Homecoming (14 page)

“Oh, Gran,” cried Cynthia, “oh, Gran, what have you done to me? Why did you do this? You knew all about—”

“Yes, I knew. That’s why I did it.”

Mortified by this public display of her most private emotions, Cynthia began to cry.

Daisy put her arms about her daughter. “This whole morning has been a circus. Disgusting. We’re leaving. This is it. Your presence, Andrew,” she said icily, “is the last straw.” And she turned toward Annette. “We have to take Cynthia home. Right now. And, Andrew, you stay away from
her. You came here snooping, for what I don’t know, but stay away from her. I mean it.”

“That’s between Cynthia and me, Mom.”

“What right have you to call her ‘Mom’?” demanded Lewis. “You forfeited that right when you behaved like an animal that night—”

“Please, please,” Annette pleaded. “All right, I made a bad mistake. I meant well.” Her eyes filled, and she took a white lace handkerchief out of her cuff to wipe them.

“I’ll go,” Andrew said. “This is too much for you. For everybody.”

But Annette seized his lapel. “No, I asked you to come, and I don’t want you to go like this. You haven’t done anything wrong. No.”

Aaron was feeling pity. It was a shame to see an old person attacked. He saw that sometimes in his practice, and he was never able to keep his mouth shut.

“ ‘Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry,’ ” he said now, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Lewis snapped. “Most of us are well acquainted with the Bible, thank you very much.”

“This is a crazy house.” This time Aaron whispered.
“I told you, Brenda, I didn’t want to come here.”

Brenda sighed ruefully. “Ah people, people. It’s tragic, that’s all it is.”

“Disgraceful. Yelling like savages.”

“Don’t you think you ever did some ranting and yelling?”

“Well, maybe, but not like this.”

“Honey, you were so loud when Mark ran off and married Ellen that I was afraid the neighbors would hear. The people across the hall, if you want to know, did hear.”

Annette wiped her flowing eyes. As tall and erect as she was, she seemed suddenly very small.

“Papa Gene,” Lucy cried, for Gene had come out of another door under the stairs. “Gran is crying.”

“Good God, Brenda, here’s my best friend,” Aaron muttered as he and Gene caught sight of each other.

“Do hush,” said Brenda. “We’re stuck here till tomorrow.”

“Why can’t we leave now?”

“Drive all that way back with Freddie? The
trip up was too long as it is. And besides, they’re predicting a storm.”

Gene called over somebody’s head, “Did you know about this assemblage, Mark?”

“Only that we were invited. We and my parents.”

“Interesting,” Gene muttered. “Very interesting.” And then, turning to Annette, he put his arm around her. “Don’t cry, Mother. Everybody knows you meant well. It just hasn’t worked, but that’s no fault of yours. I think it’s best now that we all go home and let your house be peaceful again. Go take a rest and don’t make yourself sick over a failed experiment. It’s not worth it. I told you, I’m coming next week to spend the day with you. I promise.”

You don’t have to keep your promise as far as I’m concerned, she thought, but did not say, being at the stage in which a sorrowful, defeated person throws up his hands and cries:
I don’t care. Now let everything go to smash. It doesn’t matter to me anymore
. She had tried tough love with her sons, but it had not worked. She had hoped that within Andrew and Cynthia, as they saw each other, a bit of their original fire would
spark again. Nothing had worked, they were all going away, and let that be the end of it.

At that moment Marian came almost flying out of the dining room.

“What’s this?” she cried. “People are leaving? Why, lunch is already on the table.”

In spite of her tears Annette recovered her dignity as a hostess. In a most gracious tone she said, “Some of you know my dear friend Marian Lester.”

“I do! I do! You gave me that doll with the straw hat on. I was going to bring it, but Mama said it was too big to fit in the bag and wouldn’t let me.” Lucy chattered on. “I’m getting a boy doll just as big for my birthday. Papa Gene’s giving it to me, aren’t you, Papa Gene? Why are you putting your coat on? Aren’t you going to stay for lunch? Grandpa and Grandma are staying. We’re going to be here until tomorrow morning. Aren’t you?”

“Well,” Gene began, thinking, What a fine pickle, damn it, when Marian mounted the first step and clapped her hands.

“You people can’t walk out like this. You simply can’t do this to Annette,” she said like the
schoolteacher she was. “Jenny has made a beautiful lunch, to which you were all invited. You all accepted the invitation, so do, please, put your coats away.”

Well, well, thought Daisy, and just who does she think she is, to order us around as if we were in her kindergarten?

Gene chuckled to himself. Hasn’t she got nerve, though? I seem to remember she’s a teacher. Claps her hands like one. But pretty. That tilted, pert little nose …

“Mrs. Lester,” said Lewis, “I do understand, but my daughter isn’t feeling well, and we really need to get her home.”

Marian was not to be deterred. “It’s after twelve, and you’ve a long ride back to the city. You’d certainly need to stop off on the way for something to eat. So you’d do a lot better to have a nice lunch now before you leave.”

“Yes, do,” urged Ellen, who was hoping that maybe Cynthia and Andrew would make some move, although it certainly didn’t look now as though they ever could.

“You can’t do this to Annette, or to Jenny, either, after all her work.” Marian spoke sternly.
“You simply can’t. If some of you can’t stand one another—you see, I know all about many things—you can go separately into the dining room. It’s a buffet lunch. Take what you want and go wherever you want to eat it. Some of you are talking to each other and you can get together. There are enough rooms in this house so you can all spread out.”

“I guess we’ll have to stay, Mother,” said Cynthia, who was pained by the sight of Gran’s woebegone face.

“I don’t see how you can forgive her for this trick,” replied Daisy, tossing her head in Andrew’s direction.

“I don’t forgive her, exactly, but I feel terribly sorry for her.”

“Then you’re more tolerant than I am. If she were not so old, I would give her a piece of my mind. Does she think it amusing to do this sort of thing?”

Lewis upbraided his wife. “Don’t be absurd. You know her better than that. Now, come on,” he said irritably, and, propelling his wife and daughter ahead of him, marched them into the dining room.

A few minutes later he marched them out again. Holding their plates, the three retired to eat by themselves in Annette’s snuggery.

In the dining room the long table was set with bowls and platters bearing sliced cold meats, a hot chicken pie, a huge, crisp vegetable salad, warm breads of three different kinds, molasses cookies, peach cake, and a mélange of fresh fruit. The bowls and platters were old porcelain, Annette’s best. At the heart of their arrangement was an overflowing cluster of cream-colored roses.

“Done herself proud, as they say,” remarked Andrew to himself. There had been some slight confusion in the hall as to who would go to the table after the first three and how some of them would avoid each other. Shaken by seeing his wife again—Andrew still thought of Cynthia as “my wife,” not only because under the law she still was, but also because he still felt attached to her—Andrew stood at the foot of the stairs with his plate, uncertain of where he was expected to go. He was pulled about by ill-assorted emotions, sadness, a certain amount of anger, and a miserable
embarrassment over feeling superfluous. If he could decently have fled from the house, he would have done so.

Just then Gene had given him a warm greeting. “Andrew! Haven’t seen you for too long,” he cried, thinking at the same time that it was a pity that Lewis wasn’t near enough to see the warmth of the greeting. “Come join us. Ellen and Mark are going to eat in the sunroom. Stone floor, you see, so in case Lucy spills, as she usually does, it won’t do any damage. Come on, let’s hurry.”

Even in his present frame of mind Andrew had been able to feel amusement at the “hurry,” which clearly meant, “Hurry before Mark’s parents get there first and shut me out.”

Those parents of Mark’s were the last to go to the table.

“Heaven only knows what they’ll have to eat,” Aaron grumbled. “Shrimp salad, most likely.”

“Well, you’re fat enough to go without one lunch if you have to,” Brenda told him. At this point she had begun to feel the prevailing nasty mood.

But to Aaron’s great relief, since he had had a
very early breakfast, he found plenty of salad and fruit that he could eat.

These they took to the library, which, because they had already spent time there, seemed a little familiar. Nevertheless, they were feeling rather forlorn, when Mark came in with Lucy. He sat down and took a mouthful of food before he looked up over the plate and smiled at them. The smile, as both of them knew very well, was his way of telling them that he understood their discomfort. They were thinking how different it would be if he had married Jennifer Cohen. Well, it would be different for Ellen, too, if she had married that other guy. She would probably be living in Paris, on the Place de Something-or-Other.

After a minute he said, “We’re all feeling dreary. It’s a very strange situation, to say the least.”

“There seems to be more than one strange situation,” Aaron responded.

“Weird,” Brenda said. “That young couple. You would think that after their tragedy, they would cling to each other.”

Aaron objected. “It’s not that simple. You’re a
social worker, and you don’t know about complex relationships?”

“Well, of course I do. Something else must have happened afterward. Of course.”

“It did, but not now.” And Mark looked significantly toward Lucy.

Brenda shuddered. “It feels as if somebody has just died in this house.”

“Don’t worry,” Mark said. “They’ll all be rushing home in a few minutes. They want to beat the weather.”

The room was growing noticeably darker, and he got up to turn on the lights. Outside, the sky was iron-gray, hard and somber. Conversation seemed to wilt as the little group, with their plates on their laps, contemplated that sky. Even Lucy, thoughtfully chewing molasses cookies, was drawn into the silence.

They all looked up when Annette came in. She was traveling from one room to the other, trying to act as though it were perfectly natural for people to be thus dispersed. Having powdered her nose and removed all signs of tears, she had resolved to see things through with dignity to the end. Admittedly, she had been saved by Marian,
who now, in the dining room, was presiding over the tea- and coffeepots.

“How are you all doing?” she asked cheerfully. “Is everyone having enough to eat?”

Lucy jumped up. “I’m not. I need some cake.”

“Well, of course you do. Come on with me, and I’ll get some for you.”

“Grandpa, you come too. We’ll get some for Papa Gene. He likes cake.”

For a moment no one answered, and then Mark said quickly, “Grandpa’s still eating. You and Gran go do it.”

Now Lucy directed her frown toward Aaron. “You never want to go see Papa Gene. You never do.”

At that Annette took her hand. “Come on,” she said firmly. “The cake will be all gone if we don’t hurry.”

“We forget what children observe,” Brenda remarked when they left. “Without actually understanding, they can detect so much that we think we’re hiding. It’s even said that infants can sense moods from indifferent handling or angry voices.…” Her own voice dwindled away. Neither her husband nor her son refuted her.

Not at our house, Mark was thinking. Our children are safe from all that. His plump baby boy and his spirited, small Lucy were safe.

“Let him go, dear,” Ellen said, for Lucy, kissing Freddie, was smearing the remains of a chocolate bonbon on his cheek.

It was really remarkable, considering all you heard and read about sibling jealousy, that Lucy had accepted Freddie’s arrival so well. Spunky and rough as she could be when playing with her friends, with him she was gentle and affectionate. Perhaps, Ellen thought, it is because she sees and receives so much affection at home.

“I’m bored,” Lucy said.

Gene chuckled. “Now, where did she ever get that?”

“I can’t imagine. She certainly hasn’t heard it from me. I never have time enough to get bored.”

“What’s this?” Annette, still on her room-to-room tour, had just come in. “Bored? Well, naturally she is. Now that she’s had lunch, there’s nothing for her to do. Why don’t you take her to see the swans, Ellen?”

“It’s freezing outside,” said Gene, protective as usual.

“Nonsense. As long as she’s warmly dressed, a little fresh, cold air will be good for her. It’ll be good for Freddie too.”

Ellen, agreeing and glad to get out of the house, went for the clothes. She had been feeling too uneasy for comfort, uneasy and even apprehensive, as if something were going to
happen
. It was not usual for her to exaggerate worries, but today was exceptional. As long as so many enemies were under one roof, there could be an explosion.

Here sat Andrew, watching Freddie with a wistful smile on his serious face, and God only knew what anguish within; Andrew, the cause of Cynthia’s disillusionment and the object of her parents’ wrath.

An overheard remark might ignite either Lewis or Ellen’s own father, who in turn might do or say something that would inflame Lewis or Aaron; or Aaron might in some way offend her father.

There was no end to it. With all that pain and
anger, even people who thought themselves civilized were capable of doing crazy things.…

Outdoors she took a long breath of cold air. The brown, frozen grass crackled under her feet as, walking carefully, she carried Freddie downhill toward the pond. Lucy, as usual, ran far ahead.

Even in December it was beautiful here. When trees were bare, one saw the true grace of their branches, upraised like arms. Crows, surely not pretty birds, had their own grace, too, as they rose from their perches and sped down the sky. In the woods that framed Gran’s property there was, to an eye aware of colors, among the pines and spruce, the hemlock and firs, an abundance of greens: olive and grass and moss; there was even the dusty blue of a single Colorado spruce, an exotic loner among all those native greens. It could not have grown there by natural accident; her grandfather must have planted it. I should paint that sometime, she thought, exactly as it is, or maybe, better still, in the flicker of summer sun and shade.