Homecoming (17 page)

“Yes,” Lewis repeated, “we’ve surely had plenty of them.”

I admit to myself, he was thinking, that perhaps I was foolishly influenced after all. If it hadn’t been for the Sprague family, the grandfather a judge, with all the prestige, I probably
would have gone right in and demanded the truth. I would have raised hell.

“I seem to be having some second thoughts about things today,” he said.

Gene nodded. “Yes, yes, I know what you mean. I guess circumstances alter cases, don’t they? Cliché. But clichés are true.”

And he wondered whether it was indeed possible that Jerry Victor really was a troublemaker with his own private agenda. Not that, if he had been, it would have altered the fact that Sprague had obviously been guilty; it would only in part have explained some of Lewis’s reluctance to challenge Sprague. Perhaps, if Sprague had been my friend, I, too, would have hesitated. I have been quick to condemn. I have been closing my mind against Lewis, without even trying to understand, or forgive.

Annette watched her two sons. It must have been hard for Gene to be second all the time, always having to wait, being the younger, for the privileges of age, even to wait to go into the business. Of course, it couldn’t have been otherwise, but still, that can put a chip of envy on a younger
brother’s shoulder. Then the older one sees the chip …

And suddenly words came out of her mouth, words she had certainly not intended to say.

“You’ve been too proud to talk things out, both of you. Too proud. Your father was like that too.”

“The first time you ever said anything critical about Dad!” exclaimed Lewis.

“Well, what did you think? That he was perfect? Who is, pray tell me? Pride,” she repeated, almost angrily.

“ ‘A man’s pride shall bring him low,’ ” said Aaron, “ ‘but he that is of a lowly spirit shall attain to honor.’ ”

“Aaron!” Brenda wailed. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him. That’s from the Bible,” Daisy said. “My father always quoted from the Bible.”

“But the time and place!” Then, in spite of herself, Brenda had to laugh. “I’ll tell you what, he’s had too much wine.”

“ ‘Wine is a mocker and strong drink is riotous,’ ” retorted Aaron with a wink.

At that the laughter was so loud that Jenny peeked through the kitchen door, smiled, and shook her head in amazement.

“I want to dance,” said Lucy. “We always dance.”

Ellen explained. “Mark and I like to dance sometimes. We put on a CD and roll back the rugs. Lucy has her own CD. She wants to be a ballerina.”

“What’s Lucy’s music?” Annette asked.

“
 ‘Gaîté parisienne.’
Have you got it?”

“Oh, yes, but this rug doesn’t roll back.”

“That’s all right, I’ll dance in the hall,” said Lucy.

She was getting too much attention, Ellen knew, but today, why not? Today, she could have anything.

So the music started. Everyone stood up and watched Lucy perform. Filled with a sense of her own importance, but even more so with rhythm, she twirled her skirt and curved her arms above her head.

“Who’ll dance with me?” she cried.

“I will,” said Aaron in prompt response.

And, adorned with safety pins, with one hand
holding his trousers up and the other hand in Lucy’s, he whirled with her down the length of the hall and back.

“What a good sport!” Daisy whispered to Annette in the midst of the general laughter. “I have to take my thoughts back. Both of them seemed so awkward and out of place this morning in the library, as if they resented being here.”

“You never know about people till you know them,” Annette responded.

She was thinking about Daisy. Who could say what quirk or insecurity had made Daisy put on what Annette called her “airs”? But so good, so incredibly brave … And she took Daisy’s hand in a warm squeeze.

“Come, Mark and Ellen, join us,” cried Aaron.

You can see how nice he is to Ellen, Gene thought. And the way he brought Lucy back to life. Of course, he’s a doctor and you expect it, but still, the sight of him breathing life into her … And Brenda, the way she pitched in, making all those beds, bringing coffee and blankets …

Lucy called, “Come on, Papa Gene, you dance too.”

So Papa Gene joined the whirl and gallop until, at last, Aaron brought it to a stop.

“I’m out of breath. Besides, I’m tripping over my trousers. Gene’s trousers, I should say.”

“It’s clear where my husband gets his sense of humor,” Ellen remarked when they had all sat down again.

Mark shook his head. “Mine’s not half as good as Dad’s. The funny thing is that he’s quite serious while he’s being funny. And when he’s really serious, angry about something—watch out! Right, Mom?”

“Oh, my. Men,” said Brenda.

“Men,” echoed Ellen.

“When men are angry, they’re like babies,” Daisy said.

It’s like old times in this house, Annette was thinking, with a little normal jibing and a lot of hilarity. But what if we hadn’t come so near to tragedy? It would be shameful if it had to take a tragedy to bring about peace.

No, she resolved. Stubborn as I am, I would have found a way. I know I would.

When the dessert, a fluffy white meringue with
strawberries, had been sliced and passed around, Mark stood up with his wineglass in hand.

“I’m proposing a toast to you, Gran. Let’s face it, this morning we were all pretty upset because of your little plan.” He smiled. “And now instead we need to apologize, to thank you and wish you a hundred and twenty years.”

“Thanks, but a hundred will do very well. Seriously, I really took a chance, didn’t I? Last night I was so scared that I called my friend Marian to come to my aid. And now look. I look at you all … I’d better stop before I get teary.”

Yes, she looks, but not very long at me, thought Cynthia, nor at Andrew. You destroyed everything that I felt for you, she told him silently.

She looked at him quickly and looked away. He was staring down at his plate. He doesn’t even know what he did, she thought. And my parents, who love me, do not really know either. I saw them talking to him before. What a total about-face! How can they do that? They are hoping I will go back to him. Oh, I saw my mother leaning on him up the hill to the house. He brought hot towels for her and a blanket and coffee.
Very nice, very kind, but what has that got to do with me? When I look at Mark and Ellen, I am so glad for them. They deserve each other. And Dad, with Uncle Gene—I’m so glad for them too. It was time and past time. But all that, too, has nothing to do with what has happened to me.

They were rising from the table, Annette proposing, “Let’s have coffee by the fire, or what’s left of it.”

In the library the fire was barely high enough to cast a pink glow on a wall of books that were themselves a mosaic of soft colors. The coffee service was on a table, along with an enormous heap of chocolate macaroons.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Annette. “Where did these come from?”

“From your old favorite bakery on the East Side,” said Gene.

“Oh, you went there too?” That was Brenda.

“Ours are from there.” That was Daisy.

“We each wanted to be different,” said Ellen.

And then there was more laughter over the macaroons. Annette felt the warmth of all the silliness. Feeling the peace in the room, she watched and listened.

Brenda was examining the portraits. Ellen was showing an album of old photos to Lucy. Daisy was browsing through the bookshelves, and the men, all except Andrew, were in one corner, talking.

“I’m saving,” she heard Mark say, “to buy into an uptown gallery. If I ever get enough together, it will be my dream come true. And I’d still have time to work on my book. I’ve got a publisher somewhat interested.”

Gene remarked that it all sounded very worthwhile.

“Well, it may come true and it may not. Either way, we’re okay, Ellen and I.”

“Can’t you get a loan?” asked Aaron.

“It’s very hard to get one without a good deal of collateral.”

For a few moments the two fathers looked at each other. Then Gene said, “This sounds like something that should be talked over some more.”

“Very definitely,” Aaron agreed. “It’s a pity when a person has a real commitment to something and has to wait forever.”

Lewis, who had been listening, remarked that
that was quite true. He himself had lately been missing his own commitment. He had been wanting to get back to it with someone, though on a much smaller scale.

“Not impossible, I should think,” said Gene with a meaningful smile.

“It’s time for bed,” Ellen called. “Lucy’s falling asleep.”

“I think we all are,” said Aaron. “We’ve had a strenuous day, to say the least.”

Annette was the last to turn out the lights and go upstairs. “Look at Mother,” she heard Lewis remark to Gene as she closed her door. “Look at the happiness on her face.”

Oh, yes, she was happy.… Except for Cynthia … All evening she had tried to catch her glance, to convey a message and plea. But plainly, Cynthia wanted to hear no message or plea.

Oh, what is the matter with me? I want perfection, Annette thought as she lay down to sleep. That’s what’s the matter with me. As if this evening has not been enough, I want more. I want it all. And I get so impatient.

*   *   *

Up and down the hall, around the corner into the wing, which Cynthia could see from her window, all the bedroom doors had been closed for the night. This would be the first time in what seemed like years that she would be sleeping under the same roof as Andrew was. It came also to her mind that the first time they had both slept under this particular roof was the night of the party that Gran had given for them when they returned from their wedding trip.

It would be far better now to forget all that. Yet there were hours in every human being’s life that refused to be obliterated: times of unspeakable horror like today’s, or else times like the one in the photograph, so beautifully framed, that Gran, for some reason known only to her, had placed on the chest of drawers in this room. There they were, Andrew looking unfamiliar in the traditional black morning coat and striped trousers; she in clouds of white silk with ushers and bridesmaids ranked on either side, all smiling, and he and she so happy that the happiness had bubbled up and wet their eyes. She stood now in the light of the bedside lamp, staring at the picture.

What innocence—summer, flowers, and a bottle of champagne in the room, kisses and joy forever after. Thank God that we never know what will happen to us tomorrow, to say nothing of any farther future. We had all the smiles and approval, we had everything, while Ellen and Mark had to sneak away to flee the storms.

She went to the window. The sleet had ceased, so that the pond was clearly visible, gleaming out of the dimness like a coin found on a dusty street. And the whole evil scene reenacted itself: Ellen’s anguish, her mother stripping her skirt off, Andrew on the brink, hauling the rope, the abandoned baby crying on the grass … The whole scene.

Afterward there beside the fire and then later at dinner, I should have been at one with them in relief and thankfulness. In my heart, of course, I was, yet in my heart there was also something that kept me apart like a stranger watching a drama. You hear a tragic story and tears come to your eyes because you are human, a decent human being who feels a deep compassion, but still you are alone.

Pushing the curtain aside, she saw that clouds
were slowly breaking apart and receding. Tomorrow might even be sunny. They would leave here as early as possible. Then her parents should return to Washington as soon as possible. She was not angry at them; she was only, and undeniably, hurt. And she thought again that they need not have been so cordial to Andrew. I’m going back to work, she thought. That’s all I need. Work.

It was early yet, too early to sleep, but she had brought two books and could read comfortably in bed. This house, although it had never been her actual home, had always had the feel of a second, or other, home. Gran had a talent for giving comfort. In this room with its wide bed that was probably a hundred years old, the reading lamp was perfect, the down quilt was light, and there was a tiny flowering plant in a pot on the windowsill.

Tired as Cynthia was, she took a quick shower, laid out her clothes for the morning, and put on a warm bedjacket over her chiffon nightgown. These articles, she reflected as she put them on, came from a life, or rather parts of a life, that had been spent with a husband and a career. Now both of these had been left behind.

She had not been reading for very long when somebody, no doubt Gran, who often liked a short evening chat, tapped on the door. Most likely, too, Gran would be seeking reassurance of her forgiveness for today’s “little trick.” Poor Gran, who believed she could right everyone’s wrongs. Smiling at the thought, Cynthia got up and opened the door.

“May I come in?” Andrew whispered.

“What are you thinking of?” she replied in a furious whisper. “No, you may not come in.”

“Please, Cynthia. I already am halfway in.”

She had opened the door wide, and indeed, he was so far into the room that she was unable to close it. Now Andrew closed it firmly and stood leaning against it.

“What are you doing? Taunting me because I can’t make an outcry?”

“Make one if you want to. You have the right. I am, after all, invading your room. Only, it might seem rather odd, since technically I am still your husband and have my right to be in your room.”

“Macho man. Very funny. Go on. Say what you want and get out.”

He was looking her up and down. “I remember that nightgown. My favorite color, sky-blue.”

She wanted to slap from his face its unreadable expression, a mix of sorrow and plea.

“You’re disgusting. Go on, take full male advantage of the fact that you’re seven inches taller and weigh sixty pounds more than I do. Go on, it’s typical.”

“Ah, Cindy, haven’t we had enough of this? It’s time to get over it. Long past time.”

“Is this what you’ve come to tell me? You’re wasting your energy and mine. I’m in the middle of a good book.”