Whispers

  “No.”

  “Now I am surprised, close as you’ve been.”

  Close, she thought, wincing.

  “I don’t think he wants to see me,” she said, and at once corrected this slip of the tongue. “To see anyone yet, I meant.”

  Tom inquired curiously whether Bruce knew of her plans.

  “I haven’t really made them yet,” she evaded. “I’ve only been thinking about them. Robert will be sent abroad in a couple of months. He will go ahead of the rest of us, and I thought I would send him a letter with my decision.”

  “That gets complicated. Wouldn’t it be better to have it all out now and have the wheels turning before he leaves?”

  “No. He’ll be crushed as it is—but if I do it now, hell never leave, and his chance will be lost. This chance is all he talks about. I can’t be that cruel. I can’t destroy him utterly.”

  She was still twisting the strap of her purse. Tom reached over and put the purse on the table.

  “Let me get you a drink. Liquor or no liquor? Personally, I think you could use a stiff drink.”

  “Nothing. Nothing, thank you.”

  They had sat on either side of the fireplace. The white cat had wound itself around his ankle. He had stirred his brandy. And after the brandy …

  “So in spite of everything you don’t want to hurt him. You still feel something,” Tom said.

  “Feel! Oh, yes. How can I not, after twenty years?” She had not expected to weep, to make a scene. Nevertheless, tears came now in a flood. “I can’t believe this is happening. These last days have been a nightmare.”

  Tom got up and went into the house. When he returned, he held a damp washcloth, with which, most tenderly, he wiped Lynn’s face. Like a child or a patient she submitted, talking all the while.

  “I should be ashamed of myself to come here and bother you. I should solve my own problem. God knows I’m old enough. It’s ridiculous, it’s stupid to be talking like this.… But I’m miserable. Though why shouldn’t I be? Millions of other people are miserable. Am I any different? Nobody ever said life is supposed to be all wine and roses.”

  She started to get up. “I’m all right, Tom. See, I’ve stopped crying. I’m not going to cry anymore. I’m going home. I apologize.”

  “No, you’re too agitated.” Tom pressed her shoulders back against the chair. “Stay here until you wind down. You don’t have to talk unless you want to.”

  A cloud passed over the sun, dimming the garden’s colors, quieting the nerves. And she said more calmly, “The truth is, I’m afraid, Tom. How is it that I’m determined to do this, and at the same time I’m so scared? I don’t want to face life alone. I’m too young to live without love. And there may never be anyone else who will love me.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m almost forty, and I have responsibilities, a baby, a teenager who can be troublesome, and Emily. And it’s not as if I had a career or were free with an independent fortune and were a ravishing beauty besides.”

  Tom smiled. “I know one man who thinks you are. Bruce thinks so.”

  A flush tingled up Lynn’s neck into her face. If Tom had told her this two weeks ago, she would have shrugged. “Oh,” she would have said, “Bruce is as prejudiced in my favor as if I were his sister.” But such a reply would have stuck in her throat if she were to try it now.

  “I just realized,” Tom said, “that I’ve made a tactless remark. I’ve said ‘one man’—although,” he added with his usual mischievous twinkling around the eyes, “I myself wouldn’t really call you ‘ravishing’ either. It sounds too rouged and curly, too flirtatious, to suit a lovely woman like you.”

  “I’m not lovely,” she protested, feeling stubborn. “My daughter Emily is. You saw her. She looks like Robert.”

  “Oh, yes, oh, yes. Robert’s your standard, I see that.” The rebuke was rough. “Get your mirror out.”

  She was puzzled. “Why?”

  “Get it out. Here’s your purse. Now look at yourself,” he commanded, “and tell me what you see.”

  “A woman’s who’s distraught and dreary. That’s what I see.”

  “That will pass. When it does, you will be—well, almost beautiful. It’s true that your face is a shade too wide at the cheekbones, at least for some tastes. And maybe your nose is too short.” Tilting his head to study her from another angle, he frowned slightly, as if he were criticizing a work of art. “It’s interesting, though, that you have dark lashes when your hair’s so light.”

  “Don’t tease me, Tom. I’m too unhappy.”

  “All right, I was teasing. I thought I could tease you out of your mood, but I was wrong. What I really want is to rejoice with you, Lynn. You’re finally going to end this phase of your life, get strong, and go on to something better.”

  “I’m going to end this phase, that’s true. But as to the rest, I just don’t know.” She looked at her watch. “I have to go. I like to be home when Annie gets out of school.”

  “How’s Annie doing?”

  “Well, I worry. I always feel uneasy. But at least there haven’t been any more episodes. No running away, thank God. She seems calm enough. And Robert has been doing all right with her. As a matter of fact, he’s so tired and busy, so preoccupied these last few weeks with his big promotion, that he doesn’t have much time for her or anything else.”

  Not even for sex, she thought wryly, and I don’t know what I shall do when he does make an attempt.

  Sunk as she was in the deep lounge chair, she had to struggle upward. Tom pulled her and, not relinquishing her hands, admonished her.

  “I want you to be everything you can be. Listen to me. You’re too good a human being to be so unhappy.” Then he took her face between his hands and kissed her gently on the forehead. “You’re a lovely woman, very, very attractive. Robert knows it too. That’s why he was so furious when he came here and saw you dancing that night.”

  “I can barely think. My head’s whirling,” she whispered.

  “Of course it is. Go home, Lynn, and call me when you need me. But the sooner you leave him, the better, in my opinion. Don’t wait too long.”

  In a state of increasing confusion she started for home. What did she feel for Tom? What did he feel for her? Twice now her need for comfort and support had led to a complication—in Bruce’s case rather more than a “complication”!

  But then, as she drove on through the leafy afternoon, she began to have some other thoughts, among them a memory that loosened her lips and even produced a wan little smile.

  “I wish you would marry Tom,” Annie had said once when she was at odds with Robert. “Of course, you could marry Uncle Bruce if he didn’t already have Aunt Josie.”

  It was the babble of a child, and yet there was, for a woman in limbo, a certain sense of security in knowing that at least two men were out there in the great unknown world of strangers who found her attractive, and she would not be going totally unarmed into that world.

  And she asked herself whether anyone, at the start of this short summer, could have imagined where they would all be at its waning. On graduation day Emily had been on a straight course to Yale, or so it had seemed; Josie had been smiling her congratulations, and now she was dead; Robert and Lynn, husband and wife, had sat together holding hands.

  Robert, home early, explained, “I decided to call it a day at the office and shop for luggage. We haven’t nearly enough. I was thinking, maybe we should buy a couple of trunks to send the bulk of our stuff on ahead. What do you think?”

  It was strange that he could look at her and talk of normal things without seeing the change in her. “We have plenty of time,” she said.

  “Well, but there’s no sense leaving things to the last minute either.”

  A while later Emily telephoned. “Mom, I just got back from my sociology lecture, and what do you think the subject was? Abused women.” Her voice was urgent and agitated. “Oh, Mom! What are you waiting for? The less
on is: They never change. This is your life, the only one you’ll ever have, for heaven’s sake. And if you’ve been staying on because of us, as I believe you have, you’re wrong. I have nightmares now, I see your scarred hands and the bruise on your face. Do you want Annie to find out too?”

  “I told you what I’m going to do,” Lynn said. “And if you have any feeling that you’re responsible for my staying, you’re mistaken. I’ve stayed this long because I loved him, Emily.”

  Neither spoke until Emily, her voice barely breaking, said, so that Lynn knew she was in tears, “My father, my father …”

  There was another silence until Lynn responded, “Darling, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll take care of you all. I will.”

  “Not me. Don’t worry about me, just Annie and Bobby.”

  “All right, darling, I won’t worry about you.”

  Nineteen, and she really believes she doesn’t need anybody anymore.

  “Have you seen Uncle Bruce? How is he?”

  She dreaded a face-to-face meeting with Bruce. It would be stiff and strange.… It would be guilty.…

  “Not for the last few days. He’s doing as well as one might expect,” she answered.

  “Be sure to give him my love.”

  When she had hung up the phone, Lynn sat for a little while watching darkness creep across the floor. From upstairs in Bobby’s room came the sound of Annie, singing. Bobby, delighted with this attention, would be holding on to the crib’s railing while he bounced. Annie’s high voice was still childish, so that its song at that moment was especially poignant.

  A juggler must feel as I do now, Lynn told herself, when he steps out onto the stage to start his act. One ball missed, and they would all come tumbling.…

  “But I shall not miss,” she said aloud.

  Eudora was waiting for her in the garage when Lynn came home with the groceries.

  “Mrs. Ferguson! Mrs. Ferguson,” she called even before the engine had been shut off. “They want you at the school, somebody telephoned about Annie—no, no, she’s not sick, they said don’t be scared, they need to talk to you, that’s all.”

  Everything in the body from the head down sinks to the feet; so went Lynn’s thought. Yet she was able to speak with uncommon quietness.

  “They said she’s all right?”

  “Oh, yes. They wouldn’t lie, Mrs. Ferguson.”

  Perhaps, though, they would. They might well want to break bad news gently.…

  But Annie was sitting in the principal’s office when Lynn rushed in. The first thing she saw was a tear-smeared face and a blouse ripped open down the front.

  Mr. Siropolous began, “We’ve had some trouble here today, Mrs. Ferguson, a fight in the schoolyard at recess, and I had to call you. For one thing, Annie refuses to ride home on the school bus.”

  Lynn, with her first fears relieved, sat down beside her child.

  “Yes, you look as if you’ve been in a fight. Can you tell me about it?”

  Annie shook her head, and Lynn sighed. “You don’t want to ride home in the bus with the girl, is that it? I’m assuming it’s a girl.”

  Annie folded her lips shut.

  “Don’t be stubborn,” Lynn said, speaking still mildly. “Mr. Siropolous and I only want to help you. Tell us what happened.”

  The folded lips only tightened, while Annie stared at the floor. The principal, who looked tired, urged with slight impatience, “Do answer your mother.”

  Lynn stood up and grasped Annie firmly by the shoulders. “This is ridiculous, Annie. You’re too old to be stubborn.”

  “It seems,” Mr. Siropolous said now, “that some of the girls were taunting Annie about something. She punched one of them in the face, and there was a scuffle until Mr. Dawes managed to separate them.”

  In dismay Lynn repeated, “She punched a girl in the face!”

  “Yes. The girl is all right, but of course we can’t allow such behavior. Besides, it’s not like Annie. Not like you at all, Annie,” he said, kindly now.

  Lynn was ashamed, and the shame made her stern.

  “This is horrible, Annie,” she chided. “To lose your temper like that, no matter what anyone said, is horrible.”

  At that the child, clenching her pathetic little fists, burst forth. “You don’t know what they said! They were laughing at me. They were all laughing at me.”

  “About what, about what?” asked the two bewildered adults.

  “They said—’Your father hits your mother all the time, and everybody knows it. Your father hits your mother.’ ” Annie wailed. “And they were laughing at me!”

  Mr. Siropolous looked for an instant at Lynn and looked away.

  “Of course it’s not true,” Lynn said firmly.

  “I told them it was a lie, Mom, I told them, but they wouldn’t listen. Susan said she heard her mother tell her father. They wouldn’t let me talk, so I hit Susan because she was the worst, and I hate her anyway.”

  Lynn took a handkerchief from her purse, with a hand that shook wiped Annie’s face, and said, still firmly, “Children—people—do sometimes say things that hurt most terribly and aren’t true, Annie. And I can understand why you were angry. But still you shouldn’t have hit Susan. What is to be done, do you think, Mr. Siropolous?”

  For a moment he deliberated. “Perhaps tomorrow you and Susan, maybe some others, too, will meet in my office and apologize to each other, they for things they said, and you for punching. We’ll talk together about peace, as they do at the United Nations. In this school we do not speak or act unkindly. How does that sound to you, Mrs. Ferguson?”

  “A very good idea. Very fair.” The main thing was to get out of there as quickly as possible. “And now we’d better get home. Come, Annie. Thank you, Mr. Siropolous. I’m awfully sorry this happened. But I suppose you must be used to these little—little upsets.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s all part of growing up, I’m afraid,” said the principal, who, also pleased to end the affair as quickly as possible, was politely holding the door open.

  “She’s such a good child,” he murmured to Lynn as they went out. “Don’t worry. This will pass over.”

  “Susan,” Lynn reflected aloud when they were in the car. “Susan who? Perhaps I know her mother from PTA?”

  “She’s awful. She thinks she’s beautiful, but she isn’t. She’s growing pimples. Her aunt lives across the road.”

  “Across our road?”

  “Mrs. Stevens,” Annie said impatiently. “Mrs. Stevens across the road.”

  Lynn, making the swift connection, frowned. But Lieutenant Weber had told the Stevenses that night that there was nothing wrong.…

  “She’s afraid of dogs, the stupid thing. I’m going to send Juliet over to scare her the next time she visits.”

  Needing some natural, light response, Lynn laughed. “I don’t really think anybody would be afraid of our clumsy, flop-eared Juliet.”

  “You’re wrong. She was scared to death the day Juliet followed Eudora to the Stevenses. She screamed, and Eudora had to hold Juliet by the collar.”

  “Oh? Eudora visits the Stevenses?”

  “Not them. The lady who comes to clean their house is Eudora’s best friend.”

  Was that then the connection, or had it been only Weber, or was it both? It surprised her that no hot resentment was rising now toward whomever it was who had spread the news. People would always spread news; it was quite natural; she had done it often enough herself.

  Then came a sudden startling query. “But, Mom—did Dad ever?”

  “Ever what?”

  “Do what Susan said,” Annie mumbled.

  “Of course not. How can you ask?”

  “Because he gets so angry sometimes.”

  “That has nothing to do with what Susan said. Nothing.”

  “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “Quite sure, Annie.”

  An audible sigh came from the child. And Lynn had to ask herself how she would set about exp
laining the separation when it came, how she might explain it without telling the whole devastating truth; some of it, yes, but spare the very worst.

  Well, when the time came, and it was approaching fast, some instinct would certainly show her the way, she assured herself now. But for the present she could feel only a deep and tired resignation.

  The baby was being dried after his evening bath when Robert, hours late, came home. Lynn, stooping beside the tub, was aware of his presence in the doorway behind her, but did not turn to greet him; the time for loving welcomes was past, and she waited for him to speak first, after which she would give her civil response.

  “I’m home,” he said.

  Then some quality in his voice made her glance up, and she saw that he looked like death. He had opened his collar and loosened his tie; he, Robert Ferguson, to be disheveled like that in the commuter train!

  “What’s the matter?” she cried.

  “You will not believe it,” he said.

  “I will believe it if you tell me.”

  “Ask Annie to put Bobby to bed. She won’t mind. And come downstairs. I need a drink.”

  He’s ill, she thought, that’s what it is. They’ve told him he has cancer or is going blind. Pity, shuddering and chill, ran through her.

  “Glenfiddich. Toss it down,” he said, as if he were talking to himself. “And toss another.”

  The bottle made a little clink on the silver tray. He sat down.

  “Well, Lynn, I’ve news. General American Appliance and I are finished. Parted. Through.”

  “Through?” she repeated, echoing the word that had, in the instant, no meaning.

  “I didn’t get the promotion, so I quit. That’s why I’m late. I was cleaning out my desk.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  He stood up and walked to the long bow window that faced the road and the lighted lantern at the foot of the Stevenses’ long drive. Like a sentry on duty he spun around, walked the length of the room to the opposite window, and stood there looking out into the dark lawn and the darker bulk of the hill beyond. When he turned again to face Lynn, she saw that his eyes were bright with tears. Then he sat down and began to talk in rapid, staccato bursts.