Jimmy Moss I don’t remember what I thought at the time about Norman’s sudden conversion to Christianity. Saint Paul on the road to Damascus. I wish I did. I was pursuing various vision quests of my own in those years, and I’d have been interested, but what can I say.
Jeannie Israel I assumed he’d go to divinity school at Harvard. Norman was really good at school, and let’s face it, he likes the fancy brand names. But he chose General Theological. Maybe he had a contact there; the doors opened fast for him. I was only glad they’d be in New York. I only saw Nika briefly in the summers these years, and I missed her. All those summer days when we were kids, when whoever finished breakfast first turned up on the other one’s porch, and we’d be off to meet Amelia in the lane, and then on foot, on bikes, or in little boats out into our day.
Monica Faithful What troubled me was leaving Sam and Sylvie. They were so young to have their father far away, and Rachel had full custody and certainly wasn’t going to let them travel to us on weekends. But Norman was serenely confident. He knew what the Lord wanted him to do, and where, and he knew he had to get on with it. I’d like to think he was also trying to protect me—our marriage. I couldn’t deny that the children strained things.
What I did like, very much, was that the whole curriculum of the marriage changed. Instead of talking about, I don’t know, which senior partner wasn’t pulling his weight and which brownnosing associate was getting all the good cases, suddenly we were all about Bible studies, and liturgy and church history. We started reading Compline aloud together every night, and it was so beautiful. So comforting, so mysterious. I began to have glimpses of…I guess wonder is the word. That it might be possible to open an inner door to another world, to live in it or be filled with it. It was thrilling. Literally. Living with a person who is engaged with faith is a revelation.
Of course you want to know what prayer is. Whether it works. Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz.
Of course it works. It works on the one who prays, like water pouring over rocks without being changed or broken, fitting through crevices, quietly turning fissures into ravines. And in turn it changes the universe, through the actions of those changed by praying. Praying, chanting, meditating, spirit dancing. Every culture has prayer forms, and words for them. For some natures the work is like hammering rocks, for some it’s as simple as breathing, and for all it grows by itself with practice. Ask and it shall be given. Seek and ye shall find. Those are not tricks or riddles, but simple truths.
Unless you were serious about the Mercedes-Benz.
Jeannie Israel They had a little apartment across the street from General. It’s beautiful, General Theological Seminary, a peaceful cloister inside a brick wall in the midst of the city. Monica loved the chapel especially, but she also loved the whole conversation that went on. About the Bible. About Jesus. We’d both been dragged to Sunday school as children and Nika sang in the choir at boarding school because she liked singing. We’d heard a lot of Bible readings in our day, but did we understand them? Who the Gospels were addressed to, what the Old Testament had to do with the New Testament? No. Really shockingly little.
Monica loved learning things. That first year, they’d moved too late for her to get a teaching job, so she was subbing. She had time to listen to the seminarians, and to read Norman’s texts on the lectionaries and things. We didn’t talk about faith as such at the time, but I had the feeling that was because she felt she’d pitched forward into a tub of butter and it would be rude to go on about it to those who hadn’t.
Monica Faithful Because we had moved to New York and didn’t see the children during the school year, I got them for half of summer vacation. I remember being terrified of how Mother was going to react when Sam fed his lunch to the dog from the table, or stood on the cane-seat chairs with his cowboy boots on, but instead I found myself in a competition with her. She just loved Norman. He flirted with her and asked her advice. They even started praying together for a while. So of course she wanted Sam and Sylvie to think Leeway was the best place in the world and that she was the world’s best grandmother. She was really pretty great that summer, except for the Affair of the Potion.
Ellen Gott I remember the summer Norman’s children first came to the cottage for the month. I’ll never forget it, I mean. Please and thank you were a foreign language. The little girl wet her bed so many times we had to throw the mattress out. Mrs. Moss was determined to love them to death, but when the boy made a “magic potion” out of Pepto-Bismol, her whole bottle of Chanel no. 5, and Mr. Moss’s prescription pills, that was over. Monica couldn’t eat, afraid of what her mother would do. I don’t remember what happened next.
Eleanor Applegate That was the year that Jimmy asked to have his inheritance in advance, and my parents gave it to him. I mean, they knew he was going to piss it all away, they knew he was going to sniff it or smoke it or give it all to some cult, to see what it was like to have nothing but lice and a begging bowl. What were they thinking?
Bobby Applegate I wonder what the conversation was like, when Sydney and Laurus were deciding whether to do what Jimmy asked. Here is their firstborn, Eleanor, a model citizen in every way, a college graduate, married, a mother…I had just gone to work for my brother and we could have used an infusion of capital, I promise you.
Eleanor Applegate It wasn’t the money. I mean, it wasn’t not the money, but what I minded was knowing that if I had asked, or Monica, we’d have been insulted or laughed at. Jimmy was just on a different plane for Mother. It didn’t matter what I said or did, or how many As Monica got. Don’t all those parables begin “The Kingdom of Heaven Is Like This”? Help.
The hardest part for most, when they first arrive here, is understanding that they’re dead. It’s every bit as shocking as being born. (Being born! The lights, the noise, the air on your skin…I still shudder.) At first, some keep going back, sure there’s been a mistake, especially if the departure was abrupt. If they’re angry or persistent enough they make themselves felt, even seen or heard. A few find this perversely thrilling and keep it up, beyond the normal leavetaking or comforting of those left behind. Not a good choice. They can get stuck outside the great flow of spiritual matter. But most soon find that the life they just lived in the body is less and less compelling. Perhaps like a long distance call on a signal that breaks up, so when it fades out altogether it comes as a relief.
Usually there will be guides waiting to help. Then new steps and stages. Just as you were taught, just as you expected. Masks and dodges forged in life fall away, and what remains is what you chose to become, with all those choices you made every day when in the body. It’s very interesting. Free will.
Edith Faithful I’m named Edith Bing for my Danish great-grandmother, but I look like my father. Mother’s eyes, but the rest of it. I’m six feet tall. As you can see I like that; I wear high heels. But inside I have Mother’s brain. Neither of us can do math or read maps.
For the lottery, I was sharing the maid’s room on the third floor with Sylvie. Sam was in California, and couldn’t come, but we had his list.
At lunch, Mom told me she hadn’t gotten Nina’s piano for me. She was quite unwrapped about it. I’d love to have something of Nina’s but I don’t play any more, and they have a piano at the rectory. It belonged to my grandmother Hazel and it isn’t very good but how much does that matter if it’s never played? She got me a set of silver instead. Meanwhile, Sam wanted the monogrammed barware, and Sylvie wanted Granny Syd’s fur coat, and I wanted the beautiful topaz ring Granny Syd wore when she dressed up. There’s a story there.
Nora Applegate Annie and I were bunking in the bedroom above Grandpapa’s music studio, and Adam and Charlesie slept downstairs on the couches. There’s a TV and VCR, so at Christmas and such we tended to congregate there in the evenings while the ’rents played bridge in the house, or whatever they did.
Annie Applegate Uncle Jimmy’s a scary-good bridge player. I played a lot in college, but he’s way
out of my league. Mummy and Dad are both good. Normal is terrible because he never shuts up. Josslyn doesn’t play. Aunt Monica only plays if they need her; she’d rather read. And let’s face it, the last year or two, she’s been pretty deep into the chardonnay in the evenings. Daddy plays just the same, sober or plastered (ask me how I know), but most people don’t.
Nora Applegate After dinner the night before the lottery no one was even thinking of playing bridge or going to bed. Everyone started going from room to room again, opening drawers or pawing through boxes and saying, Oh my God, look at this. It was exhilarating. We were all still up at two or three in the morning. I found a picture of Mom and Monica dressed in matching Hopalong Cassidy outfits, with little cap guns in their holsters. Mom was a little chubby, and the hair was unfortunate. Monica had this cute little Dutch-boy haircut.
Jimmy Moss I walked into the playroom downstairs and found Monica sitting on the floor in her robe and jammies, wearing a mink cape and a church hat of Mother’s, and long blue kid gloves. It had gotten cold down there so she put on whatever was at hand. She’s a very droll woman, my sister. We sat down there for over an hour, sorting photographs. Astronomers must feel like this when they get a bigger telescope. Suddenly you can see past your own little galaxy, to the older worlds of astral matter you’re made of. It was always there, you could sort of know that, but it’s different to see it.
Monica Faithful We found a snapshot of Eleanor and Bobby on their wedding day in New York. El is wearing dark lipstick and a new spring suit and high heels, very pretty with her small waist and the big gazongas. I remember when that picture arrived at the house. Bobby’s mother sent it. Bobby’s father had been their witness and he was in the picture, and Mother had actually taken a pair of scissors and cut off that side of the picture!
Nora Applegate The only person who didn’t seem to be into it was Uncle Norman. I went up to the attic, to look in the maids’ rooms’ closets and under the beds, since Granny Syd had stashed things everywhere, and there was Normal, pacing up and down the hall with his cell phone to his ear. He was listening to someone. He looked startled to see me, and said something like, “Yes, I’m here, go on…” and I waved at him and beetled off to the cedar closet. There were still some boxes up on the shelves that hadn’t been gone through. I found someone’s wedding dress, like from a museum, with little seed pearls sewn on, and a train and everything. I ran to get Mummy.
Eleanor Applegate We rushed upstairs. Norman was up there on his cell phone in the hall, oblivious. Nora had found Great-grandmother Annabelle’s wedding dress. I thought at first it was Candace’s but there’s a picture of James and Candace on their wedding day, and she was wearing satin, with no lace or train. And besides, would Mother have kept the dread Candace’s wedding dress if she’d ever had it? This was more froufrou and much older, we thought. The bodice was tiny, too small for Monica or me at any time in our lives, let alone now, but Nora is a sylph. We got her into it.
Monica Faithful I do think Mother would have kept Candace’s wedding dress if she’d had it. I think that was always a love-hate thing for her, that she went on hoping until the end of Candace’s life for some sign that her mother actually loved her. But Candace actually didn’t. Sydney just wasn’t her type. Poor Mother. But Nora in Great-grandmother’s wedding dress! Ooh-lala! The sleeves were ivory lace and the veil fastened on with combs, which of course wouldn’t work unless you have long hair pinned up to stick the combs into. We had to improvise. There were about a hundred little pearl buttons that had to be done up in the back. Even the matching shoes were there but those were much too small. Ellie and I hummed “Here Comes the Bride” and carried the train as Nora made her way down the stairs, to show everyone.
Eleanor Applegate And as we went by, Norman was still on the phone!
Sylvia Faithful You should know, by the way, that the most striking thing about this story is that my father was listening to somebody.
Josslyn Moss I was in the dining room putting numbers on things for the lottery when Nora came down in the wedding dress. I ran to get Boedie out of bed. Boedie said, “Nora looks just like Beauty in Beauty and the Beast!”
Eleanor Applegate We did get the lottery going again. Monica came back into the dining room, and before she could speak, I said I thought she was right, we should save Maine things for the summer. And she said, no no, we should decide about the Rolling Stone, soon it would be time for someone to pay the yard bills. I said, well, Charlesie sort of wanted to take care of the boat himself. He loves to work with his hands. And he really knows that boat, and we thought it would be good for him, to have something of his own to take care of. Monica said, “A wooden boat? How could he do all that himself, with the brightwork and so forth?” Of course, a wooden boat is a lot of work.
Monica Faithful My idea was that maybe Sam and Charlesie could own the boat together. I thought it would be a bonding thing. And I worried about Charlesie letting the boat go to seed; I’d rather see it sold out of the family than that. It took Charlesie a week flat driving Daddy’s beloved old Nashcan before he’d broken an axle hot-rodding down the French Camp Road.
Eleanor Applegate The situation was a little tense. I know Monica hadn’t forgotten the time Papa gave Charlesie his Nash. Not that the car was worth anything at that point; you could total it by losing the key. But I don’t think she realized that that was years ago, Charlesie has grown up a lot. And I don’t believe Edie cares about the boat. If Monica wants it for Sam and Sylvie—well, they’re not Papa’s blood. You know? It doesn’t seem exactly right to me.
Jimmy Moss They were trying so hard not to say offensive things out loud about each other’s children that I thought we might sit there staring at each other all afternoon. So I said, “Why doesn’t Charlesie take care of the starboard side and Monica’s children take the port side?” Nobody laughed. Then Eleanor said, “All right. I’ll take the chandelier.” We all looked up at it and I could imagine Josslyn swearing because she hadn’t put the chandelier on her list.
Nora Applegate I became the family archivist. Mother said she’d pay me to set up a system and sort all the mystery photographs, the old letters (there were trunkfuls in the attic), the scrapbooks, all that. Charlesie and I spent the afternoon of the lottery in the playroom; he was taking photographs of great-great-uncle so-and-so out of crumbly old frames nobody wanted. Aunt Josslyn was with us for a while. She came up with a picture of a family on a porch in what looked like Maine. Summer, anyway. I didn’t recognize anybody. Granny Syd would have known in a minute all about it…there was so much I wish we’d asked her when we could have.
In this picture there’s a man with big mustaches standing with a violin in his hand, his wife (I’m guessing) sitting in front of him and a girl of about eighteen and a boy who’s maybe ten. They’re all in their Sunday best and looking grim, the way they do in old pictures where they had to hold still a really long time. It was Josslyn who noticed that the mother is wearing Granny Syd’s topaz ring. But who were they? Why do we have their picture?
Eleanor Applegate Of course, in retrospect I understand why Monica was such a mess that weekend. I don’t know how much she knew about Norman at the time, but certainly she knew something. Even if she didn’t know she knew. We did get through the lottery afternoon, but there was still one big elephant in the living room. What were we going to do about the summerhouse? Bobby and I have our own house in Dundee. If it were up to us, we’d sell Leeway Cottage and use our share of the money to build a guesthouse, for when our children get married and have children of their own. But selling Leeway would leave Monica no place in Dundee, and it’s important to all of us that we’re all three there. Meanwhile Josslyn’s started referring to Leeway as “the family homestead.” Her way of saying it’s her children’s mess of potage more than Monica’s stepchildren’s. And probably that she’d like it all for herself, if she had her druthers.
Monica Faithful I was terrified Eleanor would force the issue. But Jimmy ca
me to the rescue. He said, “Let’s just try to share Leeway this summer as if Mother and Papa were still alive. It’s big enough. If it doesn’t work, we’ll rethink it after Labor Day.”
Bobby Applegate A recipe for total disaster if you ask me. But nobody did.
Edith Faithful I got the topaz ring. But Annie got the mink coat that Sylvie wanted. It was the only thing Sylvie really did want. She’d never buy new fur, but she gets cold in New York in winter. I felt bad for her. Mother had to choose between taking the coat for her or the ring for me.
Meanwhile Nora found rooms in the cellar we hadn’t even known were there. In the furnace room she found a crate with business records from the 1880s, which I guess will explain where the Brant money came from. Now that it’s mostly gone. She found a couple of trunks that belonged to Granny Candace’s strange mountain-man brother, who has a peak in the Rockies named for him. And Annabelle Brant’s Line a Days, and her scrapbooks. And then across from the furnace room, she found a bomb shelter.