Legacy of Silence (26 page)

“I guess so,” Eve said, although she very definitely did not agree.

“There’s something untrue about Vicky,” she complained later in a discussion with Lore.

“Untrue? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, I always feel somehow that she’s pretending. Her laugh seems faked. It comes out like a snarl, and I hate the way she makes sure you see her perfect teeth.”

“Well, they are perfect, even as a row of kernels on an ear of corn. If I had them instead of my miserable teeth, you can believe I would display them.”

“You don’t understand. I meant that the laughter itself isn’t real.”

“Who knows? Real or not real, Jane enjoys her. When she stays over for supper with us sometimes, she livens the place up, and it does the poor man good. So she annoys you, but what difference does it make? You’re hardly ever here anymore. You have your own life to think about, Eve.”

That was true. Lore had seen right through to the
truth. Going away, and preparing for an independent future must mean a loosening of ties. That was an elementary psychological dictum.
Grow up!
Jane is not your responsibility, she’s Dad’s. Besides, Vicky isn’t doing Jane any harm. Besides that, Dad isn’t going to marry her, for heaven’s sake.

And it really was a lovely Christmas. Carrying a sweet memory of it along with her, she returned to California.

E
ve met Tom Tappan during her sophomore year on one of her rare bad days. She had come, visibly shaken, out of a class in modern European history, where during a discussion one of the students, a bare acquaintance of hers, had related some Jewish family history. Her parents had escaped to America, but her grandparents had perished in the concentration camps. When the instructor asked whether anyone else had personal contact with those events, Eve, to her regret, had spoken up. And then after class, this girl, quite understandably, had sought her out to compare their stories.

“And the other grandparents?” she had asked. “They, too?”

What else was there to do but lie? “Yes,” Eve had answered. And then the trembling had begun.

She was hungry, but wanting neither conversation
nor companionship she went outdoors, carrying her books as if she intended to study in the shade, and sat down with her head resting against a tree trunk. She was so tired of having to be reminded, so bitter and tired! Really, really, she ought to get over it or put it out of her mind once and for all. But how realistic was that expectation? How could you forget who your father was? And if he was, in addition, a man who filled you with horror and shame? There had been long intervals during which she did not think about him, but then, inevitably, there had come an hour like this one. And she tried to imagine what her mother must have kept hidden behind her normal, everyday face.

“Are you feeling all right?”

When she opened her eyes, she saw a young man looking down at her.

“I’m all right, thanks. Just drowsy.”

“You didn’t look drowsy. I thought you might be in pain.”

“I’m fine, truly. But thank you, anyway.”

He kept looking at her with such candid curiosity that she was embarrassed. When he put his books on the grass and sat down, though at a suitable distance, she was annoyed.

“I’m Tom Tappan,” he said, and paused so that she was obliged to give him her name in return.

He said next, “You are absolutely beautiful.”

“Thanks, but I think you’re crazy.”

He laughed. “A trifle eccentric, perhaps. But not
crazy. You should respect me. I’m getting a Ph.D. in archaeology. I teach part-time, and I’m older than you. So what’s funny?”

“I guessed that you weren’t an undergraduate. Your hair is neat and your pants are pressed.”

“Observant and humorous, too, as well as beautiful? Because you are, you know. You must know it. And I’m not being a smart aleck. I paint. I’m not an artist, I paint as a hobby, but only landscapes or seascapes, so I’m not going to ask you to pose. You do have a perfect oval face, though. I’m sorry if I’ve scared you into thinking I’m some sort of dangerous nut. If I’m bothering you and you want me to disappear, I’ll go right now.”

At some other time, she would very likely have been much more than annoyed by this odd intrusion, and in her best cool manner, would have let him see that she was more than annoyed. But into this moment’s desolate mood, his frank warmth had brought a kind of cheer.

“You’re not bothering me,” she said.

Actually, she was thinking that in a vague way he reminded her of Dad. But no, it was only the sandy, curly hair and friendly eyes that were the same. This was a big man. Moreover, Dad would never, never go up to a strange woman and talk to her.

“Eve, I’ve got a class to teach. The professor’s away. He’s lucky to have a handyman like me, don’t you agree? When he comes back next Monday, you can ask him about me if you care to. I hope you’ll
care to. Professor Mills in Room 309. He’ll tell you I’m respectable.”

S
HE
never had a chance to inquire about Tom Tappan—not that she would have done it, anyway—because before the next Monday came, something else happened. A letter arrived from Dad.

“Dear Eve,” she read, “I’m writing this instead of telephoning with my news because, frankly, I’m afraid that you may take it badly. If you do take it badly, then the letter will give you more time to think it over, and maybe then you will begin to feel better.

“Vicky and I were married yesterday. It was a sudden decision, so there was no celebration, just a businesslike ceremony in front of a judge at the town hall. Even Lore wasn’t there. The two witnesses were a young lawyer, one of Vicky’s friends, and to my surprise, Gertrude. I never thought Vicky would have wanted her there, although they do seem to be getting along better lately.

“Eve, dear, please understand that this has nothing to do with, that it is not remotely like and can’t possibly ever be remotely like, what I felt for your mother. There is no one on earth who can take her place. I will never love again. This is only a matter of companionship, for me and for Jane, because these two years since we lost our Caroline have been a hell of loneliness. I tried to hide it when you came home, but it was always there.

“Vicky has left the office and will stay home to run the house. She is a decent, hardworking, warmhearted woman, and a good-natured mother to Jane. Lore, after all, has her own life at the hospital, although she will continue to live with us. She and Vicky are fond of each other, as you know, and they both adore Jane. But Lore is over fifty, which isn’t all that old, yet she seems much older, and although she would never complain, I feel she is too old to run after an extra-lively four-year-old.

“As for me, I’m feeling some age, I think. It’s my loss, of course. And it’s also my diabetes, which seems to be getting worse. I don’t always have the energy that I’d like to have for Jane.

“I hope you will understand all this. I will telephone you after you have had a day or two to digest it. Or you can call me right away if you want to. All my love, Dad.”

Eve flung the letter onto the floor. Vicky! Of all the women in Ivy, if he had to have someone, why her? The thought of her living in Mom’s house, touching Mom’s things, was sickening.
A good mother to Jane
. Vicky a mother to Mom’s baby? He must have lost his mind! How could he? How dare he?

First locking her door lest someone should come in and behold her rage, she went to the telephone and called Lore’s private number.

“You have the letter,” Lore said at once. “I can tell by your voice.”

“Yes, I have it. I had to read it three times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“Listen, dear, it’s not as bad as you think. The man was lonely, and loneliness is a disease. It comes down to that.”

“But why that awful woman?” Eve wailed.

“To him, she obviously isn’t that awful.”

“But after Mom?”

“Look, Eve, she was here, under his nose. He wasn’t about to go out searching. She was here, she’s lively, and she cheers him up. He’s been miserable, a tragic sight.”

“Lore! You sound as if you approve. You amaze me. And Mom dead only two years.”

“God knows, I understand. But what’s the sense of making yourself sick over it? I’m not thrilled, either, but it’s a fact and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“And she’s to be a mother to Jane.”

“No, no. That’s an exaggeration. Jane is already in nursery school. She’ll spend most of her life in school from now on. Don’t worry about Jane.”

“Mom would die all over again if she knew.”

“Let me tell you, your mother understood how to make the best of a thing that can’t be changed. Listen to me. It’s not as if Vicky were evil. She’s not the kind of person that Caroline was or that you are, it’s true. But she isn’t evil. Accept her for your dad’s sake and for your own peace. Go do your work, dear, and
live.” Lore laughed. “And be glad you’re three thousand miles away.”

Yes, Lore made sense. She always did. You weren’t apt to go wrong when you listened to her. Yet it was more easily said than done. Why hadn’t Dad at least told her beforehand what he was going to do? If I had known he was that lonesome, I would have gone home to study. But this—

In great agitation, she went downstairs and started toward the library, there to recover without interruption from friends or telephone. The evening sun was low and blinding as it flickered through the trees, so that, walking head down, she almost collided with a man walking fast, and also head down.

“Oh!” said Tom Tappan. “I was on the way to you. I tried phoning, but there was no answer.”

She only wanted to be let alone.…

“What’s the trouble?” he asked. “And don’t say there isn’t any because it’s written on your face.”

Eve shook her head.

For a moment, he considered the situation. “I’m sorry.” Then he said, “It’s rude of me to question you. But you looked so troubled a few days ago, and since now you still do, I forgot myself. I have a tendency to interfere where I shouldn’t.”

His tone was so rueful that she had to respond. And she said what a moment before she would not have said to anyone. “Today’s trouble is different. This isn’t my week, it seems.”

“I’ve had some weeks like that myself. By the way,
you didn’t inquire about me. Is it because you didn’t want to?”

“No, because I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“One could take that two ways. Can I take it to mean that if you aren’t going to any better place, you’ll go down the street for a drink?”

“What kind of a drink?”

Tom ran his eyes from her saddle shoes up to her yellow sweater and strand of small pearls. He smiled. “I would guess that a Coke might be your idea of a drink. Am I right?”

She nodded, and for the second time in his presence, felt how much better it is, after all, when your head is heavy with thoughts, not to hide away alone.

She had no intention of spilling these thoughts, however, to a stranger who would only be bored by them. Yet before an hour had gone by, Tom knew about Joel’s letter and what had led to it.

“I feel so lost,” she finished. “I feel untied, unattached. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, or feel, or say.”

“Do? Nothing. Or rather, one thing. When you go back to your room, go to the telephone and tell your father that you hope he will be happy. And tell him that you love him.”

“But I’m still so terribly angry.”

“You can be angry at people you love. You do love him, don’t you? It seems to me that love has run all through everything you’ve been saying.”

When her eyes teared, he looked away until she
had finished wiping them. “You’re very soft,” he said. “If you say anything to hurt him, you’ll feel terrible afterward. You’ll go to bed sorry about what you said and wishing you could take it back.”

She was silent. They went out to the street and walked a long way aimlessly before they turned around. By the time they got back to the campus, the sun had gone from sight.

“We haven’t had any dinner,” Tom said.

“I don’t mind. I’m not hungry. But you go ahead.”

“I’m not hungry, either.”

Now they were both silent. On the campus, lights were already going out, and Eve reminded herself of the time.

“I have to be in by midnight.”

“I’ll watch the clock. I don’t want you to be in any trouble,” Tom said.

They sat down beneath the palm where he had first seen her. Neither of them apparently wanted to leave.

Abruptly, Eve broke the stillness. “You’re right. I would be sorry if I were to tell Dad what I think about his marrying Vicky. You reminded me of how much I owe to him. He was my support in my worst time. He was always, for all of us—” She stopped. “I’m suddenly realizing that all evening we have been talking about me. That’s awful. Boring you with my problems, when you haven’t said a word about yourself.”

“We’ll get to me. But you’ve wanted to talk about yourself. You’ve needed to. That’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was true. Never in all these years had she completely revealed herself to anyone. Psychologists called it “suppression.” And she had been satisfied to suppress, had felt no need to speak, until this had come up. And so there in the soft night, she spoke.

She told Tom Tappan the story of Caroline and Walter. She gave him descriptions of everyone and everything, from the little brown house to the house on the lake, and the Orangerie, and Lore, and baby Jane, and Peter the dog.

Then he spoke. He told her about his family’s home in the Midwest and his small beach bungalow from which he commuted daily, and what he called his “dabbling” in art. Most of all, he talked about his fascination with Central America.

“So you were there,” he said. “You saw Uxmal and Chichén Itzá, the carvings, the snakes, eagles, and the great, sacred jaguar. So you know what I’m talking about. I have to go back. I need another year or two of studying here, and then I’m going to join a group dig in Guatemala. There’s more, much more, in Guatemala. There are things deep in the jungle where I’m sure no explorer has yet been. There’s a whole civilization, people who had ballgames and dances, religion, art, and human sacrifice. I have to know more. I’m driven. It’s what I want to do with my life.”