It was a foolhardy thing to be doing. Besides, it made no sense: The chances of seeing her among all the hundreds of families who lived in these houses, packed side by side, were almost nil. And it was Sunday; the husband would be home. Still, he thought, I’m here and how can I pass her street without stopping for only a minute, just to look and to feel the atmosphere of the place where she lives?
He parked the car on the opposite side some distance down from the house whose number was etched in his mind. He watched the comings and goings on the street; old people sat on camp chairs in their doorways, out of the wind; big boys on roller skates dodged the light traffic; families were out together with baby carriages and dogs on leashes, looking the same as they did downtown, except that the clothes were different.
He glanced up at her house, wondering which of the windows were hers, which the kitchen where she worked, and (did she sing while she worked?) which her bedroom—their bedroom.
A crazy feeling came over him; he felt like a thief, snooping and sneaking. He wanted to see her and was afraid that he might. It was foolish to sit there any longer; he’d already been there for twenty-five minutes. And glancing through the rearview mirror, gauging the space to back away from the curb, he saw her.
She was walking up the little slope; her hand was lying in the crook of her husband’s elbow; their little boy was pushing a tricycle. He ducked his head as they passed. He was shaking. They went ahead and crossed the street. The wind blew her hat loose and she took it off to refasten the pins; her red hair glistened before she covered it again. He saw her laugh, turning her mouth up to the man’s answering laughter.
Then the man picked the child up and set him on his shoulder. The child reached for his mother’s hat, teasing, but she drew out of his reach, still laughing and shaking her head: No, no! She picked up the tricycle, and the three of them stood a moment with their faces turned to the sun, as if they were trying to make up their minds whether to go back inside or go on. Then they moved up the street and climbed the steps of their house, the man, the woman, and the child.
What is she thinking when she looks up at her husband like that? Paul wondered. How does she feel when she remembers that morning when we went mad together? And he sat unmoving behind the wheel of his fine car, at which more than a few men stared, appraising it as they passed; he sat with his arms gone limp.
Was it really quite simple, after all, a matter of glands, an abundance of health, so that the joy of untried flesh is irresistible? Especially when what is forbidden is the most irresistible of all?
Secrets. Like having a hole in your sock under a bright new shoe.
Up there behind one of those windows, Anna would be getting the supper ready. The husband would probably be playing with the boy. He wondered whether the real estate deal had gone through. The fellow was certainly ambitious, he was trying. One had to give him credit for that. He was thinking ahead for her and for their child.
Christ, how can you just walk in and blow the man and his hopes sky-high? How can you do that? Take his home … take his child … a little boy like Hank … Christ!
Paul put his head in his hands; then, remembering where he was, and that such a posture would make him conspicuous, he forced himself to put the car in gear and move away. Feeling a painful grimace, he composed his mouth, and smoothed his forehead. The blowing air cooled him.
Oh, the turmoil! The turmoil! Hennie and Dan; Leah and Freddy and Hennie; Anna and—
Anna wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do such a crazy thing, wouldn’t make chaos out of order. How well he knew her! He felt as if he could crawl into Anna’s mind and know what was there.
It was all an aberration.
No, Anna, sweet Anna, we don’t belong in each other’s lives.
He brought his car back to the garage and went home. Mimi had just come in. She hadn’t yet taken her hat off. It had a feather on one side, something like a whisk broom, so that he had to guard his eyes from it when she kissed him.
“Well, how was your day?” he asked.
“All right. Dull, without you there. And yours?”
“Upsetting.” And he told her about Hennie and Dan.
“I’m so sorry, darling. There’s been too much trouble around you since you came home, with Freddy and all this business between Hennie and Dan. I know how much you love them. I’m sorry, darling. I hope they straighten themselves out.”
The wind had put a becoming flush on her cheeks. Her eyes were wide with concern, and this concern, along with the baby-pink flush, gave her a look of extreme tenderness; he could imagine how she would look if he were ever to do anything to wound her.
“You’d think,” she said now, shaking her head, “you’d think we might all have learned something at least from the war, if we didn’t know it before.”
“And what is that?”
“To be better to each other,” she answered simply.
Something struck at his heart and he cried out, “Oh, Marian, dear girl, I’ll never hurt you!”
Her eyes were puzzled. “Hurt me? Of course you wouldn’t.”
No, no. My first love. Your braids dangling over the algebra book. The blue ribbons on your dancing dress. Your bridal veil and the bouquet trembling in your hands.”
He laid his cheek against her hair.
“Choose life, that thy children may live.”
The ancient words, high poetry from the prayer book, shot through his head. Nourish and build, they meant. Keep tranquil places. Heal, they meant. Inflict no pain. All that are born under the sun, let live to flourish under the sun, and disturb no peace.
12
The birthday cake stood on the dining room table between two crystal bowls filled with jonquils.
“Four candles,” said Leah, “and one to grow on. There’ll be a children’s party tomorrow,” she told Hennie, who stood next to her. “But today I wanted the whole family alone together.”
Leah looked around with satisfaction at the lovely room, whose lattice wallpaper made a green-and-white garden wall. It was Elsie de Wolfe’s decoration of the Colony Club that had started the vogue, she had explained quite seriously to Hennie. Of course, Leah knew all about such things; she was fashionable and knew how to live in rooms like these, while I, Hennie thought, have never been and am not now at ease in them.
“And now, Great-Grandmother will cut the first piece,” said Leah.
Angelique was pleased; she loved the house, as well as ceremonies of any kind. She gave the first piece to Hank and beamed while everyone sang “Happy Birthday.”
“Did you know you were named after your great-grandfather, darling?” she asked Hank, whose cheeks were immediately smeared with chocolate frosting.
“I never knew that,” Leah whispered to Hennie. “I thought I was naming him after my father.”
“Shush.” Hennie put her finger to her lips, and they both giggled.
“How the world has changed since he was a little boy like you!” Angelique exclaimed. “It was another world when he was young, when I was young—” She faltered, and her eyes went blank, looking away into some ancient distance.
It had been happening more often lately, this wandering back into the past with recollection of dread days, like the one on which the Union soldiers had come and her father had been killed. Shaped by that war, Hennie thought, as we have been—as little Hank will have been—shaped by this last one.
“I was just thinking,” remarked Dan at her elbow, “it’s too bad Uncle David couldn’t have lived long enough to see this.”
Hennie nodded. Uncle David would be glad to know that she and Dan were all right together. Yes, really all right this time.
“The world changes minutely every single day,” Paul observed. “It’s not noticeable, of course, but go back twenty years and you’ll realize what’s been happening while you slept. Why, look at you, Leah! Would you ever have dreamed, five years ago, that you would be opening your own establishment on Madison Avenue?”
&
nbsp; Leah answered promptly, “Yes,” and everyone laughed.
“I’ve hired away two seamstresses and two tailors from downtown,” she explained. “Offered them more money and nicer surroundings. And I’m to be known, in business, that is”—she made a little self-mocking moue—“as ‘Léa.’ Please do not forget the accent, people. One has to be French to get anywhere in my business. But it’s going to be really beautiful, thanks to Ben’s generosity.”
Ben grinned. “I’m not really all that generous. After all, it will be mine, too, since we’re being married next month.”
“Well, it evens out,” Leah retorted. “I’ll get the benefit of free legal advice.”
“There’s one clever girl,” Alfie said to Hennie. “Never went to college either, any more than I did. It just goes to show you.”
Meg had brought her plate of cake and ice cream and drawn up a chair next to Hennie.
“I don’t know what it goes to show,” she complained, when her father’s attention had been directed elsewhere. “I’ve been accepted at Wellesley and I want to go, Aunt Hennie, I really do. Mother doesn’t think girls need college. She wants me to go to a finishing school, in Switzerland, maybe. Her fashionable friends all send their daughters. Worse than that, she’d like me to be a debutante; she’s trying her darnedest, but it won’t work anyway. I’m not the type.”
No, Hennie thought, regarding the girl’s large bony frame and sweet earnest face. It’s true you’re not, any more than I was. And she said sympathetically, “I’ve always been sorry I didn’t go to college. Let’s talk some more about it. Maybe I can persuade your parents. Oh, they’re opening presents, let’s go inside.”
Ben was holding Hank aloft, carrying him to the library. The boy’s arms and legs were swimming in the air and he was crowing.
Leah’s boy, Hennie thought, with an instant’s jealous dismay. Still, he had Freddy’s luminous smile, caught at moments like skimming clouds reflected in a lake; she strove for a simile, strove to bring back and never to let elude her even the most subtle detail of the living Freddy; a mole on his left cheek midway between his nostril and jaw; a barely noticeable separation between his two front teeth; remember those, not the bloodied body at the foot of the stairs.
You will be happier, little Hank, you and your mother will be happier with Ben than you could have been—oh, forgive me, Freddy! Forgive me, but it is so.
Dan was on the floor, opening toys. There were so many beautiful things! Trains and cowboys, wonderful books, puppets and Indians and a huge stuffed kangaroo from Florence and Walter. There were no toy soldiers, though. Dan forbade that.
How strange it is, Hennie thought as always, to see Dan here in this rich room, with the glossy boxes and the tissue paper strewn among all the expensive presents. The money was coming in floods, most from Dan, but some would be coming now from Leah, too, who would also, indirectly, be making money out of the war, out of a new class of rich women.
Money coming in floods. And she hoped again that it wouldn’t affect the lovely child. Still, it hadn’t changed Paul! And she glanced over at the sofa where he was sitting with his wife. The baby was due any day now. They looked very happy; around Mimi lay the peaceful aura that can make a pregnant woman so beautiful.
Paul caught Hennie’s glance. He looked from her to Dan and back and he was glad for them. Whatever their trouble had been, plainly it was over. He watched them all; his parents were talking to Leah and Ben, and he smiled to himself, reflecting that his mother would be one of Leah’s best customers. And there was Meg. He remembered that Freddy had said Meg was so kind to him. He would have to get to know her better, now that she was grown.
Yes, this was a day to be glad of; the family was together and healed. And he thought of Freddy, with his gentle ways; he would be glad, too, if he could know.
Hank was dancing, holding the kangaroo by the paws. And the thought of having a child of his own like him, very soon now, filled Paul with a gratitude that seemed too much to contain. He caught and held Mimi’s hand.
Dan struggled up from his knees.
“A beautiful boy,” Paul said. He was expected to say it; the question was in Dan’s eyes. But Paul meant it, nevertheless. “A beautiful boy!”
“Yes, and he’ll never suffer his father’s fate.” Dan sighed. “Thank God we’ve seen the last of the wars. Never again will young men go off as my son did, puffed up with false heroism.” He sighed again. “We’ll have the League of Nations this time. Did you know Hennie’s been making speeches for it? I heard her the other night. She was marvelous.”
“I had a letter the other day from my cousin Joachim,” Paul said. “The first I’ve heard from him. He philosophizes. You know those wordy Germans! He had a stomach wound, got the Iron Cross, too, but he feels fine again and he’s very optimistic. The country’s a shambles, but it will pull out, he said. The German spirit will build it up like new.”
The dachshund came in from the dining room with a stolen piece of cake and crawled under the piano, reminding Paul of the day they had bought that other dachshund. They’d selected it from a litter of yapping puppies, carried it back to the inn in Freddy’s pocket, and gone out for beer. A hundred years ago, that was.
“I’m optimistic too,” Dan said. “Man is learning. Civilization is advancing. The whole working-class movement is advancing all around you. One can see and feel it.” And he waved his arm around the room. “Yes, a better world,” he concluded.
Paul questioned himself: Why do I think he is naive? Am I any wiser than he?
“Yes, I really believe you’re right,” he said.
Mimi shifted heavily on the sofa. Immediately he was concerned.
“Are you feeling anything?”
“No, nothing yet.” She smiled at him, and he thought he had never seen her look as beautiful as she was now. “Nothing yet, but soon, I’m sure.”
It was growing dark. Someone turned up the lamps and a tender pink light flowered. It circled the room to touch each member of the gathering, each so separate and distinct from every other, joined now in one of those rare, quick moments when amity and hope and love are fulfilled.
One’s heart had to go out to them all.
BOOKS BY BELVA PLAIN
LOOKING BACK
AFTER THE FIRE
FORTUNE’S HAND
LEGACY OF SILENCE
HOMECOMING
SECRECY
PROMISES
THE CAROUSEL
DAYBREAK
WHISPERS
TREASURES
HARVEST
BLESSINGS
TAPESTRY
THE GOLDEN CUP
CRESCENT CITY
EDEN BURNING
RANDOM WINDS
EVERGREEN
BELVA PLAIN is the internationally acclaimed author of nineteen bestselling novels. She lives in northern New Jersey.
Belva Plain, The Golden Cup
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