau in Scranton. ‘I want to become an American citizen! I been here twenty-nine years! From Germany.’ I was honest. No records of my arrival? they asked me. No, I said. I didn’t leave the country after I came, not a single day. A man came from an inner office. He was sharp, no smiles. ‘From Germany, eh?’ he says. ‘We’ll investigate.’ What is this ‘From Germany, eh?’ ‘We are not at war with Germany,’ I said. He waved me out.” Saul looked dejected. “I came home afraid.”
Jason reflected with anxiety. “I have a friend, a lawyer. I’ll speak to him. It won’t cost you anything, Saul.”
“I pay,” said Saul.
“He is my friend. At the most, ten dollars.”
“This I can afford.” Saul smiled in relief. “Lawyers—they cost so much. But, a friend. I come also.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Jason. “For many reasons.”
Saul was puzzled, but Jason did not explain.
The next morning he had his secretary call the office in Wilkes-Barre, not Scranton, to tell the inspector in charge that Mr. Jason Garrity, the hotelier, wished to talk to him at once. The inspector, he knew, was an Irishman himself; Jason had had occasion to talk to him before, in regard to a Pole he employed as one of the gardeners. A severe man, James Fogarty, and aware of the majesty of government, but “human,” as Bernard used to put it. Inspector Fogarty, who remembered Jason, was cordial over the telephone. Jason armed himself with a bottle of the finest Irish whiskey and drove to Wilkes-Barre.
“Top of the morning, Jimmy,” said Jason, discreetly handing over the bottle. Mr. Fogarty deftly disposed of it in his desk.
“When you speak Irish,” said Mr. Fogarty, who was Irish-born, “it means trouble for me. What is it, then?” He leaned back in his chair. The office was shabby and water-stained from the ancient radiator. Mr. Fogarty’s uniform was not fitted; he was a spare man with a grim disillusioned face and red hair like Lionel’s. He was fifty years old; his brown eyes were sharp and he had a Spanish cast to his features.
Jason cleverly opened the conversation by referring to the inspector in charge of the Scranton office, whom Mr. Fogarty bitterly hated. It seems that Mr. Fogarty’s hometown was Scranton, and he had anticipated becoming inspector in charge there. Mr. Fogarty had been assistant inspector and well-liked by his men. “Then, out of nowhere, this Sassenagh appears,” Mr. Fogarty never tired of complaining with anger, “from a shitty little burg no one has ever heard of, near International Falls, Minnesota! And he’s elected! Over me. Politics! I stood him for a year, then applied for a transfer, and here I am.”
After patiently waiting for the story to be retold and making sympathetic sounds, Jason explained Saul Weitzman’s plight. Mr. Fogarty listened intently, a light of combat in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, assumed a judicial expression, and tapped his desk with a pencil.
At last he said, “Well, now it seems this bastard exceeded his authority and doesn’t know the latest rulings. Twenty-nine years, you say, your friend lived in this country? He arrived in the days of contract labor, no records were kept then; millions came in. The country was glad of cheap labor. Your friend is being persecuted by that … that son of a bitch just because he’s German!”
“I suspected that, Jim.”
“Hates Germans as much as he hates the Irish, if possible. His father came from England; stands to reason. Well, then, send your friend in, and I’ll process his papers and send them to Philly, and his troubles are over.” He reflected. “Any danger of us getting into this war?”
“Yes.”
“No doubt?”
“No.”
Mr. Fogarty raised an eyebrow. “Love to see old England get a beating, that I would.”
Jason carried the good news to Saul, who embraced Jason lavishly. “How much it cost?” When Jason told him “nothing,” he was incredulous and eyed Jason suspiciously. “Nothing? A government official—no money?”
“And don’t you offer him anything, either. You’ll land in jail or be kicked out of the office and denied your papers.”
“You’re a good boy, Jase, the best. I wish I could be of use to you. Maybe the time will come.”
Jason smiled. “Do you have five hundred thousand dollars lying around, Saul?”
“Bad as that, Jase?” Saul was grave.
“Nearly. Never mind. I worry enough.”
It was two hours after his return to Belleville that Jason was startled to remember that he had been near Patricia’s sanatorium and had never once thought of her.
Americans of German descent watched with consternation, and in extreme cases, terror, as the propaganda generated by many prominent newspapers continued to build. When independent newspapers related alleged atrocities by the French and British also, they were attacked viciously by their more powerful competition.
Despite pleas from the German embassy that Americans refrain from traveling to the war theaters, pointing out that American ships carried contraband for the “Allies” as well as excited American passengers, travel persisted. If any papers carried an item to this effect, the others shouted “FREEDOM OF THE SEAS THREATENED BY GERMANY!” Or they denied that American ships carried contraband.
British war songs became extremely popular, particularly in the Eastern cities, and were sung everywhere to applause and emotional tears. Moving-picture studios and theaters competed with each other to rush out horrendous productions showing a German conquest of America. The films depicted the raping of little girls, the bombing of American churches, massacres in the streets, and the destruction of cities.
But despite the propaganda, millions of American mothers of sons sang, “I didn’t raise my boy to be a soldier!” Millions of sober Americans, informed and intelligent men, protested against American violations of neutrality, and formed peace societies. Rural America, led by Midwestern newspapers, declared that the sinking of the Lusitania was not a cause for military action. It was the Northeastern portion of the country that clamored for war as the conspiracy against humanity gained momentum.
Jason joined Bulwark America in 1916, one of the myriad peace societies springing up about the country. Events in Europe were no longer a matter of smiling excitement but of terrified speculation and suspicion that America was being manipulated into joining a conflict it did not want. Many Americans felt themselves victims of forces which were inimical to their freedom, and were frightened despite governmental protests that America would remain neutral. But the more Washington became vehement, the more people became alarmed.
Jason not only joined Bulwark America but also became its chief officer in the part of Pennsylvania in which he lived. Daniel Dugan said, “You are a fool. Do you think a peace society can have any influence at all? Didn’t you believe your own words and the words of your grandfather?”
/> “It’s a matter of principle,” Jason said.
Daniel laughed. “More people have died for a ‘principle’ than in the wars. Don’t be an idiot. Protect yourself.” He added, “I’ve booked passage on a ship to England to rescue my investments in London.” When Jason mentioned the possible danger, Daniel just smiled cynically. “When did an Irishman consider danger?”
“You’ve just advised me to ‘survive’ and be safe. A contradiction of your own advice. What does Molly say?”
Daniel did not reply for several moments, and Jason was made uncomfortable by the long enigmatic stare with which Daniel regarded him. “Molly says it is foolish. Molly is not given to hyperbole. We respect each other’s opinions and … lives. We don’t interfere with one another.” For some inexplicable reason, he looked sad. “Think you can manage in my absence, Jason?”
“You have a good manager. I expect no crises.” He was relieved at Daniel’s changing the subject.
“Patricia any better?”
“We expect her home for Christmas.”
“And Nick?”
“No change, except for the worse. Doherty and Nickie appear to be in control the majority of the time.”
Daniel said, “I am worried about Uncle Pat. He’s failing rapidly. It’s a sorrowful thing, a strong man falling into ruin. He acts so vague at times.”
“He’s worried about his daughter, though I think she is … cured.” Jason did not add that he himself had visited Patricia only twice in a year. She had raved at him, and the hospital doctor had delicately advised Jason that his visits “had better be infrequent” in order to avoid “upsets.”
“And Sebastian?”
“He grows more like a priest every year. God forbid!”
“Your brother doesn’t visit very often?”
“He sees Joan and Lionel.” Jason’s voice was reserved. “I avoid him as much as possible. We weren’t very friendly as children, and we always fought as adults.” He added, “Dan, when do you leave on your damn-fool ship?”