Whispers

  And why am I hiding the truth myself? she asked now as she fell suddenly silent. Am I still so torn about Caroline that I fear to take any more blame for anything? He has already said that Emily’s trouble was my fault.…

  Robert had sat down heavily. “And Bruce brought her home,” he said.

  “Yes, it was wonderful of him, wasn’t it?”

  He slumped in the chair. In the weak light of the lamp on the bedside table, his face went sallow, as if the vigor had just drained out.

  Anxiously, Lynn explained, repeating herself, “He was wonderful. He talked to Annie, to both of them, so beautifully.”

  “What did he talk about?”

  “Oh, life in general, meeting challenges, optimism, understanding one another. He did them a lot of good.”

  “That may be, but I’m not happy about it.”

  “No, there’s nothing to be happy about. I really do believe, Robert, that Annie should have some help, some counseling. And so should we.”

  “That’s nonsense. I’ve told you my opinion of that stuff. Anyway, Annie’s not the first kid who got a notion in her head and ran off. It happens all the time. I’m sure she was sorry before she was halfway there.”

  Well, that much was true.…

  “But I’m thinking about Bruce. He’s my subordinate in the office, and he knows my family’s most private affairs, Emily’s mess last summer, and now this. Dammit all.”

  “He was very kind,” Lynn said, and then, wanting to clear the record entirely, she added, “Tom Lawrence was very kind too. He came over that morning.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, he too? How did that happen?”

  “He didn’t want me to be alone when he heard. You shouldn’t mind, Robert. These are good friends.”

  “Good friends, but they know too much.”

  “They’re fine men. They would never talk about our children. You know that.”

  “The fact that they themselves know is enough,” he grumbled.

  As she leaned to take off her shoes, she could barely reach her feet. Seeing her struggle, he got up to help her. The baby was active; its movement under her sheer slip was visible to him, and she saw that he pitied her; he would not argue.

  “Poor girl,” he said. “What a time you’ve had with me away! Poor girl. Now I’m home, you relax and let me take care of things.”

  The baby turned and turned. Through these last frantic days she had scarcely been able to give thought to it, but now awareness of its imminent arrival shocked her. Only another eight or nine weeks from now, it would be separated from her, separated and yet in another way closer, because of its demands, which would and should come before any others. She must, she must, keep calm and hopeful for its sake.

  Calm and hopeful. All right, then. Relax and let Robert take care of things. He wants to, anyway.

  Robert V. W. Ferguson, Jr., was born early on a windy morning in between winter and spring. Rough and tough as he had been in the womb, his exit from it was remarkably easy. He weighed nine pounds, came with a full head of hair, and was the first of the Ferguson babies not to be bald. His hair was sandy like Lynn’s; his face gave promise of length and would probably be aquiline like Robert’s.

  “All in all a nice compromise,” said Robert. He stood against a background of spring bouquets arrayed on the windowsill. “Have you counted the flowers? That basket of green orchids on the end is from Monacco. He wired it from California.” He watched his son feeding at Lynn’s breast. “What a bruiser!” he cried. “What a bruiser. Just look at that boy.”

  Scarcely containing his jubilation, he made Lynn feel like a queen.

  Back at home she lay in bed like a queen.

  “You’re going to take it easy, you’re going to rest and be waited on at least till the end of the week,” Robert insisted.

  The bassinet, skirted in white net, stood beside the bed, and Lynn thanked Josie for its blue bows.

  “The minute we heard from Robert that it was a boy,” Bruce said, “she came over here. And I want you to know that I’m the one responsible for the bows being blue.”

  “So sexist,” Josie said.

  “You surely weren’t going to put pink ones on, were you?” asked Lynn.

  “Why not?” was Josie’s cheerful reply. “Still, I did what my husband ordered.”

  Their funny mock bickering amused Lynn. The short hour that she had been home had already filled her with a fresh sense of well-being. New books in their bright jackets were stacked on the bedside table, next to the box of chocolates—now no longer on the forbidden list—and a cluster of lilies of the valley in a tiny cup. Husband, friends, and daughters, all of them fascinated by the baby in his soft wool nest, were gathered around her. Annie and Emily spoke in whispers.

  “You don’t have to whisper, darling,” Lynn told them. “Talking won’t disturb him a bit.”

  Annie asked anxiously, “When can we hold him?”

  “When he wakes up, I’ll let you hold him.”

  And shyly, Annie said, “Isn’t it funny? I don’t know him at all, but I love him already.”

  Lynn’s eyes filled. “Oh, Annie, that’s lovely.”

  “Why? Did you think I wouldn’t love him? I’m much too old to have sibling rivalry with the baby.”

  Everyone laughed. Bruce patted Annie on the back, and Emily said, “Annie, where are the boxes that came this morning?”

  “Right here, behind the door. Open them, Mom. They’re probably more sweaters. He’s got seven already. And there’s a big box downstairs that came yesterday. I haven’t opened it.”

  Robert went down and a few minutes later returned with a child-size wing chair upholstered in needlepoint.

  “Queen Anne! Isn’t that adorable? A formal chair for our living room,” cried Lynn. “Whoever thought of that?”

  “Tom Lawrence’s card, with best wishes.” Robert frowned. “Why such a lavish present? We hardly know him. He’s not an intimate.”

  Lynn, feeling the rise of heat, hoped it wouldn’t flow out on her cheeks. Tom had outdone himself; the gift was original, in perfect taste—and expensive.

  As if Bruce had read her mind, he came to the rescue.

  “It’s not so lavish for a man in Tom’s position. Expense is relative. And obviously he likes you both.”

  “Well, it’s only that I don’t like feeling beholden,” Robert explained.

  A puzzled look crossed his face. Lynn knew that he was thinking back to the weekend in Maine, and to all the things Lawrence had done for him, the good words he had put in for him.

  “You’ll have to write to him tomorrow at the latest, Lynn.”

  “I don’t feel up to it. I’m more tired than I thought I was,” she said untruthfully.

  A letter to Tom, if indeed he had any ideas—and the more she thought, the more certain it appeared that he might have some, even though she had certainly made her own position quite clear—might be unwise. The situation was a little bit exciting, but it was also disturbing. No, not a letter.

  “You write,” she told Robert, “and I’ll sign it along with you.” And she turned to Emily as if she had abruptly remembered something. “Hasn’t Aunt Helen even phoned?”

  Annie, Emily, and Robert all looked around at each other.

  “No? How strange. I don’t understand it.”

  “Oh,” Robert said, “it was supposed to be a surprise, but we might as well tell you. They’re on the way, both of them. They should be here in an hour or two. They’re renting a car at the airport.”

  “Darwin too?” Lynn was touched. “How good of him to take the time!”

  “His time.” Robert laughed. “Bathtubs and toilets. Important business.”

  “I shouldn’t care to be without either one,” Bruce remarked, laughing.

  Josie said firmly, “I like Darwin. I always did. He’s kind.”

  “Oh, kind, yes,” Robert agreed. “A diamond in the rough.”

  If only Robert would not always, always, say
things like that!

  And Robert said, “I might as well break the news. Aunt Jean has taken it into her head to come too.”

  “Don’t look so glum! I think it’s darling of her to want to see the baby. I’m glad she’s coming, and I’m going to show her I’m glad.” But then immediately Lynn worried. “Where’s everybody going to sleep? And what’s everyone going to eat? They’ll be here for a couple of days, I’m sure, and—”

  “Not to worry.” Emily assured her. “I’ve fixed a nice bed in the little third-floor room for Aunt Jean, Uncle Darwin and Aunt Helen will have the guest room, and we’ve a ton of food. Uncle Bruce went marketing with us this morning before you got home, to help carry all the stuff. Enough for an army.”

  “And the dinner table’s set already,” Annie said. “We even made a centerpiece out of the flowers you brought home.”

  So they all came and went, up and down the stairs all day, in and out of the room where the queen lay back on embroidered pillows, the best set, kept for sickness in bed and so, fortunately, never used before.

  Annie brought Juliet up to let her sniff at the bassinet. “To get used to the baby’s smell,” she explained. Robert brought a supper tray. “Don’t I make a good butler?” he asked, wanting praise. And then came Helen and Darwin, he as pudgy and beaming as ever, she as welcome as ever.

  “I feel as if I haven’t seen you for a century,” Lynn cried as they hugged each other.

  “Well, it’s been almost two years. No matter what they say about planes getting people back and forth in a couple of hours, it’s a big trip. It’s traveling.”

  “This family’s going to get used to traveling,” announced Robert, who in his pride was standing with a hand on the bassinet. “This little boy is going to see the world.” And when Helen looked blank, he asked, “Do you mean to say Lynn hasn’t told you? Yes, we’re going to be living abroad for a while. Two years, three, five—who knows?” And he gave an enthusiastic account of his project.

  “How is it that you never told me about all this?” asked Helen when the two were alone. Then, before Lynn could reply, and in her quick, penetrating way that so much resembled Josie’s way, said, “You had too much else on your mind, that’s why.”

  “Well, it wasn’t the easiest pregnancy, I’ll admit. But isn’t he darling? His head is so beautifully shaped, don’t you think so?”

  Helen smiled. “He’s lovely. Mine looked like little monkeys for the first month or so. But I wasn’t thinking of the pregnancy. I meant—you must know that I meant Annie.”

  Lynn had no wish to reveal the doubts and worries that, even though Annie did seem to be much steadied, still flickered in her consciousness. She especially did not want to admit them to Helen. So she spoke lightly, in dismissal.

  “Annie’s over all that.”

  “Yes, until the next time.”

  Helen was always reaching for clues, for signals and alarms; of course it was because she had never liked, and still didn’t like, Robert. But she was too decent to say so.

  There was a note of petulance in Lynn’s voice when she replied. She heard it herself and even knew the reason for it: I’ve said things are different now, but I’ve said it often enough before too; I don’t want to be reminded of that today; I just want a little time to be purely happy with my baby.

  “Annie’s fine, Helen. Delighted about Bobby. Can’t you see?”

  Helen’s silence told Lynn that she did not believe her.

  “You can ask Bruce if you don’t trust me,” Lynn added stubbornly. “He knows Annie well.”

  “I want to trust you,” Helen said, her lips making the tight pucker that always gave a shrewd look to her pretty face. “I want to. But I know that if things were bad, you would never admit it.”

  Probing, probing, Lynn thought resentfully.

  “You’ve always been so secretive. One has to worry about you.”

  Lynn’s impatience mounted. “Look at me. What do you see? Look around at the house. What do you see?”

  “I see that you look the same as ever and your house has everything of the best.”

  From downstairs there came the sounds of a piano accompanying lively song.

  “That’s Robert playing, and the girls are singing. They made up a funny song to welcome me at the door when we came home from the hospital. Doesn’t that tell you anything?” demanded Lynn.

  “Well … It tells me that we all love you.” And Helen, apparently accepting defeat, changed the subject. “Do you know what? I’m starved. I’m going down to see what there is to eat.”

  “May I come in, or will I tire you?” Jean hesitated, as was her way. At least it was her way when she was in Robert’s house.

  “Of course come in. I’m not the least bit tired and it’s ridiculous for me to be lying on this bed, but the doctor said, Two days rest, positively.’ ”

  When Jean had admired the baby for the second time, she sat down in the rocking chair by the bed. For a few moments she said nothing, merely smiling at Lynn with the expression that Robert called “meek”; instead Lynn had always seen, and saw now, not meekness but a stifled sorrow.

  Jean folded her old, brown-spotted hands together; lying in her flowered lap—did she never wear anything but flowers?—they were patient and strong.

  “It’s nice to have a time alone with you, Lynn,” she said. “And this is likely to be the last time. I’m moving to Vancouver.”

  “But so far away! Why?”

  “I’m going to live with my brother. We’re both pretty old and all we have is each other.”

  “You have us. You could move here, near us.”

  “No, dear. Let’s be truthful. Robert doesn’t like to have me around.”

  There was nothing meek about the statement. It had been delivered with a rather stern lift of the curly gray head and an expression that, although grave, was yet without rancor.

  The statement demanded an honest reply. Or a more-or-less honest reply.

  “Robert can be irritable sometimes with anyone, Aunt Jean, when he’s in the mood. But you must know, his bark is worse than his bite.”

  “I know. He was a darling little boy, and so smart. We used to play games together, checkers and dominoes. He loved to beat me, but, oh, his temper was terrible when he lost! We had fun together … but things change. It’s a pity, isn’t it? After my sister was gone, and he moved away … You would have liked Frances,” Jean said abruptly. “She was a gentle person. And she would have loved having you for a daughter. You’ve always reminded me of her. You’re soft and you’re kind, like her.”

  Very much touched, Lynn said simply, “Thank you.”

  The rocking chair swayed; there was a quaintness in its regular creak, an old-fashioned peacefulness as in the presence of the old woman herself.

  “I’m sorry you and I haven’t seen more of each other, Lynn. But I’m glad to see how well things are going for you. They are going well, aren’t they?”

  “Why, yes,” replied Lynn, wondering.

  “And Robert is still a good husband to you.”

  Was that a question or a statement?

  “Why, yes,” Lynn said again.

  Jean nodded. “I’ll think of you here in this lovely house and it will be a pleasure to me. I’ve put that photo of Emily and Annie into a flowered frame. I like to have flowers everywhere. I guess you’ve learned that about me, haven’t you? I do hope you’ll send me a nice photo of Bobby sometime.”

  “As soon as he grows some more hair. I promise.”

  “And that you’ll still call me every week—even in Vancouver.”

  “Of course we will. You know that.”

  “I like your sister,” Jean said, “and your friends Josie and Bruce. There’s something special about him, although I don’t know yet what it is.”

  Lynn smiled. “You like everybody, I think.”

  “No, not everybody. But I do try to find the good in people if I can. Frances was like that—too much so for her own go
od—oh, well, tell me, does the baby need an afghan for his carriage?”

  So the conversation veered away from people into the neutral area of things, things knitted, woven, cooked, and planted. The comfortable ease that Jean had brought into the room was ever so vaguely troubled when she left.

  I wish people wouldn’t be so—so enigmatic, Lynn said to herself.

  Now Emily came and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Mom, you’re so especially beautiful when you’re happy,” she said.

  She had a charming way of widening her eyes to express emotion. Today her hair was twisted and piled on top of her head; she wore the heart-shaped gold earrings that Robert had given her on her last birthday. Just to look at her brought an undiluted joy that Lynn needed just then.

  “I’m happy when you all are.” The baby grunted in his sleep. “Turn him onto the other side of his face for a change,” she said.

  “Oh, Lord, I don’t know how. I’m scared to touch him.”

  Lynn laughed. “I know. When you were born, I was afraid to pick you up, afraid you’d break. Just raise his head gently,” she directed, “and turn it. He’s not that fragile.”

  “He sighed,” Emily said. “Did you hear him? It sounded just like a sigh when I turned him.”

  “He’s probably worrying about the international situation,” Lynn said cheerfully.

  But Emily was grave. “Mom,” she said, “I never realized what a serious thing it is.”

  “Serious?”

  “To care for a baby, I mean. A person should think about it very, very long before doing it.”

  She spoke very low, not looking at her mother, but away toward the window where a dark blue evening was coming on. And Lynn understood her meaning: that what had happened last summer must not happen again.

  Still speaking toward the darkness, Emily continued, “All the plans you must have for him, his health and his school, the cozy room that he was brought to, and the quiet home. You have to plan, don’t you? And keep to the plan.”