Treasures (34 page)

The routine was established. It seemed to Lara as if the little person who was Peggy Davis was being lifted and reinjected with life through the sheer loving will of the many who were concentrating all their strength upon her. Now hope at last came pouring through Lara’s very veins, to surge out in sudden bursts of happy tears
or reckless laughter. Day by day came small, repeated spurts of growth. Peggy began to walk, tottering a little between the nurses’ hands, then taking her first steps unaided down the hall. Memory came back, as she began to ask about Sue and her friends in school. Carefully, she printed her name on a card to her teacher, who, along with half the town—or so it seemed—had sent cards to her. As the days passed, she demanded attention, and even lost her temper when Connie refused to give her a candy bar before dinner.

Dr. Bayer, who happened to walk in on the tantrum, was amused and pleased. “An excellent sign. A return to normalcy.”

He swooped down on Peggy and lifted her above his head. “My friend! Aren’t you my best friend? Come on, I’ll show you something. You too,” he told Connie. “There’s something you ought to see.”

In the glass-walled sunroom at the end of the hall, he pointed outdoors.

“Look. We don’t often get a chance to see this.”

Blurred by the soft rain, a magnificent rainbow arched across the sky and disappeared behind a tree.

“Oh, beautiful. Beautiful,” Connie whispered.

“The pot of gold must be right there in back of those trees.”

“I won’t even bother to look for it. We’ve already found its pot of gold.” And Connie stroked Peggy’s arm, which lay on the man’s shoulder.

“You’re right, of course,” he said seriously.

Something in his voice, a richness or a compassion, made her look into his face. For all these weeks she had
seen him in Peggy’s room and had noted only that he was authoritative in a kindly way and that the child had begun to adore him. Now suddenly she saw him as if for the first time: a man about her own age, with a long, narrow face, long, narrow eyes, and a markedly cleft chin that softened the angularity of his bones.

Spontaneously, she said, “I hope you know how grateful we all are. And not only for your skill. You are so tender with Peggy! I should have told you so before this.”

“You’re very tender with her yourself.”

“She’s my niece, about as close as my own child. We’re a close family.”

“You’re fortunate.”

“You have no children?”

“I’m not married. I have no parents, brothers, or sisters. No ties.” He smiled. “Still, there are always compensations. At the drop of a hat I can pick up and go wherever I want to go in the world.”

“I hope you aren’t planning to leave us before Peggy’s all well again.”

“No, I’ve no plans now. I’ve been everywhere from Vietnam to Egypt, studying head wounds and injuries, so it’s time to stay put for a while. Come, Peggy, we’re going back to your room. You’ll have your dinner, and then you’ll have your candy.”

Connie, as she followed them, had a fleeting thought: He’s someone I’d like to know. But their paths, their ways, were far apart, and the thought vanished.

The day came when Peggy was discharged from the hospital. A room had been prepared for her at Cresthill,
a rosy shelter filled with welcoming toys that stood, sat, and lay about: a dollhouse like a Swiss chalet; a stuffed polar bear, a mother Scottie with puppies in a basket, and a panda taller than Peggy herself; dolls—a bride, a Cinderella, and a Peter Pan; a real fish-tank with real tropical fish; a shelf filled with games and a blackboard with colored chalk. It was a mirror image of Thérèse’s room across the hall.

Lara gasped. “What have you done here? I can’t believe it.”

“Well, believe it or not, Martin bought them all,” Connie said. “He goes positively berserk in toy stores.” She opened a closet where hung a row of childish clothes, ruffled and flowered. “Peggy’s certainly grown a size since the winter, so I thought there’s no sense in your bringing old things from home.”

Lara shook her head fondly. “I know. You’re the one who goes berserk over clothes. Oh, Connie, they’re beautiful.”

Connie was pleased. “So you like your goodie packages?”

The “goodies” in their shining white boxes were numerous: a powder-blue velvet dress and pajamas hand embroidered with balloons and teddy bears for Peggy, two Norwegian hand-knitted ski sweaters for Sue, a snowsuit monogrammed in red for Peggy, and a British camel-hair coat fastened with leather buttons for Sue.

“I had such fun shopping. You know how I love to shop. Are the things really all right?”

“You’re a dear, and they’re all wonderful,” Lara said, wondering where and when Peggy would get to wear a
powder-blue velvet dress back home. “But what can I say to all this?”

“Say nothing,” Martin answered as he came into the room. He smiled with satisfaction. “She ought to feel at home here for a while, I think.”

“Don’t you dare worry a minute about her,” Connie said. “She’ll be just fine. She’s quite used to us already.”

From the window they could see the two little girls bobbing on the seesaw while the nanny carefully watched.

Connie read Lara’s mind. “Nanny’s been told to be careful of her, not to let her get too tired or to fall. Although really, Lara, that child has to be made of iron. She’s almost back to herself, from what I can see. Well, almost.”

And indeed, compared with Thérèse, Peggy was far the sturdier and the tougher of the two. It crossed Lara’s mind that if the situation were reversed, Peggy would not have been as gentle with her cousin as Thérèse was with her. Peggy had Connie’s drive and energy and sparkle; maybe that was why Connie, without realizing it, had become so attached to the child. So Lara mused, as she watched them playing on the stately lawns of Martin Berg’s great house.

“I think she’ll be spoiled there,” she frequently remarked to Davey whenever they departed for home late on Sunday afternoons.

He laughed. “It won’t hurt her. She’ll get back to normal soon enough when she gets home and has to help clear the table after dinner.”

On the Fourth of July the Bergs gave a party, a celebration
for Peggy, who now, except for the slightest hesitancy in her walk, was practically recovered from the long ordeal. Eddy and Pam came. Sue came, at Connie’s suggestion, with a friend. And Peggy, to everyone’s surprise, wanted Dr. Bayer to come too.

“I want Jonathan to come to my party.”

“Jonathan? You mean Dr. Bayer.”

“I call him Jonathan because that’s his name.”

“She’s really in love with him,” Lara said. “What do you think, Martin? Would you mind?”

“Of course not. He’s a very nice guy, and we surely owe him a lot.”

Connie observed, “He probably won’t accept. He must have six other invitations.”

But he did come, to Peggy’s great delight, and proved to be a very pleasant guest, enjoying the children and tennis and a swim in the Olympic-sized pool.

At dusk they all sat down to supper on the terrace. Candles in five-armed silver candelabra flickered through the shadows, and two maids served. Sue and her friend Amy, who had expected the usual red-white-arid-blue picnic of fried chicken and corn on the cob, were obviously overawed by this unfamiliar splendor. They were also not particularly appreciative of duck
à l’orange
and Grand Marnier soufflé.

The fireworks, however, went well. As darkness fell, blankets were brought to the crest of the hill from where, as they sat on the grass, they could see the rockets from the township’s fireworks display go soaring through the sky.

When the last artificial stars had burst and fallen to
the ground, the party broke up. Thérèse and Peggy, half asleep, were carried back to the house.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” remarked Lara as she walked beside Dr. Bayer.

Connie, within earshot, heard his reply.

“It’s a palace.” And then he added, “I’d never want to live like this, though.”

Surprised, Lara asked why.

“I don’t know. I guess it would just be too much for me.” He laughed. “It’s academic anyway, a problem I’m not likely to have.”

“Nor I,” said Lara.

There was a pause, and Connie heard the doctor say, “Your sister’s a very kind and generous woman. I’ve seen her with children on the floor in the hospital—in the children’s wing, I mean. You’d never imagine that she lived like this, like a princess.”

“Oh, Connie’s very natural. She loves all this, but it’s never changed the way she behaves. People all like her. Everyone does.”

“Yes, I can see why.” He paused. “She has great charm.”

“We think so. Well, it’s been a lovely day, hasn’t it?”

That was typical of Lara, Connie thought, putting a proper end to the conversation lest it turn too personal. She would have liked to hear more. But that’s absurd of me, she scolded, as if I were an adolescent needing to be assured that I’m admired. Absurd.

Upstairs, a short while later in one of Connie’s country French guest rooms, Lara had her own odd thoughts.

Bayer was definitely attracted to Connie.… I caught him glancing at her all through the evening. They did look good when they stood together.… How ridiculous I’m being!

Davey, lying beside her, spoke into the darkness, interrupting the ridiculous thoughts. “Eddy told me something rather interesting. He said he heard somewhere that Martin’s firm is involved in financing P.T.C. Longwood.”

This jolted her into attention. “But that’s incredible!”

“Why is it incredible? I find it perfectly plausible.”

“I sort of had the idea that the deal had fallen through. I know Martin hasn’t said anything in a long time about him, so Bennett couldn’t be wanting it anymore.”

“Maybe the reason Martin hasn’t said anything is exactly that he is involved.”

“Oh, Davey, think of the complications! After all Martin’s done for us—what are we to do?”

“Let’s not think of it unless we have to. Eddy’s not even sure it’s true. I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you.” He reached for Lara’s hand and squeezed it. “The main thing, the only thing, is that Peggy is all right again.”

“I know, darling.”

Nevertheless, Lara worried silently long after he had fallen asleep.

Summer was fading when they finally brought Peggy home.

Connie was very emotional about the parting. “We’ll
miss her so,” she kept saying. “Thérèse will be an only child again.”

They had all grown very close together through these last hard months, and the separation hurt. Loaded down with stuffed animals, dolls, and parting gifts, the Davises climbed aboard Martin’s plane. Far below, as they rose into the air, Martin, Connie, and Thérèse were still visible, tiny figures still waving as the plane turned westward toward Ohio and home.

“Dear, wonderful people,” Lara said.

At home, more dear, wonderful people waited for them. Neighbors had prepared a feast. Men from the plant had brought their marching band to parade around the yard, tooting and blowing to Peggy’s huge delight. The weekly newspaper was out with an item on the editorial page about the marvelous recovery of Peggy Davis.

And on this night the Davis parents made real love for the first time since that terrible hurt so many months before. The house was quiet at last as Lara walked softly through the hall, along which every bedroom was occupied once more by a sleeping child. In her own room Davey was already in bed. A small wind stirred the curtains at the open windows and put a fresh chill in the air. She undressed quickly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Davey looked up with a kind of mischievous anticipation.

“You know what? You look young again,” she said. “Those lines you had around your eyes are all gone.” And she smoothed his cheeks.

“There are better places for your hands, aren’t there?”

“I know.”

“Well, come on. What are you waiting for?”

“Not a thing.”

“Then turn out the light.”

He raised the blankets, making a warm little cave, just tight enough for the two of them. Enormous gratitude, incredible joy, enveloped her as she slid into the cave.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

A
taxi honked, and the driver swore at Eddy. The driver was justified, for he had almost walked into the side of the cab. And he felt a chill that had nothing to do with his near accident. This meeting with Abner Saville would be one of those interminably uncomfortable ones like the last few, with reams of paper spread out before his splitting head. Besides, it was humiliating to be practically cross-examined by a man whom he paid to do a service, a man, moreover, with whom he had become so friendly after all the years of their association.

He felt like going home and telephoning with an excuse that he was coming down with the flu or something. Nevertheless, he hastened his steps toward his office.

“Mr. Hendricks has been here almost half an hour,” Mrs. Evans told him somewhat reproachfully.

“Who’s Hendricks? Where’s Abner?”

“Mr. Hendricks is one of Mr. Saville’s partners, Mr. Osborne.” The tone was still respectfully reproachful, as if Eddy ought to know who Hendricks was.

And Eddy really did know who Hendricks was. So Abner had sent someone else in his place. What could that mean? Perhaps it was only because Abner had to be out of town or wasn’t feeling well.